by Cheryl Holt
He'd intended to rise and leave, but he couldn't bring himself to go, and he decided to rest for a few minutes. He napped, and when he woke, it was early morning. The mellow light of dawn crept in the window, and a bird chirped outside. He reached for her, but
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she wasn't there. Glancing around, he was astounded to find himself in his own bedchamber, in his own bed.
Stunned, he sat up, and his head pounded with such a sharp ache that he felt as if the top might blow off, as if he had the worst hangover in all eternity, when he shouldn't have been feeling poorly. He'd barely had anything to drink—except that blasted potion.
When had he left her room? How had he gotten to his own? Or had their rendezvous been a dream? He was disoriented, dizzy, his memory fuzzy. Were his recollections genuine, or simply another of the erotic fantasies his imagination kept conjuring?
Peering down at his hand, he was startled to note that the strip of green ribbon he'd untied from her hair was weaved through his fingers. A remark from the apothecary nagged at him, about possessing an object, about it being a sign that the mysterious elixir was working.
He shuddered. There was no magic in the world that could make him fall in love. Once before, he'd been bitten, and he'd nearly died from the viciousness of the wound, and he wouldn't be so foolish again.
The ribbon was merely evidence that the assignation had really transpired, that he'd been with her. It didn't mean more than that. It couldn't.
He wondered if she'd awakened yet, and he was curious as to what she'd think of the intimacies they'd shared. No doubt, she'd be embarrassed, and she'd try to hide from him, which he wouldn't allow. She was like a burr under his saddle, her proximity pricking at him, compelling him to talk to her, to be with her.
Ignoring the hammering in his head, he climbed out of bed, ready to dress and be about his business. With a
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renewed energy, he rang for breakfast, and as he waited for a servant to appear, he calculated all the ways he could guarantee that Miss Kate Duncan entertained him throughout the day and into the coming night.
The prospect was thrilling, and he realized that he hadn't been so enthused in a very, very long time.
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"You're sweet to accompany me." Kate smiled at Christopher.
"How could I refuse?"
"You're sure you don't mind?"
"If I hadn't wanted to come, I'd have said so. Quit worrying."
"Well, wouldn't you rather be engaged in activities back at the house? Any of them would be more fun than traipsing across London with me."
"I've had my fill of the activities at Lady Pamela's." Relaxing against the squab, he stretched his feet, which was difficult in the cramped space. "Believe me, I was glad for the excuse to get away."
Was he as tired of the marital plotting as she was? Or was he weary of the sly looks from the mothers who sized him up, trying to determine if he might be a worthy husband for their rich, spoiled daughters?
He was always optimistic and eager, pleasant and courteous, and Kate cherished him for it.
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"Promise me that you'll never apprise your mother of where we went today. And that you'll never inquire as to what I'm doing."
Exasperated, he rolled his eyes. "I gave you my word ten times already!"
"Make it eleven."
"On a stack of Bibles, I swear it!"
He clutched his hand to his heart, and she laughed. She had to visit Selena—not out of curiosity but out of duty—but hadn't had any coin to rent a cab, nor could she expect to utilize the family coach. She was in no position to impose on Lady Pamela, and the only other person she could have asked was Stamford, but she'd swallow a frog before she'd approach him.
The man was a wizard, a sorcerer, who preyed on unsuspecting females, and urged them to commit acts they'd never imagined. At least, that was how she'd convinced herself to view her behavior.
There was no way in the world she'd admit that she'd enjoyed their frolic, that she'd been complicit in her total fall from grace. If she'd protested, he wouldn't have proceeded. At any point, she could have stopped him, so her true colors were established. She was a strumpet, and it was all her own fault.
It was a relief, having a chore to drag her out of the mansion for the afternoon. She declined to mope in her room, speculating as to where he was, how he was occupying himself, and if—by chance—he might be thinking of her.
Christopher had been a lifesaver, happy to assist, and polite enough not to plague her with questions about her destination.
