Mrs. Abbott nodded sagely. “That they are. I was thinking more about what others would have to say about her. Of course, there’s another post available that doesn’t require such demanding references,” she said with a knowing smile as she headed for the door.
“Another post?” Gavin had no idea what she was talking about. “What post is that?”
“Countess,” said Mrs. Abbott succinctly, and let herself out of the library.
Gavin gaped at the closed library door. Now what on earth had she meant by that? He’d known the old housekeeper had not entirely approved of his keeping Miss Cherrystone on after discovering that her references were false, and he had assumed that she did not care much for the girl as a result. It appeared that he had been wrong.
As far as he could recall, Mrs. Abbott had never before given him personal advice. She had known Gavin from birth, however, and he knew that she regarded him almost as a son, which made it that much harder to discount her words now.
Did she actually mean that she thought he should marry Cherry instead of his heiress? Oddly enough, the idea rather appealed to him once he allowed himself to consider it. Though she could have no fortune, Cherry was exactly what would suit him in a wife: intelligent and kind, with none of the airs and graces that were so prevalent among fashionable debutantes. She was certainly not grasping or ambitious, as he had reason to believe his betrothed might be, and the better he came to know her, the lovelier she appeared to him.
Gavin turned back to his desk with an oath. What did it matter if Cherry were the perfect woman for him or even if he were madly in love with her? He was legally and morally bound to marry Miss Frederica Chesterton, and there was no way that he could, in honor, change that.
Though he rarely imbibed before dinner, Gavin decided that he needed a drink. Crossing to the sideboard, he poured himself a generous measure of brandy.
* * *
Gavin was feeling considerably more mellow, though he was by no means bosky, when Sir Thomas Chesterton came to call on him an hour later. His guest’s first words were sufficient to dispel the comfortable glow the spirits had induced.
“Glad I found you in, Seabrooke,” he said, breezing in to seat himself in the chair before the desk. “I got word from my sister today that she’ll be coming to Town for the end of the Little Season after all. She should arrive in a week or so, and make her bow shortly after that. I’ll be handling all the arrangements at this end, and have agreed to see a house over on Audley Square this afternoon, so I’ll have to miss our session at Gentleman Jackson’s. I believe she’s eager to meet you.”
“Is she indeed?” asked Gavin, trying to ignore a feeling of impending doom. “Suppose she doesn’t care for what she sees?”
“Not likely,” said Sir Thomas with a laugh. “Anyway, she had her chance to cry off and didn’t take it. Don’t you worry, I shan’t let her cut up stiff now.”
It had become amply clear to Gavin that Sir Thomas was almost indecently eager to see his sister safely married and that he would feel a not inconsiderable degree of relief once it was achieved. That observation led Seabrooke to the unwelcome conclusion that the girl was most likely a harpy, as well as an antidote. And soon—all too soon—she would be his wife. Taking a gulp of brandy to fortify himself, he turned to Sir Thomas.
“Why don’t we have bit of a celebration here tomorrow night to mark my betrothal to your sister? One last hurrah, as it were, before I don the mantle of sober respectability. You can meet some of my closest acquaintances, and it will give them a chance to offer their congratulations en masse.”
If Gavin’s smile held a hint of desperation, Sir Thomas did not appear to notice.
CHAPTER 12
Frederica spent the remainder of the day happily making some of the changes appropriate to Christabel’s new status. Mrs. Abbott had informed her that the Earl had allotted a considerable sum to be spent on the nursery and his niece, but there had been no opportunity before to spend it. As there was no longer any need for secrecy, Frederica was now able to remedy that. She and Christabel spent an enjoyable afternoon shopping for toys, books and clothes to fill the previous lack.
When they returned, well past Christabel’s usual nap time, they were both laden with purchases and Christabel was clad in a crisp new frock of sky blue that matched her eyes, with a snowy-white pinafore in place of the stained and patched one she had worn when they left. Out of habit, Frederica began to head around to the back entrance, then stopped with a laugh.
