Twice as Wicked

by Elizabeth Bright

  Good Lord! Now he was doing it.

  His mother’s expression turned dreamy.

  He cleared his throat and gave her a warning look. “Perhaps some tea? I am sure Miss Bursnell would appreciate some refreshments after our walk.” And while the ladies took their tea, he could make his escape.

  “A splendid idea! I will tell Charlotte to make a tray. Nathaniel, will you please take our guests to the morning room?”

  His heart sank, and he bit back a groan. No, he did not want to see the ladies to the morning room. He wanted a bath and clean trousers. But he could not be rude to his guests. “Certainly. Baroness Shaw, if I may?” he said, proffering his arm.

  She took it, leaving Miss Bursnell and Miss Benton to fall in step behind them.

  “How were the daffodils?” he heard Miss Benton whisper with a giggle.

  His face heated.

  And he felt suddenly contrite about every time he’d ever laughed at Wessex when he’d put a foot wrong over a woman.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Eliza, shh,” Alice hissed in reproach.

  “Oh, very well,” Eliza whispered back.

  Alice was not foolish enough to think her friend’s silence on the matter would be permanent. Eliza may make insinuations and sly asides, but she was discreet. She would let the matter drop—for now—but was sure to return to it when they had a moment alone.

  Lord Abingdon led them to the parlor, where they were joined by Lady Wintham. A moment later the maid brought the tea tray.

  “How did you find the park, Miss Bursnell?” Lady Wintham asked as she poured.

  “It was lovely, thank you, my lady,” Alice said. “How beautiful this part of Hampshire is!”

  “Miss Benton said you were searching for daffodils,” Aunt Bea said. “Did you find them?” To Lady Wintham, she added, “Alice has been homesick for Northumberland, where the fields would be full of spring flowers right now.”

  “Yes, I did find the daffodils. You should walk there yourself—it will remind you of Colworth House.” Alice turned to the countess and smiled. “It was very kind of Lord Abingdon to make space for us. I do hope our addition to the party didn’t cause any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, I assure you.” The countess glanced thoughtfully at her son.

  Alice was aware that Eliza was taking an unholy delight in watching Lord Abingdon squirm in his seat, but before she could puzzle out the meaning, Duke Wessex appeared and everyone’s attention was diverted thither.

  “Wessex!” the countess exclaimed. “How lovely to see you again. Do have some tea.”

  The duke smiled. “It’s good to be back at Haverly. When I look at you, my lady, years lose all meaning and I feel like an Oxford lad again.”

  Alice caught Lord Abingdon rolling his eyes and smothered a grin.

  Duke Wessex claimed a seat near Miss Benton, who shifted ever so slightly closer to Alice. This time, it was Alice who couldn’t suppress a heavenward glance. Lord Abingdon caught her look with an amused sparkle in his eyes. She couldn’t resist smiling back at him. Their friends’ preferred method of courtship was ridiculous, to say the least.

  “How was your journey, ma’am?” Duke Wessex asked her aunt. “I trust Miss Benton and Miss Bursnell were good travel companions?”

  Aunt Bea clasped her hands, beaming. “They were delightful.”

  The duke sipped his tea. “I daresay they were better companions than Lord Abingdon, who always insists on driving straight through, with never a thought to one’s stomach or…” His voice trailed off as he truly took in his friend’s appearance for the first time. “Good heavens, man, why on earth do you look like you were toiling in the fields?”

  The countess turned sharply toward her son, her face registering surprise and dismay. Likely, her brain had been too full of matchmaking to take note of things such as Lord Abingdon’s appearance, and Aunt Bea and Eliza were too polite to demand an explanation for his rough attire.

  Duke Wessex, however, had no such qualms.

  “Were you running again?” Lady Wintham asked. “Oh, I do wish you would leave that be and take up a more gentlemanly form of exercise. Boxing, perhaps.”

  “I have taken several lessons with John Jackson already. But as I greatly prefer running away to hitting another man, I believe I shall continue with my current regime.”

  His tone was light, but there was a hard look to his face that made Alice take note. She frowned and sipped her tea thoughtfully.

