Anita Mills

by Scandal Bound

  “The truth? I think ’twill be a difficult tale to tell—I mean, the French Deveraux are dreadfully loose living, but they aren’t such loose screws that they’d send an innocent female to live with us. For one thing, they’re Catholic—they’d send her to a convent.”

  “We know that, but does anyone else? But if you have a better idea on the subject, I am all attention.”

  “Put that way—no. Does this mean she’s going to stay?”

  “It does. I owe her my life, Gerry, and I will not stand idly by and see her returned to Brockhaven. Here at least I can keep her safe.”

  “For how long? Days? Months? Years?”

  “I don’t know … until something happens.”

  “All right,” Gerald sighed, “I can see your mind is set. You know, Alex, this is the first time I have ever seen you go to so much trouble for anybody. Maybe your fever addled your brain.”

  Above them, Ellen tossed in the four-poster bed, her mind in turmoil over what she would do. She could not stay dependent on Trent’s generosity indefinitely, no matter what he said, and yet she quite literally had nowhere to go. While he might think he owed her some sort of pension for saving his life, she could not accept it. She simply could not live in the same house with him, not just because of the danger of scandal, but because she recognized that she was in love with him. She already was in danger of wearing her heart on her sleeve. It was becoming impossible to hide the fact that she was irresistibly drawn to those very blue eyes, the ruffled black hair, the perfect patrician countenance, and the man behind it. There was no way she could see him come and go, hear of his latest mistresses, and stand it. Yet she would miss him unbearably.

  When she finally did manage to sleep, she lapsed into restless dreams where Basil Brockhaven’s pudgy fingers squeezed her flesh and his wet lips smacked against her throat. Bone-weary still, she was nevertheless grateful when Marie wakened her in the morning to tell her that her bath was drawn.

  After the maid left, she bathed, luxuriating in the lavender-scented water, and then dressed in the other gown that Trent had procured for her in York. It was little better than the first and certainly unsophisticated, a high-waisted schoolgirl frock of lavender sprigged muslin, trimmed around the modest neckline in ecru cotton lace, with leg-of-mutton sleeves that came demurely down to her wrists. As she sat before the poudre table and brushed out her thick hair, she reflected wryly that everything Trent had seen her in was either too daring or too childish. Resolutely, she twisted her hair and knotted it on her crown: at least today she would not wear it down like a chit in the schoolroom. By the time she descended to breakfast, she was moderately satisfied.

  “Hallo, Ellen.”

  Below her, Gerald Deveraux flashed a friendly smile and waited. By the light of day, his resemblance to Trent was even more pronounced than she’d thought. He drew her arm through his as she came off the last step and indicated the rows of portraits that flanked the staircase on either side of the hall.

  “Quite a bunch of fellows, aren’t they? Our ancestors— and each one of them believed he owned the world, by the looks of ’em. That last one is my father as Sir Thomas Lawrence painted him. Quite a good likeness, really—you can tell just by looking that there was a bit of the devil in him, can’t you? Quite a shocking profligate until he met my mother.” He turned her to look at the companion portrait across from it. “Lady Caroline—also done by Lawrence—and you can quite see why he risked everything for her, I think.”

  Ellen looked up at the tall paintings and nodded. It was obvious that the Deveraux brothers got most of their handsomeness from the late marquess, a tall, imposing figure in satin coat and kneebreeches who seemed to be looking down on her with a faintly mocking smile. Aye, he looked the dangerous man, with his dark hair merely tied back without the conventional powder of the time, and his hand resting suggestively on the dress sword at his side. She turned to study Trent’s mother, a breathtakingly beautiful girl when she’d been painted, as fair as her husband was dark, with intelligent eyes and a lovely smile.

  “They’re beautiful—both of them.”

  “Aye. I’ve looked at them often hanging there, for I can barely remember either of ’em, but Alex says they were a prime pair. There was a devil of a scandal at the time. She was betrothed to a worthy gentleman, but he just carried her off straight out of her parents’ house like Scott’s Lochinvar. I often wondered if Scott got the idea from the scandal, you know—not that Papa actually rode his horse into the house or anything like that. Still, it set the ton on its ears. Married her out of hand at Gretna and did not come home until Alex was on the way.”