“We’ll go in through the front door for a change, shall we, darling?”
Christabel agreed readily, not understanding the symbolic difference between the two entrances. To Frederica, however, this was a milestone, another declaration of Christabel’s elevated status. Proudly she marched her charge up the broad marble steps and through the grand portico of Seabrooke House, as she now had every right to do.
As they passed the library, Frederica suddenly remembered that the Earl had asked her to examine the estate records with his steward. She paused outside the door, wondering whether she should stop to apologize for her absence. But before she could knock, she heard masculine voices, raised uproariously in song. One was the Earl’s, and the other, quite definitely, belonged to her brother. Rather taken aback that they should be foxed, as they evidently were, so early in the evening, she hurried Christabel on past the library to the stairs. It appeared that the books would not be attended to that day.
Back in the nursery, she and Christabel spent the remaining time until supper unwrapping their purchases and arranging them about the nursery and in the clothes-press. Frederica reflected that even if she were to leave tomorrow and never see Christabel or her uncle again, she had done far too much good here to regret her stay. The thought of leaving, however, came with a pang that no amount of self-recrimination would allay.
“Is it not grand, Cherry, that the sick lady next door has moved away?” asked Christabel. That was the reason Frederica had given her to account for the sudden changes taking place. “Now I can go into the garden any time I like and not worry about the noise I make.”
“You certainly may, dear,” Frederica assured her. “And I have another thought. Would you like to have a peacock in the garden? I have one that I can fetch, for your uncle said that I might bring you any pets I wished to.”
“A peacock?” Christabel breathed, clearly entranced by the idea. “Will he spread his feathers for me?”
“I’m certain we can induce him to do so,” replied Frederica with a laugh. “Perhaps, if Lucy will come up to the nursery after your supper, I can go to get him this very evening.”
“That would be wonderful, Cherry!” Christabel interrupted her own effusions with a yawn, reminding Frederica that the child had missed her customary nap.
“I'll run down to get your supper and ask her. I think you could use an early night, young lady!” She returned Christabel’s impulsive hug with misty eyes and hurried down to the kitchens, trying not to think about the parting that must come so soon.
At her query, Mrs. Abbott informed her that Lord Seabrooke had gone out. The disapproval on her face told Frederica that his intoxication had not escaped her notice, either. Nevertheless, she had no fault to find with Frederica’s plan, so long as she was back early, and accordingly sent Lucy upstairs. Promising to be gone no more than an hour or two, Frederica left.
Miss Milliken was pleased, if startled, to see Frederica again so soon. “So you have taken my advice!” she exclaimed. “Good. I could not be happy about your situation at Seabrooke House, with all the gossip flying about Town.”
“The chatter is no longer of consequence, Milly,” Frederica informed her with a smile. “Lord Seabrooke received a letter today proving that Christabel’s parents were legally wed. He can now openly claim her as his niece—his legitimate niece—without besmirching his sister’s name. Christabel can now have the life she deserves, rather than the one you predicted for her.” She could not prevent a tr
ace of smugness from creeping into her voice.
“I am very happy for the child, truly,” Miss Milliken assured her, “but there is still the matter of your name being linked with Lord Seabrooke’s. How long can you keep up this charade, Frederica?”
“The news about Christabel, once it becomes known, should effectively silence the other rumors as well, I should think,” she replied. “As to your query, I cannot remain there as Miss Cherrystone much longer. Thomas is in Town.”
She related the scene in the library the night before, as well as her subsequent conversation with her brother in the Park that morning. Miss Milliken listened attentively, torn between horror and laughter.
“What a shock that must have been for him!” she finally said with a chuckle. “Perhaps being on the receiving end of a prank for a change will do him some good. But he is right.” She sobered. “You have had your chance to discredit Lord Seabrooke and have failed. A wise general knows when to signal retreat; it is only fair that you now honor the betrothal.”
