His Secret Heroine

by Delle Jacobs

  Reggie groaned. "I hope you are not also going to tell me my father is here."

  "Unlikely, as he rarely attends any event. But Vilheurs has shown up, with two of his friends, and I am not at all happy about that."

  Mythe had always kept his invitations rather open, so it was not unusual when he had unexpected guests. But he didn't care for Vilheurs, and the fellow didn't seem to take the hint.

  "Not invited?"

  Mythe nodded. "He's sniffing about Miss Englefield again. Become rather insistent about it."

  "You need not be crude, Mythe," said Lady Mythe. "Yet, I can hardly think of another way of saying it. And I fear the lady is suffering from some desperation that causes her to accept his attentions."

  "Devil it. Where's Castlebury?"

  "You cannot expect him to be her constant watchdog, Reggie. She will not allow it, in any event."

  Reggie excused himself and hurried up the stairs to his chamber in the gentlemen's wing to change to proper attire and catch up to Chloe before Vilheurs got the upper hand. If he could only find some way of turning Vilheurs in Portia's direction. But no, even disliking his cousin, he couldn't do that to her. Vilheurs had an unpleasant reputation with women and Reggie was certain a wife would fare no better.

  "Do your best, Puckett," he said to his valet. "Your very best."

  Puckett nodded and did his very best.

  Reggie hurried back down the two flights of stairs, casting about in all directions for some sign of Chloe, hoping she was still within the house.

  "Oh, Lord Reginald, here you are at last!"

  Reggie groaned to himself as he turned and came face to face with Lady Creston. He squeezed an unfelt smile onto his face.

  "And look who I have brought with me! Your lovely cousin, Miss Portia Nightengale."

  A sour look crossed Portia's face as she attempted a smile, and she made a stiff curtsy. He had to admit, she was considerably prettier than he remembered, but she looked like she had a lemon in her mouth.

  "And it has been such a long time since you have seen her. Do be a good fellow and show her Lady Mythe's lovely garden."

  Reggie grimaced as Lady Creston manhandled his arm to link it with his cousin's. There was no escaping now, but he'd be damned if he was going to let Portia drag him off into some private corner and set her snare.

  "The parterres by the terrace are particularly lovely," he said, remembering they were completely within sight of anyone near the house or terrace. Perhaps he could manage a quick tour where everyone could see them, then bring her back. Perhaps he might see Chloe or her aunt while walking.

  Lady Creston pranced off, the gleam of triumph glowing in her eyes.

  "Hurry up," Portia said, tugging his arm roughly.

  Reggie was in no hurry to go where Portia wanted him to be. "I might inform you, cousin, it is unladylike for you to lead."

  "I don't care. Hurry up. We have to get out of her sight right now."

  "Why?" He knew why, and his heart felt like it had sunk to the bottom of his stomach.

  "Because we have to talk, where they can't hear us. Come on."

  Reggie stopped cold, and planted his feet as if they grew to ground. "Portia, I'd best say this now. I apologize if my father has misled you, but I have not harbored any intention to marry you."

  "That is very clear. Come on."

  "Then why should I wish to be alone with you?"

  "Because if you don't, we are very likely to find the leg shackle connecting us, and that would be a travesty, considering that I do not like you, and you do not like me. Now, are you coming or not?"

  She didn't? Reggie studied her face for falsehood and found none. "Then perhaps it would be prudent to see what you have in mind. But if you could at least give the appearance that I am in charge here—"

  She sneered. "Oh, fuss and bother. Have you always been so stuffy?"

  Clearly, there were some things about Portia that had not changed. Reggie gave up and let her drag him down the path toward the brook that ran through the glen at the bottom of the hill.

  She shoved him back behind a big oak. "Now, I should like to know," she said, "how this notion got planted in your feathered noggin that I wanted to marry you."

  Feathered noggin. Hers was filled with rocks. "It was not my notion at all. The duke has insisted. He says you have complained about my lack of attention to you, and gave me until quarter day to come up to scratch."

  "Quarter day? Thank goodness. Then at least we have until October."

