The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  All he could think about was the fact that for Sam’s safety and security he needed to discover who her mother was without delay. Now it appeared that her safety and security were also jeopardized by the search itself. But the people who knew about Sam’s illegitimacy were all people he trusted. He had even felt quite confident that Humphries could be counted on to keep mum.

  So, who was the traitorous tattler? And why did someone feel so desperate about secrecy that they would resort to sinister notes? The fact that someone—a woman, perhaps?—was threatened by his search for Sam’s mother made Julian think it even more likely that Clorinda had been telling the truth in her diary about Sam’s mother being a titled lady of the ton. Had she seen Sam about town and recognized her as her child?

  Or, worse still, perhaps the letter was warning Julian that the truth could hurt Sam in some way. And there was nothing in the world he wouldn’t do to protect her.

  The baggage, he muttered to himself. Why the devil had she worn that dress? It was tasteful, and truly not immodest. But she looked damned alluring in it, and half the male population of London had crowded into their box during intermission to ogle her. He hated a crowded box…

  Besides, the men had behaved so foolishly, the lot of them practically drooling, their eyes nearly popping out of their skulls as they stared down at her. And as she’d remained seated the entire time, what a view they must have had of her tender cleavage!

  Why was she flirting so outrageously? Could it be to try to make him jealous? The silly girl … didn’t she know he was above such nonsense?

  He hoped to God she hadn’t been so enthralled with her reading that evening that she was thinking of experimenting with sex. She knew better than that … didn’t she? But Sam was always so unpredictable. From moment to moment it was impossible to know what she’d be up to next.

  Then Isabelle had to pick tonight of all nights to attend the theater! She generally did not enjoy watching plays or opera—she’d had enough of it as a performer for several years—but she’d wheedled for a box, and Julian had complied. But tonight she quite brazenly stared into their box, possibly making Charlotte notice the lady’s interest in them and coming to the unfortunate and accurate conclusion that she was being scrutinized by his mistress. But Charlotte was a sensible girl, so sensible she might not even object to Julian keeping a mistress once they were married. Or, rather, she would outwardly pretend that she didn’t know he had a mistress and act like she didn’t care.

  On the other hand, if he were married to Sam, she would probably take up arms and shoot him if he dared to keep a mistress…

  Julian found himself smiling at the picture he’d conjured in his mind. But then his smile slackened and quickly fell away completely. Actually he had no real idea what Sam thought and what she was feeling these days. Was she really infatuated with him, as Charlotte suggested, and trying to make him jealous? Or was she pragmatically pursuing a husband?

  His eyes narrowed as he observed Sam’s confiding manner toward Jean-Luc Bouvier. Hopefully she wouldn’t decide that he was her man. Julian couldn’t hear what the fellow was saying, but it was bound to be empty flattery and nonsense. No, he felt sure that there was no real possibility of a marriage proposal from that quarter. It was the American who would carry the day, then carry Sam off to the States—damn’im! What a shame … Amanda and Sam had just been reunited, and now they would soon be separated by a huge ocean. They would miss each other a great deal.

  Julian frowned. Yes, a very great deal, indeed.

  During the next intermission, along with another influx of gentlemen, Sam was surprised to see a lady entering Julian’s box. She was a tiny woman of late middle age, dressed in a long-sleeved, buttoned-to-the-neck, pistachio-green gown that was fussily trimmed with too many ruffles and bows and satin rosettes … and she was leaning heavily on the arm of Ninian Wentworth. Judging by the pained look on Ninian’s face, the woman could be none other than his formidable mama. Julian stood and greeted her.

  “Lord Serling,” she began, peering peevishly up at him with pale blue eyes that looked too large for her thin face. “I can imagine how surprised and delighted you are to see me. Indeed, with my delicate health I do not often venture out these days. And our box is fully two stairs up and clear round on the other side of the gallery. I am fagged to death from the walk, I can assure you.”

  “I am fully aware of the honor you pay us by walking so far, Lady Wentworth,” Julian replied politely. “Pray, sit down.”

