Compromising Positions

by Emma Wildes

  “That certainly seems a reasonable conclusion, given the vicious nature of those messages.” Pacing restlessly across the room, Andrew said, “Our old enemy, the one that trapped us in the wine cellar is the culprit, I’m sure. I, for one, am becoming quite annoyed with his nasty tricks.”

  “Or hers. The handwriting looks like a woman’s.”

  “Or hers,” he agreed thoughtfully, rubbing his lean jaw. “Perhaps we should return to London tomorrow. I would recognize the young footman that passed me the note at Landry’s party. Maybe he can help lead us to whoever started all of this.”

  “Actually, I’m not too upset over how it has all turned out so far,” Christa said demurely, glancing up at him teasingly from under the fringe of her lashes. “After all, you are infinitely more handsome than Lord Pennington.”

  His mouth curving in one of his sinfully wicked smiles, her husband said, “I appreciate the compliment and will demonstrate my enthusiasm for our current situation gladly upstairs after dinner…” The smile faded quickly. “But I have a feeling that our happiness is not the goal of our adversary and God knows what will happen next.”

  Chapter Seven

  Adam tapped the roof of the carriage and it lurched forward. “Well,” he said in his usual reasonable tone, “you have at least a modicum of a description.”

  Giving him a wry glance, Andrew said in disgust. “Oh yes, I’m quite a sleuth. When we finally track down Landry’s maid who gave the footman the note to pass to me, she is able to tell me the woman that gave that fateful message to her had brown hair. That narrows it down to maybe a third of the female population.”

  His brother laughed. “Come now, it has been three weeks and undoubtedly she thought very little of it at the time. She did say she didn’t think our quarry was one of the guests, for she wasn’t well-dressed enough.”

  Contemplating the tip of his polished boot, Andrew agreed morosely, “I suppose I can’t blame the silly chit for not remembering more, but I was hoping for something solid to go on. This harassment is clearly malicious.”

  “Yes.” Adam, settled on the seat across from him in the Wenton carriage, said neutrally, “I somehow doubt Helena would be thrilled to hear I fathered a child with another woman.”

  “Christa was pale as a ghost and on the verge of tears.” Recalling how stricken his wife had looked made Andrew furious all over again. His hand clenched into a fist on his knee. “When I find out who is doing this, the perpetrator is going to be sorry indeed.”

  “You seem terribly solicitous of your new bride. I take it the honeymoon went well.”

  The smug note in his brother’s voice was impossible to miss. Andrew said dryly, “I don’t think you can take credit for the fact that miraculously enough, Christa and I seem to be well-suited.”

  “But you did take my advice and made an effort to charm her. Helena tells me there is no question but that your bride is deeply infatuated with you. For your part, I don’t sense your usual indifference either.”

  “I am not indifferent,” Andrew admitted, though slightly uncomfortable with the topic, the notion of love and fidelity not something he had contemplated at length before his hasty marriage. “She’s…my wife. But as far as her being infatuated, that could pass easily enough.”

  “How jaded you are.”

  “How practical.”

  “If you want her to fall in love with you and things to stay that way, that’s something you must work at it every day of your life.”

  Was that what he wanted? Andrew wasn’t sure precisely, but he did know that he certainly didn’t want to relinquish the open passion and growing companionship he felt with his bride. He growled, “You lecture more than a Cambridge Don, I swear it.”

  Adam smiled slightly. “Only because I care.”

  “Dammit, can we change the subject? To something useful, like what the hell I’m supposed to do now.”

  “To protect Christa?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m not sure. It’s a damnable situation, if you ask me.”

  “That,” Andrew said in evident frustration, “it is.”

  ****

  Lady Wenton was in the morning room, one of the footmen informed Christa, politely helping her with her cloak. The mansion was huge and since they’d only arrived the evening before, she had to ask to be directed to the room in question.

