Lady of Fortune

by Mary Jo Putney

  Anticipating her question, the earl said, “I must apologize for calling when we have never been introduced, but I wish to discuss your former maid. You knew her as Christine Bohnet.”

  Annabelle hoped she didn’t look as startled as she felt. What could this fashionable gentleman care about someone else’s servant? “Christa was in my employ, but she is no longer. I am not sure it would be proper to discuss her with a stranger.”

  Charles smiled. It was a smile that had tamed the most ferocious of dowagers, and the effect on a romantic young female can be imagined. “But I am not a stranger. I’m her brother.”

  Annabelle stared blankly. Grasping at the first objection to such an absurd statement, she said, “But … you are English and she is French.”

  “I should have said that I am her half-brother,” Charles said. He knew that he really should explain the situation succinctly, but Miss Kingsley confused was a delightful creature, her blue eyes earnest and transparently readable.

  Annabelle gazed at him in bafflement. Then with sudden shock she realized that the smoky quartz eyes regarding her were identical in color and shape to those of her former maid. She had never seen any other eyes like them, until today.

  “Oh, your eyes!” she gasped in sudden recognition. “It must be true.” She now found that the gray eyes sparked with amusement exactly like Christa’s.

  “In other words, Christa is …” Annabelle hesitated, seeking the most discreet possible term for “illegitimate.” If Christa were the bastard daughter of an English lord, it would explain both her gentility and her reticence about her antecedents.

  “Born the wrong side of the blanket?” Charles supplied helpfully. “Not in the least. We share a mother, not a father. When my mother married the Comte d’Estelle, it was in the Cathedral of Notre Dame de Paris, with half the Almanach de Gotha there as witnesses. I was in the ceremony myself because Mother didn’t want me to feel neglected.”

  In a world turning upside down, one stunning fact stood out. Annabelle said faintly, “Her father was a count?”

  The earl nodded. Mentally reviewing what she knew of the French system of succession, Annabelle had the same nightmare feeling as when she dreamed of being caught in public wearing only a shift. “You mean that Christa is a countess?”

  “Yes, her full name and style is Marie-Christine Madeline Louise d’Estelle, Comtesse d’Estelle, Baronne Bretenne et Baronne Valognes.”

  Annabelle covered her face with her hands and gave a low moan of horror. “She used to darn my stockings!”

  Charles erupted into laughter. Annabelle removed her hands from her face and glared, but after a few moments his humor proved contagious and her lips started twitching. Finally she had to laugh with him.

  Eventually Charles said, “I’m sorry, that was most unkind of me. I can imagine the shock if I found that my valet was a duke or some such. But if you could have seen your face …” He hastily suppressed a new surge of hilarity and said, “If she darned your stockings, I trust she did them well.”

  “Oh, no question,” Annabelle said, still slightly dazed. “She was good at everything that a maid does, and everything that a lady does, too.”

  There was a long, long pause while she collected her scattered thoughts; then she said hesitantly, “It is … humbling to think how I simply accepted her as a servant. She was so well-read, much more so than I am. And she was very knowledgeable about society and manners. My brother said she was more a lady than half the ton, and he was absolutely right.” She shook her head, then went on, “Yet because she was a maid, I discounted her qualities.”

  Annabelle stopped, staring into her teacup, then said, “I’m not explaining this very well. I am ashamed that because she was apparently from an inferior station in life, I … it never occurred to me to really look at her as she was, rather than as I expected her to be. Do you understand what I mean?”

  “Yes, I do. But don’t be too hard on yourself,” Charles said consolingly. “The minx was always a dab hand at theatricals, and she probably acted the part better than a real abigail.

  “Christa is a bit of a revolutionary, you know—she doesn’t just say that all people are inherently equal, she actually believes it, which is one of the reasons she could be a convincing servant. Plus, she told me that she had convinced herself that her old life was entirely behind her and she must build a new future without feeling sorry for herself.”

