by Olivia Drake
Deep in thought, James picked up the slender volume and riffled through the pages. One thing was certain, he would never have expected a swindler to be in possession of a book of psalms—
A paper fell out of the pages and onto the carpet.
Bending down, he rescued the sheet and brought it close to the light of the lamp. On a folded piece of foolscap was written Mr. and Mrs. George Crompton, along with an address in India.
James opened the yellowed paper. Excitement flared in him. He was holding a letter, an old one judging by the looks of it. In places, the black ink had faded to brown, and he had to strain to discern the words.
To the esteemed Mr. and Mrs. Crompton,
Pray permit me to give thanks for your most generous bequest, which arrived on Tuesday last. Although your kindness will not bring back my dearest Mercy, she would have been happy to know that I am well cared for in my waning years. May God Almighty bless you both and keep you safe,
Mrs. Hannah Bleasdale
Littleford Cottage
Lancashire, England
The spidery script had a wobbly, laborious quality as if the author was not accustomed to putting pen to paper. It was dated nearly twenty years earlier.
James stared down at the note. Who the devil was Mrs. Bleasdale? And why would Edith Crompton save nothing from her past but this one seemingly insignificant note of thanks? Had it been slipped into the prayer book long ago and then forgotten?
He was inclined to think otherwise. Surely the letter had to be of great value to Edith if she kept it in the table right beside her bed. And who was Mercy? Mrs. Bleasdale’s daughter or granddaughter?
More important, what connection did the two women have to Edith?
A muffled thump jerked his attention away from the note. The noise had come from the corner of the bedchamber where the outline of a white door loomed in the shadows.
It was the connecting entry to George’s quarters.
The man must have concluded his work downstairs. If he were to walk in here right now …
James pocketed the letter, quietly shoved the drawer shut, and snatched up the lamp. Then he made a mad dash for the boudoir and the outer door that led to the passageway.
In the boudoir, James set the lamp on the dressing table. He was leaning down to blow it out when he heard the sound of the door opening and then the heavy tramp of approaching footsteps. Swiftly, he abandoned the task and picked up the tray.
Just in time.
George Crompton appeared in the doorway. Having shed his coat and cravat, he wore a plain white shirt and dark breeches. He stopped short on seeing James. A mistrustful frown descended over the man’s weathered features and his fingers curled into fists at his sides.
“What are you doing in here?” he snapped.
Rigid with tension, James lowered his gaze in order to portray an image of humble servitude. The purloined letter burned in his coat pocket. If he was taken for a thief and searched, the note would be found.
He would be hard-pressed to explain why he had it in his possession. Such a discovery would force him to reveal his true identity or risk being thrown into prison.
At all costs, James had to avoid playing his hand too early. He wasn’t yet ready to openly accuse this man of being an imposter. It would be a disaster if the fellow were to burn the letter and destroy any other evidence that might be in this house.
“The tray, sir,” James murmured, indicating the tea tray he held. “I was sent to fetch it.”
“Why is that lamp lighted?”
“I don’t know. It was lit when I came in.”
James hoped the flimsy ruse would pass muster. He had brought the tea tray here for the purpose of giving himself an excuse in case he was caught. Now he wondered if it would be sufficient to exonerate him.
Against all logic, a part of him half hoped for a confrontation. James felt more certain than ever that a crime had been committed against his cousin. He was looking forward to the moment when this man would be exposed to the world as a charlatan.
George ran his fingers through his thinning hair. “Edith! One of these days that woman will burn the house down. Go on, then, off with you.”
James turned to leave. He clenched his teeth to keep from uttering a condemnation of the man right here and now. To demand to know if the real George Crompton had been murdered.
Holding himself in check, James walked out the door of the boudoir. It would be unwise to make any accusations just yet. Before such an event took place, he must have an iron-clad case.
With any luck, the letter in his pocket might be the key piece of proof he needed.
