The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  Julian frowned. “No, but—”

  “I think he’s very nice.”

  “He might be your brother!”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. But until I know for sure, I certainly won’t drop him from my list of matrimonial possibilities. Now tell me about Jean-Luc.”

  Julian shook his head. “Very well. Mind you … I do not hold it against him that he’s half-French. But he seems more French than English.”

  “He seems very proud of his native country and his heritage. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No, but he’s a hardened flirt, Sam. In fact, I don’t think you should take his attentions too seriously. I’m not. He’s dallied after more than one woman, I assure you. And don’t let his flattery turn your head. He does flatter you excessively, doesn’t he?”

  “Other than his propensity for telling me how beautiful and wonderful I am in every way, what other reason can you give me for disliking the fellow?” Sam said with dry sarcasm.

  “Nothing,” Julian admitted grudgingly. “He comes of aristocratic stock—as he’s let it be well-known—and when his grandfather died he left him with a comfortable fortune. However, I can’t say I like him.”

  “But you don’t have to like him,” Sam replied, unruffled. “I have to like him … at least well enough to marry him. And if he has other points to recommend him, it wouldn’t be reasonable or logical to reject him just because you don’t like him. Aren’t I right, Julian?”

  Sam’s eyes were wide, her expression earnest. Julian stared at her, his thoughts and feelings in a jumble. He’d been preaching reason and logic to Sam for months. Now that she was actually embracing those tenets, he felt strangely disturbed. Had he so exerted his own personality on his student that she had changed drastically from the idealistic chit she once was?

  But if she had, wasn’t that a good thing? After all, the ultimate thrill of creating was to make something or someone in your own image … wasn’t it? Or was there a certain pleasant “stimulation” felt when someone challenged and even opposed your opinion?

  As Julian struggled with his conflicting feelings, something occurred to right his world, to anchor it once more in sane reason and logic. Charlotte Batsford’s carriage pulled up alongside his, and she inquired sedately, “How do you do, Julian? Isn’t it a lovely day?”

  Sam couldn’t believe her bad luck! She had been making headway with Julian … she knew it! She believed he was jealous of her suitors—which she’d chosen simply because they were likable and persistent—and he seemed to be coming up with plenty of reasons why she shouldn’t favor their suits. If he was so determined to marry her off, why was he so unencouraging?

  Then Charlotte Batsford had to show up!

  “And how are you today, Miss Darlington?” the lady politely continued, interrupting Sam’s venomous thoughts.

  Sam observed Charlotte Batsford, sitting upright in her carriage alongside her prim and most proper lady’s companion, looking cool and lovely in a manilla brown carriage dress, her expression calm and friendly. Then Sam quite simply … lied.

  “Actually, Miss Batsford,” she said, lifting the back of her hand to her forehead, “it’s … it’s rather strange and has come upon me quite suddenly, but I’m feeling decidedly ill and … and faint.”

  Then she collapsed against the cushions in a make-believe swoon.

  Chapter Five

  Julian couldn’t believe that he was carrying Sam in his arms again! She’d swooned in the carriage about two blocks from the house, and he’d had to curtail his conversation with Charlotte to rush his ward home to revive her. Concerned, Charlotte had followed in her own carriage and was close behind Julian as he hurried through the hall and into the front parlor, where he laid Sam down on the sofa.

  Since this particular cozy and sunshine-filled room was where the aunts liked to sit and do needlework of an afternoon, they were present when he arrived with his armful of limp baggage and immediately flew into a flutter of nerves and excitement.

  “Oh dear! Has the child fainted again?” cried Prissy.

  “Has something occurred to distress her?” Nan inquired quiveringly. “Julian, did you discover who Samantha’s m—”

  But she did not finish the sentence when she noticed Charlotte coming through the open door not long after Julian entered the room.

  “Do you have your salts bottle, Nan?” Julian inquired roughly, kneeling beside Sam’s motionless form and chafing her hands. He found them surprisingly warm and her cheeks quite rosy for someone who had just fainted.

