The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife

by J. Jade Jordan

  Tally stifled a grin. As if anyone dared not listen when Grandma Lawton spoke!

  “I am a little puzzled though. Your sisters tell me you have no intention of attending parties and ‘gadding about’, was how they put it.” Grandma’s disgusted tone said she didn’t think much of her granddaughters’ vocabulary.

  “That’s right,” she agreed. “I’d hate that above all.” So much for her sisters promise not to tell Grandma Eva that she was in Town!

  “Then what do you intend to do? Why have you come to town?” There was a curious note in her grandmother’s voice.

  Was there more to the question than appeared? “To see the sights and see what all the fuss is about.”

  “Hmmm…” The older lady looked unconvinced. “And who is your companion in this venture?”

  Leave it to Grandma Lawton to hone in on the weakest part of her plan. “I…er…” Her grandmother couldn’t know Cousin Minerva hadn’t arrived yet, could she? “I’ve made arrangements with Cousin Minerva. Since her husband died, she wanted to return home from Canada.” Not an outright lie. No need to explain those arrangements had fallen through, or that she was living in a house with three men, with Mrs. P the only other woman to be seen! Just thinking about it made her feel a little hysterical.

  She wasn’t able to look at her grandmother when she said that. She feared her elder relative would read the truth in her eyes. She looked around for some distraction and, seeing Milana, said, “You know, I never realized Milana had mother’s evil eye until this week. I thought no one else could look that fierce.”

  “Have you never looked at yourself in the mirror, child?” Her grandmother chortled. “Particularly when you’re annoyed?”

  “Me?” Her hand flew immediately to her eyebrow to see if it was raised without her knowing it. She was the docile one of the bunch; she didn’t have her mother’s evil eye! “Surely not.”

  Her dearest relative smiled lovingly at her. “I’ve been seeing it on your face since you were a child. Whenever you were angry with your brothers for teasing you, up your eyebrow popped.” But Grandma Lawton was no laggard. She’d recognized Tally’s attempt at diverting the subject and came back to her original subject. “Are you planning on touring the art exhibits?”

  “Goodness, no. Why do that?” Well, that was vehement. No chance at all her perceptive relative was going to notice her overreaction!

  “To see your father’s paintings, perhaps?”

  Tally nervous laugh exploded a little too loudly. Great! She was so concerned about hiding her own art plans, she’d forgotten a daughter should want to view her father’s works, which were displayed prominently all over London. But it was the odd inflection in her grandmother’s tone that made her pause. Had Aunt Ida told her twin about Tally’s painting?

  “Oh, of course. I’ll have to visit a few of them. Not that he cares much whether I do or I don’t.” It was impossible not to let a tinge of bitterness slip into her voice.

  “My son, as we all know, is an egotistical ass.” Her grandmother’s disgust was evident. “And everyone lets him get away with it!” The older woman shook her head. Certainly she had never allowed Tally’s father, the youngest of her three sons, to get away with much. Grandma Lawton ran a tight ship.

  Another good reason why Tally hadn’t wanted to live with her!

  “Your mother should never have given in to him like that. She should have made him pay more attention to you children.”

  Tally didn’t have the heart to tell her that it was only her he ignored. Because she was the only one he believed had not inherited his talent. And, as far as she was concerned, he’d wait a long time before she’d let him know how wrong he was!

  She suspected her grandmother was well aware that Tally was the sole offspring who’d been ignored. His mother might include the others in her rant, but Tally knew her Grandma was upset at her son’s neglectful treatment of his youngest.

  “Do you want to go visit St. Paul’s with me?” She again tried to divert the conversation and keep it to what she might do and see in London. This time the older woman let her get away with it. They spoke together for quite awhile, until her grandmother said, “You’d better go see what your sister wants, child. She’s been making frantic motions to get your attention for the past five minutes.”

  She turned in surprise to see Venetia waving her over. “I’m being summoned.” She gave a crooked smile as she stood and bent down to place a parting kiss on her grandparent’s perfumed cheek. “I’ll come see you this week, I promise, and we can have a long chat.”

  And she hoped she’d be able to keep her beloved relative at bay, because there was no way she was ever going to tell her the truth about what was going on in her life!

  But the strong affinity that existed between them, that had always made it impossible for her to hide anything from Grandma Lawton, was as strong as ever. Looking into the older lady’s beloved face, she knew her grandmother was not going to be content to wait for that visit. She intended to be on Tally’s doorstep the very next day or Tally was greatly mistaken. And her Grandma wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d inspected Tally’s living arrangements. The campaign to convince Tally to move in with her would be launched full force.

  Tally’s biggest worry, though, was how was she ever going to keep Reed and her grandmother apart?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “If you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to catch up on.” Mason nodded and went off in the direction of his room.

  “So much for sharing a civilized nightcap before retiring,” Reed said aloud to the empty drawing room. “What’s wrong with me, do I reek?”

  But he knew why Tally’s bodyguard had bolted out of there so quickly. Mason was annoyed. Annoyed with Reed for coming so close to being caught peering in the window at the party, which would have embarrassed his wife dreadfully. The Scot was loyal to a fault.

