by Louise Allen
‘What was he going to say just then, I wonder?’ Cleo puzzled.
‘I don’t know, but if that little collection of carriages is his lordship’s, then he’s plump in the pocket and no mistake,’ Maggie said and pointed to three large coaches that, even at a distance, Cleo could recognise as expensively shiny.
‘At least we’ll be arriving in style at this lodging house he knows,’ she said with some satisfaction. ‘That will assure us of respectful treatment.’
* * *
It seemed that not only was Quin plump in the pocket but he commanded excellent service. They were off the ship and on to the dock less than an hour after the first mooring lines were thrown ashore. The luggage was stacked into a small, orderly mountain guarded by a stocky individual who Quin addressed as Sam, and Mr Baldwin, introduced as Quin’s secretary, ushered them towards the largest coach.
‘Everything is organised as you instructed, my lord. Godley is awaiting you at the Albany apartment and I have not accepted any invitations on your behalf for the next week. Miss Woodward’s luggage will go in the first coach and yours, accompanied by myself, will proceed direct to Albany in the second.’
‘Thank you, George. Admirable as always.’
That seemed to be a joke between the two men. Mr Baldwin grinned, transforming himself from dry and serious secretary into a cheerful young man. ‘I endeavour to give satisfaction, my lord,’ he said, adjusting his expression back into solemnity.
Quin helped Cleo and Maggie into the carriage, flustering Maggie by insisting she sat beside Cleo in the forward-facing seat. The vehicle was as sleek inside as it was outside, with well-sprung seats in crimson plush, a carpeted floor, brocade hanging straps and numerous cunningly arranged pockets in the doors. Cleo did her best not to stare and contented herself with running her gloved hand over the soft pile of the seat. What luxury to be able to afford something like this, and the horses to pull it, and the grooms and drivers to manage it.
She told herself that she was lucky to have been liberated from a dusty tent in the desert and that a respectable apartment, money to spare and her independence were luxury enough.
‘Look,’ Maggie pointed to the right. ‘St Paul’s Cathedral. This is the City of London where all the merchants and trade is conducted. The banks are here and the lawyers.’
‘Is this where the house you are taking me to is located?’ Cleo asked, trying not to gawp out of the windows like a complete rustic. Time enough to sightsee when she was on her own.
‘The City is not considered suitable for a lady’s residence,’ Quin said. ‘Living there would indicate that you are not of the ton. You do not wish to appear shabby genteel.’
But I am not of the ton, Cleo thought, but did not say it. If he thought there was somewhere she could afford in an even better district she was not going to protest.
The carriage went downhill, its wheels rumbling on cobbles, then climbed again, surprising her by how hilly London seemed to be. ‘Where are we now?’ she asked, looking out on crowded pavements, shops, swinging signs—inns, perhaps?
‘Just passing Temple Bar,’ said Quin, puzzling her. Temples in London? ‘Now we are in the City of Westminster.’
‘Strand,’ Maggie said. A few minutes later, ‘Pall Mall, look, there’s Carlton House...St James’s Street. Now I’m lost, I’ve never been up here.’ She fell silent, wide-eyed.
‘We are going to an area called Mayfair,’ Quin explained.
The rough-and-ready bustle of the city had vanished. The streets were crowded, certainly, but with carriages as smart as the one they were in, gentlemen on horseback, elegant ladies with footmen at their heels.
‘My lord...’ Maggie began. She sounded uneasy. Quin raised one eyebrow in silent question. ‘Er, nothing.’
‘Here we are.’ The carriage rolled into a vast square surrounded by what looked like rows of palaces all joined together. There were high iron railings around a garden, or a small park, in the centre and ornate ironwork at the front of every house. ‘Grosvenor Square,’ Quin said as they came to a halt.
The groom came to open the door and let down the steps and Quin helped her down, leaving the man to assist Maggie.
‘This is very...opulent,’ Cleo managed. Surely this place could not be a lodging house, however respectable? Something was wrong and every instinct was screaming at her to run.