  “I always have my salts bottle,” Nan assured him, grabbing her reticule off the table and pulling out the requested item. Julian waved the opened bottle under Sam’s nose.

  This was the part Sam had not been looking forward to. Just like earlier that day, she’d thoroughly enjoyed being toted about in Julian’s strong arms. Her only regret was that she had to stay in character as the fainted female and couldn’t wrap her arms around him and nestle her face against his warm, nice-smelling neck.

  Then she’d been disappointed when he took her into the parlor instead of to her bedchamber, but she supposed he was simply concerned and looking for the quickest place to lay her down.

  Reposed on the sofa with everyone fussing over her, Sam trusted that she presented an interesting and alluring picture to Julian. Such attention was worth smelling those horrid salts for … but only for a few seconds. Pushing the bottle away with feigned weakness, Sam blinked several times and said in a faint, pathetic voice, “Where am I?”

  “You’re quite safe, Sam. You’re at home,” Julian said shortly. “Why the devil did you faint again, child?”

  Julian’s terse tone was not what Sam had hoped for, and she did not like being called a child, but she was sure he spoke that way because he was worried sick about her. Running her tongue lightly over her bottom lip and lifting a languishing hand to her cheek, she whispered, “Oh, Julian. I’m so grateful to you for carrying me inside. You’re so strong and—”

  “You say this is the second time she’s fainted today?” came the calm, no-nonsense voice of Charlotte Batsford, as intrusive to Sam’s dramatic scene as a clanging bell in the dead of night. Sam looked past Julian’s bent head to where the aunts hovered near the sofa and, sure enough, Charlotte stood there with them.

  Sam suppressed the urge to stick her tongue out at the encroacher, but couldn’t resist saying, “What are you doing here, Miss Batsford?”

  “I was worried about you, Miss Darlington,” Charlotte told her. “As we all are. If you have fainted twice today, I should think it wise to consult a doctor.”

  “I don’t depend much on doctors, Charlotte,” Julian said, his narrowed eyes fixed on Sam’s face. “And in Sam’s case, I don’t think her fainting spells were brought on by an illness, but rather because of emotional stress. You see, today we found out—”

  “Julian,” Priss whispered urgently out of the side of her mouth. “Are you sure you should be talking about that?”

  “Charlotte knows about Sam’s true relationship to Amanda,” Julian informed them. “I’ve told her everything.”

  Sam sat up straight, forgetting to behave weak and wilted. “Everything?” she squeaked.

  Julian looked surprised at Sam’s quick recovery and, recollecting herself, she slumped to the pillows and assumed her tragic pose again.

  “You don’t need to worry about it, Sam,” Julian said, eyeing her suspiciously. “Charlotte can be trusted, and she’s practically family.”

  “Indeed, Samantha, you may trust me,” Charlotte said kindly. “And I would like very much to be your friend.”

  Sam didn’t at all like the way things were going. Julian had almost declared his intention of marrying Charlotte right there on the spot! Practically a member of the family, indeed! He’d told her everything! And how dare Charlotte Batsford suggest that they be friends?

  “We found out today that Samantha’s mother is alive, Charlotte,” Julian co
ntinued when Sam did not respond to Charlotte’s offer of friendship.

  Charlotte’s brows rose, which was about as much emotion as Sam had ever seen the woman outwardly display. “Indeed?” she said.

  “Yes,” Julian answered wryly. “And the woman is purportedly a titled female of the ton.”

  Charlotte’s brows rose even higher. “Which titled female?”

  “That we don’t know,” Julian revealed. “But it is a mystery we must solve if Sam is to be wed. We don’t want to mistakenly marry her to a close relative.”

  “No. What a dreadful thought,” Charlotte concurred, her brows lowering to a contemplative frown. “But how are you going to find out who she is? There won’t be any church records of a birth or christening.”

  “I have a plan, which I will explain to you now … if you have a moment. I’ll walk with you for a block or two while your carriage follows.”