  "Last quarter day," he corrected. "Midsummer. He has already stopped my allowance."

  She moaned. "Reggie, this will not do at all! I am four and twenty, and I shall not have very many more opportunities. I thought surely you were going to marry Miss Englefield, and now you have gone and ruined that. You've got to do something."

  "Then we simply won't marry."

  "Reggie, don't you understand? Nobody wants to oppose the Duke of Marmount! I shall have no suitors at all if you don't hurry up and marry. Oh, do come along."

  Even his long legs had to stretch out to keep up with her rapidly skipping step as she scurried across the little stone bridge and entered the shady wood. She gave barely perfunctory nods to those they passed, eliciting curious stares. Reggie returned lame smiles, hoping to somehow cover up for Portia's lack of dignity.

  "Where are we going? Why are we in such a hurry?"

  "To the folly on the island."

  Reggie stopped and jerked back.

  "Oh, don't be such a slowtop. Everyone is there."

  He gave up and followed. One punt remained at the edge of the lake Mythe had made by damming up the stream through his land. Reggie closed his eyes and pretended he didn't see as Portia climbed in with no regard to her skirts or exposed ankles.

  He poled the craft across the lake, where the other punts were beached. On the grassy knoll beside the Grecian folly, several ladies, each escorted by a gentleman, sat with a picnic spread.

  Chloe. Beside Castlebury.

  "And I swear to you, Reggie, if you are too harewitted to figure this out, then you don't deserve her."

  So Portia had joined the conspirators. He grinned. "Well, cousin, if you don't have me in mind to marry, might there be someone you do?"

  Portia's lips drew into a tight line.

  "Perhaps you might inform me if I can be of assistance."

  "That is about as likely as snow geese in Africa."

  Had Portia turned into a blue-stocking while he had not been looking? How else might she know about Africa or snow geese? "Geese are migratory, you know."

  "Oh, do stop it. Just do your part."

  It was becoming obvious that Reggie had to figure out what it was that everyone else had already discussed. So the thing to do was just play it out. He beached the punt, leaped out, and took Portia's hand as she stepped out with a daintiness she hadn't previously displayed. Her voice fairly sang with its lilting quality. Two-faced, as always. That hadn't changed.

  He took her arm and led her up the knoll to where the others sat, gaily laughing, nibbling on cucumber sandwiches or other things of that sort.

  Chloe sat very still, looking wounded, as if she had just discerned the latest scheme. And he was the only one who understood the nature of her pain. He didn't want to hurt her. But it seemed that they would both face lifetimes of pain if he did not take the risk now.

  As soon as the greetings were completed, Portia nestled between him and Castlebury on the blankets spread out on the grass, pointedly flirting. And Castlebury, rake that he was, took it all in as if he enjoyed it, with little more than a sly glance at Reggie.

  Bibury took up Miss Amy Soren's hand, and they ambled off for a tour of the island. Reggie thought of the little bridge on the far side that connected it to the far shore of the lake, and realized if the group circled around back to the manor, it would be a long time before they returned.

  Within minutes, St. James decided to walk with Lady Millton, while Lord Mi
llton took the hand of Lady Constance, St. James's sister.

  "Well," said Castlebury, clearing his throat, "I believe I shall walk with your cousin, if you don't mind, Beauhampton."

  Portia giggled in a high pitch that jangled in Reggie's ears, as she bounced daintily to her feet. He watched Portia's mincing step as they disappeared down the path after the others, and decided he had to admire Castlebury's sacrifice.

  "I suppose that was all deliberate," Chloe said. Hopelessness tinged her voice.

  "Oh, quite. I cannot tell who started it, but Portia has made it quite clear she wishes me to marry elsewhere."

  "Oh." He saw a tear glint in her eye.

  Reggie helped her to her feet and gathered up the brown wool blanket. Taking her hand, he led her behind the folly into the forest to a secluded glade. He spread the blanket on the grass.

  "Reggie—"

  "Sit with me." He reached for her hand. "Come. I am your friend if I am nothing else. And there is a lot you have not told me."

  A tear trickled down her cheek as she sat. Reggie wiped at it with his handkerchief.

