The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  “It seems a shame that George isn’t here, too,” Sam said with an exaggerated sigh. Then her crestfallen expression gave way to one of sudden happiness. “I know! Why don’t Jean-Luc and I go back to the house to fetch George? Nathan, you and Clara can wait here with the dogs till we get back.”

  “But … but, miss,” Clara stuttered, her eyes wide, her expression nervous. “I can’t let you go back to the house unchaperoned with Mr. Bouvier. Lord Serling would have my head … and my job. Besides, it wouldn’t look proper, and I won’t have people talking about you, miss.”

  “Oh, posh, Clara,” said Sam, dismissing her concerns with an airy wave of her hand. “We’ll only be gone a few minutes, and I don’t care a fig for the opinion of people who can find something to gossip about in an innocent carriage ride in broad daylight.”

  “But His Lordship will—”

  “I can handle His Lordship,” Sam insisted, already turning to go. She glanced at Nathan, who hadn’t said a word, then kept on going. His expression was a mixture of consternation and nervous rapture. He knew Sam had arranged this time for him to be alone with Clara so he could find out how she felt about him. While he might not approve of Sam going off with Jean-Luc, he was too happy about the prospect of spilling his heart’s desire into his beloved’s pretty ears to have the strength of character to object to Sam’s scheme.

  Jean-Luc’s high-perch phaeton was parked just a few yards away, his groom watching and tending the horses in his master’s absence.

  “Oh, my! Is this your carriage?” Sam exclaimed, eyeing with appreciation the shiny black equipage with silver detailing. “It’s a high-flyer, isn’t it? I’ve never ridden in one of these sporty vehicles.”

  “Well then, today is your lucky day, isn’t it?” Jean-Luc lifted her easily onto the high seat over the tall front wheels. Then he took the ribbons from his tiger, who boarded behind them, and they were off.

  “But this isn’t the way to Queens Square,” Sam said, as Jean-Luc turned in the opposite direction away from Julian’s elite neighborhood.

  “I thought you might like a little ride before we pick up the dog,” Jean-Luc said with a smile as he urged the sleek black horses to a brisk trot. “Besides, this will give the lovers a little more time.”

  Sam knew her eyes must be shining like a child’s at the circus. “That’s true. And I would dearly love a ride, but do you think it wise? What if someone sees us together … as indeed they must … and starts a dreadful rumor?”

  Jean-Luc threw her a devil-may-care grin. “I thought you didn’t care about people’s opinions. But if some nasty rumor does get started, I suppose I’ll just have to marry you to preserve your reputation, Miss Darlington.”

  Sam must have looked aghast because Jean-Luc laughed out loud. “No, that wouldn’t do at all, would it?”

  “Wh-what do you mean?” Sam stuttered.

  “You’ve put on a convincing show, but you’ve never had any intentions of marrying me, have you? Nor have you had serious designs on Ninian, or Nathan, or any of the men who have been trailing after you with their tongues dragging since the moment they clapped eyes on you.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Sam lied, biting her lip. “As you know, I left off thinking of Nathan when I realized he was in love with Clara. And it’s only decent and natural to help their romance along.”

  “Even before Clara’s interests and feelings were a matter of importance, you never gave Nathan a serious thought. You would no more leave England than cut off your pert little nose.”

  “I like America!” Sam declared.

  “But you like England better … at least as long as a certain someone remains in residence here.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jean-Luc,” Sam insisted, turning her head away to stare, unseeing, at the passing buildings. Her heart was beating much too fast for comfort. Jean-Luc couldn’t possibly know she was in love with Julian, could he?

  “He’s far too old for you, you know. And he’s set in his ways, dictatorial, toplofty and arrogant into the bargain.”

  Sam’s head snapped around again. She stared at Jean-Luc in horror. Who else could he be talking about but Julian?

  Jean-Luc laughed, easily tooling his horse down a narrow alley in a part of town Sam had never seen before. “Yes, moppet. I know you’re in love with your guardian … the stately and elegant marquess of Serling … and I pity you.”

  Sam’s hackles were immediately raised and she couldn’t help but burst out, “Pity me? Why? He’s a wonderful man. You call him arrogant and toplofty, but under his reserved facade, Julian is full of tenderness and honor and passion!”