Frederica sighed. “Fair of me, perhaps, but is it fair to Lord Seabrooke? He agreed to the betrothal out of necessity, but I believe he is far from happy about it. And now I suspect that he may be beginning to care for Miss Cherrystone. As…as a friend, I mean.”
“If you are not careful, Frederica, you will end up jealous of yourself,” Miss Milliken chided her, one eyebrow raised knowingly. “You must reveal the truth to him eventually. Why wait longer?”
As she had with Thomas that morning, Frederica temporized. “I have a few days yet before I must begin preparing for my debut. You will act as my chaperone, will you not, Milly?” Her companion nodded, but her eyes still held a question.
“I am certain I’ll find a way to tell him before then,” Frederica said firmly, as much to convince herself as her friend.
Miss Milliken continued to regard her soberly, but Frederica quickly stood. “I promised to be back within the hour and I have yet to collect Fanfare. Do help me get him into his cage, won’t you?” She still had not the slightest idea how she was to disclose her deception to the Earl, and her thoughts instinctively shied away from the possible consequences.
Taking refuge in action, she hurried out to Milly’s small garden to collect the peacock and made a great fuss over loading the cage into the hackney for the return journey. The driver made no little fuss about the matter himself, and Frederica was fully occupied in soothing first him, then the affronted bird during the trip to Seabrooke House. The matter of her charade would have to wait, at least until the morrow.
* * *
The next morning, Christabel was up at first light, eager to see the peacock. After a hurried breakfast, she accompanied Frederica down to the garden—openly, for the first time.
“Here, Christabel, throw a bit of grain onto the ground and Fanfare will come right to you. He’s very tame,” said Frederica, giving the child a handful of the feed she had brought along. Soon the peacock was eating at their feet.
“He’s so beautiful, Cherry,” said Christabel in an awed whisper, stroking the iridescent neck.
“Yes, he certainly is,” agreed Lord Seabrooke from the top of the steps leading into the garden. “Where on earth did he come from?”
Frederica whirled at the sound of his voice, causing the peacock to startle, but Christabel answered at once.
“Cherry brought him for me to play with, Uncle Gavin! She says his name is Fanfare.” She gave Frederica one of her impulsive hugs. “I just love Cherry, don’t you?”
Frederica felt heat rush to her cheeks at the child’s innocent question and quickly turned back to the bird to hide her blush. The Earl, meanwhile, was making a great business of clearing his throat.
“Cherry has certainly been a valuable addition to the household,” he finally said rather stiffly. “I am curious, however, where she managed to find a peacock here in the city.”
Stung by his dry tone, in which Frederica thought she detected an accusation, she dared to meet his gaze with a challenging one of her own. “He is mine, my lord. A friend was keeping him for me. You did say that I might bring any pets here that I wished.” Her own voice was sharp.
Lord Seabrooke’s face relaxed, and she realized that she had misinterpreted. “Yes, I did,” he replied easily, “and I’ve no objection to his being here, provided he does not indulge in that infernal screeching they are prone to. I did not realize you had pets even more exotic than mice, Cherry.” His look was both teasing and, oddly, entreating.
For one breathless moment, Frederica was tempted to pour out the whole story to him, to tell him who she really was and why she was here. He seemed to sense something of her struggle, for the plea in his eyes grew more pronounced. Mercifully, she recalled Christabel’s presence in time. “I had Angora goats at one time as well, my lord,” she said at last. “But they are not now in Town.”
“I must be grateful for that, I suppose.” Although his words and tone were still light, there was something of withdrawal in his expression. Frederica, her eyes still locked with his, perceived the fact and guessed its cause. She really must tell him soon.
“Uncle Gavin, do you want to pet him?” asked Christabel, giving both Frederica and the Earl an excuse to break that too intimate gaze.
