by Candace Camp
And most unnerving of all, why had the Countess called her Simone?
A shiver ran through Alexandra. For the first time since she had been in London, she got up and turned the key in the lock of her door.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEXANDRA WOKE THE NEXT MORNING feeling vastly better than she had when she went to bed. She got up, unlocked her door and retrieved the tray of tea and rolls that the maid had left there upon finding her door locked. Alexandra wondered what the girl had thought—no doubt that she was shivering in fear after her attack. Alexandra grimaced. She hated anyone to think that she was hiding in her room like a coward.
Last night, she told herself, had been an aberration. She was not going to live in fear just because some madman wanted her to leave England. It was absurd, and that was exactly the way she was going to treat the incident. She rang for her maid and got dressed, putting on her most attractive day dress. She had considered not going with Lord Thorpe to the Countess’s, just to show him that he could not order her about. However, her curiosity had finally won out over her righteous indignation. Even if it meant that Thorpe would assume she was obeying him, Alexandra knew that she had to meet the Countess and find out what the woman had meant the night before when she called her by a strange name. She would have to teach Lord Thorpe that she was an independent woman in some other manner.
As for the way she had felt about him last night, Alexandra resolved that the most easily. She had acted the way she had because she was in turmoil. She had been frightened and confused, as was only natural when one was attacked, and so she had clung to him. Her feelings had been all stirred up, and she had thought that it was because of him. But it was simply an aftermath of her scare. She could see that now, in the clear light of day.
So Alexandra was ready and waiting for Thorpe when he drove up to the house the next afternoon in a sporty curricle. Her aunt, of course, deplored the vehicle, saying it was ridiculous, but Alexandra was thrilled. She had seen several of them since she had been here, and she had wanted very much to ride in one. Shushing her aunt, she tied on her chip straw hat and sallied forth with Thorpe.
The Countess’s house was smaller than the one she had visited the evening before, but very graceful in its lines and much warmer and more intimate. The butler showed them into a drawing room, an elegant room done in tones of blue, and said that he would inform her ladyship that they were here.
Alexandra looked around the room. When she walked in, she had thought it was empty, but as she turned toward the sofa, a middle-aged woman popped up from behind it. Her hair was brown, streaked with gray, and she was a trifle plump. She wore an unremarkable brown merino gown, and in her hand she held a skein of yarn.
“Excuse me, I was just—” She stopped in midsentence, staring at Alexandra, her mouth forming an O. “My goodness.” One hand went to her heart. “Her ladyship said you were a likeness, but I never imagined—”
“I beg your pardon?” Alexandra said politely. Whatever was the matter with everyone? Obviously she must resemble someone, but why did the fact strike them all dumb?
“I’m sorry. You must forgive me. I’m so silly—I shouldn’t really be here. I mean, be the first to talk to you. That is the Countess’s place, of course. I am, well, I am only living here because the Countess is such a good, kind woman. Certainly I should not be taking her place in greeting you. You see, I remembered that I had dropped my yarn in here yesterday, and I thought I would simply slip in and retrieve it, but I hadn’t expected anyone to come in. I mean, I knew you were expected, but—”
“It’s perfectly all right, Miss Everhart,” Thorpe broke in, stopping the woman’s flow of words. “I am sure no one will think badly of you for fetching your yarn from the drawing room, least of all the Countess.”
“Oh, yes.” The woman beamed. “She’s such a dear, good woman.”
“Miss Everhart, allow me to introduce you to Alexandra Ward. Miss Ward, this is Willa Everhart, the Countess’s cousin.”
“Only second cousin,” Miss Everhart added, ever deprecatory. From her words and manner, Alexandra deduced that she must be a poor relation, living with the Countess on her charity and acting as a companion to her. Alexandra thought that the Countess must be charitable indeed. Ten minutes of this woman’s undiluted company would, she thought, drive her straight out of the room.
