Daring Deception

by Hiatt, Brenda

  To distract herself, Frederica scrubbed her face nearly raw, removing all trace of her false freckles, and vigorously brushed out her copper curls. Her own things, along with her abigail and a few other servants from Maple Hill, would arrive at Audley Square later that day. Until then, she would have to wear one of the plain gowns from the trunk.

  While she dressed, Frederica began the thinking and planning she had been too tired—and too unsettled— to do the night before. Now, in the sober light of day, she could consider things a bit more dispassionately.

  The recollection of Lord Seabrooke’s caresses still had the power to make her giddy, she discovered. Firmly, she pushed away the memory and attempted to concentrate instead on possible motives for his actions. The one she wished with all her heart to believe was that he cared for her. That he considered her a friend, she had not doubted—until last night. But was it more than that?

  Recalling the liberties that he had taken, that she had allowed him to take, she decided it seemed far more likely that he wished her to be his mistress. Did gentlemen love their mistresses? She did not think they did, as a rule, though she was woefully ignorant about the subject. But neither did they necessarily love their wives. It occurred to her that she would far rather be loved as a mistress than merely tolerated as a wife. Her cheeks growing pink at the scandalous thought, she tried again to think rationally.

  Had his actions been indicative of love? She had fallen head over ears for the Earl in the brief time she’d known him, but she couldn’t quite believe that he had been similarly smitten by the plain Miss Cherrystone. Perhaps the kiss had merely been an expression of gratitude, an attempt to convince her that he really wished her to accept the bonus he’d given her, and which she’d tried to refuse. It might well have been her own shameless response that allowed it to become so much more. That seemed a depressingly reasonable explanation.

  And if correct, what now? Now that she knew what it was to love, could she endure being married to a man who had her heart in his keeping while his own was free? Could she hide her feelings for him, pretending only friendship, while he pursued his own pleasures elsewhere?

  No, she could not.

  Her dress fastened, Frederica turned to regard herself critically in the mirror. The scrubbing had left a rosy glow in her cheeks, and she realized with a start, seeing her undisguised face as though for the first time, that she was really quite pretty. Perhaps the bran-faced, bespectacled Miss Cherrystone had not been able to win the Earl’s heart, but as Miss Chesterton, properly gowned and coiffed, in fashionable surroundings, she might have a chance. Certainly it was worth a try!

  By the time Thomas stirred, it was past eleven. Frederica had tidied the entire apartment and packed his belongings in preparation for the move to Audley Square. She was more than ready to be on her way, and to set her plans into motion.

  The majority of the day was spent settling into their temporary home. All Frederica’s management skills were brought to bear as she hired servants, wrote letters and dealt with the details attendant on moving into the house for the remainder of the Little Season.

  Miss Milliken came at once upon receiving Frederica’s message and was installed in the room next to hers. As they worked side by side for the rest of the day, setting the house in order, the former governess sent many a questioning look Frederica’s way. Their conversation was limited, however, to the number of housemaids they would require or the rearrangement of the furniture. Not until they finally found themselves alone for a belated cup of tea in the late afternoon did they give voice to the topic occupying both their thoughts.

  “Well, my dear, does all this mean that you finally managed to tell Lord Seabrooke the truth?” Miss Milliken asked, after waiting a few moments in vain for Frederica to broach the subject.

  “Not...not precisely, Milly,” Frederica admitted, refusing to meet her companion’s eye. “But I felt it was high time I left Seabrooke House.”

  Miss Milliken regarded her shrewdly. “You have come to feel more than mere friendship for Lord Seabrooke, have you not?”

  Frederica nodded dumbly.

  “Would you like to tell me about it?” Miss Milliken prodded gently.

  Looking up to see the warm concern on her old friend’s face, Frederica suddenly felt her eyes fill with tears. “Oh, Milly! I’ve done the most foolish thing! I’ve fallen in love with him and I don’t know whether he cares for me or not.” With a profound sense of relief, she poured out the whole story to Miss Milliken, along with her suspicions and fears. The only details she omitted were those moments of passion, which were still too private, too precious, to share.