  But he was probably even more annoyed with himself for giving in to Reed’s cajoling on the way home. Reed wasn’t too proud to admit he’d harried the man for information. In his opinion, a man had to do whatever he could to recover his lost life.

  “Probably afraid I’ll coax him to divulge more secret information,” he told the empty room, then laughed mirthlessly at his own wit.

  He was feeling thwarted. So he’d managed to prod loose one solitary piece of information from Mason. So he’d learned that Tally probably had no idea who he knew or didn’t know at the party. What good did that little kernel of information do him?

  And then the man had closed up tighter than a clam, damn it all!

  He drifted around the drawing room. No one else was about. Even Foster was making himself scarce tonight. Looked like he wasn’t going to be challenging anyone to a chess game this evening. He might as well go up to his room.

  Once there, he changed into his night clothes and banyan, but was still too restless to sleep. Staying in his room when he was so wide awake was out of the question, so he wandered around the house, eventually gravitating upstairs to the studio. There’d be a good view of the full moon up there tonight. And while he was there, why not see how Tally was progressing with her portrait of him. He hadn’t had the chance to see it again since the night he’d made the shocking discovery that she was painting him nude.

  Just thinking about it aroused him. Ever since he’d stopped taking the night time milk laced with laudanum, Reed had been in a near constant state of arousal around his wife. And, while he understood her reluctance to make love with a man who didn’t remember her, he felt that he — the person he was now, not the one she’d wed weeks ago — had come to really know and care for her.

  The studio was much brighter than the last time he’d come up at night. The full moon bathed the room in a soft white glow. He almost didn’t need the candle, but he kept it lit, nonetheless. It would help him view the painting better.

  Going to the easel, he was surprised to see another unfinished painting in its place. A landscape. Sti
ll good, but where was… He glanced around, expecting to see the finished piece nearby, but there was no sign of it. He walked around looking through the canvases leaning against the wall, struck by her astonishing aptitude, but failing to find the one he most wanted to see.

  Damn! She wouldn’t have sold it! Would she?

  It was only after passing the easel, for perhaps the fifth time that he noticed it was thicker than seemed normal, too thick for one painting.

  Ah… Had she…? He leaned the landscape forward. Yes, there it was! Concealed under the landscape. She must have been worried someone would come in and see it. Not that he blamed her. A woman painting a man in such a state of undress, even if he was her spouse, was considered scandalous. As far as he was concerned, it was an innovation he heartily endorsed! He’d be prepared to model for many such paintings for Tally!

  He lifted the landscape off the easel and set it on the floor, leaning it against the window seat built into the recess of the large windows. He stood back to view it. Remarkable. She’d captured him perfectly… or as he imagined himself to be. The painting was completed, though she appeared to be fiddling with a few finishing touches. Didn’t want to part with it yet, he surmised. That was how he felt sometimes.

  How he felt? Startled by that thought, he shoved his fingers through his already unruly hair. He really did paint too! Yes. Now he was certain of it... but at what level? Rank amateur or seasoned artist like his wife?

  Taking one last look, he replaced his portrait behind the landscape and draped the cover back over the two paintings on the easel. Still not tired enough to go to bed, he sat down on the window seat. Her sketch book was on the sill. He picked it up and began to rifle through the pages. The more he saw, the more he was staggered by the quality of her work. Any questions he might have had about her talent were answered in this book. This was not the work of an amateur; she was up there among the best he’d seen. He knew men who would give anything to have half her ability.

  Another memory. He held onto it for awhile, plumbing the depths of his mind for more, but still came up empty. Nevertheless, he was comforted by the number of memories starting to come back to him.

  He picked up the pencil lying on the sill and, turning to an empty page, began to draw. Might as well see what he was capable of.

  * * *

  “So your Uncle is visiting a sick friend?” As the numbers at Venetia’s party dwindled, Tally and her constant escort, along with a few other couples, had escaped the stuffy ballroom for fresh air. Strolling the length of the terrace, it was the first time they were relatively alone and, to her mind, the perfect opportunity for her to inquire further about Monsieur.

  Mr. Dubuc confirmed that his uncle was away at a dying friend’s bedside, but he said he had no idea how much longer Monsieur was going to be away.

  “Is there no way I can contact him by post?” She hated to be so insistent, but she was becoming desperate for Monsieur’s return. Aside from worrying about him and hoping for his help regarding Reed, she needed to begin selling her paintings. Living in London was a lot more expensive than she’d expected and their funds were dwindling frighteningly fast. “On my father’s behalf, naturally.”

  “I suppose if you write a letter, I can try to have it delivered to him.” He appeared to ponder the intricacies of that idea. “But I can make you no promises. Antoine is a man unto himself and one never knows what he will do next.”

  That didn’t sound like the Monsieur Moreau she knew, but she supposed his nephew knew him better than she did.

  “If you provide me with your particulars, I will have the letter delivered to you.”

  “Mais non, Mademoiselle Lawton, if I am going to act as your emissary, then I shall at least insist on a forfeit for the service I render.”