  Misunderstanding her expression, the duke rushed to defend his friend. “You mustn’t think him a coward, Miss Bursnell. Lord Abingdon has never shown any hesitation to defend himself and his friends. Any man who knows him will tell you that.”

  “No, I do not think Lord Abingdon a coward. I was merely considering his choice of words.” I greatly prefer running away to hitting another man. “He does not seem to fear harm to himself so much as he fears doing harm to another.”

  The room went still. Lord Abingdon sat as if turned to stone, his eyes riveted to her.

  Finally, the countess spoke. “Nathaniel, do go make yourself presentable. And try not to let the other guests see you.”

  The tremor in her voice was so slight that one would miss it if one did not attend. Alice did not miss it.

  Lord Abingdon got to his feet like a shot, bowed quickly, and was gone.

  Alice shared a look with Eliza.

  “What,” Eliza muttered under her breath so only Alice could hear, “was that?”

  Alice did not know. But she would find out, even if she had to drag the truth from his lips with kisses.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Blast it all, she had done it again!

  Nathaniel stormed to his room and stripped the offending clothing from his body. He lowered himself into the bath that had been prepared and immediately got out again. He rang for his valet. “George!” he bellowed.

  His valet appeared.

  “Yes, my lord?”

  “The water is cold, George.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Why is it cold?”

  George let out a long-suffering sigh. “Because you ordered the bath for when you returned from your exercise at nine o’clock, my lord. It is now eleven o’clock.”

  Nathaniel gritted his teeth. “I need a bath. A hot bath. Immediately.”

  George eyed him balefully. “Yes, my lord. You do. If I might be so bold, my lord, to suggest that if you intend to bathe at eleven, you do not order a bath for nine?”

  Nathaniel glared. George departed hastily.

  A quarter of an hour later, Nathaniel again lowered himself into the bath, and this time was rewarded with good, hot water. He sighed and leaned back, relaxing in the steam. He tried to clear his mind, but his mind wouldn’t clear. Try as he might, he could not budge Miss Bursnell from his thoughts.

  Of course he would rather run away than stay and fight. In a fight, he would be forced to either kill his brother or be killed himself, neither of which was a palatable option. Especially not now, when he had given his father his word that he would mend the divide and bring Nick home.

  Somehow, without knowing the particulars, Miss Bursnell had understood that. She instinctively understood him. It seemed he was naught but an open book to her, and she might thumb through the pages of his heart and mind at her leisure.

  A terrifying thought if ever there was one.

  After all, she might be here to kill him. As much as he wanted to reject the idea, he was still not 100 percent convinced she wasn’t working with Nicholas—or some unknown party—to bring about a change of heir for the Abingdon earldom.

  Still…if that were truly the case, she was, indeed, a consummate actress.

  How long had it been since she had looked at him with loathing, as though he was a worm she would dearly love to trample if not for the fear it would soil her slippers? He had certainly not felt it today.

  No, today had been…different.

  The even
ing at the theater, he decided after due consideration. After that kiss was the last time he had felt the full force of her hatred. Since his promise that night to refrain from taking such liberties, she had slowly, slowly warmed to him. Which wasn’t to say she was never angry. Because he’d nearly slipped a couple of times.

  He should probably stop trying to kiss her. Then she couldn’t be angry with him.

  He frowned into the bathwater. That plan did not seem at all appealing. Surely, there was another way to avoid her ire.

  A way that involved more kissing, perhaps.

  After he finished washing, George dressed him and he joined the other men in the billiards room.

  “Ah, there is the man himself!” Sir Bellamy declared. “Lord Abingdon will agree with me.”

  Nathaniel doubted that. Sir Bellamy was a neighbor and therefore an old family friend, as pompous as he was fond of spirits—which was to say, very—and he had yet to espouse a single belief that Nathaniel agreed with.

  “I was just explaining to Colonel Kent why we cannot simply remove larceny as a capital crime. Kent, here, wants a full repeal of the Bloody Code. Can you imagine! A full repeal!” Sir Bellamy puffed out his stomach and harrumphed.

