by Regina Scott
As Joanna and her mother alighted from the carriage and climbed the stairs to the cheery red door of their small stone townhouse off Grosvenor Square, she sighed. Perhaps she had no confidence in his devotion because they had only known each other a short time. He had only courted her for three months before proposing after all. How could anyone feel comfortable after only three months? She’d lived in the trim three-story townhouse since her father had died eight years ago, and it still felt stiff and cold to her, for all that her mother had decorated it in shades of yellow and bought many fine paintings and porcelains to enhance it. If she took so long to welcome change, she could not expect Allister to change his bachelor ways so quickly. She had to remember that he had proposed – that was the important thing. While he may not love her as deeply as she loved him, they had time. She had every confidence that she would make him a good wife. Perhaps, with time and proximity, he would lose his heart more fully.
“So much to do,” her mother lamented as they entered the marble-tiled foyer. “We’ve only sent out the first batch of invitations. The family is already sending presents. My friends are clambering to know if they may throw parties for you. This wedding will be the death of me as long as I live.”
“I promise I’ll be right there to help, Mother,” Joanna assured her. Pausing by the half-moon hall table, she thumbed through the stack of cards and invitations that had arrived in their absence. One cream-colored note stood out from the others on the brass tray. It was addressed to her mother, and the sealing wax bore no signet.
“What could this be?” she asked her mother.
Lady Lindby handed her reticule and pelisse to the waiting elderly butler and crossed to her daughter’s side. Raising an eyebrow, she took the note and opened it. As her button brown eyes moved down the page, all color drained from her face. Joanna watched in alarm as her mother collapsed into the Hepplewhite chair beside the table.
“Mother!” she cried, kneeling in front of her. “Dames, get the smelling salts from my mother’s dressing table.
As the butler hurried away, her mother moaned. “Oh, my poor heart.” She stared off into the distance. Tears sparkled again, but Joanna knew they could not be from joy. Her mother focused on her with difficulty. “Oh, my poor Joanna!”
“Mother, what is it?” she begged, taking the nearest hand in her own. The short fingers were cold in her grip.
Her mother held out the note with her other hand. “I’m so sorry, dearest.”
“Allister?” Joanna gasped in realization. “Has something happened to Allister?” She snatched the letter from her mother’s trembling fingers, rising to scan it.
“Lady Lindby,” it read in a firm masculine hand, “it is with great distress and after many hours of consideration that I must rescind my offer for your daughter. I find I am simply not ready to embark on the sea of matrimony. I wish you luck in the future.” It was signed merely “Trevithan.”
Joanna felt cold to the center of her being. How could he? Had she been so uninteresting that she could be summarily dismissed? How dare he end their engagement with this disgustingly inadequate note? How could he send it to her mother, like some coward afraid to face her? How could he offer no reason, no excuse for putting them through such embarrassment, such pain? Did he think she was without sensibility, without feeling?
“Oh, my poor dear,” her mother moaned, gazing up at her with tears staining pale cheeks. “What will we do?”
“Do?” Joanna asked with a cold fury. “Do? Oh, I promise you, madam, we will do something. This is insufferable. Unthinkable.” She drew herself up to her full height and glared at her mother, the gaping footman, and the butler who had just returned with the smelling salts.
“I will be married,” she swore, “in June.”
Chapter Two
Allister Fenwick, Baron Trevithan, generally did not have second thoughts. He had lived too long in a world of split-second decisions. One made a choice with the best information available and either reaped the rewards or paid the consequences. Now that he had chosen to leave that world behind, it only remained to be seen which result it would be this time. He had every expectation and hope that with Joanna Lindby, he had found his reward at last.
“Then you’re certain I can’t entice you into coming back to the Service?” Davis asked.
Allister eyed his long-time friend and partner as they sat in the sparsely furnished flat Allister had rented in London. Despite ten years of intense work, Davis Laughton still looked like a newly graduated Oxford scholar in his simple brown coat and pantaloons. His round boyish face, soft brown hair, and large liquid brown eyes habitually caused the enemies of the Crown to underestimate him. Behind his innocent facade lurked a keen mind and a determined spirit. No doubt those traits had been what had induced Lord Hastings to recruit him along with Allister into His Majesty’s Secret Service immediately after they left college. For many years, neither had regretted it. The excitement and challenge had been more than enough to compensate for loss of family and friends.
Until recently.
“Sorry, old chap,” Allister said with true regret, crossing the legs of his chamois trousers. “It’s time to hang up the sword.”
“If you quote me the verse about plough shares I shall demand brandy,” Davis threatened. “In fact, I may demand a brandy anyway. Are you really intent on leaving me to go it alone?”
Allister grimaced. “They’ll give you a new partner. Lord Hastings already has several candidates.”
“Untried steeds,” Davis complained. “And I get the dubious pleasure of breaking them in.”
“We were young, once,” Allister reminded him. “We turned out all right.”
“Well, one of us did,” Davis joked. Then his dark eyes clouded. “Seriously, Trev, I’m going to miss you. Are you sure this Lindby chit is worth it?”
“She isn’t a chit,” he corrected his friend. “Joanna Lindby is a diamond of the first water. She is well-bred, well-educated, and well-respected. I am the most fortunate of men.”