  “So when he gave me the fifty pounds and...and looked at me so, I didn’t know what to think. I was afraid if I stayed longer I would betray my feelings to him. Oh, how can I marry him now, if he does not care for me? That is why I have decided to storm his heart...as myself.” She began to outline her plans for the next two weeks.

  Miss Milliken listened to the entire recital in silence. When Frederica was done, she asked, “Then you plan to keep your identity as Miss Cherrystone a secret from him?”

  “For the present, at least,” replied Frederica. “If I disguise my voice somewhat, and am careful to keep my eyes downcast, I believe I can carry it off. If...if my plan works, if we can reach an understanding, then it should be safe enough to tell him the truth.”

  “Deceit may be a valuable strategy in war, Frederica,” said Miss Milliken quietly, “but I cannot think that it has any place in love. There, honesty is surely the best policy.”

  “Once I am confident of his love, I fully intend to be honest,” Frederica assured her. “But until then, are not all policies allowed in love and war?”

  CHAPTER 15

  The following morning, Frederica, with a still-dubious Miss Milliken in tow, began the next stage of her plan. They visited the best modistes and milliners, ordering the very latest styles in gowns, bonnets and accessories. Frederica had dressed in one of her newest gowns from Maple Hill, but it was still sadly countrified by Town standards and did not project the image she intended to cultivate.

  She also arranged to have one of the most exclusive coiffeuses in Town cut her hair, and she hired another woman to keep it styled. She had been taught to dance in the course of her education, but she nevertheless engaged a dancing master for two or three lessons to perfect her steps, especially in the newer waltz and quadrille.

  In the afternoon, they repaired to Audley Square to make plans for her come-out ball at the end of the following week. During the morning’s shopping, Frederica had made the acquaintance of several ladies, both married and unmarried, who were highly placed in the ton and who had promised her invitations to a few upcoming soirees. More than one of the older ones had recognized Miss Milliken, greeting her as a long-lost bosom-bow. Frederica had wondered at it, but her friend had not volunteered an explanation.

  “Tomorrow we must call on those ladies who desired to further their acquaintance with you,” Miss Milliken said after they had surveyed the ballroom the house afforded, noticeably smaller than that at Seabrooke House. “There you will doubtless meet others, and within days, if you take, you will be inundated with far more invitations than you will have time to accept. Your own should go out no later than Friday, by the bye.”

  “Will that not be very short notice?” asked Frederica in surprise. “The ball will then be only a week away.”

  “That cannot be helped. You will need that much time to make the necessary connections to ensure that it is not overlooked entirely. I did take the precaution of mentioning the date to Lady Humphries while you were being fitted at Madame Jeannine’s. She was able to assure me that it should not conflict with anything too important, such as her own ball this Thursday. That is likely to be one of the most significant gatherings of the Little Season. To do this thing properly, you really should have been in Town—officially—at least two weeks earlier.” It quite obviously irritated Miss Milliken to
be forced to rush what should have been a most organized and careful campaign.

  Frederica wisely changed the topic. “Where did you meet Lady Humphries, Milly? She appeared to know you quite well.”

  For a moment she did not think that Miss Milliken would answer, but after a brief hesitation, she said, “Lady Humphries and I attended the same ladies’ seminary when she was still Miss Bryant. That is also where I met Mrs. Thackeray and Lady Wimberly. By then, however, I was a teacher there.”

  “What seminary was that?” asked Frederica, gratified to gain some small insight into her friend’s mysterious past. When Miss Milliken told her, she gasped, for it was easily the most famous—and expensive—boarding school in England, patronized by the highest families of the ton.

  “But...but how did your parents—” she tentatively began.

  Miss Milliken cut her off. “An uncle was kind enough to pay my tuition. Now, how soon did the modiste say that your new habit would be ready?”

