by Robyn Carr
As she looked at the manor through a veil, she thought how she had looked at her life through a similar veil. She had allowed all of her needs and desires to seem real and attainable without considering they would not mesh with what Geoffrey needed for his life.
“A woman with blood in her name; a family that is known, whether they be dead or alive.” She sighed heavily as she considered that the Tilden name would do nicely now, but for the fact that it pointed her out to be no relation whatever to Fergus Bellamy. That would not sit well with the king. Being a Tilden now would not help her secure a true marriage to Geoffrey.
She saw him mount his horse and raise an arm to the driver, and the coach gave a lurch. Pity it is ships he loves to ride, when he looks so dashing astride…Her mind wandered. Ah, dear Geoff, poor man. You love so well and such fruits of passion spill from your lips when you are caught in love’s spell, but you cannot see it through. And what are the chances, dear man, that you’ll stumble upon a woman with beauty, passion, family name, money, and a devotion to you? She chuckled at her thoughts. Alicia Tilden, perhaps, should you ever be fortunate enough to make her acquaintance.
And then the tear fell from her eye because she knew more of Geoffrey than he gave her credit for. She knew he had not lied to her as he loved her, but simply couldn’t bear the responsibility of his words and actions.
She had considered the many ways she could pursue him, make it easy for him to claim her. But all that she really wanted from Geoffrey was to be claimed for the person she was; love not hinged on jealousy, blooded ancestors, dower lands, or a successful seduction.
Again she pulled back the drape and her eyes found her lord, his cloak blowing in the wind and his hat pulled down over his brow. I will not fix it for you, dear Geoff, she silently pledged. You are almost everything I need in a man. But you are not wise. She sighed. Even with your courtly upbringing and fine manners and reputation as a grand warrior, a simple tavern wench could teach you lessons in life that you’ve gone this far without learning.
She let the curtain drop and leaned back into the velvet seat. She knew that Geoffrey had a very short time to come to terms with what he felt for her. If the decision to claim her was not his and his alone, she could never trust him. If he would not risk one farthing now, what would he wager to keep his fortune in the future? He needed to learn that the joys in life would be more plentiful when riches were a little less important.
Nothing about her life had ever had any sense of permanence. Over and over again she’d been cast aside, pushed out, sent on her way. And over and over again she had survived.
She would give Geoffrey a little time, but not a lifetime. And when the time for her to go was upon her, she would know it. With her hundred pounds, she would move along yet another time, and she knew she would not lose hope. And someday, she told herself, when the time is right and there is no need to fear the king’s wrath, I will present myself to the Tildens. Even though she couldn’t count on permanence there, it was not too late to know them.
The coach slowed to a stop and the door was opened. Geoffrey looked in at her, though he could not make out her features behind her veil. “Are you comfortable, madam?”
“Aye, milord.”
“We’ll be stopping in the village where it will take some time to try to find workers I can hire for Bellerose.”
She gave her head a slight nod.
“I think we’ll travel a bit farther for a room for the night. There is little protection along this road and I’d prefer to see you housed in a safe place.”
“Worry not, milord,” she said, lifting her veil and looking deeply into his eyes. “I assure you, I’m quite accustomed to taking risks.”
His eyes narrowed as he felt the jibe, but said nothing. He closed the door and saw the coach jerk into motion again. He held his horse back and watched for a moment as the coach preceded him. He continued to frown. “Patience, Alicia,” he said to the departing coach. “If you will just be patient, perhaps there is a way I can minimize your risks.”
Work at both the wharves and at Bellerose kept Geoffrey away from his house on Tiller Street most of the time. He made token visits to assess that all was going smoothly, but he did not stay.
On one such visit, he brought a package for Alicia. She opened it to find a beautiful necklace of sapphires, set in gold filigree among tiny diamonds. She gasped at the sight of it. “It was found in a hidden safe at Bellerose and must surely have belonged to a Bellamy woman some years back. The jeweler was able to clean and repair it.”
“And would you like me to wear it?” she asked.
“Certainly. Don’t you like it?”
“It’s lovely,” she said softly.
He lingered for a while, questioned her about her activities, and inquired if there was anything she needed. And though she answered him politely and asked him about his ships and the manor, his tenseness was increasing and she couldn’t say why. Finally it erupted. “Do you hate the necklace I brought you? Is there some flaw or scar on the piece?”
“It’s perfectly beautiful,” she answered in confusion.
“Why, in heaven’s name, don’t you thank me?” he stormed.
“You mean, it’s mine?” she asked.
“I gave it to you!” he blustered.
“I didn’t know that.” She smiled. “Thank you.”
“Didn’t know? How could you not know?”
“I thought you’d made the gift to Charlotte,” she informed him. “And, of course, Charlotte would wear it and then, one day, leave it behind. But if it is mine...”
He scowled blackly. He looked around to be certain they were alone and then let his gaze bear down on her. “This business of speaking of two women, Charlotte and Alicia, is enough to make any man wild. I have given the necklace to you, whichever name you might be wearing. No matter who you are when you wear it, it is yours!”