  "I can't."

  "Then just tell me about your sisters."

  For a long, still moment, Chloe ran her fingers back and forth over the rough brown wool. She sighed. "I haven't heard from them in two months. They usually write to me every few weeks."

  "If you are afraid for them, I will go for you."

  "Cottingham won't let you see them. I have not seen them since my mother died."

  Reggie put an arm around her shoulders. "Chloe, I have made up my mind. I will marry you, and no one else. My expectation has come through, and I have the blunt now to do as I please, even if my father continues to withhold my inheritance and Featherstone from me."

  "An investment?"

  Reggie gritted his teeth, wishing he had explained about the book before. But he hadn't really thought how to tell her, or how she would take it. "Of sorts. We shall have to talk about that. I do not mean to say we shall be in the lap of luxury, but we can live with at least reasonable modesty until my father relents."

  "It is utterly unfair. I do not see why you do not stand up to him, Reggie."

  Probably nobody really understood that. Parent or no, how did one explain love for such an obtuse man as his father? "He's my father," Reggie said. "I remember him the way he used to be. I was a very odd little boy, you see. I was always running into things or getting bumped or bruised. I couldn't sit still, no matter how hard I tried. He was the only one who understood. He would take me out to the fields and let me run, and fly kites, and ride, anything to use up all that extra energy I had. And he always protected me, even when my grandmother wanted me whipped for breaking her favorite vase."

  "Your own grandmother? Why would she want to do that?"

  He shrugged. How did he explain that he had always thought it was his own fault his grandmother hated him? "I don't remember much. I just know she detested me. One day I ran around a corner, right into the pedestal, and her vase fell, and shattered. She called for a footman to whip me, and father stepped in. There was a horrible row, and grandmother packed up and left for the dower house and never returned."

  "Because she couldn't whip you? I should not have liked to have her for a grandmother."

  "If there is anything that will set my father into a rage, it is cruelty to a child. I suspect she is the reason, but he has never mentioned it."

  "Well, I still think he is a horrid man."

  "He isn't, Chloe," he said. Yet nobody liked the duke, and Reggie knew it. "I cannot say what it was that changed him so, but he is bitterly unhappy. He has lost everyone. He and my mother have not seen or spoken to each other in sixteen years. My brother Robert has hated him since father took him out of mother's home and forced him to live at Beauhampton. He has no one but me, now."

  "And if you stand up to him, he will cut you off, too, won't he?"

  Reggie nodded. The thing he most feared, that he would, like his mother and brother, discover his father did not love him after all. And the truth was, he had set the wheels of that confrontation in motion, and they could not now be stopped.

  "Possibly," he said. He interlaced his fingers and stretched them backwards as if somehow that might ease his frustration. "He would see it as a betrayal. I'll deal with that when I must, but not now. We can solve our own problems now, Chloe. Once we are married, I shall petition the court for custody of your sisters."

  But Chloe shook her head. "Reggie, they won't grant it to you. Cottingham is wealthy and powerful."

  "I have a lot of friends, too, Chloe. And if necessary, I'll go to my father."

  Her eyes suddenly widened. "No, Reggie, you can't! You are supposed to marry Portia. If you don't –"

  Chloe gasped, and clamped her mouth shut.

  His father. The premonition ran up Reggie's spine in a shudder. "What will he do, Chloe?"

  "You know what he told you—"

  "No, I am interested in what he has told you. You've met him, haven't you?"

  She had. He could see it in the stricken look in her eyes. Reggie wrapped his arms around her, but she pushed herself away.

  "He has bought up my debts."

  Reggie muttered a curse. Knowing his father, he easily discerned the remainder. He should have realized the Duke of Marmount would never rest in his unending quest to control his son. Perhaps that confrontation was coming sooner than he expected.

  "Then there is only one answer, my love. As soon as you marry me, all your debts will become mine. Let him try to throw his own son into debtor's prison. That, I assure you, cannot be done, without extreme humiliation to the duke himself."

  "Reggie—"

  "I promise you. And we will find a way to help your sisters too."