  Earning its namesake, warm late morning sun poured in the windows. The walls were a lovely pale blue, the furniture dainty and elegant, and that this was the room the Countess of Wenton used for dealing with her correspondence was evident by the neat stacks of cards and papers on the surface of carved Louis Quatorze table. Helena glanced up at the light knock and smiled with her usual warmth. Her new sister-in-law looked slightly more rounded just in the several weeks that had passed while she and Andrew were enjoying their country sojourn, Christa’s noted, perhaps more glowing and lovely than ever.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she asked, eyeing the piles of envelopes.

  Helena shook her head. “Not at all. I will always have time for my new sister-in-law. Tell me, how was your visit with your mother?”

  Christa made a face and sat down in a delicate chair, admitting, “Excruciating. The truth be told, she and I are not very much alike.”

  “But like a dutiful daughter you went to see her first thing. Very commendable.” Helena added sympathetically, “My mother likes to meddle in my life to the extent that I limit our visits to once a week. Otherwise, I vow she would be running this house in no time, and Adam would be ready to leave me and ship out to sea with the Royal Navy, or something near to it.”

  Recalling the past two hours, Christa said, “I cannot see Andrew enduring much of my mother’s company either. I have learned enough about him to guess that while he is infinitely charming, he has no real use for frivolous conversation.”

  “Neither does Adam. I like to tease him sometimes and say outrageous things, just to see if he is listening. The other day I could tell he was only abstractly paying attention to our discussion of what to name the coming child, so I suggested Maybelle Alfreida if it is another girl.” A dimple appeared in the countess’ smooth cheek. “He agreed that sounded lovely.”

  Both of them burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. When she had controlled her mirth, Christa broached the subject that had brought her directly to see Lady Wenton in the first place. “My mother tells me that you planning a party to celebrate mine and Andrew’s marriage. Please tell me she did not force this on you, for she can be very good at getting her way.”

  “Actually, she did suggest it, but I thought you might wish input, so I offered to plan it and play hostess. I hope that is fine with you.”

  The idea of a party was not very appealing, the last one having made a lasting impression. “I am not anxious to endure another evening of people staring at me and whispering behind their hands,” Christa said frankly, feeling a faint wash of color in her face. “Shouldn’t we wait until the rumors all die away?”

  “You and Andrew will squash all rumors effectively when London society sees you together.” Helena’s tone was firm. “Trust me on this, when the ton realizes this is a love match, they will lose interest. There is no scandal in two people happily sharing their lives, now is there?”

  “No, I suppose not.” Christa smiled tremulously. “And though it seems optimistic after only a little over two weeks of marriage, happiness does seem to be a possibility. We are compatible in the important ways, it seems.”

  “Which for him means in bed, and for you, that he is a decent, kind man who treats you well and will be a good father to your children.”

  That succinct summation was almost accurate. Christa said without thinking, “I like the first part, too. It wasn’t at all what I imagined.”

  “No wonder Andrew looks at you with a possessive gleam in his eye.” Helena seemed amused at her vivid blush. “I always imagined the woman who finally captured his heart would
be both passionate and beautiful. You were right earlier though, he would not look twice at someone if they were not bright and sweet-tempered as well.”

  “Thank you for the compliment, though my mother will tell you that I am moody and emotional. All babies born between June 22nd and July 21st are destined to be so.”

  “I made the mistake of offering up my birth date when she asked me,” Helena admitted dryly. “I have some unflattering traits as well. Apparently they are predestined and not my fault, which I suppose is a relief.”

  “If one believes in mystical signs, I suppose that neither of us can be held accountable for our faults,” Christa said with a grin.

  “That’s a healthy way to look at it.” Helena agreed, smiling back. “Now, please, back to the party. I am envisioning not a huge affair, perhaps a hundred carefully selected guests. Would you care to take a look at the list of people I wish to invite and add or delete anyone? Let’s see, ah yes, here it is.” Pulling it out from under a pile of papers, the countess offered it.

  Since it seemed she had no choice but to agree to this soiree, Christa took the list and glanced down at it.

  She stiffened at once, not able to believe her eyes. Glancing up, she took in Helena’s lovely features, the gray long-lashed eyes that offered only friendliness and warmth, and once again dropped her gaze to the piece of vellum in her hand. In an off-key voice, she asked, “Did you write this?”