  While continuing to carry on flirtatious conversation with the men surrounding her, Sam kept her ears tuned in to Julian’s conversation with Lady Wentworth. She was certainly a fascinating woman to watch and listen to. She must have been a great beauty once, but now her hair had faded from shining blond to a pale, flat yellow. Her complexion was sallow, her small features were pinched, there was a deep furrow between her brows and long frown lines on either side of her mouth. But Sam suspected that except for eating too little to keep even a hummingbird alive, Lady Wentworth’s state of health suffered most from acute disagreeableness.

  “I don’t like the theater, do you, Lord Serling?”

  Before Julian could reply, Lady Wentworth continued, “No, of course you don’t! Who could? It is nothing but a lot of noise. And that woman is nothing but a trollop. Her dress is quite vulgar. Quite vulgar, indeed!”

  “Mama,” Ninian ventured, his face flushed, “she’s wearing a costume. You wouldn’t recognize her as Cleopatra if she were buttoned up like a Quaker.”

  “I’ve come to meet your ward, Lord Serling,” Lady Wentworth announced imperiously, ignoring Ninian. “And as I’m much too frail to force my way through that throng of young men, would you be so obliging as to call her over here?”

  “Certainly, madam,” Julian replied, his mouth showing a betraying twitch of amusement that probably only Sam noticed. “I’ll fetch her for you immediately.”

  When Julian came, parting the crowd of men as ably as Moses parted the Red Sea, Sam was ready. There was a subdued look of glee in Julian’s eyes, as if to say, I’m delighted to have you finally meet the greatest drawback to marrying Ninian Wentworth. But Sam met his gaze with a challenging twinkle. She was going to prove that she was more than capable of gaining Lady Wentworth’s approval.

  As Jean-Luc and the other gentlemen watched—indeed, everyone in the box was watching—Julian took Sam’s hand and led her to the chair where Lady Wentworth sat like a queen on her throne. Sam had the almost hysterical urge to curtsy deeply before her as if she were being presented in court to real royalty. Ninian stood just behind her—as squeamishly pale as his delicate mama—looking anxious and apologetic.

  “Lady Wentworth, may I introduce my ward, Miss Samantha Darlington,” Julian said, then stepped back.

  “How do you do, madam?” Sam said, curtsying demurely.

  “I do exceedingly ill, young lady,” Lady Wentworth replied irritably, waving a handkerchief that was so heavily drenched in lavender water it could choke a horse. “The building is cold and the air is stale … not fit to breathe!”

  “Indeed, I couldn’t agree more,” Sam immediately replied, her tone dripping with sympathy. “I wouldn’t breathe at all if I could help it. But I can’t help it, you see. Even if I hold my breath for an instant, I immediately fall into a swoon!”

  Lady Wentworth’s brows lifted with surprise and approval. “Do you indeed? Like myself, you must have a delicate constitution.” Then her brows lowered as she eyed Sam’s décolletage. “But if you have a delicate constitution and are apt to swoon easily, you are probably prone to inflammations of the lung, as well. I shouldn’t wear my neckline so low if I were you, Missy. You’ll catch your death.”

  Sam touched her fingers to her throat and tried to look alarmed, then grateful, for Lady Wentworth’s dire predictions and advice. “Lady Wentworth, I can’t thank you enough for pointing out what I should have seen all along. I was only trying to be fashionable, you know, but you’
re quite right that I ought to bundle up better when it’s cold. I do tend to catch sore throats.”

  Lady Wentworth “hmphed” with satisfaction, her narrow chest puffing out a little. “You’re very welcome to my advice, Missy, and if you’d like some more, perhaps Ninian could bring you to the house for tea one day. I have several recipes for medicinal poultices for the throat.”

  “That would be very pleasant, madam,” Sam lied, so sweet and convincing in her manner she even drew a smile from the old hypochondriac.

  “Then I’ll expect you Thursday at four,” Lady Wentworth said with a decided nod of her head.

  Sam was a little taken aback by the quick invitation, but she managed to answer, “That would be quite … er … lovely, Lady Wentworth.”