  That made Nathaniel pause. A full repeal? Should a murderer be allowed to keep his own life after taking the life of another?

  He studied Colonel Kent. He did not wish to agree with the likes of Sir Bellamy, but he would not mind sparring with Kent. “You don’t agree with hanging a traitor, Colonel?”

  The colonel shrugged as if it were all the same to him, but there was a sudden tension in his jaw. “I don’t believe in a mandatory death sentence. Juries should be free to weigh extenuating circumstances. As for treason and murder…well, I am perfectly happy to start with larceny. I have yet to see an item that I thought worth a man’s life.”

  Dash it all, why did the man have to be so sensible? Nathaniel had voted—unsuccessfully—four times in as many years to remove larceny from the Bloody Code.

  “I agree,” he said, if inwardly grudgingly.

  Sir Bellamy’s jowls quivered in his fleshy face. “You cannot be serious, my lord!” He looked about the room for support. “Consider the words of the greatly esteemed George Savile. ‘Men are not hanged for stealing horses, but that horses may not be stolen.’ If the rabble know they will no longer face the noose for theft, they will take everything that isn’t nailed down.”

  Nathaniel gave a wry smile. “For over a century they have faced that threat. It has not seemed to dissuade them. All it has done is inspire juries to lower the value of the goods taken, so as not to reach the level of grand larceny. Men do not want blood on their hands for the price of a paste necklace.”

  Sir Bellamy fairly bristled, but the man dared not continue the argument. A viscount—particularly a viscount who counted a duke among his closest friends—was not a man Sir Bellamy wished for an enemy.

  Nathaniel was aware of Colonel Kent watching him closely. He knew the man was friendly with his father, having supported his project of bringing the Parthenon sculptures to the British Museum. He also knew Kent’s reputation as a Waterloo hero, and while not a member of the peerage, he had a sizable enough fortune to tempt any scheming mama. And now it appeared he was also the champion of the poor and downtrodden.

  Nathaniel clamped his jaw in irritation. Very likely, the colonel never found himself prostrate at the feet of any young lady with nothing to blame but his own clumsiness, much less found himself in such a position three times.

  Had the colonel seen Miss Bursnell since the ball? If so, had he brought her flowers again? More roses, perhaps? The very thought made Nathaniel’s stomach clench.

  There was nothing so galling as discovering one’s biggest rival was the better man.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The tedious Baron Dillingham was, at that moment, chasing Eliza round the drawing room, much to the amusement of Alice. She watched from a safe distance so as not to be pulled into the conversation by a desperate Eliza. For every step her friend retreated, Dillingham advanced two. Round and round the room they went.

  Alice couldn’t help but wonder what had prompted Lord Abingdon to invite the roué to his house party. It was an odd conglomeration of guests, to be sure.

  “Mr. Ellsworth claimed that four inches is the proper width of a lapel,” Dillingham said as they passed Alice. “Four inches! But I explained that, no, four and five-eighths was the ideal.”

  Eliza took a long step back. Dillingham took two mincing steps forward. And thus the dance continued.

  Next to Alice, Lady Claire sighed. “Dillingham seems quite infatuated. Did you know? He walked with me from St. James’s to Drury Lane, and spoke of nothing but Eliza’s pink gown. Can you imagine?”

  Alice laughed. Yes, she could imagine. Dandy Dillingham likely had quite a bit to say on the matter. “His opinion is worth at least as much as Beau Brummell’s. Did you say you walked? Whatever possessed you to walk such a distance?”

  Lady Claire dismissed the remark with a wave of her hand. “It is scarcely a kilometer, and the day was fine.”

  Alice’s jaw dropped. Well!

  “Lord Abingdon claimed it was much farther,” she said as she snapped her mouth closed and narrowed her eyes. Eight kilometers, to be exact.

  Lady Claire pried her gaze away from Baron Dillingham, and Eliza and turned to look at Alice, eyebrows raised. “How very odd! Why ever would he say such a thing?”

  Why, indeed?

  Alice was spared from answering by Eliza, who had, at last, managed to free herself. “Drat that man!” she muttered crossly. “Why is he not playing billiards with the other gentlemen?”

