The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife

by J. Jade Jordan

  * * *

  “Missy!” Foster hissed.

  Tally stopped and looked around. “Now what?” It was early afternoon and the household was only just now settling down after their scare of this morning.

  The pantry, if not fully stocked, was at least filled with enough staples to be going on and Mason had agreed to move in (She wished she could have seen Foster convincing the Scot to do so!), though he said that he wouldn’t always be available, as he had other cases to resolve as well.

  Foster gestured her over to join him in the small study next to her bedroom. This was a first. Usually they convened in the library.

  “Were ye going to see yon Gordon?”

  She shushed him. “Foster! I told you. If you keep calling him that, you’re going to make a mistake in front of him or someone else. We have to call him Mr. Leighton all the time, so we don’t slip up.”

  He merely flashed her one of his puckish grins, not taking her scolding seriously. “I thought ye should know, Miss, yon Go–“

  At her scowl, he changed to “...Leighton is asking for his valise to be brought to him. He remembered you told him, that first night, that he’d just arrived from traveling. Now he wants to see what’s in his bag.” He rolled his eyes at the predicament she’d involved them in. “He’s hoping it might prod his memory. He also hopes he has some better attire in there, so he can dress properly to come down to dinner this evening.”

  Gracious! The more Reed’s health improved, the more difficult it became to continue this deception. She had to constantly be thinking of everything he might need or want and provide it before he wondered why it wasn’t there.

  Clothes, for instance. He had the outfit he’d arrived in. She’d repaired the bullet hole. But his memory didn’t appear to be healing as quickly as she’d been counting on and one set of clothes wasn’t going to be sufficient. Luckily, Foster had rummaged around in the attic for a dressing gown and found a trunk of gentleman’s clothing, some were a little worn but most were in decent condition.

  She’d expected to have to alter them, but was amazed at how well they fit him, as if they were tailor-made for him. Maybe her luck was changing.

  “His valise? He recalls bringing one?”

  “No. I don’t think so,” Foster said. “He’s just assuming he must have.”

  She blew a stray curl off her forehead. “Tell him we have no idea where he left it because it wasn’t with him when he arrived. Assure him he can use the clothes you found in the attic, as if they were his own.” She started to leave. “I hope the owner is an understanding man. Although, I suppose he wouldn’t have left clothes he’d meant to use again, would he?”

  “Ahem…” Foster cleared his throat.

  She gazed back at him, questioning.

  “In fact, Miss Tally, we do have his bag, or so we think. Joseph found it while he was emptying the refuse into the dustbin.” Foster tried to hide his smug grin.

  The rascal! He’d been baiting her.

  “It was strange,” he continued, unperturbed by her growl of annoyance. “The bag was well hidden ‘neath the bushes beside the dustbin. Joseph said he’d never have found it, except he had to move the bin and there it was. No one would have ever known it was there.”

  She should have thought of looking outside for traces of their intruder before he climbed the wall! Not that she’d have found it in the dark, but if she had looked the next morning.

  It suddenly struck her. He’d arrived with a bag! No villain brought his luggage with him to commit a crime... not unless it contained his tools. A sick sensation crawled through the pit of her stomach. She looked up and saw that Foster had already had the same thoughts.

  “Have you opened it?”

  “No. Joseph only just found it a short time ago and I thought it best to wait for you to do the honors.”

  “Then, quickly, bring it to the library. There might be something in it that tells us who our Mr. Leighton is.” It must include information telling them who he was or where he lived. It might even provide incontrovertible proof he’d been coming to kill her. At the very least, it could provide answers to some of his more persistent questions.

  Oh, what a tangled web, indeed. She’d been either refusing to answer or spinning tall tales with impunity since he’d regained consciousness and she shuddered to think what was going to happen when… if… he ever recovered his lost memories.

  She knew that keeping him here under false pretences was not helping him, yet where could he go? How was she ever to extricate herself from this muddle?

  Despite the doctor’s warning, she’d never expected his memory to remain lost this long. She’d even worked out a viable story to explain away her lie when it did return.

