Lady of Fortune

by Mary Jo Putney

  For the last month he had been kept busy from dawn until long after dusk, coercing suppliers to deliver stores to the Invicta, overseeing the installation of the guns, the loading of sails, gunpowder, anchor cables, and the thousand other things required to outfit a ship of war.

  In the evenings Alex would check and recheck accounts to ensure that his tendency to scramble figures would not cause him to miss shortages in the supplies. It was really a lieutenant’s work, but he had welcomed it as an opportunity to absorb his mind and exhaust himself to a point where he could sleep. Even so, he would dream of holding Christa, both of them relaxed and happy, her breathing soft against him. Then, with wrenching suddenness, he would experience again the agonizing moment when she had hurled herself into another man’s arms. Alex would awake desolate with loneliness, with only the prospect of another day of mind-numbing labor to get him out of bed.

  He had arrived from Plymouth late the night before, and went early to meet with Hutchinson to discuss a schedule for the next several days. To Alex’s surprise, the sea lord asked rather wistfully if Kingsley was sure that he wanted to take up command of the Invicta, because the admiral had missed his assistance. Alex was pleased with the compliment; under different circumstances he would have enjoyed working at the Admiralty, since he found himself increasingly interested in the behind-the-scenes organization that made the Navy function properly. But as events had transpired, he much preferred the sea, and ignored the admiral’s implied offer.

  After leaving the Admiralty he made his scheduled call on Sybil Debenham. She and her mother had been involved in a happy orgy of wedding planning and she was to explain what part he would play. Sybil regretted that his imminent sailing would necessitate such a hasty, small wedding before the Season was properly launched, but bravely forged ahead. Based on what she had described at their last meeting, the event was to bear a substantial resemblance to a Roman circus, and he could only be grateful that she did not have more time at her disposal.

  Alex was surprised to find her alone in the drawing room; at their other meetings her mother had always been playing propriety. Sybil herself was dressed in a very dark blue dress reminiscent of mourning, with only a triple strand of pearls for adornment, and a tragic droop to her full mouth.

  After he made his bow and they were seated, she said with a quaver, “My lord, I fear you find me deeply troubled.”

  Alex was puzzled; she looked as if she had lost her last diamond. “I am very sorry to hear that. Is there anything I might do to help?”

  She pulled out a delicate lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. “You may grant me my freedom, and your forgiveness.”

  As Alex stared thunderstruck, trying to make sense of the scene being enacted, Sybil said tremulously, “Two years ago I formed a tendre for a man. Our two hearts beat as one, and we dared dream of a future together. But duty called him from the country, and disaster struck. He was reported dead, and all our dreams were vanished like the mist. Until I met you, I thought I would never love again.”

  She considered sniffing again, then decided drooping was better, since it was no part of her plan for him to remember her with a red nose and eyes. Bravely raising her head, Sybil continued, “And then, just a month ago, a miracle took place when his lordship returned from the grave. When he found I was betrothed, his noble heart was nearly broken but he bravely wished me happy.”

  With a pleading look she said, “Alas, I am just a poor woman. I found that all my love was reawakened, that I yearned for him as he yearned for me. I am sensible of the honor you did by offering for me, but I fear I can never love you as much as you deserve. I must end our betrothal.”

  Alex stared at her in shock. Then, with a surge of unholy amusement he realized that Sybil must have gotten a better offer. It took all his control to keep his face suitably grave when he said, “You know I would never hold you against your will. You deserve far more time and attention than I can offer. I shall notify the papers immediately.” He stood and kissed her proffered hand. “May I wish you happy?”

  She sighed deeply. “Such a noble and generous spirit! You will always have a place in my heart.” With just the right note of regret she added, “But it was not meant to be.”

  Sybil watched with satisfaction as Lord Kingsley left the room. The poor man could hardly maintain his composure. While he had not been an adequately attentive swain, his agitated face indicated that he was now feeling everything he ought. As she drifted up to her room to decide on her costume for Radleigh’s call, she reflected with pleasure on the fact that Kingsley would probably be yearning for her the rest of his days.

