by Candace Camp
She had always wondered what was in that box. Her thoughts went to the time when she was nine or ten years old and had tried to look inside it. Rhea had come into the room and seen her. Rhea had grabbed the box from her and started shrieking like a virago. For the first time Alexandra had seen a glimpse in her mother’s eyes of something mad, and it had frightened her to the very core of her being. She had never tried to get into the box again.
She looked at it, inches away from her mother’s grasp. The key lay on its ribbon on the bedspread beside it. Nancy had said Rhea had been opening it and looking inside. What was in there? What had her mother been hiding all these years? Alexandra looked at her mother. It would be a violation of her privacy, she knew, to look inside the box. Normally she would not have considered opening it.
But the past few days had been so strange, her mother’s actions so bizarre. Why did her mother refuse to answer her questions? Alexandra could not help but wonder if the secret to her past lay in that small box. She couldn’t imagine what could be inside it. It was too small to hold much. Perhaps a very small book, a diary—or the letters of a lover, the father of her child? Or—or what? Surely she had the right to know about her own life.
Stealthily, Alexandra walked to the other side of the bed. She stood over the box for a moment, then reached down cautiously, her eyes glancing to her mother, and closed her hand around the box. She raised it from the bed and pulled at the lid. It opened easily.
Inside, on a bed of padded purple satin, lay a gold locket on a chain. It was beautifully engraved with swirls and some ornate letter in the center, though Alexandra was not sure what at first, for all the curlicues and twists around it. Then she saw, her heart thumping, that it was an A. Her stomach turned cold, and the freeze crept into her chest until she could hardly breathe.
She picked up the locket. It lay coolly on her fingers. She inserted her thumbnail in the thin line that lay between the two halves and gently pried the thing open. She stood for a moment, staring at what lay in her hand.
On either side of the locket was a miniature portrait, drawn with infinite care and infinitesimal detail. She had seen other tiny portraits like it. This one had been done by a master. On one side of the locket a man’s face looked at her as solemnly as it had looked out of the portrait yesterday in the Countess’s bedroom. On the other side was a smiling dark-haired woman who looked just like the woman staring down at her.
Alexandra backed up a step. She felt suddenly light-headed. Her stomach churned. Chilton and Simone.
She turned and walked numbly out of the room. Her aunt, who was leaving her room, saw her and said sharply, “Alexandra? What is the matter?”
Aunt Hortense hurried toward her. Alexandra looked at her blankly.
“I have to leave. Watch Mother for me.” She gestured toward the bedroom, then turned and went down the stairs. Moments later she was in a hackney, rolling across the cobblestoned streets toward the home of the Countess of Exmoor.
The butler announced her to the Countess, then ushered her into the drawing room. The Countess looked up from her chair and smiled. “Miss Ward. How pleasant to see you again.” The smile dropped from her face. “My dear, are you feeling quite well?”
“What? Oh. Yes, I’m fine.” Alexandra glanced around the room, a trifle nonplussed to find that there were several other people in the room. Penelope was smiling at her, while Lady Ursula looked daggers straight through her. The Countess’s companion, Miss Everhart, offered her a quick, timid smile before she glanced at Lady Ursula’s stony face and immediately dropped the smile. Worst of all, Lord Thorpe was sitting not a foot away from the Countess, staring at Alexandra icily.
He rose, saying in a cold voice, “Miss Ward. I am surprised to see you here.”
“Are you? And why is that?” Alexandra asked, recovering some of her aplomb. Let him explain his warning to her to stay away from the Countess in front of the woman herself.
His lips tightened, but he said nothing. The Countess glanced at him oddly.
“Come and sit beside me,” the Countess told Alexandra, covering the awkward pause. She gestured gracefully toward the chair on the other side of her.
“I have something I wanted to show you, my lady,” Alexandra said, clutching the locket tightly in one hand as she walked toward the Countess. “I found this in my mother’s things, and I thought—I did not know where else to turn. Can you tell me what it is? What it means?”