  Not to him, naturally. She knew there was no story she could tell him that expunged the truth, but that was fine. After all, he wouldn’t want anybody knowing he’d been breaking into her bedroom. He’d want to hide his criminal activities even more than she wanted to hide having shot him.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Unless he was working with that Vanisher the tramp had mentioned, then, the consequences for her could be dire.

  “Here we are.” Puffing from his exertions, Foster set the leather valise down on the floor in front of her. It was more of a large pouch than a valise.

  Crouching down, she studied it carefully. “How heavy is it?”

  “It’s heavy. Why?” he said, clearly wondering why it mattered.

  “I thought he might be carrying tools to break in.”

  “Heh, heh, true enough.” He bent down and undid the straps that held it closed. Thankfully, it was unlocked. She’d hate to have to rip that beautiful leather open. It was of top quality. Hmm... Even if a criminal stole a superior bag like this one, he wouldn’t be carrying it around to his crimes!

  She eased it open carefully, wary of what she was to find. It was a bit of a let down to discover rather ordinary contents. Clothes, mostly. She pushed past those to feel around for anything else. Not finding anything, she began to pull the clothes out and place them on the desk to get to the bottom and sides. Touching metal, she pulled and out came a beautiful silver flask. She opened the cap and sniffed.

  She reached across and held it under her co-conspirator’s nose.

  “Brandy,” he said. “The expensive kind. Not that cheap stuff your brothers drink.”

  A thief with expensive tastes? “Seems wrong, doesn’t it? Unless he stole it too.”

  Other than a razor and male toiletries, there was nothing else special. “Well, that’s disappointing.” She sighed, deflated. “Nothing that tells us who he is.” Disappointed, she fingered his clothes. “Nothing peculiar, no telling objects, not even a–” She stopped abruptly as she realized what she was holding in her hands. A banjan such as she had never set eyes on before. It was made of luscious emerald green silk edged in gold-colored satin. Wide-eyed, she lifted it up and looked at Foster.

  “Hmmm. The man has expensive tastes.” Her ally sounded a little shaken.

  “It’s what you’d imagine a rich sultan would wear! You don’t think he could be that Viscount, do you?” Bad enough to be harboring a criminal, but a Viscount without a memory — who she’d shot! — was far worse!

  “Of course not,” he reassured her. “Why would a Viscount be climbing into a lady’s bedroom? Besides, look at what he has in this bag. More than likely stolen clothes he hopes to sell. There’s a huge market for second-hand clothes.”

  “He sure has a lot of them crammed in here. Oh, look. A white robe, like they wear in the Middle-East, a jellaba, I believe they’re called. Remember how the twins once had a model wear one for a piece they were sculpting?”

  “He has that bronzed skin. We thought it was his normal complexion, but it’s been fading more each day.” Thoughtful now, he picked up another piece of clothing. “This doesn’t look… Why this jacket is fit for a vagrant! And these old trousers are probably his real togs.”

  They began to
sift through the odd assortment of clothes.

  “And surely a younger man wouldn’t wear a suit like this one?” she said.

  Foster had found another opening in the bag and was stuffing his hand down it. He emerged with a handful of… cotton wool?

  “What is it?” She was baffled. Reed’s bag contained the clothes of vastly different types of men, ranging from rich to poor.

  “Beard.”

  “What?” Why did he need a fake beard? What kind of man wore that?

  “Mustache and whiskers to paste here.” He touched his face in front of his ears. “And here’s a box of ... face paint?”

  “He wears cosmetics!” She took the small round tin box and opened it. A skin-colored creme. “What kind of man does that?” Her heart sank at the thought of what Reed might be like when... if his memory returned.

  “Somebody who is trying to conceal who he is? Or mebbe he’s an actor; they wear fake facial hair and that would explain the costumes.”