‘One of the foremost addresses in London,’ Quin agreed, ushering her up the steps. Her feet seemed to drag and she felt her body leaning backwards as though resisting a strong wind, even though all that was holding her was Quin’s hand, firm under her elbow. The door opened before Quin could knock and Cleo found herself bowed into a hall that appeared to be entirely carved out of marble—floor, stairs, columns in chilly black-and-white perfection.
Where has he brought me?
Chapter Eighteen
‘You are expected, my lord.’ A man in formal clothing bowed. ‘Miss Woodward. Welcome. I am Cranton, the butler.’ He turned to Quin and took his hat and cloak. ‘If you will follow me.’
Where to? As though in a dream Cleo trod across the polished floor. The butler threw open a pair of double doors almost twice her height and intoned, ‘Miss Woodward, Lord Quintus Deverall, Your Grace.’ And then they were in a room that seemed to be some kind of library, gloomy with heavy wood, the brown and gilt of hundreds of book spines and the swags of curtain draperies like crimson thunderclouds looming above.
A tall, slender man in his mid-sixties stood in front of the desk. Cleo took in close-cropped iron-grey hair, a high-arched nose, clear grey-green eyes that seemed somehow familiar and a thin, unsmiling mouth.
‘Your Grace.’ Quin stepped forward, his hand on her arm urging her to keep pace. ‘May I present your granddaughter, Augusta Cleopatra Agrippina Woodward? Miss Woodward, your grandfather, the Duke of St Osyth.’
‘No!’ She wrenched her arm free of Quin’s hand. ‘No, you told me you were taking me to respectable lodgings. You told me—’
‘It is difficult to imagine a more respectable lodging than this,’ the duke remarked. ‘The Queen’s House, perhaps?’ His lips curved a little, but the smile, if that was what it was, did not reach his eyes. ‘This is your new home, Augusta. Welcome.’
‘No. I was promised independence, I was promised...’ She whirled to face Quin. ‘I am leaving now. I will find my own lodgings.’
‘Paying with what, exactly?’ The duke strolled towards a conversation group of chairs and a sofa by the unlit fire. ‘Do, please sit down, Augusta, then Lord Quintus and I may sit also. Tea, I think.’ He tugged at a bell pull. ‘Your nerves are obviously deranged from the journey. Was it very tiring?’
This is probably a bad dream, Cleo told herself. She wanted to run and yet, under that cool grey gaze, so like her own, so like Mama’s, she found herself on the sofa. ‘I have money. It was arranged with Papa when I left Egypt. A respectable sum, I only have to call on the bankers.’
‘I control all your assets, Augusta. You will have a very generous allowance, naturally. There is no need for you to concern yourself with money while you are under my roof.’
‘My name is Cleo and that is what I am trying to explain: I do not wish to be under your roof, Your Grace.’ If this is a nightmare, it is an extraordinarily real one, she thought with the beginnings of panic taking over from the confusion.
‘Cleopatra is an outlandish name. Augusta is eminently suitable.’ The duke sat, crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. He regarded her over them. ‘You are an unmarried woman, Augusta, and therefore in my care. I will manage your money, your activities and your education, which appears to be sadly lacking. When you leave my safekeeping it will be on the arm of your husband. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes, Your Grace, you make yourself perfectly clear.’ Hot panic was knotting her insides, but she kept her voice as cool and detached as his. ‘And I repeat, I do not agree to live here, to be controlled and ordered by you. I am twenty-three, a widow and—
’
‘And penniless,’ her grandfather said. ‘There is one way of making a living for a woman with no money, my dear, and that profession you are most assuredly not going to follow.’ He glanced towards the door. ‘Deverall, please, come and join us for tea. You have obviously had a most onerous duty delivering my ungrateful granddaughter safely.’
‘On the contrary, Your Grace. Miss Woodward undoubtedly saved my life when I was wounded and was a great help in avoiding interference from the French troops.’
Cleo swivelled to face Quin as he sat down, the anger seething in her stomach to the point of pain. ‘You—’
She was interrupted by the door opening. The butler entered with a footman at his heels. ‘The refreshments, Your Grace.’ There was silence while the tea service was placed on a small table between her and Quin, and tiny savouries and cakes laid out.