Chapter 14
Blythe suspected trouble when Portia sent a terse summons to come to Lindsey’s house at her earliest convenience—alone. An hour later, as Blythe stepped into the spacious foyer, she had disobeyed in one respect. She had brought Kasi with her as a foil for whatever scolding her sisters had in store.
A sense of unease nagged at Blythe. Had Portia and Lindsey found out about the ruse? Surely that was impossible.
The previous evening at Almack’s, Lord Harry Dashwood had lost no time in spreading the word about the imminent arrival of Nicolai, the crown prince of Ambrosia. The air had been buzzing with the news. Much to Blythe’s delight, she’d seen Lady Davina herself listening avidly to Lord Harry.
Blythe had warned him not to reveal the source of the report, and he had complied. She knew her secret was safe. After all, no one at Almack’s had approached her for additional information. Then, on the way home, Mama had expressed interest in the prince’s visit without betraying any suspicion that Blythe herself had started the rumor.
Standing in the sunlit foyer with its tall windows, she ordered herself to relax. The summons could have nothing whatsoever to do with the hoax. Rather, it was far more likely that her two sisters intended to lecture Blythe on the folly of marrying the Duke of Savoy.
Let them try. She had no intention of being dissuaded from the course she’d set for her life.
Informed by the butler that the ladies were up in the nursery, Blythe and Kasi ascended the grand staircase. The previous summer, Lindsey had wed Thane Pallister, the Earl of Mansfield, and they had moved into this mansion on Park Lane. As always, Blythe felt awed by the splendor of Pallister House.
If she married the Duke of Savoy, she too would have a beautiful home in which she could play hostess. She could hold balls and dinners for the ton. Yet for some reason, the prospect held little interest for her today. Was it because she’d been so frustrated in her efforts to have a moment alone with the duke?
That must be it. And the problem would be solved very soon, once she’d enacted her scheme to distract Lady Davina. Blythe could scarcely wait to see James garbed as Prince Nicolai.…
Upon reaching the top of the steps, she heard the sounds of laughing voices and childish squeals emanating from the far end of the broad passageway. She and Kasi followed the happy noise to a large, sunny schoolroom that had been converted to a playroom with a rocking horse, dolls and games, and other toys.
They paused just inside the doorway. Across the room, Portia stood with Lindsey, who cuddled her infant daughter, Ella. Nearby, Thane leaned against the windowsill, his arms folded. He stood grinning at his brother-in-law, who was chasing Arthur around the playroom.
Shrieking with laughter, the little boy toddled as fast as his chubby legs could carry him. Colin pretended to catch him, while letting him escape at the very last moment. Round and round the room they ran until Arthur collided with a stool and flopped backward onto his padded bottom. A startled look came over his face; then he let out a howl that was more indignant than distressed.
Portia rushed to kneel beside him and dry his tears. “Poor baby. Are you hurt?”
“He’s perfectly fine,” Colin said. “You needn’t cosset him.”
Sure enough, Arthur stopped crying and stretched up his hands to his father. “Up,” he demanded. “Up, Papa.”
/> “Goodness,” Lindsey said. “He’s learning more words every day.”
“My nephew is quite brilliant,” Thane replied, coming close to gently cradle the sleeping baby’s head in his hand. “However, little Ella here will be giving him competition soon enough. Only look at what a clever mother she has.”
He and Lindsey shared a private smile. Lifting up on tiptoe, she kissed his scarred cheek. “I was clever enough to marry you.”
In the throes of wistful yearning, Blythe watched them. With all her heart, she ached to experience such closeness with the man of her dreams. She imagined herself being held by James while he gazed at her with loving tenderness.…
James? How jarring that he would enter her daydreams. She had no interest in the footman other than to ensure that he cooperated in the ruse to trick Lady Davina.
Colin took hold of Arthur and swooped him up high in the air. Reaching for the ceiling, the little boy burst into gales of infectious laughter that made Blythe smile.
Portia waved at Blythe and Kasi. “Why, look who’s here.”