  Lord, she had more misgivings now than before. She read aloud the label on the box. “To conceal scars,” she read aloud. “It’s the word ‘conceal’ that bothers me. I sense our Mr. Gordon knows a lot about doing that. Let’s hope he’s not concealing a plot to murder me.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Mrs. Leighton, you have callers.” Joseph said from behind the screen at the door to her studio. He knew not to enter. “Mr. Foster said to tell you–”

  “Callers? But…” Tally was annoyed at the interruption. She’d just come up to the studio. After all the commotion this morning over the food being stolen and then Joseph finding the valise, she’d hoped to fit in some painting. “It’s not one of those men, is it?” Frightening thought. But no, Foster had sent Joseph up and he wouldn’t have allowed them to step one foot inside the house.

  “No, ma’am! Mr. Foster said to–”

  And Foster knew not to disturb her unless it was important.

  Who could be calling? He’d have sent Spence away, telling him to come back another day, and really there was no one else who knew she was in Town.

  “Mr. Foster...” Joseph tried again but she suddenly realized who it must be. The only person her dear butler would think important enough to interrupt her! A huge smile lit her face.

  “Monsieur Moreau, at last!” Now she was thankful she hadn’t begun yet and didn’t have to clean up before going down to greet her visitor. She ran from the room.

  “Ma’am! Mrs. Leighton!” Joseph called after her.

  But Tally was too excited to stop and listen. She tripped happily down the stairs, relieved her mentor was alright. She’d been worried about him. He’d be able to help her clear up the problems in her life. He might even know who could help Reed recover his memory.

  Had she slowed down at the bottom of the stairs, she might have noticed the bonnets and female umbrellas sitting on the front bench there, but she rushed pell-mell into the room, a welcoming smile on her face. Then held it with difficulty — though dimmed somewhat in dismay, she was sure — at the sight of her two sisters sitting on the sofa.

  Oh no! How had they found out she was in Town? And who told them where she lived?

  Shame at her unwelcoming attitude swept through her when they immediately jumped to their feet and rushed to greet her.

  Her eldest sister, Venetia, Lady Hargrave, swept her into a perfumed hug. “We didn’t believe it! How could you come to London without telling us... without coming to live with one of us?”

  Easily... happily... she might have said, had her voice not been smothered in Venetia’s ample bosom... or if she had ever been in the habit of speaking her mind to any of them. But she’d lived too long amid the drama of her family to allow such rebellious thoughts off their leash.

  “Talia!” Now she was pushed into the embrace of her other sister, Milana, a plain but exceedingly happy Mrs. Courtney, not that anyone would ever call her sister plain! “Why did you not tell us?”

  She felt guilty at the genuine hurt in their voices.

  She knew they loved her. She never doubted the entire family wanted what was best for her. They just didn’t have the least idea of what that was. They all simply assumed they knew what was good for her, without ever asking her what she thought, felt, or wanted.

  She rebelled against their drama, their assumptions, their interference, but she’d never told them so, she’d always kept everything inside. What was the use of causing a big fuss? They always talked over her and never listened to her, so what was the point?

  “But aren’t you supposed to be in Paris? Tony and Rob said so before they left for Italy.” She looked from one to the other. “What are you doing in London?” She hoped they couldn’t hear how horrified she was at the idea. She’d been thanking the moon and stars that they’d chosen this year to go abroad.

  Heavens, what if Reed decided to come downstairs!

  “We were on the verge of departing for France, but when we heard you were in London, alone...” Venetia gave Tally a stern look. “…we immediately cancelled our trip and changed our plans to join you in your first Season in Town. We knew you’d need us and our guidance to ensure that your coming out was a success.”

  “I am not coming out.” Biting back a shout of frustration, she gritted the words out between clenched teeth. “As I have always told you.” She swallowed her ire. It wasn’t their fault. They were being kind. But canceling their whole Season in Paris!

  She couldn’t bring herself to appreciate it. They hadn’t even consulted her about it... as usual!

  “How did you know I was in Town? No one–” she broke off. She’d rather not let them know she wanted to keep it a secret. That would only spark their curiosity and then they’d never leave her alone until they had the whole story.

