As she settled back in the coach, Beth reflected that it seemed strange now, but she realised that she had barely given a moment’s thought to physical passion in her whole life. She had married almost from the schoolroom and had considered herself happy with Frank Allerton, but he had rarely troubled her for his marital rights and had treated her with all the indulgence of a fond parent. No hint of passion had disturbed the even tenor of their relationship. From the vague comments that Charlotte had occasionally made, Beth had realised that there could be a great deal more to marriage than she had shared with Frank, but she had largely dismissed such matters as simply not for her. She had met a few personable men during her widowhood and had even enjoyed the company of some of them, but had never felt moved to indulge in a love affair. She realised now that she had even begun to believe that she was simply not very interested in love.
Then Marcus had kissed her and it felt as though a whole new side of her personality, both emotional and physical, had been brought to life. Curled up in a corner of the carriage, listening vaguely to Lady Fanshawe’s chatter, Beth reflected that Marcus had awoken something she had not even been aware was sleeping: a hunger to experience emotion and passion in vivid detail.
And it was the first of these that was the problem. If she had only wanted to take a lover, matters would have been simple. Marcus was there and he was eminently suitable, eminently desirable as a lover. Beth felt the warmth steal over her again. It was a tempting thought, yet she knew that she could not accept it. Newly awakened, her feelings were craving satisfaction as much as her body was, and the thought was terrifying. Against her better judgement she liked Marcus. She enjoyed his company, his conversation, his humour. She knew she was in danger of loving him, too quickly, careless of the risk. It was in her nature to be impulsive, but on this one occasion she had to be more careful and protect herself against this danger. For though she knew Marcus wanted her, she could not be confident that his feelings were engaged any more deeply than that. It hurt her to think it, but she knew she was right.
‘Would you mind if we do not go on to Lady Baynton’s rout, dear ma’am?’ she asked Lady Fanshawe in a small voice. ‘I am a little fatigued and would prefer the quiet of going home.’
Her godmother shot her a concerned look. ‘Of course, my love. You do look rather done up! I suppose that it is country living—you are simply not prepared for such a dizzy round of events as we indulge in here in town!’ Lady Fanshawe fidgeted with her reticule. Her voice changed a little. ‘Beth, dear, I do not mean to pry, but I feel I should warn you about the Earl of Trevithick…’
Beth shifted slightly on the seat. ‘There is no need to warn me, ma’am,’ she said sadly. ‘No need at all.’
‘Beth, I do declare you are in a brown study this morning!’ Charlotte Cavendish put down the dress she was holding and viewed her cousin with a puzzled eye. ‘I asked you if you preferred the mauve or the green and you said both! Are you not feeling in plump currant? You need only say if you wish us to stop!’
Beth shook herself. They had been wading their way through the dizzying pile of goods sent round that morning by the Bond Street modistes. There were dresses, shawls and spencers, scarves and tippets, stockings and petticoats, gloves, fans and hats. The crimson saloon looked like an eastern bazaar and Beth felt utterly unequal to choosing anything from the selection. Not that her mind was on the task in hand. Not at all. She had spent the best part of the night and most of the morning dwelling on Marcus Trevithick; on his high-handed manner and his infuriatingly mocking tone, on the dark face that could soften into a warmth that took her breath away, on the forceful attraction of a man who was quite beyond her experience. Any minute she was expecting—hoping—that the bell would ring and he would have fulfilled his promise to call on her. And at the same time she was thinking that to foster any hopes of him was the greatest folly.
‘The pale blue suits you to perfection, Lottie,’ she said hastily, admiring the way that the figured silk mirrored her cousin’s bright eyes, ‘and I would take the ivory muslin and the grey as well.’
‘That is all very well for me, but what about you?’ Charlotte questioned. ‘You do not seem very interested, Beth, and this is the finest that Bond Street has to offer!’
Beth let a pale green scarf float through her fingers and stood up, moving over to the window. ‘I am sorry. I think I am a little tired from last night. We were back very late, you know, and I did not sleep particularly well.’