She smiled softly into his eyes. “Thank you, milord. It is precious to me.”
“By damn, you insist on punishing me. You will respond to me with warmth only when I address you as Alicia, and when I use the name you are to wear, you treat me coldly. I don’t know how I am to face you.”
“I think you do the very best you can, milord,” she said with a smile, turning away from him and going to the dressing table to fit the necklace around her neck. He moved behind her to help with the clasp. “I do love the necklace, Geoffrey,” she said, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “And when we are far apart and no longer know each other, I will treasure this as part of the memory.”
She saw him wince slightly.
His eyes moved down from hers to the necklace that dropped into the deep V of her gown, and his eyes were dark emeralds of wanting. He took his hands off her shoulders and moved away. “You wear the piece beautifully,” he said, his voice more of a mumble than anything.
She watched him in the mirror, and when he turned to look at her again, she smiled at his sultry expression. “Do not fall in love with me, Lord Seavers. I don’t think you could survive it.”
He quickly picked up his hat and left her room without a word.
His visits were regularly of that order; his rather sheepish entrance, his struggle for a comfortable way to converse with her, and then, shortly, his discomfort in her presence and his abrupt departure. He would not stay to sup, slept in the house very seldom and only if he entered long after she was asleep, and seemed to deal with their relationship more poorly every time they chanced to meet.
Alicia was not in any way fooled by what was happening within Geoffrey’s mind. His entire plan had gone awry when he fell in love with the woman he was paying to play his wife. His determination to maintain emotional detachment in this business arrangement had failed, and he could not see how to deal with his failure.
The problem was with her daily, and daily she schooled herself in how she would deal with him. Harden yourself, heart, she would think constantly. He may choose to punish himself and deny himself fore
vermore...and in that there is no room for a lover or a wife.
She had not thought that things could become any more complex than dealing with the truth of her identity and feeling she must stay silent, having seen a woman she believed to be the real Charlotte Bellamy; and being in love with a man who would undoubtedly cast her aside soon. But as she sat in the drawing room fumbling with the needlework she forced herself to do, bigger problems presented themselves in the form of Culver Perry. He was announced by Margaret, but there was no welcome in her voice.
“Shall I send him away?” Margaret asked hopefully.
“No, I’ll have to see him.”
“But why, mum? His lordship will not like it, not a bit.”
Alicia sighed and pushed the loom away from her. “Bring us something to drink, missus, and let him come in. It’s better knowing what’s on his mind than wondering.”
Mrs. Stratton shook her head in complete disagreement, but Lord Perry entered just the same. He put on his courtly show of kissing her hand and posturing about the room a bit, asking how she was liking London, why had she not been about to the theater, whether Bellerose was found to be fitting or falling apart, all questions he seemed to ask with the answers already in his mind.
“The mansion is not fit?”
“Indeed not. It is a shambles.”
“A great disappointment to you, no doubt. Tell me, did you remember any of it from your younger days there?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I found I did not, my lord.”
“Your father could have made it mighty easy for you had he at least brought you to London before his death, but he did not. The last time you saw your father, how did you find him?”
“I thought he would have a great many more years than he did. His death was quite a shock, for he did not look unwell. When you last saw him, Lord Perry, how did you find him?”
“The same,” Perry said, picking up a cup and sipping tea. He peered at her over the cup with the same strange sneer he wore throughout this visit. Alicia knew beyond doubt that he was up to no good, but gave not a clue that she was highly suspicious of his presence. And thanks to Geoffrey’s story about Perry and his sister, there was no need to be overly gracious. She would not be expected to coddle her husband’s enemy.
He set his cup on the small table beside his chair. “I think we may end the game here, lady. You are not Charlotte Bellamy, as we both know.”
She raised one brow and smiled. “Who am I, then, milord?”
“I’d give a ransom to remember the name, but without returning to the country and finding the inn, a place I barely remember, I cannot retrieve the name.” His smile was cold and calculating. “But I remember well the body.”
Her cheeks felt hot, but it was anger and not embarrassment that caused her slight flush. “You will have to leave this house if you are determined to take such a disrespectful course with me.”
He laughed outright. “Bright for a tavern wench, love, but you’ll not frighten me away. I’ve come to bargain.”
“There are no bargains here,” she said, and nearly chuckled to herself as she heard her own words.
“Ask your husband for a ship in my name. That will do for now. I’ll take the half of the booty on one ship that was to be his.”
“How is it you claim this as your right?” she asked with calmness she did not feel.
“I know you’re not who you pretend to be.”
She picked up her cup and sipped, willing it to be still in her hand. “And how is it you came to this conclusion, my lord?”
He leaned back in his chair. The contest was a good one. Neither would display the slightest trembling to the other. “I stopped at an inn more than a year ago. I was in fact in search of Charlotte Bellamy and, as luck would have it, found her there. True, she’s nothing to you; she’s fat and filthy and has all the grace of a drunk jackass...but to double my luck, I courted a serving wench at the inn for a night or two.