  Out in the street, Alex could barely contain his laughter until he was out of sight of the Debenham residence. Around the corner he gave in to his mirth while his horse cocked its ears back in disapproval. Alex had thought that it didn’t matter whom he married if it wasn’t Christa, but it must, or he wouldn’t be feeling this incredible, lighthearted sense of relief. Clearly he would be better off as a bachelor than with a woman he didn’t care for. Jonathan would just have to marry and get an heir before he got himself killed in the Army. The viscount decided to have lunch with Annabelle to give her the good news.

  The note from Annabelle had only one word: “Done.” With a broad smile of satisfaction, the Earl of Radcliffe folded the note and put it into his pocket. Without its assurance, he would have postponed his meeting with Miss Debenham rather than risk leaving Kingsley on the hook.

  Sybil was at her most ravishing when she welcomed him, her celestial blue and silver gown enhancing her eyes, her golden tresses caught in a fetching feathered bandeau. Her face lit up as she stood and extended her hand. Charles took it and said exuberantly, “Miss Debenham, I owe you the greatest debt! Inspired by your wisdom, I took your advice and declared myself. If her brother approves, my dearest wish will become a reality.”

  Sybil stared at him, the first tremor of shock filtering into her mind. “What on earth do you mean?”

  He gave her a smile of transparent innocence. “Miss Kingsley looks kindly on my suit. The other attachment I feared no longer exists, and if her brother does not object, soon you will find me the happiest of men.”

  The earl looked at her with a touch of anxiety. “I have never met Lord Kingsley. Since you are betrothed to him, dare I hope that you might put in a word for me? Surely it must be his dearest wish to please you.”

  Sybil regarded him with horror as he babbled on about Miss Kingsley’s superior beauty, sweetness, and character. Eventually he broke off and said apologetically, “But of course you know all this, as soon you will be sisters.”

  Seeing the white look of rage on Sybil’s face, Charles decided to throw a sop to her pride. “It is quite noteworthy that the two most beautiful women in London will soon be connected by marriage.

  “But I fear that I am a selfish fellow, speaking too much of myself. You said you would have some good news today. May I share it with you?”

  Sybil stared at him blindly, only one thought clear in her mind. She must not let him think she had expectations of him, or she would be a laughingstock if the story got out. She said through clenched teeth, “My news cannot compare with yours in excitement. My congratulations on your success. Although,” she added viciously, “Kingsley is a man of uncertain temper and you will find him out-of-sorts just now; he may reject your suit.”

  Before the earl could reply, she said with a brittle laugh, “I fear I must ask you to leave, as I am expecting an important visitor in a moment.”

  Still burbling his gratitude for her service, Charles took his leave. Sybil could barely wait until he left the room before she started breaking china figurines. Smash! A shepherdess and her sheep shattered into the fireplace. Crash! She wasn’t to be a countess! Two children gathering flowers were next. Not even a viscountess! Clonk! A brass elephant followed the porcelain. She glared around her, wild-eyed, looking for more objets d’art. It was all Kingsley’s fault—he hadn’t even tried
to change her mind! The Luscious Loser—she was ruined!

  As he went down the front steps of the Debenham town house, Charles encountered a dark-haired exquisite staring uncertainly at the windows, as if wondering whether to seek admittance. The earl looked at him critically; the man was as elaborately rigged-out as Sybil, and looked like a perfect match for her. He waved cheerily and said, “Go on in, she’s expecting you.”

  “She is?” The man jumped and turned pale at the sight of the earl, then blinked and started up the stairs.

  “Sir Edward Loaming.” The butler bowed the baronet into the drawing room, where Sybil Debenham stood with clenched fists and heaving bosom. Sir Edward stopped and gazed at her admiringly. She really was the most glorious creature! He had always esteemed Sybil, not to mention her substantial fortune, but had never tried his luck because she was known to be hanging out for a grand title.