“Go give your Auntie Blythe a kiss,” Colin said, setting his son down and giving him a gentle push toward the doorway.
Arthur came rushing toward Blythe, his cherub features alight with joy. “Tiss!”
“Do you mean kiss?” She bent down to hug him tightly and to kiss him on the cheek. How small and sturdy he felt, how very dear. A rush of love squeezed her heart. He felt so perfect in her arms. How wonderful it would be to become a mother herself.
She ruffled his black hair. “How is my favorite boy? Have you been good since I saw you yesterday?”
Being too young to answer her questions, he took hold of her face in his chubby hands. He landed a loud smack on her cheek, then giggled at the noise he’d made.
Breaking free, he toddled to Kasi and threw his arms around her legs. She beamed down at him, murmuring to him in her singsong voice.
Blythe looked across the playroom and caught Lindsey and Portia exchanging a telling glance; then they each nodded to their husbands. Clearly, it was time for the men to leave the women to their talk.
Colin strode forward to hoist Arthur up to straddle his shoulders. Arthur wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and chortled with glee. “Well, my lad,” Colin said, “we’re to make ourselves scarce. What do you say we go look for frogs in the garden?”
Arthur babbled his assent.
Portia smiled, though observing them with a hint of anxiety. “You do have a firm hold on him, don’t you?”
“Have a little faith, darling. I won’t let my son fall.”
As the men departed with the boy, Blythe tried to picture the Duke of Savoy abandoning his dignity to play chase with their child, or to give him a ride on his shoulders. The image refused to take shape in her mind. But she could easily envision James in the role of doting father.
Irked, Blythe banished him from her mind. Her future depended upon becoming the Duchess of Savoy. Nothing and no one must rob her of that opportunity.
Lindsey passed the sleepy infant to Kasi. “Would you be a dear and put Emma for her nap? If you need me, we’ll be in the drawing room.”
“Yes, missy.” Kasi spared a single piercing glance at the sisters before turning away. Clearly she suspected something was up, though she made no attempt to follow them. Heading into the adjoining room, she crooned a soft song in Hindi while rocking Ella in her arms.
Blythe ached to hold the baby herself and escape the coming inquisition. Nevertheless, she joined her sisters in walking toward the grand staircase.
“Where is Jocelyn today?” she asked. A year younger than Blythe, Jocelyn was Thane’s ward and still in the schoolroom. The previous spring, she and Blythe had become fast friends. “I haven’t seen very much of her since my come-out.”
“She and Miss Underhill went out to Green Park for her sketching lesson,” Lindsey said. “So you needn’t look to her to rescue you.”
“Rescue me?” Blythe said, sending a cool glance back at her middle sister as they descended the stairs. “That sounds ominous.”
“Quite,” Portia murmured. “By the by, I asked you to come alone.”
“So you did, but I could scarcely leave without a chaperone. Be thankful I didn’t bring Mama with me.”
“I suspect you’d have been very sorry if you had.”
“Why? Mama is most anxious to see me wed His Grace of Savoy. She won’t take well to the two of you trying to convince me otherwise!”
Portia frowned, but refused to say any more until they were seated in chairs in the sunny yellow drawing room with its tall windows overlooking the verdant stretch of Hyde Park. A servant wheeled in a tea tray at once, apparently having been given orders to prepare it on Blythe’s arrival.
Lindsey poured three steaming cups and distributed them. Blowing on her tea to cool it, Blythe braced herself for the usual arguments against the Duke of Savoy. She felt secure in her decision to marry him, and she only wished her sisters could support her.
“I had an unexpected visitor this morning,” Portia said. “To say that I was surprised would be an understatement.”
“A visitor?” Blythe said, wracking her brain. Had Lady Davina come here to enlist support in her crusade to keep Blythe from marrying the duke? “Who?”
“The Countess de Lieven.”
Blythe nearly spilled the tea in her lap. The cup rattled in the saucer as she stared at her oldest sister. The stern look on Portia’s face boded ill. Dear heavens. So this meeting wasn’t about the duke, after all—at least not directly.