  “Come now,” Lady Claire protested. “Surely his company is not so odious.”

  Eliza’s glare was murderous. “Then you converse with him on the width of men’s lapels and the proper cravat knot.”

  Lady Claire pursed her lips. “Oh, very well.” She wandered away from them and joined Dillingham by the bay window. Soon the two were deep in conversation.

  “Well. That is much better.” Eliza linked arms with Alice. “Come. Let us escape to the garden before she changes her mind.”

  They had scarcely left the room before they looked at each other and burst into giggles.

  “Oh, heavens, that man!” Eliza gasped out. “If he has a single word to say on any topic that is not cravats or waistcoats, I have yet to hear it. Is he really so foolish as to think I find such conversation enthralling? Can he not see I am bored to tears?”

  Alice patted her arm. “It is your lovely face, my dear. He cannot see the wicked thoughts behind the angelic countenance.”

  Eliza gave an exasperated huff. “Bother my face! I was practically running backward to escape him!”

  They looked at each other and laughed again.

  The garden path wound through pretty beds of spring flowers. Crocuses, snowdrops, and pansies poked shyly through the grass. They stopped at a terrace surrounded by rose bushes. The roses were not yet in bloom, but there was a stone bench for resting.

  Eliza sat down. She smiled up at Alice. “I am so glad you are here with me. It would be dreadfully dull without you.”

  Alice laughed. “Oh, yes, how ever would you manage such dreadfully ugly scenery with only Duke Wessex to entertain you?”

  “Never mind Wessex. He is tolerably amusing, but a man cannot be just friends with a woman. Friendship requires mutual respect and liking, and men simply aren’t capable of having such feelings for a woman. It takes a depth they are sadly lacking.”

  Alice considered the point. She remembered the day at Westminster Abbey when she and Lord Abingdon had laughed together. She thought of the moment in the daffodils, when they had laughed again. It felt like friendship, or something akin to it.

  Then again, she was still determined to avenge Adelaide, even knowing it would cause him pain. And he had kissed her. Revenge and kissing were not the stuff of friendship.

 
Very likely Eliza had the right of it.

  “You have no idea how tedious London had become before you knocked down Lord Abingdon,” Eliza continued. “This is my fourth season, and it is always the same. First come the girls in white dresses. They never say anything interesting for fear a marriageable man will overhear. Lady Claire is the best of the lot this year, but even she thinks I should be married by now.”

  The impassioned speech surprised Alice. How could Eliza, the toast of the beau monde, possibly be lonely? She clasped Eliza’s hand in hers. “I am grateful for your company, as well.” She paused, her gaze drifting about the garden, suddenly sad. “Do you know, I don’t think I have had a friend like you since Adelaide.”

  Eliza eyed her cautiously. “Your sister? You never speak of her. Do I remind you of her?”

  Alice shook her head with a smile. “No, quite the contrary. We were twins, you know, both of us as dark as you are fair. But more than that, she was so very sweet and demure. She never had a harsh word for anyone, and she was infinitely patient.” She gave a rueful grimace. “My complete opposite, I was often told.”

  “Then mine, as well, I’m afraid. No one has ever accused me of infinite patience. You must miss her terribly.”

  “It is more than missing her. It is an emptiness that can never be filled. And yet, there are moments when I forget she is gone. I see something and I turn to point it out to her, and she is not there. I laugh and expect to hear her laughing with me. I smell her lilac perfume in the air. I hear a funny story, and I think, I must tell Adelaide. Then I remember, and it’s like learning of her death all over again.”

  Eliza squeezed her hand. “I cannot replace your sister, but I do hope I can be of some comfort to you. If you need someone to talk or laugh with, or…or be sad with, I am here. I am glad to be here.”

  Alice blinked against the sudden tears in her eyes. “You have no idea what your words mean to me. My family is good and kind, but they cannot bear to hear Adelaide’s name spoken. It is still too painful for them, and when I try to speak of her, I am called maudlin. I do not wish to hurt my parents, but sometimes I feel like her name must simply burst from my lips.”