  Jean-Luc slid a victorious look her way. “Aha. So I was right.”

  Sam realized that Jean-Luc’s teasing trickery had made her betray herself. “Oh, you!” she huffed, crossing her arms and turning away.

  “Don’t worry, Sam,” he said, reaching over with one hand to pat her arm. “I don’t think anyone else knows. But is this wise? Appearances have the whole of London—myself included—thinking that he means to marry Charlotte Batsford, a woman whose emotions are as carefully controlled as his. They’ll make a cool pair,” he added dryly.

  “They won’t make a pair at all, if I have anything to say about it,” Sam muttered.

  There was a rather lengthy silence as Jean-Luc continued to drive the phaeton up and down unfamiliar streets. She would have been enjoying the impromptu tour if she hadn’t been so disturbed by the revelation that her love for Julian had been so obvious to a man she was supposed to be encouraging as a suitor.

  “Did it never occur to you, Sam,” Jean-Luc presently asked, “that you might be playing a bit fast and loose with Ninian’s feelings … not to mention my own?”

  Sam made a grimacing little face. “To be honest, though all three of you have been paying me a lot of attention, I never thought any of you were in danger of really falling in love with me.”

  Jean-Luc arched a brow. “And how did you come to that convenient conclusion?”

  Sam’s brows drew together in a thoughtful frown. “I always felt that Ninian only liked me as a friend. He seems comfortable around me, whereas I’ve observed that he’s not as comfortable around other women. But I suppose I’m not your typical female, am I?”

  “Indeed not. In fact, I would call that statement an understatement,” Jean-Luc quipped good-humoredly.

  “Yes, Ninian feels easy with me … which must account for my charm where he’s concerned. And, besides, everyone knows he doesn’t want to marry. He wants to go into the military.”

  “But his mama won’t let him. And now that Lady Wentworth has met you, and you took such pains to gain her approval—done, no doubt, to impress the marquess—she will badger Ninian constantly until he breaks down and proposes to you.”

  “Do you really think so?” Sam said worriedly. “I don’t want to get him into trouble with his mama by refusing him, so I’d rather he didn’t ask.”

  “Then you’re planning to refuse Ninian?”

  “Of course. I’m not in love with him.”

  “And you would use the same logic if I were to ask for your hand in marriage, I suppose? Pray, what excuse do you have for leading me on, Miss Darlington? Do you think I have no heart to break?”

  Jean-Luc had a teasing smile on his lips, but Sam thought she detected a bit of tenderness, a vulnerability, behind the twinkle in his dark eyes. She tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and leaned confidingly close, saying, “You are a shameless flirt, Jean-Luc, but women love you for it … among your other attractions. You could marry any one of a score of women just dying for you to glance their way. You would never hang your heart on the hope of marrying a hoyden like me!”

  He smiled down at her. “Wouldn’t I?”

  “No, of course not! You and I are friends … the very best of friends.”

  “Friends make good spouses, Sam. Didn’t you know?”

  “Friends make good frien
ds,” Sam disagreed.

  “So, even though you’ve got your heart set on marrying Julian Montgomery, you don’t mind if I keep coming round, then?”

  “I would miss you very much if you quit coming round.”

  “Besides which, you’d have to find another bloke to make Julian jealous.”

  “Well, that’s true,” Sam admitted with a rueful chuckle. “But you must know how much I enjoy your company, Jean-Luc. I’m not just using you, y’know!”

  “Chère, use me all you want,” Jean-Luc advised her. “You do it so charmingly.”

  Sam laughed and squeezed Jean-Luc’s arm, but suddenly froze when she caught sight of a gentleman strolling down the walkway who looked just like Julian. No … it was Julian! She’d know that tall, athletic figure anywhere … not to mention the impeccable clothes, the commanding posture, and the confident stride. Even the woman hanging on his arm, gazing up at him, dressed in a red velvet walking cape with black trim, looked familiar.

  Oh no! Could it be…? Yes! It was the woman from the opera! The courtesan with the wealthy protector!