Davis sighed. “I was afraid of that. I had a feeling you were smitten the first time you pointed her out across the room. You had a look in your eye I’d never seen before. I envy you.”
Allister felt himself squirm internally under the praise, though he was too well-trained to allow it to show in his demeanor. Joanna was everything he had claimed to Davis, and more, but he was acutely aware that his feelings did not do her justice.
He knew it was no fault of the lovely Joanna. Her midnight black tresses, thick and lustrous, framed an oval, high-cheek-boned face. Her skin was like alabaster, her eyes dark and soulful. Her figure was willowy and elegant, with just enough curves to set a fellow dreaming of what lay beneath the fashionable silk gowns she wore. She was modest and soft-spoken, intelligent and gracious. That this virtuous paragon should agree to his proposal was the best for which he could have hoped. The first time he had danced with her he’d known she was special, and after a month of courting he was certain she’d make the perfect wife. The day she had accepted his proposal had been the happiest day of his life.
Except . . .
He wasn’t sure how honest he was capable of being with her. He had spent the last ten years of his life pretending. He’d been a carter, a courtier, a coachman, and a Compte. He’d had to hide his thoughts, his opinions, his feelings. Could he now learn to share them openly as was required for a good marriage?
Except . . .
He wondered whether he could live the life other men of his class seemed to live. Could he settle down with no more excitement than watching prices on the Exchange and visiting Whites? Courting had held a certain charm; it was a bit like matching wits with the enemy. But once life moved to happily ever after, would he be satisfied with his lot?
Except . . .
He wondered what kind of husband he’d make. He had never had a proper relationship with a woman. Any other lady had been wooed either in the service of his country or to forget it.
Both types had seemed rather pleased with his abilities; certainly he had never had any complaints. And by the way Joanna kissed him, full of innocent fire, no passion would be lacking from her side. Still, she was a proper young lady and what he felt for her was far superior to anything he had felt before. He wasn’t certain what he felt was love.
“Is it Daremier?” Davis asked quietly.
Allister started. “The Skull? Certainly not. Why would you ask?”
“Silly question,” Davis quipped. “Why would I ask about a master French spy who’s been a thorn in your side for years? I’m certain no one but me has noticed your retirement from the Service coincides with him besting you. Shall I warm the fire for you? Would you like the covers turned back for your afternoon nap?”
“The sarcasm is unamusing,” Allister informed him. “Need I remind you that I can still beat you with either sword or pistol?”
Davis’ eyes lighted, and he leaned forward eagerly. “No reminder necessary. You are the best. And you could prove that if you’d only come back to the Service.”
Allister shook his head but before he could refuse again, the temporary man-of-all-work he had hired coughed in the doorway. A tall man with a long face, he had struck Allister as the type who would do his work and ask no questions.
“Yes, Patterson?” he asked.
“There’s a lady to see you sir,” he intoned, keeping his eyes humbly downcast. Only the severe set to his wide mouth told of his disapproval at this state of affairs.
Davis hopped to his feet. “You old fraud, you! And I was worried you’d collapsed into propriety. Who is she, old chap? And does she have a friend?”
“I haven’t had a woman since I started courting Joanna,” Allister told him icily. He returned his gaze to his servant. “Does this lady have a name, Patterson?”
“A Miss Joanna Lindby,” the man replied with no more enthusiasm.
Allister leapt to his feet, pulse roaring in his ears. “Joanna? Something must be wrong.”
Davis stepped to his side and put a hand on his arm as if to keep him from running from the room. “Easy lad. She probably just wants to confirm the flowers for the wedding or some such frippery. Tell the lady to come in, my man.”
Allister managed a shaky laugh as Patterson hurried from the room. Why had he reacted that way? He’d been cooler two years ago when Lord Hastings had informed him that Davis had been shot. Besides, his friend was no doubt right. If something had happened to Joanna, it would have been her mother who would have contacted him, and probably by note. The fact that Joanna felt comfortable enough to approach him in residence should reassure him that they were becoming closer.
One look at her face had the opposite effect. She was flushed, her jaw set, and her eyes sparked fire.
He met her just inside the door. “Joanna, what is it?”
She raised a haughty eyebrow. “Didn’t you expect me to ask for an explanation?” she demanded. “Do you think so little of me?”
“What are you talking about?” He frowned. “An explanation for what?”
“Perhaps I should go,” Davis muttered, picking up his top hat from the side table between the two chairs.
“Forgive my manners,” Allister apologized to them both. “Miss Joanna Lindby, may I present my friend, Mr. Davis Laughton.”
Davis bowed. “Your servant, madam.”
Joanna glared at him, offering no more than a nod. “Good day, sir.”
His friend swallowed. “Yes, well, as I said. I should go.”
“Don’t leave on my account,” she clipped out. “This should only take a moment.” She faced Allister again, and he could only marvel at the fire in her. He had thought her passionate but had never suspected she could be so intense. He was not a little surprised to find it intrigued him.
“I only want to know why,” she said to him. “Why did you break off our engagement?”