Alexandra looked into the older woman’s eyes, blocking out everyone else in the room, as she held out her hand to the Countess, the locket in the palm of her hand. The Countess, her face mildly curious, glanced from Alexandra’s intense face to her hand. She stiffened, one hand rising slowly to her breast. Her face turned as white as a sheet of paper.
“My God.” She reached out a trembling hand and touched the locket reverently, almost as if she was afraid it might disappear. “The locket.” She took the necklace in her hand, bringing it closer to her eyes. She gazed at the engraving on the front, her forefinger tracing the looping letter. Tears glimmered in her eyes. “It is Alexandra’s locket.”
The Countess looked at Alexandra, tears spilling out of her eyes, and held out her hands to her. “My love. Welcome home. Oh, thank God. Welcome home.”
CHAPTER NINE
“MOTHER! WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?” Lady Ursula exclaimed in horrified tones. “Thorpe! Don’t just stand there, do something.”
“And what, pray, would you have me do?” he asked dryly, but his face was tight, his lips bloodless with fury. “It would seem that Miss Ward is cleverer than either of us gave her credit for.”
Alexandra ignored both of them, taking the Countess’s hands. The Countess stood up, squeezing Alexandra’s hands tightly, and looked into her face, her eyes lingering lovingly over each of Alexandra’s features. “I knew it the other day, and I let them talk me out of it.” She stepped forward, her arms going around Alexandra, and hugged her tightly. “I can scarcely credit it.”
“Neither can I,” Ursula interrupted acidly. “What are you talking about? What is that thing?”
“It’s the baby’s locket.” The Countess released Alexandra and turned toward her daughter and Thorpe, dangling the gold locket in her hand. “Don’t you remember? I gave them to the girls the Christmas before they went to France, matching lockets with miniature portraits of Emerson and Simone inside. A keepsake. Each of them was inscribed with her initial on the front, M for Marie, A for Alexandra.” She smiled at Alexandra, her face shining. “It was obvious to anyone who looked at you that you were Simone’s daughter, but this clinches it. She is your niece, Ursula. My granddaughter.”
Thorpe took the necklace from the older woman’s hand and studied it, flipping open the locket and looking at the little portraits inside. “This proves nothing,” he said gruffly. “She could have found this anywhere—in a shop, on the street. After all, the men who killed your family doubtless took their jewelry and sold it. The locket is probably what gave her the idea in the first place. She happened upon this piece of jewelry, saw that the picture resembled her and set out to find out what the story was behind it. Doubtless she did whatever she could to make herself look even more like your daughter-in-law. All this proves is that she knew what Simone looked like before she saw that portrait in your bedroom.”
Alexandra forced herself to turn and face Thorpe’s glacial gaze. Her rage at him had seeped away, and she felt only pain at his obvious hatred for her. “I have never seen that locket before today, my lord.”
Ursula let out a snort of disbelief.
The Countess turned to her daughter and Lord Thorpe. “Well, this is certainly a first. I doubt I’ve ever seen you two present a united front.” She let out a sigh. “I would have thought you would be happy for me, Sebastian.”
Thorpe looked stricken. “I cannot be happy to see someone take advantage of you. You know I want you to be happy, but that doesn’t mean I want you to be taken in by an imposter.”
The Countess looked puzzled. “I don’t understand. I thought you and Miss Ward—I mean, you introduced her to me.”
“Yes, much to my regret. I didn’t know. I had never seen Simone. It never occurred to me that any of this would happen. I took Miss Ward for what she appeared to be. Foolishly, I was the one responsible for introducing her into your life. For making it possible for her to swindle you and break your heart. For that, I will never forgive myself. Countess, don’t you understand? This is all far too fortuitous.”
“Have you no belief in Divine Providence? Sometimes things are meant to happen a certain way. You lose something and then, one day, years and years later, you get it back. Only it is even more special because you know what you have missed.”
“I only want you to be happy,” Thorpe said in a tight voice, not looking at Alexandra.
“Then you have your wish.” The Countess smiled at Alexandra. “I have my granddaughter back.”
“Mother, that locket is not proof that she is Alexandra.”