  Frederica saw that any further discussion of Miss Milliken’s history would not be tolerated. Accepting the mild rebuke at her curiosity, she obediently allowed the conversation to move to the gowns she had ordered that morning.

  * * *

  Before noon the next day, Frederica and Miss Milliken sallied forth again, this time to make the requisite morning calls. Their first stop was at the home of Lady Humphries, who was very highly placed and who, Miss Milliken told Frederica as they alighted from the carriage, could be of immense help in establishing her if the woman were so inclined. During the brief drive, Miss Milliken had been at her most pedantic, reminding her onetime charge of various rules of etiquette, apparently determined that Frederica do credit to her teaching. Frederica was equally determined not to disappoint her former governess.

  They were shown into a spacious, elegantly appointed salon, where Lady Humphries was already entertaining one or two other callers. At their entrance, she immediately rose to greet them.

  “My dear Charlotte!” she gushed, coming forward to embrace Miss Milliken. “I am so glad you are come. Pray, let me introduce you and Miss Chesterton to Mrs. Phipps and her daughter.”

  They passed a pleasant quarter hour there, though Frederica found Miss Phipps a trifle flighty for her taste. Still, the girl was friendly enough, insisting that Frederica call her Gwendolyn and relating all the more important scandals that had occurred since the start of the Little Season.

  “For these stories are bound to come up elsewhere, and you would not wish anyone to think you ignorant of the latest on-dits, I assure you, my dear Frederica!” she said with a titter.

  Frederica smiled but said little, striving to listen to the conversation among the three older ladies whenever Miss Phipps’s tongue paused, in hopes of learning something of more consequence. Still, what Gwendolyn told her was enough to make her realize how easily her reputation could be shattered were her masquerade as Miss Cherrystone ever to become known. None of the “scandals” related even remotely compared to the magnitude of that social breach.

  After taking leave of Lady Humphries, they called at the home of Mrs. Thackeray, another of Miss Milliken’s former acquaintances. Here Frederica got her first taste of the backbiting that could occur under the guise of polite conversation, for it soon became obvious that Miss Sylvia Thackeray had entertained hopes of becoming Lady Seabrooke herself and had been much disappointed by the announcement that had appeared in the papers a few days previously.

  “So you are to be Lord Seabrooke’s new countess,” she said with a sugary smile when they were introduced. “How daunting a prospect it must seem to one so newly arrived in Town! You have lived your whole life in the country, have you not?” Her thickly lashed brown eyes raked over Frederica critically as she spoke. “Town life is different, I assure you. And what responsibilities you will face in that exalted position! Pray do not hesitate to come to me for advice when you need it,” she added, implying that she was far more qualified to handle the duties of a countess than a rustic like Frederica could possibly be.

  “Thank you, Miss Thackeray,” responded Frederica, matching the other girl’s syrupy sweetness, though her eyes narrowed dangerously. “But I shall endeavor to muddle along as best I can. With my dear Lord Seabrooke’s help, I cannot think I shall find any task too arduous.” Her own smile was limpid.

  Sylvia sniffed. “Then we must hope he is not too often from your side,” she said with an answering spark of malice.

  Frederica knew that the girl referred to the Earl’s reputation as a rake and was just about to deliver a scathing set-down when she caught Miss Milliken’s slight frown and subsided. Milly had warned her that this sort of thing was bound to happen, given her fiancé’s popularity with the ladies. She had not expected it quite so soon, however.

  Shortly after this exchange, Frederica and Miss Milliken took their leave.

  “I am proud of the way you handled Miss Thackeray, Frederica,” said Miss Milliken as they walked the short distance to their next call. “I am amazed that Bertha could have raised such an ill-mannered girl. Pray do not let her words trouble you.”

  Frederica agreed that she would not, though she could not help but wonder what sort of attacks would be leveled at her as she became more visible in Society. There were pits and snares that she had not even considered, it would seem.

