by Donna Hatch
Mrs. Fitzpatrick nodded. “Quite right. No one is angry, lad. If I sacked every servant who dropped a dish, I would be doing my own serving.”
“Thank you for being so forgiving,” the footman said.
“You may go on with your duties, lad,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said.
With a sigh of gratitude, the footman bowed and departed. Inside the empty room, the maid poured water into a basin and moistened a nearby towel. She rubbed a bar of milled soap over the towel until it produced suds and used it to carefully wipe the back of Alicia’s neck, shoulder, and arm, before turning her attention to the sleeve.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick smiled benevolently. “You handled yourself beautifully out there, Miss Palmer. I know you were terribly embarrassed to be the center of such unwanted attention. And you were, indeed, most understanding about it.”
“I’ve dropped my fair share of things,” Alicia admitted.
“The other day my nephew asked about your family.”
Alicia paused. “Your nephew? Lord Amesbury?”
“Yes. I am so pleased he finally came to visit. He does not often attend the London Season and I do not have as many opportunities to see him as I would like.” She smiled proudly.
“You seem quite fond of him,” Alicia said in undisguised surprise.
“I sense in him a kindred spirit.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick looked directly into Alicia’s eyes. “Did you enjoy your dance with him at the Sinclair ball?”
With a start, she wondered what he had told her. She dropped her gaze. “Of course. You said he asked about my family?”
“Indeed. He has never expressed any interest in the family of a young lady before.”
Alicia’s face warmed as she remembered his nearness when he looked at her mother’s picture in her locket, the intensity of his gaze, his arm around her waist when she had stumbled. He was nothing like she’d imagined of the man who shot Armand. But then, he had been eager to duel Mr. Braxton when he discovered her fleeing the man. At the time, she’d thought he was being chivalrous. Now she knew he enjoyed bloodshed.
“I hope he behaved as a gentleman,” Mrs. Fitzpatrick said.
Alicia gave a start. “Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he?”
“He plays the role of a scoundrel with relish. In his defense, underneath it all he is a surprisingly decent man. He came home from the war dramatically changed. But I think the right lady can uncover his true self buried deep inside under all those protective layers.” She pinned Alicia with a stare. “He’s quite wealthy in his own right.”
Alicia could think of nothing to say in reply. Even if Mrs. Fitzpatrick’s nephew wanted her—an unlikely possibility—she would never marry the man who had killed her brother as surely as if he had put a bullet through Armand’s heart instead of his arm.
“Now, there, all is well, Miss,” the maid said triumphantly. “It should dry perfectly clean.”
Alicia lifted her arm and craned her neck to examine the sleeve. Only a damp spot remained of the gravy spill. “Thank you. That was most expertly done.”
The maid bobbed a curtsey and waited expectantly. With sinking dread, Alicia realized the maid was expecting a vail but Alicia didn’t have a shilling to give her.
“Allow me.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick handed the maid a coin and smiled at Alicia. “Will you and your sister come have tea? We will be attending a house party next week, but I would love to receive you the following week.”
Alicia returned the smile. “Thank you.”
They returned together to the others. In their absence, a game of whist had begun. Alicia watched with mingled disgust and amusement as Catherine set her wily sights on her prey—the viscount and his bank account. Although to be fair to Catherine, any young lady would be interested in a young, handsome, wealthy, titled lord. But Catherine did not look starry eyed, as if she found him charming and handsome. She looked scheming.
Naturally Lord Amesbury appeared to be enjoying the beautiful lady’s company. Not that Alicia cared. Catherine could have that dueling fiend! Clearly they deserved one another.
Elizabeth came to her. “The doctor said Robert will recover nicely but recommends he stay and rest tonight. He’s sleeping. Will you and Hannah stay here for the night? We can send word to your uncle.”
Alicia involuntarily glanced at Lord Amesbury. She was loath to remain under the same roof with that man a moment longer than she must. She returned her focus to Elizabeth. “I had hoped to return home soon.”
Elizabeth’s face fell. “Oh. Well, then Mother and I could accompany you home.”
“And leave your guests?”
A slight frown touched her brow. “I suppose that would not be appropriate.”
Alicia sighed. “No.”