“You looked mighty familiar to me the moment I saw you, but damned if I could place where I’d seen you before. It was you I courted at the inn on my way home to London.”
She smiled as if amused by the story. “If you have truly seen a woman claiming to be Charlotte Bellamy and feel certain I am not she, why have you not made your claim to the king? He would be very interested in your story.”
“You know why,” he said, his frown appearing and his superior smile vanishing. Alicia willingly took the upper hand for the moment.
“Pray explain, milord. I fear I am most confused by your facts.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and a serious, if not angry, look on his face. “Because, my lady, I was betrothed to Andrea Seavers, the wedding to take place soon, when I learned of the Bellamy inheritance. I could not speak for Charlotte because of my contract, but the Seaverses played me false. They had nothing to offer me in a dowry. Andrea was poor, as you were at the inn, but her brother simply laughed at my poor judgment and threatened me regularly with trouble should I fail to support her and treat her well. My position when I found Charlotte at her aunt’s manor was not a good one.”
Alicia’s smile was bland and tolerant. “It appears your position is no better now.”
“Somewhat, dear. I doubt my crime would be as serious as yours, should I produce Charlotte Bellamy for his majesty.”
She shrugged. “I think there is no crime anywhere, except perhaps the uncertainty surrounding Andrea’s death...”
His jaw muscles tensed and his face became red. There was fury in his eyes that caused the pupils to shrink, and his dark brows dropped low over them, making his expression fearful. Alicia steeled herself for whatever would come next. “Did you not say you were betrothed while searching for Charlotte, while lying with some mysterious serving wench? How soon after that affair did Andrea Seavers die in her riding accident with you?”
He popped to his feet. “I will find out who you are, madam, and make you regret that you threaten and taunt me.
“What will you do, Lord Perry? Travel to some inn to learn some wench’s name? Bring a farmer or innkeeper to London to swear I am she?” She leaned back and looked up at him. “Will you tell your king that you sought the hand of Charlotte Bellamy while you were already betrothed to another, and how quickly and mysteriously your betrothed was killed? Who will you say I am? And who will believe you?”
“You forget, bitch. I have Charlotte Bellamy.”
Alicia laughed softly. “I believe you told me about this woman you claim is Charlotte.” She laughed again, her eyes alive with amusement. “Will you present this fat, dirty, graceless creature at court to discredit me? I know you are fond of thievery, Culver, but I must urge you to find a better way to steal yourself a dowry, for your plan would surely point you out to be a fool.”
“This game you play with me will not last long, madam,” he sneered. He stomped toward the sitting room door and turned on her angrily. “For the moment you have stalled me, but I am not stopped. Tell his lordship that I know his secret and will have payment for my silence.”
“Tell him yourself,” she snapped back.
He nodded with a silent chuckle and a smirk. “You will be more cooperative in time, my dear.”
“I do not fear you, Culver. I shan’t make the unfortunate mistake to go riding with you. I already know what you are capable of doing.”
He pulled the door open with a jerk and went out, slamming the door behind him. The moment he was gone, Alicia began to tremble and tears threatened to spill. Margaret immediately entered the room to see about her mistress’s condition and was rattled at the upset Lord Perry seemed to have created.
“What’s he done to you, sweetheart? What’s he said?”
“Never mind, Margaret.”
“I’ll get his lordship from the—”
“No, missus, you will not!”
“He’s a lazy man, his lordship is, not seein’ to his lady nor to his house. Time’s come for him to protect his wife.”
Margaret shifted uncomfortably in front of Alicia. It was the very first time the young woman had ever barked orders at her servant. She could not argue further, but her loyalty to Lady Seavers ran so deep and was so protective that she would not answer her with an assent.
“The brandy that is kept in the study for his lordship,” Alicia said. “Do you know of it? Bring me a small glass.”
“The brandy, mum? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure. If it works for his lordship in his darkest hour, it will surely serve me now.”
ELEVEN
An early morning fog still hung in the air, but by midday the sun shone down on London and the air warmed. The crowds mingled about the docked vessels, while workers hauled their tools and merchants sold their wares.
The Rose dropped her garnish of ropes, sails billowed, and oars moved. She was out of port and on her way, the wind taking her quickly. Within a brace of moments, the Thora was moving away, her solid sides bulging with expectation, her guns sitting like erect antennae in anticipation.
Geoffrey Seavers felt as though his chest would burst as he watched them depart—his first two trading ships setting sail, their destination: New York. He was hopeful they would encounter and attack Dutch vessels en route, sink the blackguards, and bring back their booty. He longed to be aboard, to be present for the first adventure. But there were more ships to ready and his battles had already been many—he could wait for the Patrina to sail.
Seavers stood in good company to watch the departure of the first two vessels of his potential fleet. Charles, his brother James, duke of York, and Buckingham watched the first of a fleet leave the wharves. All the men enjoyed the sight of a new ship going, for her return would bring riches and victories to the English, and to the king and Seavers personally.