  “Yes…is something wrong? I just said you can take anyone off you don’t care for—”

  Interrupting curtly, Christa asked, “This is your handwriting?”

  Looking bewildered, Helena answered slowly, “Actually, no. I dictated it. Chloe was having one of her fits and wanted to be held by only me. I indulge her since it happens infrequently, you’ll understand when you and Andrew have a child.”

  “Who wrote it?”

  “Her nanny. I was in the middle of complying it and since I had Chloe, I asked if she wouldn’t mind jotting down the names. Christa, why on earth do you look so odd?”

  “Because,” she explained tightly, “as bizarre as it may seem, I think we may have discovered our nasty prankster.”

  “Miss Davidson?”

  “I have gotten four of those nasty notes so far and her handwriting is very recognizable to me.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But why on earth would she want to cause trouble for you, or Andrew, or both?”

  Grimly but truthfully, Christa said, “I haven’t the slightest idea. I don’t even know her.”

  “Just a moment.” A frown marred Helena’s smooth forehead. “This may mean nothing, but she did seem quite distracted the day of your marriage. I remember now wondering why she would be upset, and thinking perhaps she harbored a secret passion for Andrew. I was surprised, for I doubt they’ve ever exchanged more than a few words in passing.”

  “If that was true, why trap the two of us in the cellar together?” Christa gazed at the telltale loops and circles of the inked names in front of her. “I can’t see the purpose of it.”

  “There is one easy way to find out.” Reaching for a silken bell pull, Helena tugged at it and before long one of the maids came into the room. “Please go upstairs to the nursery and sit with Chloe for a few moments,” she instructed the girl. “Send down Miss Davidson so I can speak with her.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  The young woman who came sedately through the doorway a short time later was a stranger. Christa rose to face her, the incriminating paper clutched in her hand, feeling a little ridiculous to accuse anyone of what she suspected, but also very convinced that distinctive script was exactly what she’d seen before. Miss Davidson was in her early twenties probably, with sleek light brown hair drawn back from her face, her features actually quite delicately lovely.

  Almost carefully avoiding looking at Christa, the young woman asked, “You wished to see me, my lady?”

  When Helena didn’t answer at once, Christa tore her gaze from the supposedly guilty governess and glanced at her sister-in-law. The Countess of Wenton looked disturbingly stricken, first looking at Christa and then back at Miss Davidson. In a faint voice, she murmured, “Oh, dear.”

  ****

  The tableau was interesting, and it certainly called for a stiff brandy. Dashing a generous portion into a crystal glass, Andrew took a long swallow and surveyed the other occupants of the room.

  Christa looked gorgeously lovely as always, but pale and upset. Adam also, held a glass in his hand, his expression shuttered as he stood by his wife’s chair. Helena seemed unsure how to handle the situation, her usually serene face troubled. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

  The cause of all the angst sat in a velvet-covered chair, her hands folded primly in her lap. Her gaze, a crystalline light blue, was defiant and her mouth mutinous. Miss Davidson did resemble his beautiful wife, the similarities startling if one saw them together. Though Chloe’s errant nanny did not have Christa’s flaxen pale hair, the fragile shape of brow and jaw, the slender voluptuousness of their bodies; all of it signaled a close blood tie.

  But the infuriating woman refused to explain anything. She didn’t deny writing the notes, quite the contrary, she freely admitted it. But she refused to divulge why until the Duke of Dunbarton was also present.

  Interesting.

  Hearing the sound of the duke’s arrival was a relief, since Andrew wasn’t sure he could endure the brittle silence any longer. When his Grace walked into the formal parlor, his expression grim and worried, it was almost comical to see him stop mid-stride. He took in the rigid postures and lack of conversation and his gaze traveled around the room to fasten on Christa. “Your note said there was an emergency and I came at once. Thank goodness you are safe, I was immensely worried.” Turning to Andrew, the older man said curtly, “When you are a father, Carlton, I trust you will understand that notes of that nature are not to be written lightly.”