Charlotte frowned a little. ‘I wish I could come with you to all the parties and balls, Beth! Lady Fanshawe is the sweetest person imaginable, but I am not entirely sure she is up to snuff! Why, she told me she was hoping that Sir Edmund Netherwood might make an offer for you, when everyone knows he is the most tiresome old fortune-hunter and has been through three wives and their dowries already!’
Beth giggled. ‘You need have no fears on that score, Lottie!’ She sobered. ‘All the same, it would be so much more fun if you could accompany me about town. I do not like to think of you sitting here on your own whilst Kit and I set the town by the ears!’
‘Speaking of which, Lady Fanshawe said that you met with the Earl of Trevithick at the ball,’ Charlotte said casually, examining the stitching on a fine pair of kid gloves. ‘She said that he was most attentive, Beth!’
Beth blushed. She looked away, down into the street, where a flower-seller was just setting up a stall on the corner opposite.
‘Yes…I…Well, I could not really avoid him…’
‘Oh, Beth! Did you really want to?’
Beth raised troubled grey eyes to her cousin’s blue ones. ‘No, not really.’ She spoke in a rush. ‘I like Lord Trevithick a great deal, Lottie, but I am afraid…’
Charlotte was folding up the material, but now she let her hands rest in her lap. ‘Afraid? Of how you feel about him?’ she asked shrewdly.
Beth nodded, avoiding her gaze. ‘He is just so very different from Frank!’
Charlotte laughed. ‘I should say so!’
The doorbell shrilled, making them both jump. Carrick, the butler, strode into the room, carrying a flat packet wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. He proffered it to Beth.
‘This parcel has arrived from the Earl of Trevithick, madam. There is also a note…’
Beth shot Charlotte a startled look, and then tore open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper, written in the strong scrawl that she had come to recognise:
Dear Lady Allerton
I enclose your winnings. I have every intention of regaining them in time, however. Pray do not flee London for Devon before I have time to call upon you.
Until then,
Trevithick
The note drifted to the floor as Beth slit the parcel with her letter opener. Her fingers shook slightly. Inside was a document, dated that very morning, granting the Island of Fairhaven in the Bristol Channel to Elizabeth, Lady Allerton, and her heirs in perpetuity. Again, it was signed in a strong black hand with the one word, Trevithick. There was also a bundle of other papers, some of them ancient manuscripts written in Latin on paper so old and thin that the light shone through. Beth riffled through them in disbelief, seeing the history of her beloved island so suddenly and unexpectedly in her hands.
Charlotte had picked up the note and was reading it. She looked doubtfully from the letter to Beth and back again.
‘Oh, no! I cannot believe that the Earl is prepared to humour you in this mad obsession!’
Beth could not quite believe it either. ‘I suppose that it does not matter to him,’ she said, a little breathlessly. ‘He has so many other estates more valuable. Fairhaven has only its sentimental worth, and that only matters to me!’
‘I wonder what he means by saying that he intends to regain Fairhaven,’ Charlotte said thoughtfully, ‘and what he wants in return for his gift!’
Beth looked up, startled.
‘Why, nothing! He is paying his debt, that is all! He lost the wag
er—’
‘Do not remind me of it!’ Her cousin pursed her lips. There was a twinkle in her eye. ‘Sometimes you are so naïve, my love! In my experience there is no such thing as something for nothing! Ten to one, Trevithick has some kind of bargain in mind! It might be that he seeks your good opinion, which would be reassuring, or it might be that his intentions are dishonourable.’
Beth could feel herself blushing again. She had not told Charlotte that the Earl had already offered her carte blanche, for she knew it would only fuel her cousin’s fears. ‘Oh, no, I cannot believe—’ She met Charlotte’s sceptical gaze. ‘Well, perhaps…’
‘You know you suspect it yourself!’ Charlotte said drily. ‘What exactly happened during that wager, Beth?’
Beth felt herself blush harder. ‘Why, nothing! Only…’ She evaded Charlotte’s penetrating gaze. ‘I suppose he did…does…perhaps admire me a little…’
‘Quite so. That being the case, I think you should be careful. Trevithick is not a man with whom to indulge in an idle flirtation! He is far too dangerous!’