  Christa had sometimes succumbed to self-pity? Annabelle had rather thought that was her own specialty. She gave herself a mental shake and asked, “What do you wish to discuss with me? Are you seeking to find your sister?”

  “No, she is safe in my home. I should explain that my mother and I were missing and thought dead in France. Christa managed to escape, but there was a … serious misunderstanding with my heir, and she felt compelled to leave his protection and strike out on her own. When we returned to England several weeks ago, I found her just after she left your household. Which brings me to why I have called on you today.”

  Annabelle was round-eyed at the earl’s casual references to high adventure, but regretfully decided that she had best stick to the business at hand. “I had heard your story but forgot that the earl involved was named Radcliffe,” she admitted. “It has been a nine days’ wonder. I suppose you have a right to question me. What do you wish to know about Christa?”

  Charles said slowly, “My sister seems unhappy—she has lost much of her high-spiritedness. Not that she is moping, but I am concerned for her. Is there anything you know that might give a clue?” At Annabelle’s silence he added, “An affaire de coeur seems the most likely.”

  Annabelle had a lively suspicion that it might have something to do with Alex, but was wrestling her conscience about whether to speak. Her brother had asked her to bury the whole subject. But if there was any chance that she might help him pull out of his despair …

  Coming to a decision, she said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t speak of this, but … my brother wished to marry her.”

  Charles gave a nearly soundless whistle. “Even thinking she was a servant?” At Annabelle’s nod, he mused, “That is quite a tribute to my sister’s charms. Did she turn him down?”

  “I don’t know. Alex won’t talk of it.”

  “And she won’t either,” Charles said glumly. “Do you suppose there was a quarrel of some sort?”

  Annabelle sat and thought for a bit. “My brother is betrothed to someone else, and that would have complicated matters.”

  With a frown Charles said, “Did he ask my sister to be his mistress when he was about to marry another woman?”

  His eyes narrowed dangerously and he rapped out, “Or is he the sort of man who might have forced her when she refused him.”

  Annabelle banged her teacup down so hard the porcelain chipped. “No, he is not!”

  They glared at each other for a moment. More mildly Charles said, “I’m sorry if my brotherly protectiveness led me to insult. I’ve never met Kingsley, but if he inspires such loyalty I will accept your assessment of his character. But what might have happened with Christa?”

  Annabelle relaxed. “Alex really did want to marry her, you know. He was ready to break his engagement to Miss Debenham and let the devil take the hindmost.”

  Ignoring the strong language, Charles exclaimed, “Kingsley is never going to marry the Gilded Lily?”

  At Annabelle’s quizzical look, the earl explained, “That is what Sybil Debenham is called in the gentlemen’s clubs.”

  “A perfect name! That is exactly what she is like,” Annabelle agreed. “You know her?”

  “Before I went to France I would flirt with her occasionally. It was quite safe. That Season she was setting lures only for dukes and marquesses, so I was quite beneath her touch.” At his listener’s astonished stare he supplied, “The Gilded Lily is generally assumed to be selling her not-inconsiderable charms in return for the best possible title.”

  “Why, that’s outrageous!”
Annabelle exclaimed. More thoughtfully she added, “It also explains a great deal. She certainly wants to marry Alex, but he’s only a viscount.”

  “Times are hard,” Charles said sympathetically. “The Gilded Lily must have had to lower her price.”

  Annabelle giggled. The earl was quite delightfully improper. Perhaps it came of his being half-French.

  “If you’ll forgive my asking, is Lord Kingsley in love with Miss Debenham?”

  She shook her head vehemently. “Definitely not. In fact,” she added darkly, “there is a Mystery about how they came to be engaged. Alex was very unforthcoming on the subject.”

  Better than Annabelle, Charles could understand how a gentleman might be trapped into making an offer—Miss Debenham was dashed good-looking. “You said he wanted to marry Christa. Did he break the engagement?”