  “Nor was it,” Andrew drawled coolly. “We have a small situation here and I am not the one who desires your presence, your Grace.”

  Dunbarton immediately looked at Christa. “What’s wrong? Your mother told me just a little while ago you seemed very well. Good heavens, child, you are wan.” His accusing gaze swung back to Andrew in challenge.

  “I wanted you here.” The words were said very calmly, but there was an underlying quiver of emotion in Lily Davidson’s voice that could not be missed.

  The duke swung around, registering the presence of the young woman sitting a few feet away. His brow furrowed. “Pardon me?”

  “Do I look at all familiar, your Grace?” Her smile was a faint curve of her lips.

  “Have we met?” Obviously puzzled, the duke looked disconcerted by the audience and the atmosphere in the room.

  “No.”

  “Then why on earth would you look familiar, young woman?”

  “Because I am your daughter.”

  Since he’d already guessed as much, Andrew felt an unkind glimmer of amusement at Dunbarton’s aghast expression. Considering he’d been personally derided as an unscrupulous rake by the very pious duke, he found it hard to summon up a lot of sympathy. He remarked neutrally, “We can all see the resemblance.”

  The man blinked, the stunned look on his face increasing as he stared at Lily Davidson. Then he glanced at Christa. “Good God,” he muttered.

  “He was twenty and my mother was an actress.” Miss Davidson spoke to the room at large. “Can you imagine his consternation at having his exalted bloodlines sullied by breeding a child on a girl from Liverpool who walked the stage?” Her mouth twisted. “Yes, he paid. All these years ago he paid her off to keep me a secret, like a regretful accident that can be cleaned up and forgotten. She took the money and kept her end of the bargain, but it was gone years ago and she died when I was twenty. Perhaps you can understand how I felt when I heard his beautiful daughter …his other daughter, was the toast of society w
hile I cared for other people’s children and was little above a servant?” She stared at Christa. “I hated you all these years.”

  Christa gave her father an accusing glance before looking back at her half-sister, her soft mouth tightening. “That might be understandable, yes. I take it that is why you decided to ruin me?”

  “Of course. Who would think Andrew Carlton would actually marry you? From what I’d heard from the servants and other gossip, he would never agree to such a thing if it wasn’t of his doing.”

  “The faith in my character is appreciated,” Andrew said darkly. “I suppose you also thought to make sure even if Christa was legally married and rescued from social ruin, that she would be unhappy.”

  “Ah, the notes I sent to your country estate. It seemed reasonable that if men who portray themselves as having high moral fiber like my father have illegitimate children, surely a rake of your caliber would be a good candidate.” Miss Davidson gave him a glimmering look. “My faith was misplaced, it seems, and you are less disreputable than expected. Imagine my chagrin.”

  Adam interjected, “Andrew isn’t really a part of this, except incidentally. It seems to me you should have approached your father directly, Miss Davidson, and not used such devious means to get even for the slights you have suffered.”

  “She wrote to me.” The words fell like heavy stones. Dunbarton looked a little green as he admitted it, his normally arrogant, lofty expression completely gone as he gazed earnestly at Christa. “I tried to tell myself it was a ploy to wheedle money out of me and threw the letter away. I suppose I didn’t want to face that I had not only abandoned my own child years ago, but that my behavior about the whole matter had been juvenile and irresponsible. Had I gone to my father at the time and told him about Lila’s pregnancy, he would have been livid. I didn’t dare confess.”

  “Don’t apologize to me, whom you have always protected and treated well.” Those soft words were vehement. Christa sat; her blue eyes stormy and her mouth set in a firm line. “Apologize to her and fix this. It isn’t too late. I, for one, would enjoy having a sister. I always wanted one, and it seems my wish is fulfilled. Despite Lily’s actions, Helena tells me she is a wonderful caregiver to little Chloe. I cannot think that anyone who can give love to a child is truly terrible, and to a very large degree, understand her anger. Also, no one has been truly harmed, for thanks to her interference, Andrew and I are married and I wouldn’t have things any other way.”