‘You are a liar and a spy and a deceitful, conniving toady,’ Cleo threw at Quin the moment the door closed behind the servants. Quin’s lips firmed into a hard line, but he said nothing.
‘Augusta, Lord Quintus was simply doing his duty. His mission was clear: to establish whether or not your father was a traitor and to return you to me. And never let me hear you call a gentleman’s honour into question in such a manner again.’
Or what? she felt like retorting. But that would be childish and there was nothing of the nursery about this situation. She kept her shoulder turned to the duke and spoke directly to Quin. ‘I never trusted you and yet I made allowances, I gave you the benefit of the doubt over and over again. I could have left you to die. I could have turned you over to Laurent. And all the time, fool that I am, I was—’ She caught herself just in time before her hurt and her anger and her fear let those five damning words escape. Falling in love with you. ‘I was obediently doing just what you asked.
‘Yes, I understand you had to stop the correspondence passing through my father’s hands. And, yes, I see that deception was necessary until you had established his innocence.’ A thought struck her. ‘What exactly were you supposed to do if he was guilty?’ Quin’s eyes narrowed, but he remained silent. ‘Oh, I see. An assassin as well as a spy. But what have I got to do with this? My mother’s family cast her off and showed not the remotest interest in me for twenty-three years.’
‘When the position you were in was brought to my attention as a result of the intelligence about your father’s correspondence I deemed it time for you to be removed from his ambit,’ her grandfather interposed. ‘I had understood that his way of life was eccentric, I had not realised that it had descended into squalor.’
‘Squalor!’ Cleo threw up her hands, palm outwards. ‘Look at these. Are those the hands of a woman who has allowed her surroundings to descend into squalor? I worked, Your Grace. I cooked and I cleaned and I washed. I did it for my father when my mother died, I did it for my husband when I was tricked into marrying him and then I did it again for my father when I was widowed. And my mother did the same, for years. Where were you while we were doing that?’
‘Your mother made her choice when she ran off with that wastrel,’ the duke said, his voice frigid. ‘You were, all of you, remote from England.’
‘Oh, I understand now.’ Cleo felt the anger drain from her, leaving her calm and strangely cold. ‘Out of sight, out of mind. But then Father threatened to create a scandal and all of a sudden the Ashfordham family name is at risk, so I have to be removed from Egypt and turned into a milk-and-water miss who is of no trouble to anyone.’
Her grandfather’s stony expression told her that she had hit the target squarely. He opened his mouth, presumably to deliver another frigid set-down, when Quin got to his feet.
‘If you will excuse me, I believe this is a family conversation and I am de trop. Good day, Your Grace. Goodbye, Miss Woodward. I am certain you will soon feel at home here.’ He turned towards the door.
‘Deverall, I am most obliged to you,’ the duke said, getting to his feet. ‘You, and the department, will not find me ungrateful.’
‘Thank you, Your Grace, but I can assure you the satisfaction of delivering Miss Woodward safely back to her family is more than reward enough.’ There was a snap in his voice and she could tell, for all his politeness, that he was angry. ‘This is where she belongs, not in Egypt, and it was my pleasure to see her here safely.’
Despite his words just now, Quin bringing her to her grandfather would result in the advancement of his career, she could see that. A duke must have great power and influence and when the price for securing that influence was simply the liberty of one insignificant female, why, not a single diplomat amongst them would question it for a moment.
She made herself stand and walk to where Quin stood. He watched her come, unmoving, even though he must have been expecting a slapped face. When she reached him she stood on tiptoe and kissed his warm cheek, inhaled the familiar scent of him. Under her lips she felt the muscle contract. ‘I forgive you,’ she murmured with acid-drop sweetness. He shook his head, his eyes dark with some emotion she could no read. ‘After all, betraying a woman who means nothing to you, in return for such patronage as the duke can give, makes perfect sense.’
‘No, Cleo, that is not how it was. How it is,’ he said, his voice low, for her ears only. His eyes were dark with what she had come to recognise as pain. Doubtless her words had stung. ‘Cleo—’
‘Goodbye, Quin. I hope I never see you again.’