  “No. He was going to after your sister accepted him. But since she apparently refused him, he doesn’t seem to care whom he marries. Alex is a captain in the Royal Navy, you know. He’s down in Plymouth now, outfitting his new ship.”

  “Perhaps Christa didn’t want to marry a man who was always at sea,” Charles suggested.

  “No, he didn’t decide to take another ship until after Miss Debenham sank her claws into him. He might give up the commission if he had a good reason to stay ashore.” She clenched one hand and said passionately, “If only there was something I could do to end the engagement! Alex may not think it matters whom he marries, but I know he will be miserable if he marries Sybil.”

  Annabelle stopped and colored at her vehemence. “Not that she is wicked, but they are so horribly unlike. She is interested in nothing but clothes and gossip. Alex never says a thing around her, yet he is usually the most delightful of company.”

  Charles was amused to see the proper young lady visibly loosening up the longer they talked. Then his gaze slipped out of focus as an idea occurred to him. He said slowly, “Do you think that if she broke the engagement, your brother would be sorry? It would be quite unexceptionable if she were the one to change her mind.”

  “I think he’d be delighted. My brother Jon and I certainly would be! What do you have in mind?” Annabelle asked curiously.

  “A spot of conspiracy, actually. Are you game?”

  Charles’s smile made Annabelle temporarily forget that he had asked a question. She shook herself and said cautiously, “I think so. What would be required?”

  Charles leaned forward. “We must start with the assumption that there is an attraction between your brother and my sister, and that it went wrong in some way that is making them both unhappy. Is that reasonable?”

  “Yes, certainly Alex cared for her, and she always seemed very comfortable around him.”

  The earl cautioned, “Of course, there is no guarantee that removing Miss Debenham from the picture would repair a possible rift between Christa and Lord Kingsley.”

  He stopped and said seriously, “You are positive your brother won’t mind if Sybil jilts him? It is a grave thing to play God, especially with those we care most about.”

  Annabelle suffered a moment of panic. She had made a mull of her own affairs; how dare she interfere with Alex’s? Then she remembered Sir Edward’s weak face, and shuddered. She would always be grateful that her brother had cared enough to save her from her folly. Furthermore, he had even cared enough to have let her continue in it, if she had been determined. With a slightly crooked smile she said, “I am quite sure. And I owe Alex a rescue.”

  The earl looked at her quizzically but refrained from questioning her remark. Instead he said, “I believe that Miss Debenham might be induced to change her mind. For example, if there were a better title in prospect?”

  Annabelle stared at him as she caught his meaning. “Do you mean you would let her think you would offer for her if she were free?” Charles nodded and she gasped, “Why, that is positively diabolical!”

  Charles looked uneasy until she said, her eyes gleaming, “It is a wonderful scheme!”

  Annabelle’s wide blue eyes slid away from his and she added hesitantly, “You wouldn’t actually offer for her, would you?” Somehow, the answer to that mattered.

  “No fears on that score.” Charles chuckled. “The Gilded Lily and I would never suit. I know I am acting in a very ungentlemanly fashion, but she won’t break her engagement unless she is as venal as I suspect. And if your brother is not up to all the rigs and rows because he has been off serving our country, I feel it is my positive duty to save him from her.”

  “If you can induce Miss Debenham to end the betrothal, how do you propose to get Alex and Christa to settle their differences? Always assuming there is something between them,” Annabelle added conscientiously.

  “Lock them in a room together until they work things out.”

  Annabelle regarded him with awe. “You’re very direct, aren’t you?”

  “I try,” Charles said modestly.

  “How do you propose to get them together?”

  “I trust that Lord Kingsley will be coming up here from Plymouth at least once before he leaves England?”

  Annabelle nodded. “Yes, he will be back briefly in about two weeks, and then the last week in March for the wedding. His ship will be ready to sail in late April.”

  Charles said thoughtfully, “This will require some acting on your part. You will say that you want him to meet me and my mother because you and I are … contemplating a nearer relationship. Since he doesn’t know that Christa is my sister, it simply remains to invite the two of you to Radcliffe House for tea or some such.”