Beth was momentarily distracted. ‘Is he? I was not aware that his reputation was so bad.’
‘You never are,’ Charlotte said, with a sigh. ‘Remember that fortune hunter who tried to attach your interest at the Exeter Assembly? You thought him a very pleasant fellow, as I recall—’
‘Oh, but he was not in the least like Lord Trevithick!’
‘No,’ Charlotte said, opening the door, ‘he was harmless! Just take care, Beth!’
She went out. Beth picked up all the documents and walked over to the window seat, sitting down in the mid-morning sun. Outside the street was busy with vendors and passers-by.
She put the papers down on her lap and gazed out at the jumbled spires and rooftops stretching into the distance. It felt very claustrophobic to be cooped up in London in the autumn. It was a season in which to ride across the fields and feel the sharp breeze on her face, to stand on the cliff tops and look out across the sea, to walk along the beach and hear the hiss of the waves on the sand.
Beth looked down at the papers again. She realised that she felt decidedly odd, but could not work out why. Perhaps it was the shock of having her heart’s desire suddenly thrust into her hands, or that the pleasure of owning Fairhaven had overcome her. But it did not feel like that. She realised that she had wanted Marcus to talk to her about it, to tell her what he intended. Now she felt oddly cheated. She had what she wanted but she was uncomfortable about it. And she was not entirely sure why.
The reading room at White’s was very quiet that morning and it was proving a most pleasant oasis of calm for Marcus after an eventful breakfast at Trevithick House. The Dowager Viscountess, mindful of her elder son’s behaviour at the ball the night before, had rung a peal over him for his lack of filial duty. It was her expressed view that the Trevithicks had not fostered a feud with the Mostyns for two hundred and fifty years simply for Marcus to disregard it by paying attention to a fast little widow, no matter how rich. Marcus, incensed to hear his mother speak so slightingly of Beth, had thrown down his napkin and departed the house forthwith, fortunately bumping into Justin in St James’s. The two of them had retired to White’s where Justin promptly fell asleep and Marcus buried himself in the Morning Chronicle.
After half an hour, Marcus stirred his cousin with his foot. ‘How much did you win last night, Justin? When I left you were ten thousand guineas up against Warrender. Did you make enough to pay off that voracious opera singer you had in keeping?’
‘Twenty-five thousand, all told,’ Justin muttered, without opening his eyes. He slumped down further in his chair. ‘I took the money and Warrender took the girl off my hands! She was sweet, but too much of a handful!’
Marcus laughed. ‘Seems you struck a good bargain! So, are you clearing your decks in order to settle down, old fellow?’
‘Devil a bit!’ Justin yawned. He opened his eyes and squinted at Marcus. ‘Thought you were the one about to be caught in parson’s mousetrap!’
Marcus raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you trying to marry me off by any chance, old chap? Only last night you were singing Lady Allerton’s praises!’
‘No harm in marrying a fortune,’ Justin said laconically, straightening up. ‘Good money but bad blood in that family! Not that the Trevithicks should criticise the Mostyns! Pirates and thieves, the lot of them!’
‘Call me fastidious, but I would not care to marry for money,’ Marcus said slowly.
Justin bent a perceptive look on him. ‘Ah, but you wouldn’t be, would you, Marcus? Never seen you more smitten, old fellow! After all, you’ve never given away an island before, have you?’
Marcus smiled, but did not trouble to reply. Justin knew him too well to be fooled, but equally he had no intention of discussing his matrimonial plans just yet. He shifted a little in his chair as he thought of Beth. He would call on her in a little while and take her driving. He wanted to talk to her about Fairhaven, make her promise that she would not rush away from London to inspect her new property. His smile deepened as he imagined how excited she would be to have the island in her possession. It pleased him to make her happy and it was a feeling he was not accustomed to. He had always been generous in a careless, casual way, but this protective desire to take care of someone else was entirely new. He grinned. Damn it, he must be getting old, wanting to marry and set up his nursery…
A servant was approaching them with a folded note on a silver tray. The man’s face wore a rather pained expression, as though he had been entrusted with an errand that was in poor taste.