  They had not been above five minutes in Lady Wimberly’s drawing-room when two other ladies came to call, making Frederica aware of yet another tangle awaiting her. One of the newcomers was Lady Elizabeth, Lord Garvey’s wife, with whom, as Miss Cherrystone, she had conversed at some length only three nights before.

  Frederica kept her voice low as she replied to the introductions and, as she had planned to do when she encountered Lord Seabrooke, she avoided meeting Lady Elizabeth’s eyes. Instead, she looked at her companion, the Duchess of Ravenham, a lovely woman with unusually long, golden-brown hair.

  “Miss Chesterton is but recently arrived in Town, your grace,” their hostess told the young Duchess. “You may have seen her name in the society pages, for it is she who has finally caught our elusive Lord Seabrooke. Their betrothal was announced a few days ago, much to the disappointment of half of the young ladies in London—and their mamas!” She chuckled with amusement. Frederica had already discovered that Lady Wimberly had no daughters of her own.

  The Duchess of Ravenham was all that was friendly, and Frederica warmed to her as she and Lady Elizabeth shared stories of their first Season. She was delighted to discover that she and the Duchess, who insisted that Frederica call her Brie, had in common a love for animals.

  “Though now I find that most of my time is taken up with a different sort of animal, with which I had no previous experience,” said the Duchess, laughing.

  “Brie! Are you calling my nephew an animal?” asked Lady Elizabeth in mock indignation. In an aside to Frederica she said, “If she were not so determined to flout convention by taking on the bulk of little Derek’s care herself, she would have no cause for complaint, you know. But already I begin to think I may follow her example.” She folded her gloved hands against her swollen figure complacently.

  Frederica thoroughly agreed with that particular bending of Society’s rules. Certainly she would prefer to have a large part in the care of any children she might have. That thought led inevitably to Lord Seabrooke, and the last time she had seen him.

  To distract herself, she turned to Lady Elizabeth and said, “I collect that you and the Duchess are sisters-in-law?” She had become so comfortable in their company that her earlier fears were quite forgotten and she looked directly at the other woman as she spoke.

  “Oh, yes! I forgot that you could not have known, being so newly arrived in Town. Brie is married to my brother, Dexter, the Duke of Ravenham.” She paused, a slight frown creasing her white brow. “But are you absolutely certain that we have not met before, Miss Chesterton? There is something exceedingly familiar about you.”

  In sudden panic, Fred
erica averted her eyes. “Perhaps you have met my own brother, Sir Thomas,” she said quickly. “Some people have remarked on a certain resemblance between us.”

  Lady Elizabeth’s brow cleared. “Oh, yes, I have—at Lord Seabrooke’s. That must be it.”

  Frederica began to breathe normally again, but allowed the others to dominate the conversation for the remainder of the visit. She could not help but hope that a time might come when she could reveal everything to these two ladies, with whom she would like to become friends. Somehow, she thought they just might understand.

  * * *

  Gavin stifled an oath. Three days of diligent sleuthing had brought him no closer to discovering Miss Cherrystone’s whereabouts—or origins.

  “Are you certain that no one mentioned driving such a person from Upper Brooke Street, perhaps to the outskirts of Town?”

  The hackney driver shook his head again. “Not as I c’n recall, m’lord. Course, there’s nothing much to remember, meaning no offense. Brown hair ’n’ spectacles ain’t so very remarkable.”

  “No, I suppose not.” The Earl thought hard. What detail could he offer that one of the drivers might have noticed and told his cronies about? While he found Miss Cherrystone far out of the ordinary, there was no denying that her looks bordered on commonplace. Her special qualities were not likely to be perceived by a jarvey taking her for a short drive.

  “...young buck with a bright green wig!” the driver was saying. “Now that’s somethin’ I’ll recall to me dying day. Or Old Joe—he was tellin’ me about some woman insisted on bringing along a peacock! I ask you!” The man chortled, wiping one grimy hand across his mouth. “By gum, if it’d been me—”