  He shrugged, in a manner that made him look suddenly French, and added, “I fear this will require you to put up with a good deal of my company for the next several weeks. Do you think you could manage that?”

  “That is pure fustian and you know it,” Annabelle said calmly. “The principal obstacle to the plan is that you will have so many handkerchiefs dropped in front of you that you may be unable to find your way back here.”

  Charles laughed. “I promise you that shan’t happen.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “Then I shall call on you for a drive tomorrow at two in the afternoon.” He left the room without waiting for a reply.

  Annabelle watched the earl thoughtfully as he took his leave, aware that she had a wide, daft smile on her face. And to think that she had been impressed by Sir Edward Loaming’s technique in hand-kissing …

  Chapter Nineteen

  Never one to let the grass grow under his feet, Charles decided to call on Sybil Debenham after leaving Kingsley House, since she lived near St. James’s Square and it was now the fashionable hour for paying calls. As expected, she was holding court to the usual mixture of fortune hunters, mesmerized youngsters, and doting older men. Sybil was in her element, preening and accepting compliments as her mother watched fondly.

  There was a flutter of interest as Lord Radcliffe entered and made his bow. Sybil was delighted to see the hero of the hour paying a call, and with a wave of her hand she scattered the rest of her court so he could sit next to her. While the dismissed admirers watched him jealously, the beauty said in a thrilling voice, “Your lordship, it is splendid to see you! No one talks of anything but your miraculous return from the grave.”

  The earl looked at her meaningfully. “It is wonderful to see the beauties of England again.” His gaze caressed her golden self, lingering just a trifle at her bountiful cleavage.

  “The months in a French prison, the daily presence of death—it was endurable only by remembering what I had left behind.”

  He sighed melodramatically and said in a low voice, “At night I dreamed of an English beauty, the sheen of golden hair, the rose-petal complexion found only in women of our fair isle.”

  He gazed deep into her aquamarine eyes, concerned that he might be overdoing it, but Sybil’s rapt expression said otherwise. With a shake of his head Charles nobly dismissed the horrors he had seen. “Yes, it is good to be home, though of course so
me things have changed, and not for the better.”

  After a long, weighted pause he said, his eyes still holding hers, “I understand that you are betrothed to Lord Kingsley. I wish you very happy.” After another long moment he added wistfully, “Would that I could find such happiness for myself. But come, I talk too much of my own concerns. Let us speak of you. You are lovelier than even my memories.”

  Sybil was more than willing to return to her favorite topic. When Lord Radcliffe took his leave after a correct fifteen minutes, she announced to her remaining admirers that she had a touch of the headache and must withdraw. Amidst a chorus of wishes for her rapid return to good health, she went to her chamber and sat in front of her mirror. It was the position she preferred for serious thinking.

  Radleigh was alive. Radleigh was also an earl. And the way he had been talking today, he admired her more than ever. Sybil stroked a golden ringlet lovingly. After two years in a French prison, the poor man must be desperate for the sight of a beautiful woman. Desperate and tractable.

  Sybil frowned at the vision of loveliness in the mirror, then quickly stopped to avoid wrinkling her forehead. Here was Radleigh, alive and available, and she was betrothed. She toyed with a pair of diamond and ruby earrings, remembering with a scowl how shamefully Lord Kingsley had been neglecting her. The only time she had seen him since Suffolk was when he made a brief farewell call before departing for Plymouth. Sometimes she thought the man didn’t appreciate his good fortune at all; it would serve him right if she looked elsewhere.

  Of course, a viscount in the hand was worth an earl in the bush … She caught herself frowning again and stopped. She must wait and see what Radcliffe did. Perhaps he had been effusive today merely because he had been away from proper society for so long. In the past she had sometimes had a lurking suspicion that he found her amusing, though she had dismissed the idea out of hand. How could a man be amused by the most beautiful woman in London? It must be that he was delighted to be in her presence and that gave the impression of humor.