There was the sound of footsteps in the hallway, and an older woman’s voice saying, “Really, Ursula, I do not need to lean on your arm. For pity’s sake, I do not have one foot in the grave yet.”
“No, Mother, of course not. But you shouldn’t tax yourself so. After last night…”
The Countess came into the room. Slender and tall, with a regal carriage, she looked every inch a Countess—or even a Queen, Alexandra thought. Snow-white hair was coiled elegantly on her head. A strand of pearls glimmered at her throat, a lovely contrast to the tobacco-brown silk gown she wore. A huge diamond ring and a smaller ruby one winked on her fingers. Behind her came the squarely built Lady Ursula, accompanied by the plain girl who had been with them the night before. The plain girl, once again dressed in an unbecoming white gown, looked at Alexandra with interest from behind her spectacles. Lady Ursula frowned fiercely.
“Miss Ward. How kind of you to come.” The Countess went to Alexandra, her hand outstretched. Alexandra took her hand, and the Countess held it for a moment, looking into Alexandra’s face. The older woman’s expression was sad, almost longing, and Alexandra thought she saw a shimmer of tears in her eyes. The Countess managed a tremulous smile and let go of Alexandra’s hand with a squeeze.
“I am the Countess of Exmoor, Miss Ward.”
“Exmoor?” Wasn’t that the name of the man she had met last night, the one whom both Nicola and Thorpe disliked? “I’m sorry. I find these titles somewhat confusing. Are you related to the Earl of Exmoor?”
“He is a distant cousin,” the Countess said coolly. “He inherited the title from my late husband.”
“I see,” Alexandra replied, although she did not really understand—except that this woman seemed to dislike the Earl as much as everyone else did.
“I see you have met my cousin, Miss Everhart,” the Countess continued.
“Yes. She made me feel quite comfortable.” Alexandra smiled at the woman, as did the Countess.
Miss Everhart launched into an apologetic ramble, which Lady Ursula soon brutally cut off. “Oh, for mercy’s sake, Willa, do be quiet. No one begrudges you for being here, and you know it. Of course you’re interested in seeing Miss Ward. We all are.”
The Countess raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “My daughter, Lady Ursula,” she told Alexandra. She turned toward the plain girl, smiling, “And this is her daughter, Miss Penelope Castlereigh.”
Everyone made their polite hellos as they sat down. The butler brought in a tea tray, and some time was spent in the ritual of dispensing tea. The Countess, stirring her tea, smiled at Alexandra.
“Sebastian tells me you are visiting here from the United States, Miss Ward.”
“Yes, we’ve been here for two weeks now.”
“Ah, you are traveling with your family?”
“My mother and aunt.”
“I wish you had brought them with you,” the Countess said. “Sebastian, you should have told me. I would like to meet them.”
“My mother doesn’t get out much. She—England doesn’t seem to agree with her.”
“The damp, no doubt. Still, I should love to meet her. Perhaps some time when she is feeling well…”
“Of course,” Alexandra answered politely.
The Countess smiled. “I am sure you must be wondering why I asked you to call on me today. I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night.”
“There’s no need for apology,” Alexandra assured her quickly.
“You must have thought me very strange,” the Countess went on wryly. “No, don’t deny it. I would have thought my behavior very strange if I had witnessed it. I wanted
to explain to you. And I—frankly I wanted to see you again. To make sure that my eyes had not deceived me.”
“Mother, there is no need to go into all—”
“Ursula, please.” The Countess’s modulated voice hardened, and she shot her daughter a glance that shut up even that formidable woman. “I wish to explain it to Miss Ward.” She turned to Alexandra. “You see, as you must have guessed, I thought you were someone else when I saw you last night. In the candlelight, you looked almost exactly like her. Even now, the resemblance is startling. Of course, it is impossible that you could be she. She would be Ursula’s age now, not a young woman. But you looked so much as she did when I last saw her, over twenty years ago.”
