Lost in Temptation (Regency Chase Family Series, Book 1)

by Royal, Lauren

  "Pardon me, but there is no lady. Lady Armstrong breathed her last in the spring."

  Only then did she notice his black armband. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Is there no one to whom I may pay my respects?"

  "Lord Armstrong has gone up to London. Only Miss Leticia is at home."

  Miss Leticia Armstrong. Sweet heaven, wasn't that the name of the woman who had once been engaged to Tris? Alexandra hadn't put two and two together when Mrs. Pawley mentioned Armstrong House, but now she was dying of curiosity.

  She reached into her basket. "Would you care for a sugar cake?" The footman looked startled but took it, having little choice if he wasn't to be rude. "Could you please tell Miss Armstrong that I'd appreciate a few moments of her time?"

  The man walked off, cake in hand, looking dazed. Behind her, Alexandra heard Peggy try—and fail—to suppress a snort of laughter. Glancing back, she gave her a small smile. She knew it was a bit odd to offer sweets to all and sundry, but the Chase ladies had always done so and been well loved for it, so she wasn't about to stop now.

  "He should have invited us in," Peggy said disapprovingly.

  "You're right, of course, but I believe he was a bit flustered."

  Wearing a fashionable black dress—as befitted a daughter in mourning—Leticia appeared a minute later, approaching with small, graceful steps that A Lady of Distinction would surely approve. Tall and willowy, she had clear green eyes and beautiful flaxen hair swept up in a sophisticated style.

  Try as she might, Alexandra couldn't bring herself to hate her. She knew what it felt like to lose a mother, and Leticia looked like a perfectly lovely young woman.

  Until she opened her mouth.

  "John told me you are Lady Hawkridge?"

  "Yes." Alexandra wondered why Leticia's voice should sound so cold. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Armstrong. Please accept my condolences on the loss of your mother." Curious whether all the footmen here were called John, too, she reached into her basket. "May I offer you a—"

  "You're not welcome here."

  The sugar cake dropped from Alexandra's fingers. "I beg your pardon?"

  "You heard me. The Hawkridge name has been disgraced. Please leave." Leticia began closing the door.

  "Wait." Alexandra shoved a hand against the wood. She was reeling with shock, but she'd come here for a purpose. "Have you a maid here by the name of Beth?"

  Leticia stared right through her.

  "Beth is a dear friend of mine," Peggy said, stepping out from behind Alexandra. "My mistress brought me here to see her." Her voice dropped an octave, sounding pained and sympathetic. "I…have news concerning her family."

  Peggy, Alexandra thought, was a consummate actress. She almost had her convinced the invented news was dire.

  Apparently Leticia did have something approximating a heart, since she nodded at Peggy. "Come inside. I'll fetch Beth."

  She pulled Peggy in by the arm and closed the door in Alexandra's face.

  Alexandra stood there for a stunned moment, then walked slowly back to the carriage. There was nothing else to do. She climbed inside and waited, her stomach contracted into a tight knot that made nausea rise in her throat.

  Although she'd known it wouldn't be easy to be the wife of a suspected murderer, she hadn't realized how it would feel to be disregarded. Leticia had gazed past her as though she wasn't even there.

  Her heart ached for her sisters. This was the way they'd be treated. And, unlike her, they had no husbands to love, no one to hold in the night to make facing the disgrace a little easier.

  It seemed forever before Peggy finally came out. "Beth knows nothing," she reported even before she entered the carriage.

  "You asked her all the questions?"

  "Everything you asked everyone else, my lady." She sat across from Alexandra. "Beth believes Lord Hawkridge died in his sleep."

  "Thank you for trying," Alexandra said, her heart sinking even more. It seemed Tris's uncle had died in his sleep. And that was going to make it very hard—if not impossible—to prove Tris's innocence.

  Very hard—if not impossible—to make life better for Juliana and Corinna.

  In her dejected state, the ride home seemed twice as long as the ride out. Peggy, at least, was quite solicitous. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, my lady."