  “But Julian, what about me?” Sam demanded petulantly.

  Julian stood up and stared down at her with a thoughtful frown denting his noble brow. “You seem to have recovered with astonishing rapidity, Sam. Take a drink of water and bathe your face, and I’m sure you’ll be as good as new.”

  “No, that’s not what I mean! What about telling me your plan!”

  “That is out of the question. As I told you before, the less you know, the better. I don’t want you involved.”

  Sam sat up again and pounded her fists into the sofa cushions. “Julian, I’m not a child! When will you see that?”

  Julian eyed his charge dubiously, then left, saying, “See you at dinner, brat.”

  Outside, a cool dusk was settling over the city as Julian drew Charlotte’s arm in his and strolled down the walkway in the direction of the Batsfords’ town house. Because Charlotte’s lady’s companion was in the carriage that kept pace with them on the road, it was all quite properly done.

  “What do you make of it, Charlotte?” Julian asked, thoughtfully gazing at the smoky sunset.

  “You mean Sam’s bogus fainting spell or the fact that her mother is still alive and a titled lady of the ton?”

  Julian squeezed her arm affectionately. “So you and I are in agreement about the fainting episode? The first one was genuine, I’m sure, but the second was an obvious sham.”

  “Sam is rather transparent, Julian … and in more ways that one,” Charlotte replied.

  “What do you mean?” Julian looked down at Charlotte’s upturned face.

  “Don’t tell me you don’t know?”

  “Don’t know what?” he returned, puzzled.

  “The girl’s in love with you, Julian!”

  “What girl?”

  Charlotte chuckled. “Can you really be so blind? You’re a man of superior intellect, yet you can’t see what’s in front of your nose. Samantha is in love with you.”

  Julian stopped in his tracks, stunned.

  Charlotte laughed again, amused by his dumbfounded expression. “Well, why do you suppose she staged that counterfeit swoon?”

  “I … I … Julian stuttered.

  “So you’d have to carry her into the house, of course. It was a way of getting into your arms. As well, it interrupted our conversation on the road. She’s jealous of me, you know. I’ve been aware of her jealousy since we met last night.”

  “Good God,” was all Julian could say at first, his mind trying to assimilate the facts and make sense of them.

  “You see her as a child—and her isolated upbringing and lack of experience makes her little more than that in worldly matters—but she thinks very differently about you. She’s trying to make you see her in a different light.”

  Julian was silent. He agreed with Charlotte that Sam was little more than a child and hardly his type of female, anyway. And even if he did feel some fondness for the chit that went beyond brotherly affection—which, of course, he didn’t—he was as good as betrothed to Charlotte. And Charlotte was perfect for him in every way. Sam’s infatuation for him—for it could be nothing more than that—would have to be ignored till it died a natural death.

  “Be careful, Julian.”

  Julian looked sharply into Charlotte’s face. “What do you mean by that?”

  “If you don’t want to marry your young ward, you had better be on the alert constantly. She’ll try every trick in the book.”

  Julian laughed. “She doesn’t know any tricks! She’s an innocent.”

  “Tricks of an innocent are the most lethal of all,” Charlotte warned him. “And she’s clever, too.”

  “You make her sound like Delilah,” Julian objected, smiling.

  “I don’t blame her, you know,” Charlotte confessed ruefully. “How could she help but fall in love with you when the two of you have spent so much time together? Any woman would.”

  Julian was well aware that what Charlotte had just said was extremely flattering and tantamount to a declaration of love. And it would be entirely appropriate at this tender moment to declare his own affection and ask her formally for her hand in marriage. But after an uncomfortable internal struggle, Julian found he could not.

  Instead he allowed a short silence to pass, then he returned to the original subject. “Would you like to hear my plan?”

  Revealing no outward signs of having been gently rebuffed, seemingly as composed as ever, Charlotte said, “Of course. What is it?”

  “It’s very simple. I intend to talk to Sinclair Wallingsford, Lord Humphries.”