The Countess paused for a moment, then went on. “You resemble my daughter-in-law, my son’s wife, Simone. She died twenty-two years ago. She and my son and their three children.”
Alexandra drew in a quick breath. “Oh, my lady! I am so sorry.”
“Thank you.” The Countess sighed. “It was a terrible time. My son, Emerson, and his family had gone to visit Simone’s parents. My husband grew ill and died while they were gone, and we sent for them, but then all that rioting broke out. I don’t even know if they ever got the message. The mob killed them. It didn’t matter to them that Emerson was English. They were staying with Simone’s parents, obviously aristocrats.”
A chill ran through Alexandra. “The mob, ma’am? Where were they?”
“They were in Paris when the revolution broke out. The mob stormed their home and dragged them all out and killed them. Even the children.”
“Paris?” Alexandra repeated in a stifled voice. “But that’s—”
“That’s what, dear?”
“That is where I was born.”
The Countess stiffened, one hand going to her throat. “You—you lived in Paris?”
Alexandra nodded. “Yes. My father was an American diplomat at the Court.”
“When was that?” the Countess asked intently. “When were your parents in Paris?”
“At the time of the Revolution. I was born about a year and a half earlier. They left during the rioting and returned to the United States. That is, my mother did. Unfortunately, my father caught a fever and died on the passage over.”
“I’m sorry.” The Countess paused. She was paler than she had been, her eyes brighter. “Were you—could you be related to Simone’s family? The de Viponts?”
“No. Both my parents were Americans. Rhea and Hiram Ward.”
“This is so peculiar,” the Countess murmured.
Thorpe frowned in concern and went to the Countess. He knelt beside her chair and took her hand in his. “Please, you mustn’t get upset over this. I understand that the resemblance must be quite striking. But it’s merely a strange coincidence. The fact that Alexandra was born in the same city where your son, Lord Chilton, and his family died doesn’t mean that—”
Lady Ursula gasped.
“What!” The Countess went paper-white, and she stared at Thorpe. “What did you call her?” She swung on Alexandra. “What is your given name?”
“Alexandra.” She looked at the older woman worriedly. “Please, my lady, don’t upset yourself.”
“But that is one of my grandchildren’s names! John, Marie Anne and Alexandra. She was the baby.”
There was a long moment of silence while all the occupants of the room stared at Alexandra and the Countess. Finally Lady Ursula broke the silence, saying in a crisp voice, “This is nonsense, Mother. It’s utterly impossible. She could not be Chilton’s child.”
The Countess swung on her fiercely. “Don’t you remember how Allie looked—those rosy cheeks and big brown eyes! That curly black hair! Her coloring was exactly like her mother’s.”
“My lady!” Alexandra exclaimed. Her stomach felt as if it had dropped to her feet. “Are you suggesting that I am your granddaughter?”
“You are the right age. You look like Simone. You were in Paris when they were.”
“It’s impossible,” Lady Ursula said flatly, shooting Alexandra a dark look. “Thorpe, tell her. It’s absolutely absurd.”
“I don’t see how she could be your granddaughter, my lady,” Thorpe agreed, gazing worriedly at the older woman, whose cheeks were aflame with color. “They were all killed by the mob, weren’t they? That’s what I have always heard.”
“They were,” Lady Ursula agreed heartily.
“How do you know?” the Countess demanded. “We never received their remains—any of them!”
“Of course not. They burned the whole place down,” Lady Ursula said with brutal frankness. “There weren’t any remains. But several witnesses saw them killed. Bertram Chesterfield testified to it in court. Don’t you remember?”
“Of course I remember. I’m not senile yet,” her mother snapped. “But I also know that Bertie Chesterfield is a fool.”
“He may be a fool, but he’s a gentleman. He wouldn’t lie about such a thing.”
“Perhaps not, but he could exaggerate. Or be mistaken. Or make a false assumption.”
“Wait,” Alexandra interjected. “I couldn’t be your granddaughter, my lady. I don’t see how it’s possible. I am Hiram and Rhea Ward’s daughter, their only child.”