Out of sheer cowardice, Blythe prevaricated. “The wife of the Russian ambassador? I wasn’t aware that you knew her.”
“You’re right—I don’t. Or at least I didn’t. I must say, it was extremely awkward to be questioned by a near-stranger about an imaginary letter I’d received from Arun.”
“Oh.” Blythe felt a flush spread up her throat and into her face. What exactly did the countess know? Perhaps she had merely been fishing for information. “I … um … might have mentioned last night at Almack’s that you still correspond with Arun on occasion.”
Lindsey snorted. “Well, that’s a mild way of putting it. Apparently, you invented a friend of his, a Prince Nicolai of Ambrosia. He is an invention, isn’t he? Because the countess said she’d never heard of the country. Why on earth would you spread such a mad rumor?”
Blythe held up her chin. “It isn’t mad at all. It’s perfectly logical.” Her fingers gripped tightly in her lap, she gave Portia an anxious look. “But first, I must know exactly what you said to the countess. Did you tell her I was lying?”
“I said that I wasn’t willing to discuss the content of my private letters, and that you should not have done so, either. When she left, she was less than happy with me.”
“That’s all? You didn’t reveal that Arun never wrote about Prince Nicolai?”
“Of course not. I didn’t want to land you in hot water.” Portia raised a chiding eyebrow at Blythe. “However, you might have warned me that you’re up to some scheme. I was hard-pressed to determine what you meant in telling such a colossal fib.”
Awash with relief, Blythe sprang up to embrace Portia. “Bless you! You’re the best sister in the world.”
Lindsey cleared her throat.
“As are you, of course,” Blythe added hastily, giving her middle sister a hug, too. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. It’s crucial that no one in society questions the story.”
“Then do us the honor of telling us the truth,” Lindsey said. “I for one am most intrigued.”
Wondering how much she should reveal, Blythe walked back and forth in front of the tea tray. She didn’t dare divulge the full extent of her plan. They didn’t know James as she did, and they would object to her trusting his ability to pull off the ruse.…
Her sisters were staring at her, Lindsey drumming her fingers on the arm of the chair, and Portia absently smoothing a hand over her bare
ly rounded midsection. The last thing Blythe wanted was a dressing-down from the two women she loved most in the world.
“You know that I wish to wed the Duke of Savoy.” Seeing them frown in unison, she held up her hand. “I don’t want to hear your objections. Just accept it as my decision. The trouble is, the duke’s daughter, Lady Davina, opposes the match.”
“As well she should,” Lindsey muttered. “He’s too old for you.”
“That isn’t why she objects. Rather, she thinks that because of my common birth I’m not good enough for him. She told me straight to my face that she would never permit her father to marry so vastly far beneath himself.”
Portia clucked in sympathy. “She’s a narrow-minded snob. It is best to simply avoid people like her.”
“That isn’t all.” Blythe related how Lady Davina had played several nasty tricks, including the one involving Lord Kitchener. “She’s made it her personal aim never to allow me anywhere near her father. So I decided that since she won’t leave his side, something must be done to divert her attention.”
“Enter Prince Nicolai of Ambrosia,” Lindsey said, giving Blythe an astute look. “However, if you’re planning to deceive Lady Davina with this fictitious prince, then you’re playing a dangerous game.”
“I intend to convince her that the prince is interested in courting her. That way, she won’t be hovering near the duke and I’ll have a chance to charm him.”
Portia set down her teacup in its saucer. “Do you mean to have this Prince Nicolai actually appear in society?” she said in an aghast tone. “How? Have you hired a Covent Garden actor to play the role?”
“Not precisely,” Blythe hedged. “I assure you, it isn’t anything that should worry either of you.”
She strolled to the window, pretending an interest in the view of Hyde Park. Maybe they would take the hint that she didn’t wish to answer any more questions.
But of course her sisters weren’t known for their tact.