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The carriage rumbled to a halt, and scowling, he peered out the curtain. "Are you certain you have the correct address?"
"Yes. Why?"
"It's not the best neighborhood. Perhaps I shouldn't let you out."
Hiding her dismay, she peeked out, too. The area was extremely seedy. Unsavory characters strolled past, and a pack of ragged children ran by. The building before them was dilapidated, the paint chipped, the fence in pieces.
She was confused. The structure seemed to hold many apartments, so it couldn't be the house she'd rented for Selena. Kate saw the bills her sister submitted, was aware of how much money was paid out every quarter. Such a large amount wouldn't buy so little. Would it?
But then, this was London, and Kate had no concept of what merchandise and services cost in the city. Still . . .
"Would you check with the driver, in case he misunderstood my directions?"
"Of course."
He exited to converse with the servants, and when he returned, he was disturbed.
"This is the place." He studied her, and must have noted her consternation. "Kate, you can confide in me. I won't tell a soul."
She couldn't guess how much Christopher knew about her parents' scandals. If she confessed the details, and advised him of Selena's ancestry, he might be shocked or revolted, and she couldn't bear to jeopardize their friendship.
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"It's nothing awful, as I have you presuming," she lied. "I'm merely calling on an old acquaintance of my mother's."
Clearly, he recognized the remark to be an utter fabrication, but he let her maintain the ruse, and his obvious concern made her feel petty and small.
"Are you positive you should do this?" he probed.
"It will take but a few minutes. I'll be right back."
She hustled out before he could query her further, before he could compel her to spill the entire sordid story.
She marched through the broken gate, and up the walk, entering a decrepit, dirty foyer. A dank stairway led to the upper floors. A list of residents was tacked to the wall, with Selena's lodging shown to be at the end of the main hall, so Kate went to it and knocked.
Her half sister had no idea who was on her stoop, and Kate's pulse pounded with equal parts anticipation and dread. At the same instant, she was thrilled and terrified.
What would Selena be like? How would they interact? Suddenly, it dawned on Kate that Selena's opinion mattered very much. She yearned for a new dress or hat to have worn for the important occasion.
A maid answered and, on learning Kate's identity, was rude and curt, as if she detested Kate on sight. She was escorted into a cold, dismal parlor. Overhead, she could hear tenants banging about on the second floor.
As she waited for Selena to appear, she tabulated the threadbare furnishings, the frayed drapes and rugs, and her perplexity spiraled. She'd envisioned Selena in cozy surroundings. How could she have relegated the girl to this existence?
She had to rectify the situation, but she wasn't sure
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how, and she couldn't decide who might provide guidance. Regina couldn't discuss the subject without venom and spite. Christopher was just eighteen and had had scant experience with adult issues.
Maybe she'd contact Master Thumberton, the solicitor who'd helped her when Selena had traveled to England. He couldn't be cognizant that they'd left Selena in this depressing co
ndition.
"Kate! Kate!" Selena's merry greeting erupted from the rear of the apartment, her words lilting with an enchanting foreign accent. "You've come at last! I'm so glad!"
Kate braced, ready for anything, as Selena waltzed in. Slender, elegant, beautiful, she looked like Kate, but was more graceful and willowy, more exotic and mysterious. They both resembled their mother, with there being no doubt they were blood siblings, but Selena's hair and eyes were black, her skin a golden hue Kate had never seen before.
"Kate, my dearest sister!" Selena hurried forward and took Kate's hands, kissing her on both cheeks. "How I've longed for this marvelous day to arrive!"
Kate was disconcerted by the display of cordial emotion. Aside from Stamford's outrageous attentions, she couldn't remember when anyone had previously touched her. She was so isolated that she often felt as if she were living in a bubble.
Tears swamped her, and she swiped at them, as Selena clucked like a mother hen and ushered her to a nearby sofa.
"It's wonderful to finally meet you, too," Kate managed on a shaky breath.
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Another woman joined them, an older matron, and Selena shimmered with unbridled delight. "Mrs. Fitzsimmons, Kate's here! Isn't it glorious?"