Elizabeth took her hand. “What troubles you, Alicia? You have not enjoyed yourself all evening.”
“Forgive me, dearest. Your party is lovely. I’m just a bit out of sorts.”
Elizabeth studied her face. “Something else is wrong. You were unhappy even before Robert fell. Before the gravy accident. Oh, dear. This has not been a good evening for you, has it?”
Alicia put her arm around her. “You are not to blame for any of it.”
Captain Hawthorne appeared, his dark eyes probing. “I just heard about your cousin.”
“He had a fall, but he will be fine,” Alicia said.
“That’s a relief.” He smiled, his dark eyes intense upon her face. Alicia realized that his smiles never seemed to touch his eyes. He seemed troubled. His father’s poor health? Was soldiering still difficult even though the war was over?
The game ended among cries of victory and defeat, drawing their attention.
Mr. de Champs joined them. “I am relieved you did not suffer any ill effect from the mishap at dinner, Miss Palmer. And your sleeve is even dry now.”
What a shame her uncle would not consider men such as Mr. de Champs or Captain Hawthorne as suitable husbands. True, they were not outrageously wealthy, but they seemed decent men, much more so than her current would-be suitors. But, no, Uncle needed more money than they could, or would, give him for her.
Lord Amesbury entered the circle, his disturbing nearness making the room too warm. She deliberately averted her eyes. How could she have been attracted to that man?
Mr. de Champs touched her arm briefly. “Miss Palmer, are you unwell?”
“I’m merely tired, I think.”
Mrs. Fitzpatrick edged closer, concern in her face. “I have called my carriage. May we offer you a ride home?”
And ride in the carriage with her nephew? “No! Ah, I mean, no thank you. I don’t wish to impose.”
Mr. Fitzpatrick’s voice boomed next to her and she jumped. “No trouble at all, Miss Palmer. Our pleasure.”
Alicia drew a fortifying breath. The Fitzpatrick house lay off the same highway as Alicia’s home, but hers was several miles beyond. It would most certainly be out of the way.
“You’re very kind, sir, but—”
“Not at all, not at all. We insist.” Mr. Fitzpatrick cut in. “Don your wraps, there’s a good girl. Where’s your sister?”
Hannah arrived then, watching Alicia curiously, while the footmen brought their wraps.
Mrs. Fitzpatrick smiled as if she enjoyed a great joke. “Come, ladies, your cousin will be well cared for here. I’m sure they’ll send him home right as rain in the morning.”
“You’re very kind,” Hannah said softly.
Alicia found herself ushered outside. Lord Amesbury strode next to her, but she kept her arm wrapped around Hannah’s and her eyes fixed on the ground.
As Alicia reached the coach, she hung back and waited for the nobility to enter first. She glanced up expectantly at the viscount since he clearly outranked her poor, untitled self but he motioned her in ahead of him. As she stepped in, his hand appeared under her elbow, steadying her.
Keeping her silence out of respect for Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick, she swallowed and uttered a breathless “thank you” instead of the scathin
g words that entered her mind. She seated herself inside the comfortable coach. A lantern hanging from the ceiling illuminated the dark velvet trappings of the luxurious coach. Lord Amesbury handed in Hannah, who stepped around her and slid into the seat beside her, farthest from the door. The Fitzpatricks settled across from them. The viscount eased himself down next to Alicia, his thigh casually brushing against hers.
Alicia shrank back from him and edged closer to Hannah. “This is too kind of you, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzpatrick,” she managed.
“Nonsense, my dear; we are happy to do it.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick happily leaned back against the cushioned seats. “This gives us further opportunity to speak with you.”
Fortunately, they did not require much from her in the way of conversation, and Mr. Fitzpatrick kept them entertained with his dry sense of humor. Despite the hateful Lord Amesbury’s magnetic and disturbing presence, Mr. Fitzpatrick and his charming wife’s easy banter and unbelievable tales soothed her nerves. She actually began to relax as she listened to them.
“You’re home.” The viscount’s voice sounded very near.
Disoriented, she rubbed her eyes. The coach had stopped. As she realized that she had fallen asleep in their company, a flood of mortification swept over her.