  "It's not your fault." Alexandra tried for a grateful smile. "I truly appreciate the way you managed to worm your way in there."

  Peggy shrugged. "Miss Armstrong is a witch."

  Although Alexandra agreed, she didn't think it would be seemly to say so aloud. But though she knew it was wicked of her, she couldn't help being pleased that Miss Armstrong was still Miss Armstrong…still unmarried in all the years since she'd abandoned Tris.

  "I don't like to see your heart in your boots," Peggy said. "Is there anything else I can do?"

  She really was a dear. "I don't think so. Unless you can remember anyone else who might have worked at Hawkridge and since left."

  Peggy frowned for a moment, then shook her head. "I cannot recollect anyone else."

  "I think I will talk to everyone again, though, and see if anyone remembers any departed staff members. The possibility hadn't occurred to me before, so I never asked the others."

  The maid was silent a moment. "If you don't mind my saying so, my lady…"

  "Yes?" Alexandra knew Peggy had her best interests at heart. "Please, feel free to say anything."

  "Well, it's just that I overheard you and his lordship discussing this the other night. Not that I was listening, you understand."

  "We did raise our voices," Alexandra admitted, embarrassed.

  "Yes. Well, and don't you expect he might be upset if you talk to everyone again?"

  "I'm sure he will be." She sighed. "But I must do this. There's too much at stake." She ran her fingers along the chain that held her cameo. "I shall have to face his wrath and try to make the best of things."

  Peggy folded her competent hands in her lap. "I could do it for you."

  "Pardon?"

  "I could ask all the others and make a list of any departed servants and their current whereabouts, if known. That way you'll have the information without angering his lordship by asking more questions."

  "Oh, Peggy, would you?" It was a perfect solution. "I'd be forever grateful."

  "Consider it done." Peggy smiled. "It might take me a day or two, mind you, since I'll have to work around my other duties."

  "I understand," Alexandra assured her. "I shall be very undemanding until you are finished."

  Once again, Peggy passed the time with a constant stream of chatter. Although she'd regained a shred of hope, Alexandra felt exhausted by the time they returned home. Perhaps breathing the gas had affected her more than she'd thought, though she was inclined to think it was all the emotional ups and downs of the past few days. In either case, though she never slept in the daytime, she went straight upstairs, changed into Juliana's nightgown, and took a nap.

  THIRTY-NINE

  TRISTAN ARRIVED home that evening eager to see Alexandra. It wasn't raining. The problem at the gasworks was finally solved. And he was starving.

  After poking his head into the most likely ground-floor rooms and failing to find his wife, he took the stairs two at a time, anxious to see how she was faring after this morning's mishap.

  If it had been a mishap.

  But right this moment he didn't want to think about that. He wanted to kiss Alexandra and hear about her day and share the success of his. Preferably over dinner.

  Vincent appeared, as he often did, to meet him outside his bedroom door. "Your lady is sleeping," he said quietly.

  Concern—and guilt—slammed into him. "Is she not doing well?"

  "Peggy says she's well, my lord, only weary. Shall I arrange for a tray in your room? She may not wish to dress for dinner."

  As usual, Vincent knew instinctively what was right.

  "An excellent idea." Tristan paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Do y
ou know if she went visiting today?"

  "She did. She took the carriage."

  That was a relief. If she'd been well enough to carry out her plans to meet the villagers, she couldn't be feeling too poorly. But he wondered how her visits had gone. While the villagers were dependent on him and therefore didn't snub him outright, his relationship with them was rather strained. They didn't like having their lord steeped in scandal.

  Then again, Alexandra had his servants eating out of her hand—literally—already. Perhaps she could bring the villagers around, too.

  "Did Peggy go along with her?" he asked.

  "And Ernest as well, my lord. And John Coachman, of course. I mean Charlie," Vincent corrected himself. They shared a smile. "Your lady is making a lot of changes around here, isn't she?"

  "Positive ones, I believe." Tristan was very happy to hear Alexandra had followed his directions. He didn't know if he could handle any more excitement today. Now that her damned investigation was over, he just wanted to see if they could settle into something resembling a marriage.