The woman had no comment, but she shot a glare at Kate that was critical, accusatory, filled with blame.
"Mrs. Fitzsimmons is the companion you hired for me," Selena clarified. "She's been such a blessing."
Kate nodded, trying to be sociable, which was difficult with how Fitzsimmons was frowning. "It's a pleasure, Mrs. Fitzsimmons."
When she offered no polite banter in reply, Selena's gay laughter smoothed over the awkward exchange. "Don't mind her; she's so protective of me. Edith," she said to Mrs. Fitzsimmons, "let's ring for tea. Or better yet, let's have some wine. This is a celebration!"
"There's no tea or wine remaining, Miss Selena," Fitzsimmons acidly explained, directing her hateful scowl at Kate, as if she had personally pilfered from the pantry. "Have you forgotten? We overspent our budget and couldn't afford any."
Fitzsimmons stomped out, and Kate watched her go, her confusion mounting. How could there be no beverages? She authorized so many expenditures, never refusing any of her sister's modest requests.
Selena blushed, but smiled through the hurled insult, and Kate was amazed by her maturity and comportment. She had a style and polish that were lacking in British girls, such as Melanie, but then Selena had suffered more than any of them. As Kate was well aware, tragedy aged one quickly.
"This is such a splendid surprise," Selena started, once they were alone. "Why are you in London?"
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"Lady Melanie is making her debut."
"How magnifico for her." Selena sighed. "Wouldn't it be fun for us to be doing the same?"
"Well, I'm a tad old"—they both laughed, their voices sounding exactly alike—"but I wish you could have a season. The boys I've encountered would fall all over themselves to court you."
"Have you been to many grand balls and soirees?"
"A few," Kate lied, having gone to a single event and, due to Stamford's mischief, been banished from any others.
"Our mother adored parties."
At the affectionate statement, Kate's heart literally skipped a beat. She recollected little about her mother, so Selena's short sentence was electrifying. The snippet of information was like locating a rare gem in a pile of common stones.
She murmured, "No, I didn't know that about her."
"Oh yes. There was nothing she enjoyed more than dressing up in her most superb gown and her brightest jewels. My father, too. They were such a handsome couple, so happy and so much in love. Their life was like a fairy tale."
Dumbstruck, Kate stared at her. She'd gleaned few particulars about her mother's circumstances after she'd fled England, the vast majority having been culled through Regina's sarcastic observations.
On her learning a different version, the foundation of Kate's existence was rocked, and her world tipped off its axis. She couldn't find her balance.
"She was happy?"
"Very," Selena contended. “I have something for you."
She walked to a desk and searched through the
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drawer, retrieving a narrow wooden box, and she passed it to Kate.
"This is for you."
"What is it?"
"One of Mother's fans. It was part of her wedding ensemble, so it was her favorite. She always took it with her when she attended the opera."
"She married your father?"
"Why, yes."
Kate was reeling. They'd wed? The fact meant Selena wasn't illegitimate. How could Kate not have known such a vital detail?
With trembling fingers, she opened the container. The fan was delicate, aged, and she spread it, scrutinizing the meticulously painted violets, the trimmed lace, and she was deluged by the strangest impression that she could smell her mower's perfume in the creases. Unsettled, she refolded it, returned it to the box, and closed the lid.
"It's much too dear. I couldn't possibly accept it."
"I insist." Selena pushed it at her. "She wanted you to have it."
"She did?" Kate felt dizzy, pummeled by unwonted emotion.
Selena nodded. "Besides, I have many mementoes ofmy own."
Just then, there was a knock at the door, and they both froze. Kate recognized, without being told, that it was Christopher, coming to check on her, and she kicked herself. She should have realized he would!
Momentarily, the maid showed him in, and they faced him like guilty schoolchildren who'd been caught doing what they oughtn't.
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The servant was too bowled over to announce him, so Kate stepped forward. "My apologies, Christopher, for keeping you waiting."