“Oh, no. Oh, please forgive me.” Then, to further her shame, she became aware that her head had fallen onto Lord Amesbury’s shoulder.
Amusement danced on his mouth. “I hope I provided some comfort to you, Miss Palmer.”
There seemed no end to the embarrassments she must suffer in front of them. Or him.
Appalled at herself, she stammered, “Thank you. I mean, I’m so sorry. How rude of me.”
“Think nothing of it, my dear,” soothed Mrs. Fitzpatrick. “The hour is late and the evening eventful. I’m fatigued, myself.”
In the lamplight, the viscount’s face appeared deceptively soft and gentle. As she beheld his masculine beauty, the compassion and gentleness in his eyes, she had to remind herself that his face concealed a black soul, a duelist, a killer. For a moment, she was sorry she had discovered it. The fantasy had been so sweet.
He smiled. “Aunt Livy is right. You have no need to be concerned.”
Mr. Fitzpatrick agreed. “Quite right. We are all confident in our own ability to entertain guests. You were merely tired. Good evening, Miss Palmer. Miss Hannah.”
“Good night, sir,” Alicia said. “Madam. And thank you very much. We’re both in your debt.”
“Any time, my dear.”
Lord Amesbury handed her out of the coach but Alicia snatched her hand out of his as quickly as she dared. “Thank you, my lord,” she said coldly.
His mouth curved upward as if he found her ire amusing. “You are quite welcome, Miss Palmer.” His amusement faded, and he turned grave, almost looking vulnerable. A ruse, clearly.
She turned away and waited with her back to the carriage for Hannah to alight. The moment Hannah stepped into her line of sight, Alicia hurried up the front steps of her home as quickly as she dared.
“Miss Palmer,” Lord Amesbury called.
No. Contempt flooded her until she thought she would drown. Only a man with no conscience could smile as he did after taking an innocent boy’s life. Had he known before he pulled the trigger that the young man he dueled would lose his arm and slowly die? Had he cared?
She wanted to hurl these questions at him, but knew she would burst into tears and make a scene. She had already been the center of unpleasant attention once tonight and did not care to do so again, nor upset Hannah, who did not know Lord Amesbury as the man who shot Armand.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she threw over her shoulder.
He caught up to her. “Miss Palmer, please wait.”
She turned. “You’ve done enough.”
“Alicia, listen to me.”
Shaking in anger, she turned in the middle of the steps. “I have not given you leave to call me by my Christian name.”
“You’re right, of course, I apologize, but please allow me to—”
“Leave me alone!”
Alicia bolted up the stairs and continued running until she reached her room. Before she could shut the door, Hannah wormed through. With the door closed, Alicia leaned against it and drew a steadying breath.
“What has gotten in to you tonight, Lissie?”
Alicia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I’m very tired. And my head hurts.”
“What was that all about with Lord Amesbury?”
Alicia sighed. “Nothing.”
Hannah sat down on the bed, her shoulders hunched over and her mouth turned down. “Why does no one ever tell me anything?”
“Forgive me, Hannah. I am a bit concerned for Robert. And the matter with Lord Amesbury is... not something that I wish to discuss in my present mood.” She went to Hannah and put an arm around her. “Let’s wash and change and retire. Things will look brighter tomorrow, you’ll see.”
What a disaster the last few days had been! Instead of attracting a husband, she had only run from every man who showed any interest in her. She pressed a hand over her mouth. Heaven help her but the only man who truly captured her attention, and— for a few mad moments, her heart—had killed her twin.
Chapter 6
Three days after the dreadful dinner party, Alicia swept downstairs wearing her borrowed gown of pale amber moiré. Robert had just arisen, looking his usual self. She uttered a silent prayer of gratitude that his head injury had been so minor that he’d suffered no lasting effects. He grinned lazily at her and for a moment, he appeared as he had before Armand’s death.
He leaned against the wall. “Where are you going, Cousin? How pretty you look.”
“Elizabeth and her mother have invited me to attend the baron’s horserace.”
“Oh. Yes. Hmm. Planned on attending. Hannah not going?”
“She has a headache.”
He looked down ruefully at his dressing robe. “I suppose I ought to bathe and change. Or at least change.”