  The baronet had been hiding from his creditors in Harrogate for the last four months, and it had been a shock to see from an old Gazette that the Incomparable Sybil was to marry his nemesis, Lord Kingsley, of all people. Kingsley! A great crude gawp like that, just because the man was a viscount. Sir Edward had spent his exile racking his brains for a way to revenge himself on Kingsley, but had thought of nothing that would enable him to injure and humiliate a man who was rich, powerful, and a conscienceless butcher. He shuddered whenever he thought of the savage smile that had accompanied the viscount’s threats against the baronet’s person.

  The news that Miss Debenham was going to throw her beautiful self away on such a barbarian caused a rage that resulted in a desperate plan. It was a very slim hope, but what had Sir Edward to lose? After four months of being betrothed to that gapeseed, she might just be in the mood for a real gentleman.

  He had hesitated when he reached Sybil’s house, wondering if by some misfortune Kingsley might even then be inside. When a tall blond man came down Sybil’s steps it had produced a bolt of terror in Sir Edward’s breast, but fortunately the man was a stranger, not Sybil’s fiancé.

  At Sir Edward’s entrance, Miss Debenham unconsciously straightened herself, reaching up to pat her hair into place. She hadn’t seen the baronet since his alleged interlude with Annabelle Kingsley the previous October; a pity that he had shown up when she was looking like a positive harpy.

  Sir Edward had planned several possible strategies but on impulse he went to her and clasped her hand. “Miss Debenham, I have only just heard the sad news.”

  Sybil snarled, “What have you heard?” Could Kingsley have already spread the word through every club in St. James that the Luscious Loser had jilted him?

  “Why, that you are to marry Kingsley,” he said with puzzlement. “It may not be sad news to you, but to me it is tragedy unbounded.”

  The baronet sank to one knee, holding her hand, and said earnestly, “My darling Sybil—may I call you that? It is how I always think of you in my dreams. I have loved you to distraction since first I saw your lovely face. Your style, your countenance, your beautiful flair for living—no other woman can touch the hem of your skirt.”

  Sybil felt a warm glow of pleasure soothing her outrage as she looked into his pleading face. “Yes?” she said encouragingly.

  “There is no reason you should care to have my hand, my heart, and my soul, but they are yours until the last trump sounds.”

  Sir Edward paused for breath, then went on despairingly, “I am not wealthy, I am not a peer—but I swear that no man under the heavens could love you more than I do.” His voice rang with a sincerity that surprised them both.

  Sybil stared down at him thoughtfully. “Do get up, you will ruin your pantaloons.” While he gazed longingly after her, she wandered around the drawing room and weighed his offer.

  True, a baronet and his wife were commoners, not peers, but she would be called Lady Loaming, and she had always thought Sir Edward had more style and taste than any other man she had ever met. In addition, his dark looks were a perfect foil for her golden beauty, while both Kingsley and Radcliffe had suffered from the grave defect of being as blond as she was. Sybil turned abruptly and asked, “How old is your baronetcy?”

  “Why, it is one of the original ones established by James I in 1611. We yield to no other baronet in precedence. The family is much older, of course. In fact, the first Edward Loaming was one of the knights who went over to Henry Tudor at Bosworth Field.”

  The decision took only a moment’s more thought. It would make a wonderfully romantic story that Sybil Debenham, who could have had anyone, had jilted a viscount to marry a baronet for love. She lifted her head and basked a bit at the picture. Her mother would be disappointed, but relieved that the issue was settled.

  Besides, Sybil thought as a slow smile lit her flawless, heart-shaped face, she liked Sir Edward.

  “Very well, I’ll marry you.”

  His eyes popped in surprise. “You will?” The baronet grabbed for his composure and said, his hand pressed to his breast, “Words cannot express the joy in my heart.”

  She waved her hand impatiently. “Of course. We can be married the week after Easter in St. George’s, Hanover Square. The church is already reserved and there is just enough time for you to arrange to have the banns read.”

  Sybil gave him a piercing glance. “I want to make one thing perfectly clear: I will control the money. I will clear your present debts and give you an allowance ample for a gentleman’s needs, but if you beggar yourself gaming, you can go to debtors’ prison for all of me.”