  He turned and twisted the knob.

  "She's not questioning anyone, either," Vincent added. "I know you were concerned about that, so you'll be pleased to hear that Peggy is doing it instead."

  Tristan turned back. "Doing what?"

  "Questioning the staff. Peggy came to me an hour ago, asking if I recalled anyone who might have worked here four years ago but has since left. She's compiling a list for your lady."

  "Is she?"

  "Yes. Isn't it clever of your wife to widen the search?"

  "Quite." No one had ever accused Alexandra of being dullwitted. To the contrary, it seemed she was too bright for her own good. "She's not going to find anything, though. My uncle died in his sleep. Of a broken heart."

  "Of course he did. But I find it endearing that your lady wishes so much to prove otherwise."

  Endearing, Tristan thought as he cracked open the door and slipped inside. That wasn't the word he would have chosen. Exasperating was more like it.

  Why couldn't she understand that he wanted her to stop poking around where she didn't belong?

  She slumbered, huddled on her side beneath the covers, a small lump in his big bed. It occurred to him that now was his chance to dump her onto the floor. But he couldn't do it. Upset as he was to learn she was still pursuing her damned investigation, after nearly losing her this morning he couldn't summon the anger he'd felt last night.

  But dread of what she might find…that he could summon well enough.

  The room was dim but not yet dark. He walked over and stood by the bed. Her even features were outlined against the white sheets like the profile portrait she'd made of him so long ago.

  "Alexandra," he called softly, half expecting her to sleep on like she had earlier. A hint of that panic came back, the blind fear he'd felt when he couldn't awaken her.

  This time, though, she opened her eyes and yawned. "Tris?" she said in a sleepy murmur.

  She would never know how endearing he found it when she called him that. Endearing. He was so relieved to see the gas hadn't seriously harmed her.

  "Are you hungry?" he asked.

  "Not really." She struggled to sit up against the pillows. "How did everything go at the gasworks?"

  "Very well. The construction is back on track." He sat beside her on the mattress, his weight on the featherbed making her tilt toward him. "How was your day, then?"

  "Disappointing." She sighed. "Mrs. Pawley recollected a scullery maid who'd left for Armstrong House to take a better position. I went—"

  "You went to Armstrong House?" He blinked. "I thought you were going to the village."

  "I was going to the village—I even made sugar cakes to take with me—until I learned about Beth." He thought he saw guilt cloud her features, but it was immediately replaced by other emotions he couldn't read. "Then, when I got to Armstrong House, Miss Armstrong wouldn't let me in the door. Peggy had to talk to Beth instead." She swallowed hard. "I must confess, I didn't like your Miss Armstrong much."

  "I don't care for her much anymore, either," he assured her, noting her furrowed brow and haunted eyes. She was more upset by the rejection than she was letting on. It was on the tip of his tongue to soothe her by suggesting Leticia's attitude could have stemmed as much from his past history with her as from true outrage at his disgrace, but he decided there was no point.

  This would happen over and over, and he wouldn't be able to shrug off the next incident as easily.

  Though he'd known the isolation and disapproval would hurt her, seeing her suffer ripped him up inside. It was why he hadn't wanted to marry. And why he feared she would leave him when she decided she couldn't take it anymore.

  "You shouldn't have gone there," he said.

  Guilt flashed again, this time replaced by determination. "I had to find out if Beth had any information, Tris, don't you see?"

  He didn't see. Or rather, he saw all too well that she wouldn't stop digging in his past, threatening his hard-won equilibrium. He scooped a hand through his hair, fighting to maintain his even temper. "I thought you said it was over."

  "You cannot expect me to ignore new information. I've asked Peggy to find out if there are any more servants who have left as well. If there's any chance—"

  "I want you to stop this."

  "I cannot." She sighed. "I'm sorry. It's too important. This is our life and the lives of my sisters. We're married for better or worse, but I cannot help trying to make it better."