With mingled affection and disapproval, Alicia frowned. “You need a shave, too. I don’t think there’s enough time before the race begins for you to pull yourself together, Robbie.”
“Probably right. I believe I’ll have a brandy instead.”
“Leave it alone, Robert,” she pled.
“Have a nice time at the race.” He waved over his shoulder as he headed to the library.
Uncle Willard appeared as the Hancocks’ carriage pulled up to the front steps.
“Elizabeth is here, Uncle. Good day,” Alicia said.
“Tomorrow we are invited to the home of Colonel Westin for tea,” Uncle Willard informed her.
Alicia gulped and fought the urge to burst into tears. “Yes, Uncle,” she replied meekly.
Heavy of heart, she climbed aboard the Hancocks’ coach, but Elizabeth’s contagious excitement broke through Alicia’s melancholy. Despite Mrs. Hancock’s calming influence, they were exuberant when they arrived at the baron’s estate for the race. The whole countryside appeared to have come. Carriages lined the drive leading up to the private race course.
“Miss Palmer. How lovely you look.”
Evoking first pleasure, then dismay, that richly resonant voice set her nerves on edge. Steeling herself, she looked up at Lord Amesbury’s smiling face. “My lord,” she said shortly.
“Mrs. Hancock. Miss Hancock.” The viscount smiled at the other two ladies, but when his gaze returned to Alicia, his eyes softened with true warmth.
Alicia faltered. She had been nothing but rude to him every time they met, and yet he always treated her with kindness. If only he had been kind to Armand.
“May I escort you lovely ladies?”
Before Alicia could open her mouth to refuse, Mrs. Hancock accepted. Lord Amesbury offered his arm to the lady.
She glanced at Alicia with a motherly smile. “Thank you, my lord, but I can walk with my daughter. Miss Palmer needs an escort.”
; Alicia pressed her lips together while Elizabeth and Mrs. Hancock fell in step together, leaving Alicia to walk with Lord Amesbury. He smiled and held out his arm.
She wanted to reject him. She truly did. So why did her hand move to his arm?
Only to avoid a scene in front of the Hancocks, of course, and not reject the offering Mrs. Hancock had made by encouraging his attention toward Alicia. His gaze held hers and for a moment, she thought she saw sorrow and gentleness there. She looked away.
“Mrs. Hancock!” Catherine’s carefully schooled contralto voice called out. “Do join us.” Her eyes locked on Lord Amesbury, though she greeted the ladies. “Elizabeth, lovely to see you again. Good day, Alicia. Lord Amesbury. Come, join us. We’ve more food than we could possibly eat.” She already sat between Captain Hawthorne and Mr. Walters, both handsome young gentlemen, but needed Lord Amesbury to have the complete ensemble.
The viscount glanced at Alicia and then turned a gracious, if aloof, smile upon the raven-haired beauty. “How kind of you, Miss Sinclair, but we have a picnic spot already prepared. Good day. Come, ladies, shall we?”
Surprised, Alicia looked up at him. Perhaps she’d misjudged him. Other gentlemen stumbled all over themselves to gain Catherine’s favor but if the viscount saw through Catherine’s beauty to the false, title- and fortune-hunter lurking underneath, perhaps he was less shallow than she assumed.
Catherine’s face fell at the viscount’s rejection, but she rallied and turned a venomous gaze to Alicia. Under Catherine’s stare, Alicia raised her chin a fraction and tightened her grip on her handsome escort’s arm, just to spite Catherine. Certainly not because she wanted the viscount’s company.
Sitting next to Catherine, Captain Hawthorne’s attention rested upon her, his dark eyes holding hers a moment longer than seemed polite. Awkwardly, Alicia smiled. He returned her smile, but something in the coolness of his gaze gave her pause.
Lord Amesbury led them through the emerald lawn spread with chairs and blankets. Unfurled parasols dotted the sun-drenched landscape like colorful clouds floating above the ground. The scent of honeysuckle and lilac wafted to her on the breeze. Couples and families walked or sat in groups as they enjoyed the clear summer day, reveling in the anticipation of the race or the hunt of the two-legged kind. Ladies fluttered their eyes and flirted with gentlemen, who in turn joined the game with their own agendas.