‘Excuse me, my lord. A person by the name of Gower is without. He asks if you might spare him a moment of your time…’
Marcus raised his eyebrows. He had seen Gower only the previous day when his man of business had reluctantly presented him with the deed of gift by which Marcus had signed Fairhaven away. Gower had begged him to be prudent, to reconsider, to wait…And Marcus, impatient to make Beth happy, had signed the document and sent it round immediately, ignoring Gower’s advice. He knew that something untoward must have happened for Gower to seek him out at White’s. Wondering if it was to do with Fairhaven or some completely unrelated matter, Marcus felt his own apprehension growing.
The man of business was waiting for him out in the street, turning his hat round between his hands in the gesture he always employed when he was worried or nervous. On this occasion Marcus judged him to be both of these things.
‘My lord,’ he said jerkily, looking from Marcus to Justin and back again, ‘forgive me for disturbing you, but the matter was most urgent. I would not have troubled you else—’
‘That is understood, Gower,’ Marcus said shortly. ‘What is the difficulty?’
‘My lord…’ Gower looked unhappy. ‘There are documents I feel you should see, matters that have come to light—’
‘Matters to do with Fairhaven Island?’ Justin interposed, his gaze keen. Marcus felt his heart sink as Gower nodded his head.
‘Matters concerning Fairhaven—and Lady Allerton, I fear, sir.’
‘Well, we cannot stand here in the street discussing it,’ Marcus snapped. ‘Gower, your rooms are more appropriate than Trevithick House. We will go there.’
They walked to Gower’s rooms in Chancery Lane in an uneasy silence. Gower ushered them into his office and a clerk who had been working at the desk moved unobtrusively away. Gower carefully moved some stacks of papers from the chairs and invited the gentlemen to take a seat, but Marcus ignored the suggestion.
‘Thank you, I prefer to stand,’ he said tersely. ‘Now, what is this matter that is of such import, Gower?’
Gower resumed his seat behind his large mahogany desk. He moved a few documents to the right, picked one up, put it down again, then moved the pile left. Marcus felt his nerves tightening.
‘For God’s sake, man, just get on with it—’
He saw Justin shoot him a warning glance and tried to get a hold on his temper. Sho
uting at Gower would do no good and the man was only doing his job anyway. Marcus knew that he needed a pernickety lawyer to attend to all the matters that held no interest for him, but when he wondered what Gower was about to tell him about Beth he felt the cold seep through him like water on stone.
‘Yes, my lord,’ Gower said expressionlessly. He settled his half-moon spectacles on his nose. Behind the lenses his eyes gleamed palely. He picked up the document on the top of the pile and cleared his throat.
‘On the matter of Fairhaven Island, my lord…Several weeks ago, when you first mooted the possibility that you might cede the island to Lady Allerton, I instigated some investigations—’ Gower’s pale eyes flashed ‘—all in your best interests, my lord.’
‘Of course,’ Marcus said politely. He resisted the impulse to take the lawyer by the throat and shake him. ‘Pray continue, Gower.’
‘Yes, my lord. I discovered that the possibility of a sale of Fairhaven had first been suggested some twenty years ago, when Sir Frank Allerton approached your grandfather, the late Earl.’
Marcus shifted impatiently. ‘What of it, Gower?’
The lawyer shuffled the papers again. ‘It seems that Sir Frank was a notable mineralogist, my lord, and suspected that there might well be valuable resources on the island, mineral deposits that would justify the cost and difficulties of mining there.’
Justin gave a low whistle. ‘There cannot be many substances that would be worth such an effort, Gower.’
‘No, sir.’ Gower permitted himself a small, prim smile. ‘Naturally enough, Sir Frank did not inform the late Earl of his precise interest in Fairhaven, but information that subsequently fell into my hands…’ the lawyer looked slightly shifty ‘…suggested that the substance under discussion was gold.’
Lady Allerton's Wager Page 7