  “Jean-Luc, look!” Sam cried, her grip on his arm going beyond a friendly squeeze to a viselike pressure.

  “Lord, Sam, you’re cutting off my circulation. What is it?”

  “It’s Julian!” she squeaked, pointing with a shaky finger. “And … and that woman! What did you say her name was? Isabelle Something-or-other! She’s Julian’s mistress, isn’t she?”

  Julian had been listening to something Isabelle was saying to him, or possibly simply gazing with dazzled affection into her face for no particular reason whatsoever, and he was not attending to oncoming traffic.

  “We’re in luck,” Jean-Luc said, turning quickly onto another street to avoid driving right past them. “He didn’t see us.”

  “He wouldn’t have seen us if we’d pulled right up in front of him and blown a horn!” Sam said scornfully, looking back to observe Julian and Isabelle walking up the steps of a redbrick town house. Then, making an instant decision, she quickly scanned the wall of a corner building for an address and stored it away in her memory.

  “Why didn’t you tell me last night that Julian was her protector?” Sam demanded to know, crossing her arms again in an angry pose. “You knew, of course.”

  Jean-Luc sighed. “Yes, I knew. But I also suspected how besotted your were with the man, and I didn’t want to ruin your evening by pointing out to you the woman he is presently—”

  Jean-Luc paused and looked chagrined.

  “Making love to?” Sam supplied grimly. “I already knew he had a mistress. I just didn’t think she’d be that beautiful … or so different from me in every way! Her hair is as black as a raven’s feathers, Jean-Luc! And her figure is very voluptuous.” She groaned. “No wonder he thinks of me as a child. I’m too blond and too slender.”

  “Trust me, chère,” Jean-Luc said dryly. “It’s not the way you look that keeps the marquess from acknowledging your womanhood. You are formed in a different style than his mistress, but you are just as beautiful, just as alluring. Or, in my opinion, you are decidedly more beautiful and alluring. As I said, trust me on this.”

  Although Jean-Luc was always liberal with compliments and couldn’t be taken too seriously, Sam was a bit mollified by his reassuring comments. But still she knew there was something Isabelle had that Sam didn’t have—secrets she knew, tricks she used that made Julian attracted to her—and Sam was determined to find out what those secrets were.

  Later that day, after Jean-Luc and Nathan escorted Sam and Clara and the dogs back to the house, Sam hurried Clara up to her bedchamber to interrogate her. Then as soon as she’d closed the door behind them, she turned and demanded, “All right, Clara, tell me what happened. Ever since Jean-Luc and I returned to the park with George, you’ve been blushing like a bride!”

  Clara sat down on the edge of the bed and pressed her palms to her pink cheeks. “Have I, miss?”

  Sam sat down beside her and grasped Clara’s hands. “Did Nathan tell you that he cared for you?”

  “You planned all this, didn’t you, miss?” Clara accused with a tremulous smile.

  “Yes, and I’m glad I did, because obviously something good’s come of it.”

  Clara shook her head, her smile fading. “I don’t know if it’s good or not.”

  Sam chuckled uncertainly. “What do you mean? How can it not be a good thing if the man you care about also cares for you?”

  “Nathan’s an American, miss, and you know how my father feels about Americans,” Clara said glumly.

  “But that’s a lot of silliness,” Sam said bracingly. “He won’t stand in the way of you marrying Nathan once he knows how much you care about each other.” She leaned close and whispered teasingly, “And how very rich Nathan is!”

  Clara shook her head again, pulling her hands free from Sam’s grip and standing up to pace the floor. “You don’t understand, miss.”

  Sam sobered as she watched a tear trickle down Clara’s face. “Is there something I don’t know, Clara?”

  “Yes. It’s not something that my father likes bandied about, mind you, but I know I can trust you, miss.”

  Sam sat forward on the edge of the bed. “What is it, Clara?”

  Clara continued to pace as she spoke. “It’s like this, miss. You know I’ve got lots of brothers and sisters and no mum, and you know how all we older ones work to help pay for the keeping and education of the younger ones?”

  “Yes, I understand that. I think it’s wonderful how you all work to stay together as a family. And I know it must be hard for your father to manage all he does—running Julian’s house and keeping tabs on his own home and all his children. I assumed that’s why he’s sometimes a bit gruff with you and a bit sour-dispositioned.”