Allister stared at her. “Break off our engagement? Why would you think I’d do a thing like that?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she sneered. “Perhaps because of this?” She flung a note at him, and he caught it against the chest of his white lawn shirt. Instinct told him not to take his eyes off her, but he had to know what had so incensed her. He scanned the contents of the note and felt his blood run cold.
“What is it?” Davis asked at his elbow.
“Here,” Allister said, thrusting it at him. “Read it.” As Davis glanced at the paper, Allister returned his gaze to his intended. “Joanna, I assure you, I didn’t send that note. I want nothing more than to be your husband.”
Her eyes probed his as if seeking the truth. He returned her gaze steadfastly. He’d made viscounts and villains believe him when needed. Surely now that he spoke the truth he would be even more convincing. Joanna held his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
“I wish I could believe that,” she murmured.
Could she see inside him to his doubts of his adequacy? He had to convince them both. Allister caught her hands. “Believe it, for it is the truth,” he told her fervently. “I would never hurt you like this. If we had a disagreement, I’d like to think we could discuss it. I would never simply send a note dismissing you.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and he reached up a hand to stroke them away from her soft skin. She swallowed.
“Oh, Allister, I’m so glad. When I saw that horrid note, all I could think was that you didn’t care.”
He felt his jaw tighten as her pain pierced his heart. “That’s exactly what someone wanted you to think.”
“But why?” she asked with a frown. “Who’d want to hurt us?”
Allister exchanged glances with Davis. The grim set to his friend’s mouth told Allister Davis had similar thoughts. Despite the fact that he should be worried about the matter, he felt the familiar tingle of excitement that always came with a mystery.
“I have no idea,” he said to Joanna. “But I intend to find out.”
Chapter Three
Joanna should have felt nothing but relief. Allister still wanted to marry her. His murmured reassurances and protective caresses as he escorted her home in her carriage should have soothed her fears. When he took her in his arms and kissed away the last of her tears, she could only melt against him in bliss.
But something was wrong. Someone was trying to pull them apart. By the way he had exchanged looks with his friend, he knew more than he wanted to tell her. She had a feeling she was about to confront his supposedly dangerous past, and she wasn’t sure what to do about it.
He was diplomacy itself, coming in to placate and reassure her mother, then inviting them both to the opera the next evening to make up for their difficult afternoon. As Joanna walked him to the door, he brought her hand to his lips and pressed a fervent kiss into her palm.
“I’ll let you know as soon as I hear anything,” he promised.
“Can you tell me what you suspect?” she pleaded. “I can’t think of anyone who would be so vindictive.”
“I’m sure it’s no one you know,” he replied.
“But you suspect it’s someone you know, don’t you?”
He did not accept her challenge. “I don’t want you to worry. I promise I’ll get to the bottom of this. It may take me some time, so don’t be concerned if you don’t see me before tomorrow.”
The fact that he seemed rather excited about the matter did nothing to reassure her.
She tried, however, to put the incident from her mind as she went about her wedding preparations the rest of the day. Her mother’s spirits were fully restored, and she threw herself back into the work. They had a number of critical decisions to make, chief among them who would act as her father since her own had been dead for many years. After a lengthy discussion, they decided to ask her Uncle Milton who had always been close. They then spent the evening addressing invitations from the lengthy list her mother had compiled. It was when they finished with her family and friends and prepared to do Allister’s that she felt the uneasi
ness return.
“He still hasn’t given me a list,” her mother complained. “Think, dearest. He must have told you someone to invite besides his cousins in Somerset. Was he found under a cabbage leaf?”
Joanna smiled. “Most likely not. However, he told me his parents are dead. I believe he has an uncle somewhere.”
“Well, I’m glad I’ve at least invited his cousins the Darbys,” her mother replied. “I remember him mentioning them. Was he directly related to the old earl or the new earl? Or is it the newer earl? That family changes its mind so quickly.”
“I’m not certain,” Joanna replied, realizing again how little she knew about her intended. “But we should add a Mr. Davis Laughton to the list. I met him today. He appears to be a particular friend of Allister’s.”
“Davis Laughton,” her mother mused. “Where have I heard that name?”
“Have you heard it?” Joanna asked eagerly.
Her mother shook her head. “No, I don’t believe so. Which does seem odd, for I know everyone, even if I can’t remember their names at a given moment.”
Joanna nodded. For all her mother’s eccentricities, she was well-liked among the ton. An interesting person was always welcome, and her mother had never lacked for acquaintances. If Davis Laughton had lived in London for any length of time, it would have been surprising that her mother had never heard of him.
“Perhaps he’s up from the country,” Joanna suggested.
“Yes, of course,” her mother agreed. “In which case you must ask him when he’s returning. What’s the postage to Africa?”
“Uncle Milton will be back from Africa before you need to send the invitation,” Joanna assured her, once again interpreting her mother’s remark. She promised her mother to check into the matter of Mr. Laughton’s address, although in truth she wasn’t certain she’d have an opportunity to talk to Mr. Laughton again. Allister generally didn’t make a party of their outings, seeming to prefer to keep her all to himself. She resolved to ask him about his friend when they went to the opera the next evening. And she would ask him about who else to invite as well.