  She must have looked as shocked as she felt, because he began to laugh. “Non, non, you misunderstand me. I can assure you I have nothing underhanded in mind when I strike this agreement with you, Mademoiselle. I am merely offering to take you for a ride in the park, the day after tomorrow, in exchange for attempting to convey a letter to my uncle on your behalf.”

  “On my father’s behalf,” she was quick to correct him. He may be Monsieur’s relative, but she’d guarded her secret too long to give it up easily.

  And now she was committed to spending a few hours in the park. She was worried about being seen in public. She’d wear her coal-scuttle or perhaps the gypsy bonnet, whichever hid her features best. Joseph would have to accompany her. She didn’t imagine Mr. Dubuc would be pleased if Mr. Mason joined them and, besides, she was no longer certain of the Scot’s loyalty.

  What if the men who were trying to kill her followed them to the park? In the open air like that, she’d be vulnerable.... Nevertheless, she had to go. She couldn’t pass up the chance to contact her mentor. Somehow, she knew he was the key to resolving all her problems.

  And now Mr. Dubuc was pressuring her to allow him to escort her home tonight.

  “Thank you for your kind offer, Mr. Dubuc, but–”

  “Victor, please, call me Victor, like everyone in your family does when we’re in private. They’ve all known me since I was a young boy.” His patience was obviously wearing thin.

  “But I haven’t, and I am younger and unmarried. I think it would be best if we maintained the formalities, so we don’t make a mistake and appear too familiar, don’t you agree?” Using his family name would also help her maintain some distance. But would he agree to help her contact his uncle if she didn’t give in on this? “My sister has gone to the trouble of making arrangements for my ride home and it would be ungracious of me to disrupt them.” She gentled her voice. “I’ll see you in two days as we’ve arranged.”

  She wasn’t pleased about their proposed outing. She felt obliged to agree to the arrangement. Oh, he’d done it in a teasing manner, but she had no doubt that underneath that charm, Mr. Dubuc was a very determined individual.

  Still, despite the risk of being attacked, she intended to honor her promise to go for a ride with him. He was so calm about his uncle’s departure that she was now thinking she’d been worrying about her mentor needlessly. Monsieur must be all right, but she still needed to get hold of him soon. If for nothing else, she had to know why her father’s signature was being forged on her paintings.

  On the way home, her thoughts followed the one track they insisted on taking since Reed’s unorthodox arrival in her life. Like when she wasn’t satisfied with a painting and kept coming back to it, searching for the flaw and finding none.

  Unlike Mr. Dubuc, who talked to her as if she were a young girl needing to be cosseted but not taken too seriously, Reed treated her more like a friend, a cherished friend, someone with whom he could be himself.

  Ha! Be himself! He had no idea who he was. How could he be himself?

  Although, he was probably being more himself now than at any other time in his life. Because he had no memory, he had no social guise to hide behind. He didn’t remember how not to be himself. If this was who he really was, she found him quite… nice. Attractive even. He treated her with respect. And, if he was a touch too protective, possessive even, it might be that being stripped of his identity made him feel vulnerable. Like most men — other than artists who were so self-centered they never took anyone else’s welfare into account — he believed he was responsible for her well being.

  As if she wasn’t perfectly capable of taking care of herself! Well, most of the time... She had to admit that coming to London had shaken her confidence on that score.

  She gazed unseeing out the window into the night, brightened by the full moon. She’d learned something useful this evening. There was someone else who could help her locate Monsieur. His friend and colleague, Monsieur Beauclaire. Many years ago, she’d overheard her parents saying that the man was an eccentric but, other than Mr. Dubuc, he was probably in the best position to help her locate her absent mentor.

  * * *

  “Foster! Why are
you awake? I told you not to wait up for me! You need your sleep.” Tally scolded him but she’d known he’d never go to bed until she came home. Another reason not to become caught up in the social whirl of the Season! It would be bad for her dear butler’s health.

  “I’ll sleep better knowing yer home safe and sound.” He hung up her pelisse and patted her back with gnarled hand. “How was your evening?”

  “I expected worse, but there were a few anxious moments. I saw the Baron, but only from across the room, and I managed to avoid him.”

  She handed him her gloves. “Then, Spencer showed up.”

  “Blast his eyes! What was he doing there?” Foster was furious. “Didn’t he promise not to contact your family?”

  “But he didn’t.” At his dubious look, she insisted. “No, truly, I know Spence. If he said he didn’t, he didn’t. I’m worried about who else knows I’m in Town and where I live! But there’s much worse. Guess who else showed up?” She drew the words out, mostly to tease him, though she was feeling trepidation at the thought of what tomorrow was going to bring. “Grandma Lawton arrived.”

  His eyes goggled. “Darnation! Forgot all about her. Should we be expecting her here tomorrow, then?”

  “You can be sure of it.” She led the way to the kitchen. “Our biggest challenge will be making sure she doesn’t meet our guest.”

  “Humph! Not so easy now that he’s out of bed and moving about the house.” He abruptly shifted to another topic. “You know, I don’t think the opium is affecting him much anymore.”

  “But why not?” She’d been thinking the same thing. “Why has it stopped working?”

  “The way I see it,” he said, “is he has far too much energy and is too clear-sighted for someone taking two doses a day.”