  Sir Edward considered for a moment, then nodded his head. It must be a sign of advancing years when the thought of having someone else running his life was not without appeal. He loved gaming less for its own sake than because it was so gentlemanly; he could live without it.

  But what produced a satisfaction so intense that it neared ecstasy was the knowledge that he had succeeded in stealing Kingsley’s woman. It was the perfect revenge, and the baronet spent a moment imagining the expression of humiliation and fury on the revolting viscount’s face when he found that Sybil had thrown him over for Sir Edward Loaming.

  He gave a sigh of utter contentment. “My darling, I would rather live under the cat’s paw with you than reign in heaven with anyone else.”

  To his surprise, he meant it.

  Chapter Twenty

  Alex gave Annabelle an encouraging smile as he helped her out of the carriage in front of Radcliffe House. She seemed very nervous about this tea party. The evening before, she had confided that she and the Earl of Radcliffe were reaching an understanding. “An earl, Belle? You’re flying high!”

  She had blushed prettily. “Oh, Alex, he’s wonderful, not at all like …” She couldn’t quite bring herself to mention Sir Edward’s name. Relegating the baronet to history, she implored, “Please, could you come with me to meet his mother tomorrow? I’m terrified! I know she will think I am unworthy of her son. And the sad part is,” she added with a wail, “she’s right!”

  “We’ll have none of that, Belle,” Alex said firmly. “By birth, character, and beauty, you are suited to anyone in the land. Radleigh can think himself lucky if you will accept him.”

  “It hasn’t gone quite that far,” Annabelle said cautiously. “But I do hope you will lend me your support tomorrow.”

  The broad Palladian facade of Radcliffe House seemed designed to intimidate the encroaching. “Chin up, Belle,” Alex said as they mounted the steps. “And save your broadsides till the countess comes yardarm to yardarm with you.” Annabelle giggled at his nonsense but clung to his arm as they entered.

  “Lord Kingsley and Miss Annabelle Kingsley,” Alex said crisply to the butler. Anyone who had faced down the churlish porters at the Admiralty could handle a mere butler.

  The servant bowed. “If you will wait in the salon,” he said, gesturing across the broad foyer to the right. “The earl and the countess will be with you momentarily.”

  At the entrance to the room, Annabelle whispered, “Alex,
I think I am going to have a disaster with one of my stockings. I’ll ask the butler where I can make repairs and join you in a moment.” She almost pushed him into the room, then raced off.

  Alex looked after her in surprise. She really was skittish! He hoped the countess proved less of a dragon than expected, for he wasn’t sure how much Belle’s nerves could stand.

  He wandered into the salon, admiring the high molded ceilings and sumptuous furnishings. Everything was rich but not vulgarly so; there was an air of quiet confidence that reflected well on the owner. He had heard that Charles Radleigh was a man of honor, and from the look of this house, there was taste and wealth as well. Altogether, the earl was a much more suitable parti than Sir Edward Loaming.

  The salon opened into another room from which emerged the rippling notes of a pianoforte. Idly curious, he drifted to the open double doors and looked through. Perhaps the formidable Countess of Radcliffe was playing? In the midst of the Mozart, he did not hear the bolt click in the door behind him.

  Alex entered the music room, admiring the erect back of the pianist. As he studied the mass of dark shiny curls and slim figure, he felt a prickling at the base of his neck. It looked like Christa … but it couldn’t be.

  He was drawn across the room without conscious volition. It was utterly impossible, and yet, and yet …

  The sonata flowed to a close and in the silence his steps sounded clearly. The woman turned, her mouth opened to speak—and then she halted, her eyes widening at the sight of her unexpected listener.

  Alex felt a curious kind of duality. It was Christa, and yet not quite. The face and figure were hers, but with an elegance of dress and manner that made her seem a stranger. It was like meeting the identical twin of a well-known friend: the same, yet indefinably different.

  As usual when she was alone, Christa had been thinking of Alex. The closer his wedding day came, the more blue-deviled she felt. Most of the time she could maintain her usual vivacity, but now she let her feelings go in the music.