  He sat silent for a moment, trying to accept that. It wasn't easy. If she continued asking questions, neither of them were going to be happy with the answers. But he consoled himself that at least she had told him the truth. He hadn't known she'd been to Armstrong House, and she'd volunteered the information. She wasn't trying to hide anything, wasn't sneaking around behind his back.

  Of course she wasn't. She was Alexandra.

  "I don't want to fight," he said finally, determined to regain his earlier mood. When he rode up to the house, he'd been so eager to see her. There was no sense ruining the entire evening. If she was going to leave him someday—when society got the best of her—he wanted to enjoy their time together. "I'm disappointed—very disappointed—that you're not willing to let go of this. But I don't want another fight."

  Her eyes grew misty, which cut him to the core, because he'd never seen Alexandra cry. "I don't want to fight, either."

  A knock came at the door, and Vincent entered with their dinner tray. Or rather, two trays. And then he brought in a third. Mrs. Pawley had sent up a veritable feast. Alexandra composed herself and Tristan lit the gas lamps while Vincent put everything in the sitting room. The valet ducked back into the corridor to fetch a fourth tray holding a bottle of Hawkridge's wine, two glasses, plates, and utensils. "Will there be anything else, my lord?"

  "Thank you, Vincent." Tristan saw him back to the door. "This will do."

  "This will do?" Alexandra asked when they were alone again. "There's enough food here to feed the entire household!"

  "Well, come fix yourself a plate."

  Shaking her head, she slid out of bed and started for the sitting room.

  He stared, incredulous. "What are you wearing?"

  "I borrowed it from Juliana." She stopped and twirled in the monstrosity, making yards and yards of white fabric and lace bell out and swirl about her. "Do you like it?" she asked, sounding a bit hesitant. "I know it's a little short on me, but my own nightgowns are so plain, I thought you would find this much prettier."

  His gaze traveled from the frilly ruffle under her chin to the four rows of tiered lace skimming her ankles. The wide sleeves were gathered at the wrist with a six-inch spill of froth that completely concealed her hands. But the worst of it was the body of the gown—there was so much material, he wondered if he'd even find it possible to work his way underneath it.

  Still, it wouldn't do to tell her how much he hated it. "I like you better in nothing," he s
aid tactfully.

  She blushed. "Oh. I'm not certain that's proper."

  "There hasn't been much proper about our relationship, has there?" She looked so flustered he couldn't help but smile as he led her through to the sitting room. "Here's a plate."

  Vincent had brought fish, roast duck, lamb cutlets, artichoke bottoms, mushrooms, green peas, boiled cauliflower, plum pudding, apricot fritters, and bread. Alexandra took an artichoke bottom, three mushrooms, a small piece of bread, and some butter.

  "That's all?" Tristan asked.

  "I told you I'm not hungry."

  Setting his plate aside, he laid a hand on her forehead. "Are you ill?"

  "No. Just tired."

  "Get in bed."

  "With my food?"

  "People eat breakfast in bed, don't they? Why not dinner?"

  After she was settled against the pillows, he poured two large glasses of wine and handed her one. She sipped it while he undressed.

  "I'm going to stay home tomorrow," he said, divesting himself of his coat and cravat.

  "Hmm," she said pleasantly, sipping again.

  He unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged out of it. "I have a lot of paperwork to catch up on. And journal entries to record." He made short work of removing his braces, then loosened his cuffs and undid the buttons at the top of his shirt. "I'm weeks behind on that sort of business."

  She licked her lips as he stripped the shirt off over his head. "I suppose that's Griffin's fault."

  "I'm not placing blame." He couldn't help but notice her watching him. Smiling to himself, he sat beside her on the bed to remove his boots and stockings. "It's just something I need to do."

  "It shall be nice to have you here," she said while he unbuttoned his falls and untied the ribbon securing his short drawers.

  He felt, rather than saw, her avid gaze on him as he stood and pushed everything down and off. His body reacting to that gaze in a very obvious way, he turned to her and grinned. She gulped the rest of her wine, licking her lips again while he took the glass from her hand and set it on the bedside table.