  Charlotte immediately understood. “Of course,” she said decidedly. “That’s exactly what you should do. No one knows more inside information and gossip about the ton, and has such a retentive memory, as Lord Humphries. There is so much scandal that occurs and most is forgotten over time … except for the truly infamous situations. But Sinclair, old hypocrite that he is, forgets nothing. It takes him a little longer now to remember—he might even need a few days to ruminate on a given subject—but he will always remember eventually.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on.”

  “You are depending on him to know which titled ladies were with child nineteen years ago, I gather? Particularly those pregnancies that were kept secret for one reason or another.”

  Julian smiled fondly at his companion. “Exactly. Charlotte, you are a sharp one.”

  She inclined her head at the compliment and smiled. “In that way we are well matched.”

  Here again seemed a perfect opportunity to bring up matrimony. But for some reason, Julian could not. Just thinking about it made beads of sweat collect on his brow.

  “Do you go to Humphries’s house now?” Charlotte presently inquired.

  “Yes,” Julian answered promptly, glad for another reprieve. “His house is just another three streets away. I hope he’s home. The sooner I conclude this business concerning Sam’s parentage, the sooner I can attend to my own concerns.”

  Julian had been more or less thinking out loud, but Charlotte caught his eye. Her expression seemed to imply that she took his comment to mean that he was postponing his declaration to her until after Sam’s mother was found. And—being the reasonable person she was—that she accepted this postponement with equanimity. Come to think of it, putting off his declaration for such a very reasonable reason suited Julian just fine. Yes, it made perfect sense to wait.

  Soon Julian was handing Charlotte into her carriage and waving good-bye. Moments later, he was entering Sinclair Wallingsford’s elegant town house.

  An hour later, he was headed home no more enlightened than before. Humphries was going on eighty and, as Charlotte had implied, he was finally starting to forget. But he told Julian he would think on the matter and get back to him when he remembered something that would be helpful. Julian wasn’t worried that Humphries would repeat any of Julian’s explanations about Sam’s predicament; the old sinner had not become privy to so many secrets without having learned to keep silent when he promised.

  Besides, Humphries was in awe of Julian and would never dare cross
him. But now Julian could do nothing further about the situation than read through Clorinda Darlington’s diary to look for additional clues and wait for Humphries to remember.

  Walking home in the cool of the evening, Julian had time to think about what Charlotte had told him about Sam being in love with him. The revelation, which he had no choice but to believe, cast Sam’s recent behavior in a clarifying light. It seemed she was trying through various machinations to incite his jealousy and make him see her as a desirable woman and not a mere little sister and pupil.

  Despite his good intentions to discourage Sam’s infatuation with him, Julian couldn’t help smiling as he wondered what she’d do next to catch his attention…

  Much to the joint chagrin of Jean-Luc and Ninian, it was the third day in a row that Sam had agreed to walk Madison in Hyde Park with Nathan Ford … and Julian hadn’t made a single objection. In fact Julian had made himself quite scarce over the past three days, and his manners were cool and remote. As she felt she’d made some progress in making him jealous at first, Sam was discouraged by this sudden turnabout.

  “Don’t you think so, Sam?”

  Sam shook free of her galling thoughts and observed both Nathan and Clara watching her expectantly. She’d apparently been asked a question she hadn’t heard, and she didn’t have a clue what to answer. So she made an educated guess.

  “Yes, it is a lovely day, isn’t it?”

  Sam was startled when both Clara and Nathan laughed out loud. Their mirth was so boisterous several people stared. Even Madison, sniffing through the grass at the end of the leading string Nathan held on to, turned and barked, adding to the commotion.

  Sam couldn’t help but smile. “What’s so funny? I’ve a feeling the joke’s on me.”

  Clara’s eyes were becomingly brimmed with happy tears, and she held both hands over her mouth to try to contain the giggles that continued to spill out. “You’ve told us it’s a lovely day three times now, miss,” Clara told her, talking through her fingers.