  Reggie turned her to face him and held her face in his hands as he touched his lips to hers. With a quiet sound like a dove's mournful call, her arms wrapped around him, pouring fuel onto the glowing coals of his growing passion.

  "Oh, there you are, Beauhampton. We thought you'd got yourself lost."

  Vilheurs. Murderous thoughts flitted through Reggie's mind. The haze cleared from Reggie's mind like fog blown away by a sudden, stiff wind.

  Chloe gasped and sat back, pulling up the sleeve that had slipped off her white shoulder.

  And Letitia Lavington. Reggie tamped down the instinct to leap up and flatten them both, but the situation was tight enough as it was, and could expose Chloe to humiliation. He stood and reached down for Chloe's hand, but Vilheurs stepped in.

  "My dear," said Lady Lavington, oozing her words, "We really must hurry back. Lady Mythe is anxious to begin the evening festivities."

  Reggie stared. Lady Lavington was smiling as if she had seen absolutely nothing, which was quite impossible. Of course, the two of them had no advantage in publicizing the compromise, which would effectively scuttle their own schemes, but if she and Vilheurs meant to help keep this assignation secret, Reggie had no objection. He glared as she offered her arm for his taking.

  It probably was better if Chloe was next seen on another fellow's arm. His only consolation was that it must have taken them quite some walk, all the way around the lake to the bridge, since all the punts were on the island.

  And he glared as he punted them back across the lake, and continued frowning all the way up to the manor and the safety of the conspirators.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Chloe and Aunt Daphne reached the arched doors of Lady Mythe's lavender saloon, the noisily babbling music of feminine voices came abruptly to a halt. Every pair of eyes in the room turned on her and widened.

  Chloe gulped as she cast about from one face to another. Miss Amy looked silly and closed a little red book in her hands. Lady Lavington smiled, but it was the kind of smile that made a person feel she was about to become a crocodile's lunch. Lady Constance and Lady Mythe looked mildly horrified, while Miss Nightengale merely stared with a frown. Whatever the on dit was, Chloe had no trouble discerning
it was about her.

  "Well?" Miss Amy asked in her girlishly breathless voice, as she hid the little book behind her back.

  "Hush. It is none of your concern," said Lady Constance, and she grabbed for the book, but Miss Amy whirled away.

  "Well, what?" Chloe returned.

  "Well, did he ask?" The carefully constructed yellow ringlets on Miss Amy's head bobbed with her eager nodding.

  Chloe hoped that was all this was about. The room was full of the female members of the conspiracy. Even Lady Lavington appeared to be one of them, but Chloe didn't quite believe that.

  "I do not think I am prepared to discuss it just yet," she replied, trying to smile. How could she tell anyone when she had not puzzled out the answer herself?

  "There! You see, I told you he would," Miss Amy gushed. "Are you? Are you going to marry him?"

  "Miss Amy, you are above forward," said Lady Constance, her older cousin. "Let us allow Miss Englefield her privacy."

  "Oh, do not be so high in the instep, Connie. We are all friends here, are we not? And it is all so very romantical! I wish I had a lover who wrote a book about me!"

  An anguished moan hummed through the women.

  "Miss Amy, how very shocking," retorted Lady Constance. "You do not have a lover, and neither does Miss Englefield, and you should never intimate so."

  "Well, I did not mean precisely a lover. I am sorry, Miss Englefield, I did not mean it quite that way, but it is so romantical."

  Chloe felt her heart starting to race. "What is so romantical?" she asked, her voice sounding a bit squeaky.

  "The book. Oh, it is so grand." Miss Amy proudly held out the little leather-bound book in her hands, dodging Lady Constance's attempt to grab it away.

  "I do not think this is a very good idea, Miss Amy," said Lady Mythe, stepping forward between the two ladies.

  "Perhaps we should break it to her more gradually," said Lady Lavington.

  "Let me see that." Chloe snatched the little book out of Miss Amy's hands just before Lady Mythe could intervene and take the book.

  "Oh, no, now you've done it!" said Portia, folding her arms. "Just when everything was going just right."