“Perhaps later, Christabel. I came out here to ask Miss Cherrystone if she could find the time this morning to go over the books with Mr. Trent.” His manner was suddenly formal. “Ralph, here, can keep an eye on you and your new friend.” He nodded behind them to a lad who had just come into the garden through the gate from the mews.
Ralph, who came two mornings a week to tend the garden, had stopped to stare at the peacock, but on hearing his name, he eagerly pulled on his straw-coloured forelock. “Yes, yer lordship! I’ll watch ’em like a hawk!” he fervently agreed.
“Excellent. I’ve no doubt my niece will be well looked after,” said the Earl.
Frederica saw the speculative twinkle in the boy’s eyes and realized that Lord Seabrooke had chosen his words deliberately. Word of Christabel’s relationship to him would doubtless begin to spread about Town that very morning, countering Mr. Coombes’s vicious rumors with truth. She gave Christabel and Ralph the remainder of the grain and followed the Earl indoors.
“Mr. Trent is already in the library,” he said to her as they passed into the front hallway. “I am planning an impromptu entertainment tonight and have several calls to make, but I hope to join you later on. Feel free to spend as long as necessary on the books. Mrs. Abbott or one of the maids can take your place with Christabel for the day.”
His tone was still formal, as though he were holding himself rigidly in check. Frederica looked up at him questioningly, her lips slightly parted while she tried to frame the words she knew she must speak. Before she could find the right beginning, however, something like a shudder ran through Lord Seabrooke’s frame and he turned away from her abruptly.
Striding toward the front door, he spoke almost roughly over his shoulder. “I’ll bid you good-morning then.” He was gone before she could reply.
Frederica blinked in confusion at his inexplicable change of manner. Most likely he was simply preoccupied with his plans for the evening, she decided with a shrug. She opened the library door, hoping that she and the steward might find something that would enable her to preface her most-necessary revelation with good news.
* * *
Gavin walked quickly away from Seabrooke House, his thoughts and feelings in turmoil. Why in blazes had Mrs. Abbott put that idea into his head yesterday? Since his interview with the housekeeper, he had scarcely been able to think of anything but Cherry. He had concocted this evening’s assembly in hopes of distracting himself, but so far it had not worked. Even the brandy he had drunk the previous night had done nothing but break down his last reservations, finally allowing him to admit to himself the very feeling he was trying so hard now to deny.
He was in love with Christabel’s nanny. There it was: the plain, unvarni
shed truth. He had hoped that in the cold light of day he would be able to dismiss that remarkable discovery as an alcohol-induced fantasy but after seeing her again, his conviction remained stronger than ever. Never having been in love before, he could attribute the powerful emotions that assailed him to no other cause.
By thunder, when she had looked up at him outside the library door just now, it had taken every ounce of his control not to kiss her right there, in the front hall. What would she have done if he had? he wondered. Probably slapped him across the face and given notice, he thought ruefully. And rightly so. He had no business indulging in such fancies about a servant, even such an unusual one as Cherry. Especially when he would be meeting his promised wife within two weeks!
Forcing his thoughts to the evening ahead out of pure self-defense, Gavin directed his steps towards Lord Jocelyn’s house to deliver his first invitation.
* * *
Mr. Trent was an earnest, ambitious man, but Frederica soon realized that the steward was not particularly clever. Perhaps he was competent enough to be trusted with the running of an estate diminished to the current size of Brookeside, but she would have been exceedingly reluctant to allow him the management of Maple Hill.
“Did you ever think to cross-check the different account books?” she asked him in exasperation after nearly an hour’s work had revealed additional puzzles, rather than answers.
The steward ran a hand through his thinning brown hair and regarded her nervously. His attitude towards her had changed dramatically over the past hour, from amused condescension to blustering defensiveness and, finally, to grudging respect.
“Don’t forget, miss, that I’ve only had the running of Brookeside and the other Seabrooke holdings for a few months. There was no steward at all for the past year and more. Seems the old Earl kept the books himself after Mr. Collins retired.”
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