“I am Alexandra,” Alexandra told Ursula firmly, then looked toward the Countess, her expression softening. “However, my lady, I am not sure that I am your Alexandra. Lady Ursula is right. That locket does not prove that I am your granddaughter. I cannot help but think that I must be related to your Simone in some way, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that I am her daughter.” She told the Countess of her aunt’s suspicions about her birth, adding, “But I could just as easily be the result of a—a liaison between my mother and some relative of Simone’s, a brother or uncle. Or, if I am not my mother’s child, just one she rescued, then I could still be a niece or cousin to your son’s wife, or even someone of low birth, a de Vipont by blood, but born on the wrong side of the blanket.”
The Countess frowned. “I don’t understand. Didn’t your mother tell you anything when she gave you the locket?”
“She did not give it to me. I found it. I tried to speak to her about the matter after you and I talked, but she…could not answer. She is ill.”
“Very convenient, I must say,” Lady Ursula said. “Saves you from having to commit to a story that could be researched and disproved.”
Alexandra looked at the other woman. “My mother’s illness is scarcely a matter of convenience, especially to her. My lady, I harbor no dislike for you. Nor have I any plan to unseat you in the Countess’s affections. Indeed, I am sure that I could not. You are her daughter, I am merely someone she just met. I see no reason we should be at such odds.”
“I’m not so easily gammoned. You are able to speak very prettily, I see that. But that is not enough to convince me.”
“I have no desire to convince you of anything. I don’t want to convince anyone. I only want to find out the truth.”
“I am sure we all do,” the Countess agreed. “My heart already knows it, but it would be better if we could find something the rest of the world will accept. I think the best course would be to talk to Bertie Chesterfield.”
“The man who informed you that your son’s family was killed?”
“Yes. Perhaps he can shed some light on this matter.”
Thorpe made a derisive noise. “Bertie Chesterfield never shed light on anything, including his own mind.”
“He is a shallow and stupid person,” the Countess agreed. “However, he is the only eyewitness we have. I did not ask him any questions at the time. I was capable of little but grieving then. And later, well, I did not really want to know the details of the destruction of my loved ones. But perhaps, if we learned some of the details, we might be able to find out how we got to this point. Sebastian…” The Countess gave Thorpe a look of appeal. “Will you go with Alexandra to visit Bertie? Find out everything you can?”
“You know that I would endure far worse than Chesterfield’s inane chatter for your sake. I am happy to question him. But I see no reason for Miss Ward to accompany me. I am sure I will do much better by myself.”
“Nevertheless,” the Countess said firmly, “I think Alexandra needs to be in attendance.”
“Very well, then.” Thorpe bowed stiffly, shooting a look at Alexandra that would have dropped a person of lesser fortitude. “I shall take Miss Ward with me to Chesterfield’s. I will call on you later to set the date and time, if I may, Miss Ward. In the meantime, Countess, I regretfully must leave you. Several matters need my urgent attention.”
“Of course, my dear.” The Countess nodded to him graciously. She turned to Alexandra, holding out her hand. “Now, come, sit beside me and tell me about yourself. I want to hear all about your life, your home, what you were like as a little girl…oh, everything I’ve missed.”
“Mother, I must protest this folly.”
“Ursula, you are my daughter, and I love you dearly, but if you intend to persist in this tone, I think it would be better if you left the room.” The Countess’s voice was pleasant, but the set of her mouth was firm.
Ursula drew in a breath, her eyes widening. Alexandra thought she was going to explode in a fit of anger, but then she swallowed her rage and folded her hands in her lap. Shooting a venomous look toward Alexandra, she said, “All right, Mother. If that is how you feel.”
She did not leave, but she did sit back, lips pressed together, and watched.
Alexandra turned to the Countess. “But, my lady, what if I am not your granddaughter?”
The Countess smiled. “Then I will have spent a very pleasant hour getting acquainted with an interesting woman.”
Alexandra sat down beside her with a smile, and they began to talk.
IT WAS MORE THAN AN HOUR LATER when Alexandra finally left the house, so she was surprised to find Lord Thorpe standing beside his carriage, arms folded across his chest, looking thunderous. It irritated her that she could not suppress a little thrill at the sight of him. Whatever was the matter with her? The man was a toad, and by rights she ought to be disgusted by the sight of him.