  Lady Wentworth nodded some more, as if smugly acknowledging that Sam’s expectation of enjoyment at the future tea were perfectly understandable. “Now that I’ve met you and I’ve ascertained for myself that Ninian isn’t chasing after an unsuitable female—”

  “Mama!” Ninian objected, turning red again.

  “Well, I don’t know your family, my dear,” Lady Wentworth explained to Sam with a sniff. “I heard something about a clergyman in Cumbria, but before you moved in with your cousin, Amanda Darlington, you might have been raised on a deserted island for all I know! I’m sure you understand my desire to meet the young woman my son seems so enamored of.”

  “Mama!” Ninian repeated, increasingly mortified.

  Striving to keep a straight face, Sam murmured, “Of course, madam.”

  “But now that I’ve met you, I can see by your lovely manners and delicate sensibilities that you were raised in the very best of homes.”

  “Sam had the finest education a young woman could have,” Julian assured Lady Wentworth, stepping forward and smiling down at Sam with avuncular pride. “But, madam, it seems to me that you’re sitting in a draft! Shouldn’t you either sit over there by the Batsfords or remove to your own comfortable box?”

  Julian was obviously trying to hurry Lady Wentworth away and save Sam from either dissolving in giggles or saying something outrageous that would shock the snobby old harridan. Lady Wentworth immediately responded.

  “Is there a draft?” she cried in alarm, pulling her shawl more closely about her shoulders. “Why, yes, I believe there is! But I won’t stay; nor do I wish to return to my box and endure any more of this ridiculous play. That woman—! So vulgar! Come along, Ninian, give me your arm, and we’ll leave before the caterwauling starts again. Send someone ahead to get the carriage. I want it waiting at the steps. I won’t stand in the treacherous night air and catch my death, you understand. It’s much too dangerous for me! Good-bye, Lord Serling. Goodbye, Miss Darlington. Charmed, I’m sure.”

  Then she was gone, and the resulting quiet was punctuated by stifled titters of amusement among the young men remaining in the box. “It was a good thing you convinced her to leave,” Sam whispered to Julian with a smile. “One minute more, and I would have told her what I thought of her taste. How could she possibly call Genevieve DuBois’s divine singing caterwauling? Or refer to such a beautiful woman as vulgar?”

  “Lady Wentworth’s opinion of Madame DuBois is the least of your troubles in that quarter, Sam,” Julian informed her with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If you marry Ninian, you are doomed to a future filled with medicinal poultices and endless quackish advice. After tea on Thursday she will doubtless offer to leech you.”

  Sam laughed out loud, and for a single shining moment, the reserve that Julian had built up between them in the last few days, and particularly in the last few hours, dissolved like sugar in hot tea. His smile was warm and genuine and full of … affection? But then the sparkle dimmed in his eyes, his mouth conformed to its usual grim lines, and he returned to his seat by Charlotte.

  Sighing to herself, Sam returned to her own seat, endured the attentions of her admirers for another couple of minutes till the bell chimed to alert them to the impending start of the play, then she lost herself again in the tempestuous life of Cleopatra, queen of the Nile.

  Chapter Seven

  “I didn’t see you at the theater last night,” Sam said to Nathan as they stood together in the foyer waiting for Clara to show up with Madison on a leash. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and they were going for another walk in Hyde Park, with plans to return to the house in plenty of time to avoid the fashionable crowds that converged daily on the park between the hours of four and six.

  Hedley had just passed through the hall, throwing Nathan a sneering, suspicious look. Instead of answering her question, Nathan said, “Why does Hedley dislike me so much? Is it because I’m American?”

  Sam shrugged. “Hedley’s a snob. He doesn’t like anyone that’s not English. He doesn’t like Jean-Luc either.” Sam paused, then admitted, “But, for some reason, he especially dislikes Americans.”

  “Well, it’s danged annoying the way he’s always glaring at me,” Nathan complained.

  Sam raised her brows inquiringly as she gave the apple-green ribbon, tied into a large bow under her chin, a straightening tug. “I’m surprised you care so much about Hedley’s good or bad opinion of you. Is it because of Clara?”

  Nathan’s startled gaze darted to hers. “What do you mean?” he asked cautiously.