‘You appear to have won, Your Grace.’ Cleo returned to her seat as the door closed behind Quin. She poured herself a cup of tea and tried to deal with her churning emotions. She wanted to believe Quin so badly and yet her grandfather had made it clear there would be payment for her return. ‘Would you care for tea?’
‘Thank you.’ The duke sat and watched her as she prepared the cup, added a slice of lemon—surely he did not indulge in anything like sugar or milk—prepared a plate of savouries and little cakes and came and placed them on the table at his elbow.
She sat again with careful attention to her skirts and smiled her sweetest, falsest smile as she selected two morsels for herself and picked up a tiny silver fork. ‘You see—I do not drink from the saucer nor stuff food in my mouth with my hands. Perhaps I am not quite the savage you think me.’ He made an ironic inclination of the head. ‘Nor am I an idiot, Your Grace.’
‘I never thought you were, Augusta. Your father, for all his faults, is an intelligent man, within his restricted focus. Your mother was a bright young woman, until she lost her mind and eloped with him. But neither am I gullible. You will not lull me into a false sense of security by behaving meekly now, not after that little exhibition.’
‘I was deceived and I find myself, against my will, somewhere I have no wish to be. My money has been withheld. Do you expect me to murmur, Yes, Grandfather, whatever you say, Grandfather? I am angry and I am upset and I am not going to hide the fact.’
‘You wish me to admit that I was at fault? Very well. As soon as I received news of your mother’s death I should have sent agents to remove you and bring you to me. Do you wish me to apologise? I do so. I had no idea you were living the life of a drudge or had been married off to some Frenchman—again, both the result of my failure to bring you back to England and secure you a suitable husband.’
‘I would not have come. My objection, Your Grace, is not to your prior lack of attention, but to my imprisonment now. I do not wish to be here, it is as simple as that.’
‘You have no choice. Your only course of action is to make your life in England, become an English lady, behave like the granddaughter of a duke. How else can you survive? There is nowhere that you belong any more, Augusta, except here.’
I belonged with Quin, she thought, wondering at the pain that tore through her. I love him, even though he has deceived me. What can I do? The realisation that her grandfather was right, that unless he released her money to her she had no options save this one, was painfully obvious once she moved past the emotions that racked her
and applied only reason to her plight.
‘Very well, but upon conditions.’ She was an adult and she would negotiate, not meekly take orders like a child. ‘My name is Cleo and I will not answer to any other. Maggie Tomkins is my maid and I will continue to employ her and she will receive the wage suitable to my closest servant. And if I have not remarried by my twenty-fifth birthday in eighteen months’ time you will give me access to my money and release me from your control.’
‘You think to negotiate with me, do you? Very well. Your maid, I agree to. Your Aunt Madeleine, who is a widow, is here and will see whether she needs any assistance to bring you up to scratch. Your name, I suppose, we must tolerate. It is at least fashionable if the new craze for all things Egyptian lasts. Your other condition is, of course, nonsense. You will make a suitable marriage to a gentleman of my choosing.
‘You may call me Grandfather and you will apply yourself to becoming a lady. You will give proper attention to every offer of marriage I approve. If you have found no one you are prepared to marry by the time you reach your twenty-fifth birthday then you will move to the country and become the companion of your Great-Aunt Millicent.’
‘But—’
‘There is no other respectable occupation for the spinster granddaughter of a duke. That is my final word.’
It was a prison sentence. But if she kept turning down suitors she had time to learn about this strange country and its ways, time to plan and accumulate money, somehow, so that when she was banished she could escape. In time, perhaps, she could forget Quin Deverall.
‘And if you show yourself unfit to learn and fail to comport yourself as a lady, then you will go to the country immediately.’
Her stomach knotted with a pang of something very like fear. How naïve to believe she could lay down terms to this man. Her grandfather meant what he said and he had the power to carry out his threats—no one was going to naysay a duke.
Cleo swallowed back the protests. She had to buy time and he had to believe she was obeying him. Her grandfather tugged the bell pull again and waited until the butler appeared. ‘Ask Lady Madeleine to join us if it is convenient to her, Cranton. Now, Cleo, we begin.’