  Clara sighed and sat down on a chair by the window, gazing into the hazy afternoon sunshine. “That’s not why he’s such a grump, miss. He’s been a grump since my mum left us.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. “Left you? I thought your mother died.”

  “That’s what most folks think, unless they know the facts.”

  “And the facts are?”

  “That my mum left my pa for another man … a rich American.”

  “Oh…” said Sam, nodding sagely. “Now I understand.”

  “Yes. And now you must see that my father would never allow me to marry Nathan. I’d have to run off with him. I’d have to elope … and that’s not the kind of wedding I’ve always dreamed of, miss.”

  “Has he asked you to marry him, then, Clara?” Sam asked.

  “He said he loved me,” Clara admitted, blushing prettily. “And even though we’ve only known each other a few days, I love him, too. And, yes, he did bring up marriage … although we know it’s probably too soon for a definite engagement. He hasn’t formally asked me to marry him, you know.”

  “But he will,” Sam said confidently. “So what are you going to do to prepare your father?”

  Clara sighed. “Well, first I’m going to broach the subject with him and see what happens. If the news that his daughter’s in love with an American makes him fly into the boughs in a rage, I suppose I’ll have to make another very hard decision.”

  “Which is?”

  “To disregard my father’s feelings or not.”

  “Poppycock,” Sam exclaimed. “That shouldn’t be a hard decision at all. “I would do anything to be with the man loved.”

  “Even elope, miss?” Clara asked timidly.

  Sam smiled. “Especially elope.”

  Sam was supposed to be taking a nap in her room before dinner. After all, a big night was planned with several parties and routs at which they had to make appearances. But, unbeknownst to everyone—even Clara—Sam had waited to make sure Julian had returned to the house, then she’d slipped out, hailed a hackney coach, and hired the driver to transport her to the very same neighborhood Jean-Luc had given her a tour of earlier that day. And now, as dusk dimmed the
sky to a rosy gray, she stood in front of the redbrick house she’d seen Julian enter with his mistress … Isabelle Something-or-other … rallying her courage to knock on the door.

  “How long’ll you be, miss?” said the hackney driver. “I’ll be missin’ lots o’ fares if’n I wait fer ye.”

  “I’ll pay you handsomely,” Sam assured him. She reached inside her reticule, took out a shilling, and handed it to him. “I’ll give you another of these if you’re still here when I come out. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough,” the driver agreed, eyeing the shiny coin avariciously. “Only don’t be above an hour, or I’ll get the fidgets and go. Understan’, miss?”

  Sam nodded her head to indicate she understood, but her mind was full of other thoughts. Her common sense told her that what she was about to do would be considered extremely improper by most people, but she was desperate to receive enlightenment on a subject that consumed her every waking hour … how to make Julian respond to her like a man responds to a woman. Knowing the mechanics of lovemaking just wasn’t enough. If visiting and interviewing his mistress supplied her with the extra information she needed, then all the embarrassment and fear she was feeling at the moment would be well worth it. She climbed the steps and firmly made use of the door knocker.

  A small-statured butler answered the door and stared at her in some surprise. “Yes, miss?” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  Sam forced a smile. “Good afternoon. I’m here to see your mistress.”

  The butler’s eyebrows shot up. “Is she expecting you, miss?”

  “No, but I only want a moment of her time.”

  “To do what, miss?” the butler persisted, looking puzzled, his quick gaze scrutinizing her appearance. He was undoubtedly wondering what business she could have with his mistress. She was too well dressed to be a beggar, too modest and understated to be a fellow courtesan, and too fashionable to be a religious missionary come to save his mistress’s soul from eternal damnation. In short, the poor man had to be completely mystified.

  “I only want to talk with her for a few minutes,” Sam explained, knowing it was hardly an adequate explanation or likely to gain her admittance into the house. But how could she dare explain her true reasons for visiting this Isabelle Something-or-other? Obviously she should have come up with a credible excuse to demand a few minutes of the lady’s time, but she had decided on this course quite suddenly and had had little time to think.