  “You needn’t play the dolt with me,” she advised him with a friendly smile. “I mentioned a minute ago that I didn’t see you at the opera. You didn’t answer, but I think I know the answer. You didn’t come because you felt there was no chance of seeing Clara there.”

  “What’s Clara got to do with anything?” Nathan muttered, averting his eyes. “I didn’t go last night because I don’t like opera.”

  “I’m sure you would have overcome your dislike of opera if there had been a chance of seeing Clara.”

  Nathan opened his mouth, about to deny Sam’s assertions once more, when Clara’s musical voice could be heard at the back of the house, headed their way. She was talking to Madison, telling him in lilting, playful tones what a fun walk he was going to have, what a good pup he was, what a handsome boy, etcetera.

  Nathan closed his mouth, licked his upper lip, and stared down the hall like a hungry dog waiting for someone to throw him a fat, juicy bone.

  Sam laughed. “I hope you’re not trying to fool yourself, Nathan, because you’re not fooling me. Look at you! The sound of her voice sends chills down your spine, doesn’t it? Your mouth is dry, your hands are clammy, and it feels like your heart’s going to explode in your chest from joy. Believe me, I understand the sensations you’re feeling at the moment. You can’t wait to see her. Come on, Nathan, admit it.”

  Nathan shook his head, then turned to her with equal portions of guilt and excitement reflected in his eyes. “I never meant it to happen, Sam. I truly liked you … in the beginning. No, I mean I still like you, but—The thing is, the same things I like about you, I like in Clara, too. Only … well … more. And with Clara I … I…”

  Sam laughed understandingly and supplied the words for him. “You’ve fallen in love with Clara. And who could blame you? She’s a delightful girl. I love her myself and will miss her sorely when you take her away to Virginia with you.”

  Nathan’s jaw went slack and his eyes widened. “I never said I was going to—?”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t going to dally with her, are you, Nathan?” she scolded teasingly.

  Nathan looked horrified. “Of course not! It’s just that I don’t know how she feels about me yet. Marriage is quite … well … And as for her father, he appears to hate me. And what’s more—”

  But Sam wasn’t destined to find out “what’s more.” Clara and Madison had arrived, and Nathan was obliged to keep the rest of his reservations to himself. But Sam thought it should be obvious to any idiot by the way Clara smiled and her eyes lit up when they rested on Nathan that she was as madly in love with him as he was with her. However, since the gentleman needed confirmation fro
m the lady herself, Sam was going to arrange for the timid lovers to have a little time alone together that afternoon.

  Once they arrived at the park, the going was slow as the consciousness of their feelings made Nathan and Clara too shy and uncomfortable to talk. Sam couldn’t have been more relieved and happy when Jean-Luc finally showed up with her poodle, Louie, on a leading string, the dog sniffing his way through a cluster of tall daffodils.

  “Well, well, well,” Jean-Luc called cheerfully. “What a delightful surprise! Imagine running into you three this afternoon.”

  “They didn’t tell you when you picked up your dog that we’d already picked up Madison?” Nathan drawled.

  “They did, of course,” Jean-Luc admitted ingenuously. “But they never told me where you were going. How could they? I daresay you didn’t tell them.”

  But Sam had told Jean-Luc where they’d be, and at precisely what time, the night before at the opera, when she’d thought up this matchmaking plot to get Nathan and Clara together. Delighted to be part of something secretive and romantic, Jean-Luc had readily agreed to be a fellow conspirator.

  “And besides,” Jean-Luc continued, unfazed by Nathan’s suspicious scowl, “it seems hardly fair that Madison gets walked all the time, and Louie not at all.”

  “I had imagined that Louie had rather eat and sleep than take a little exercise,” Nathan remarked sourly.

  “He seems to have plenty of energy today,” Clara observed as Louie finally lifted his nose off the ground, noticed Madison, and strained at his leash to get to his stablemate. The dogs obviously didn’t feel the same competitive rancor the three men felt toward one another. Judging by their furiously wagging tails, Louie and Madison couldn’t have been happier to see each other.