  Ignoring her question with a vague wave of the hand, Venetia rushed on to say, “We have so many plans to make! It will be such fun.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? Or is it just that you never listen to what I say? I–do–not–want to come out.” She clenched her fists and looked away to gather her composure. “I came to visit the sights and see what London is all about.” Facing them again, she said, “I have no wish to go to parties or be put on display in the ‘flesh market’ at Almack’s.” She couldn’t add that she had far too many other worries on her plate to have time or the lightness of mind to attend social events.

  “Darling!” Venetia exclaimed. “Where did you ever learn such an awful expression?” Her sisters looked shocked that their baby sister was even aware of such matters. Venetia put an arm around her. “If you don’t come out, how will you ever find a husband?”

  “I don’t want to find a husband. Men are far too meddlesome, insisting on running your life, spending your money, never allowing you to–” she cut herself off. She’d almost forgotten her sisters had no idea of her plans.

  “Sit down. Please.” She gestured to the sofa and took the armchair across from it. She’d shocked them… again. If she weren’t so worried about Reed making an appearance and having to explain his presence, she could almost find it amusing to see them reassessing how they saw her. They were probably wondering what she intended to do with the rest of her life, if she remained unwed. It wasn’t as if she had any special passion like the rest of the family, they’d be thinking.

  “Just look at father,” she said.

  “But he’s a great artist!” The awe in Venetia’s voice said it all.

  “That’s no excuse for his intolerable behavior!” She could have sworn that was a gleam of surprised admiration in Milana’s eyes. “As for the twins! You should hear what they’ve done to me.”

  “What?” Both women sat up. They weren’t as understanding of their younger brothers as of their father.

  “They convinced Mr. Elphinton to hand over control of my competency to them.”

  Venetia gasped. Milana tsked in disgust.

  “Ever since taking over for his father two years ago, Alfred Elphinton has made no secret
of disagreeing with me over my paying the servant’s wages and household bills with my money.” She lifted her hands, palms up, in front of her. “I can’t disagree, but who does he think will pay, if I don’t?”

  Her sisters nodded their understanding.

  “Because of this, he agreed with the twins and turned over control of my money to them!” She ended on a higher pitched note, expressing her disbelief and dismay.

  “He didn’t!” Milana sounded horrified. Almost as horrified as Tally had been when she discovered the twins’ perfidy, right after they left for Italy. “Those rogues!”

  She would have used far stronger language than that! But that just showed why the rest of her family were so careless with their money. They’d never been taught otherwise. Having a profligate father, and a mother who was unable or unwilling to say no to him… or them!... had spoiled the lot of them.

  “And I had carefully saved all the rest of it and had a tidy nest egg put away.”

  “But Mr. Elphinton knew why Great Auntie Ida left the females her fortune. With the twins, it will be gone like that!” Venetia snapped her fingers together.

  Tally winced at the thought. Then she glanced toward the door. She appreciated their outrage on her behalf, but if Reed heard them, he might come down to find out what was going on. She needed to hurry along this visit.

  “We at least had sense enough to let you take care of our funds for us until we wed. What was Mr. Elphinton thinking?” Milana said.

  “As I said, Mr. Elphinton Senior retired. His son, Alfred, is a friend of the twins and is impressible. He’s been urging me to help them out for ages and was not pleased when I ignored his advice,” she explained. “I should have followed my instincts and removed my funds from his management as soon as he took over.”

  “Oh, you poor dear! You should have told us. We’d have put a stop to that.” Venetia looked at Milana, who nodded vehemently. “I’ll ask Frederick to get your money back for you.”

  “Thank you, but no. I have no doubt your husband would succeed, but I have already hired a lawyer who is in the process of wresting control of my money back.” She preferred to take care of it herself. She didn’t need a man to fight her battles for her. “That doesn’t mean I’ll ever get back all my savings. The twins will have squandered most of it by now. Yet the few servants left, still haven’t been paid.”