“My lord.” She gave him the barest of nods and started along the sidewalk away from him.
He was beside her in an instant, however, his hand locking around her wrist. “I have been waiting for you. You and I are going to have a little talk.”
“I think that you and I have already said more than enough to each other.” Sebastian said nothing, just pulled her toward his carriage. Alexandra tried to jerk her wrist away. “Are you planning to abduct me now?”
“No. I have no intention of keeping you.” Accurately judging the scowl that was gathering on Alexandra’s face, he added, “It’s no use kicking up a fuss. I don’t embarrass easily, and no one will challenge me.”
Given the look on his face, Alexandra suspected that was true. Since she had no real belief that he would harm her, she shrugged and climbed into his carriage. He followed, slamming the door after him, and the carriage rocked off.
Thorpe studied her for a moment, his eyes dark. Alexandra gazed at him, aware of a sense of anticipation at the storm that she was sure was about to break. There was, she realized with a start, something exhilarating about arguing with Lord Thorpe.
“How can you live with yourself?” he asked finally.
“Very easily, my lord.”
“How can you deceive that kind, fragile woman? Do you have any idea how sad she has been for more than twenty years over the death of her son and his family?”
“No. I can only guess,” Alexandra answered honestly. “I am very sorry for her.”
He made a noise of disgust. “I doubt you are capable of feeling anything for anyone but yourself.”
“Oh, no, that’s not true. I feel a great deal of dislike for you.”
His eyes flashed. “I still had some hope. Despite the fact that you hid your reasons for going to Exmoor House, despite the fact that you looked like the adventuress Ursula thinks you are, I had a faint, lingering hope that you would prove Ursula wrong. That you would stay away from the Countess, that you would not press your claim with her. I clung to the fact that you had told the Countess
you could not be her granddaughter. This morning at my house, your indignation seemed real. But then you walked into that room today, and I knew that I had been a fool to even hope. It was just as Ursula predicted. You found something to make the Countess believe you, and you brought it to her with an air of innocence. ‘What does this mean, Countess?’ As if you didn’t know! As if you hadn’t intended to use it all along.”
“I didn’t know about it before today,” Alexandra protested. “Not, of course, that I expect you to believe the truth. You are far too interested in the story you have made up to even consider the facts.”
“There are no facts to consider.” He leaned across the carriage, his eyes burning into hers. “There is nothing but what you have concocted. You are a cheat, a swindler, and you have had nothing on your mind since you got here except to worm your way into the Countess’s confidence. You manufactured an excuse to see me. You flirted and—”
“Is it really the Countess you are so upset about my deceiving?” Alexandra asked astutely. “Or is what really galls you the fact that I supposedly deceived you?”
Thorpe’s eyes flared with anger, and his mouth tightened. Suddenly his hand lashed out and grabbed her arm, and he jerked her across the carriage and onto his lap. Alexandra half fell across him, her bonnet knocked off her head and dangling by its ribbons. His other arm fastened around her, and his lips came down to take hers. Alexandra put her hands against his chest and shoved, trying to wriggle out of his grasp, but it was of little use. He held her easily while his predatory mouth claimed hers. Alexandra was infuriated. It was just like a man, she thought, to try to settle an argument by asserting his physical dominance. She went rigid, knowing it was useless to struggle against him. She would make him sorry, she thought, though she was not sure how.
Surrounded by his scent, his warmth, his strength, she began to soften. His mouth was hot and urgent on hers, searing her, and despite her irritation, her stomach quivered, her loins loosening and blossoming with heat. She heard the rasp of his breath in his throat, felt his heart thudding against the wall of his chest, and heat began to rise within her. Letting out a sigh, she relaxed against him. Sebastian felt her surrender, the flush of heat through her body, and triumph flashed through him, mingling with desire and rage. His hold on her loosened, and his hand slid over the curves of her body, exploring her softness. He touched her breasts, feeling the pointing of her nipples through the cloth, and slipped over the plane of her stomach and onto the curve of her hip.