“That’s right,” Thorpe agreed. “How could Chilton’s baby have wound up in America, the daughter of some other couple?”
“I don’t know. But how could a young woman named Alexandra, like my grandchild, bear such an uncanny resemblance to my grandchild’s mother and have been in the same place at the same time and it be mere coincidence?” the older woman countered. “I’m not in my dotage, Sebastian. I realize that it is exceptionally strange, and I do not understand it. But look at her!”
“I never saw Lady Chilton. I was only ten when it happened.”
“Then come here.” The Countess rose lithely to her feet. “You, too, Miss Ward. I want you to see this.”
“Mother, don’t excite yourself,” Ursula pleaded.
Her mother ignored her and strode out of the room with a wave for them to follow her. Thorpe glanced at Alexandra with a shrug, and the two of them went after the Countess, with Ursula and her daughter and Miss Everhart trailing after them. The Countess led them up the stairs and down the hall, then opened the door to one of the bedrooms and stepped inside.
“There is a portrait of Chilton and his wife. It was done not long after their wedding. Look at her.”
Obediently, Thorpe and Alexandra moved closer to the portrait and looked at it. A strong-jawed young man wearing an old-fashioned white wig gazed solemnly at them. He was much taller than his wife, a petite woman who looked as if she knew an amusing secret. Her large dark eyes fairly sparkled, and her rosy mouth was curved up deliciously. Her hair was upswept into an intricate hairdo, all liberally powdered. Except for the powdered hair, she bore an uncanny resemblance to Alexandra.
“Good Lord!” Thorpe exclaimed.
A shiver ran down Alexandra’s spine. It was unnerving to stare into a face that looked so much like her own reflection in the mirror. There were differences, of course. This woman was obviously shorter, and her cheeks were fuller, her mouth not quite the same shape, but the differences were slight and the likeness remarkable.
“You see?” the Countess said triumphantly. “And the hair beneath the powder is both black and curling.”
“Yes, she looks like her,” Lady Ursula snapped. “I saw it immediately myself. But such things happen.”
“Do they?” the Countess asked quietly. “I have never seen such a likeness except within family.” On that note, she turned and walked from the room, leaving the others to look at each other, then follow her.
Alexandra took one last long look at the portrait, then tore her eyes away and went after the others. By the time she and Thorpe, who had waited for her, caught up with the others, they were in the drawing room and Lady Ursula was arguing furiously with her mother, who was serenely ignoring her.
“Tell her, T
horpe,” Lady Ursula commanded, swinging around when he entered the room. “Tell her that it’s ridiculous.”
“It is not ridiculous,” the Countess replied coolly. “Alexandra could have gotten away. She was a mere toddler. She could have run away without anyone ever noticing. Or perhaps one of the rioters took pity on such a little girl and let her go, even took her with them. Bertie Chesterfield never said he saw the children killed.”
“I suppose it is possible,” Thorpe agreed, watching the Countess’s flushed face with some concern. “But don’t you think that you would have heard something by now if that had happened?”
“Not if she just ran away—who would have known who she was or where she belonged?”
“But how did she get to America?” Lady Ursula asked triumphantly.
“I don’t know. It isn’t as if I have all the answers,” her mother answered somewhat testily. She turned toward Alexandra eagerly. “Perhaps your mother knows.”
Alexandra shifted uneasily. She couldn’t tell these people that she had trouble getting straight answers about anything from her mother. “I can ask. But, my lady, it doesn’t seem possible. I mean, I know who my parents are, and they aren’t your son and daughter-in-law.”
“Sometimes,” the Countess began carefully, “families keep secrets.”
“I think I know an easy way to clear this up,” Thorpe suggested. “Alexandra, when is your birthday? How old were you when the revolution took place?”
“I was born January twentieth, 1787. So I must have been about a year and a half old during that summer.”