"I wasn't growing impatient, Kate. I'm merely ensuring that you're all right."
"As you can see, I'm fine."
"Yes, you are." He shifted his admiring gaze to Selena. "Who is your lovely companion?"
"May I present Miss Selena Bella, recently moved to London from Venice, Italy."
"How do you do?" he courteously said, gallantly adding, "Benvenuto in Gran Bretagna!"
Kate gaped at him, having no idea where he might have picked up an Italian phrase. He'd been educated, but Regina had paid for the basics, and though his accent was atrocious, Selena was charmed.
"Grazie," Selena responded.
"Selena, this is the Earl of Doncaster, Christopher Lewis."
"Oh my!" Selena hadn't grasped his eminence, and she dropped into a perfect curtsy. He rushed over and begged her to rise.
"There's no need to stand on ceremony, Miss Bella," he asserted. "Deep down, I'm a farm boy, and I'm unaccustomed to all this formality."
He smiled at her, holding her hand when he should have released it, and Kate studied them, thinking what a striking couple they were. Chris had his blond, Adonis features; and Selena, her dark, lithe beauty. They were young and arresting, exuding a natural charisma, and it was a pleasure simply to view them together.
"I'm so thrilled that you've visited me," Selena exclaimed. "You've given me an opportunity to thank
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you for your many kindnesses to Kate over the years. She's often written of how considerate you've been. I appreciate it."
Kate had never done any such a thing, and she could barely prevent herself from gawking at her sister. In a letter or two, she'd mentioned Christopher, but she'd never waxed on about him. Selena had the regal bearing of a queen, and Kate was amazed anew by her decorum, her breeding.
Compared to her, Kate was such a country bumpkin, and not for the first time, she pondered what her life might have been like if her mother hadn't run away.
Chris was grinning. "Kate is my favorite person at Doncaster."
"I'm so glad to hear it. She's been an absolute angel to me. I don't know how I'd have survived if she hadn't assisted me in relocating."
Kate struggled to kee
p from glancing around the dreary parlor, mortified that Selena could be so effusive when Kate's aid had clearly been no help at all. Selena was entirely too generous.
"How are the two of you acquainted?" Chris queried.
He evaluated them in a fashion that was much too astute for Kate's liking. She was terrified by the recipes for disaster—images of an angry Regina lurched up to taunt her—and jumped in before Selena could clarify, but her tongue got rolling before she decided what she actually wanted to admit.
"She's my ... my ..."
She couldn't finish the sentence, for she had no notion of how to describe their relationship. Though she and Christopher were friends, she couldn't discuss such topics as illicit sexual affairs and scandalous offspring.
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Selena was eager for her reply, and at Kate's lack of courage, her disappointment was palpable, but she covered it with her marvelous manners. "Her mother and mine," Selena fibbed, "were very close."
Chris assessed them again, his incredulity masked. "It's wonderful that you've connected."
"Yes, isn't it?"
Kate's cheeks reddened with humiliation. She was desperate to flee, to regroup and assimilate all that had been so rapidly thrust upon her. "Selena, I must be going. I'm embarrassed that I've delayed Lord Doncaster."
"You've been no trouble, Kate," Chris maintained.
"Nonsense," Selena interjected. "We've imposed on you horridly. But Kate, please promise you'll stop by, as soon as you're able."
"1 can't fathom how I'll manage it," Kate revealed.
Chris offered, "I'll bring you whenever you ask."
"How very gracious you are," Selena intoned, her exquisite smile lighting the room.
Frantic to be away, Kate stumbled toward the door, and as she made her escape, Selena tucked under her arm the box containing her mother's opera fan. Kate was too distressed to remark or decline, and on the spur of the moment couldn't deduce what comment she could utter about it with Christopher listening.
She hurried out, Chris on her heels, and as she would have exited the apartment, Edith Fitzsimmons skulked out of the shadows, her disdain not having waned. 'Take a good look around, Miss Duncan," she scathingly chided. "You should be ashamed of yourself."