  “How romantic,” Ellen sighed as she looked again at the two beautiful people above her. “Did her parents ever forgive them?”

  “Alas, no,” he admitted, “but I doubt they cared. By all accounts, they were deliriously happy until Mama died of a fever when Alex was eight and I was four. Papa died soon after in a riding accident.”

  “I see. I’m sorry.”

  “It was harder on Alex than me, for he was old enough to know what had happened. He came into the title then and was much spoiled, although Button tried to dampen his sense of self-consequence. But,” Gerald changed the subject abruptly, “we tarry when you must be famished, my dear.” He stood back at the dining-room door and waited for her to pass in. “I’m told that ladies take chocolate in the morning, but we don’t have any as yet. Biddle is sending to London for some, though, and I expect you’ll have it by the end of the week.” He held out a chair for her and then seated her before taking the place across the table.

  “Tea is fine, Captain Deveraux. Indeed, I will take anything.” She placed the napkin on her lap and smiled. “You will find me given to picking at what I am offered, sir, for it is better than what I am used to. My father is rather clutch-fisted and once ordered Cook to save the tea leaves and use them twice.”

  “Now that is a pinchfarthing,” he murmured sympathetically.

  “Yes, well, Papa will die a rich man because he cannot be brought to part with a groat once it touches his hands. He even made Brockhaven pay for the wedding.”

  “Shhhhh. Make no mention of the baron here. We have given it out that you are our French cousin come to live with us.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, you can speak French, can’t you?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “Just sprinkle it into your conversation from time to time, my dear, and no one here will be any the wiser.”

  “Captain—” She tried hard to keep a straight face. “He cannot be serious. I speak French with an English accent.”

  “We’ll tell everyone you are from one of the provinces, then.”

  “I thought Lord Trent said you did not have any female relatives, sir.”

  “We don’t, but who’s to know what’s over there in France? I mean, what with Boney cutting up a dust all those years, there’s not been that much discourse between us. Besides, here at the Meadows, people will believe whatever Alex chooses to tell them.” He leaned across the table and lowered his voice, hissing, “Shhhh—there’s Edward.”

  The footman appeared with a silver teapot and poured for each of them. Moving the sugar and creamer closer to her, he asked her pleasure for breakfast.

  “Sausage and porridge, if you have it, please.”

  “Of course, miss. And you, Captain?”

  “I haven’t had porridge since Button stuffed it down me,” he admitted, “so I might as well see if it has improved. I’ll have the same.”

  “I heard about Button.”

  “And I suppose Trent told you I was her favorite? A hum if there ever was one, but we used to fight over it. I know now that she loved us both equally.” He spooned a dollop of heavy cream into his tea and leaned back to look at her. “Trent tells me you are an Original.”

  “Must’ve been the fever if he said that. No. I am quite unexceptional, Captain, and you can take that from one who knows me
best.”

  “If you have restrained my brother’s wilder propensities for three weeks, Ellen, you have succeeded beyond what anyone else has done.”

  “ ’Tis hard to be a rakehell when one is abed with a raging fever and miserable cough.” She smiled. “And, of course, I doubt the onion poultices were exactly inspiring either.”

  “You know, Ellen, I did not think so at first, but I find I quite like the prospect of having you here. ’Twill be rather like getting a sister when one is old enough to enjoy one.”

  “I cannot stay here. I am quite determined to earn my own bread.”

  “Nonsense, my dear,” he dismissed flatly. “Trent is so plump in the pocket that he will not even note the expense, I assure you. Best let Alex take care of it.”

  “I could be a governess, perhaps,” she mused aloud. “Perhaps you would know of someone with a position?”

  He raised an incredulous eyebrow and shook his head. “No—and neither does Alex, I’ll wager. Lud, but could you not see the face of a matron if you arrived with a character from either of us?”

  “Oh.”

  “Just so. But here is Edward with the porridge, and by the looks of it, I shall most probably regret having ordered it.” He wrinkled his nose at the bowl set in front of him. “I fear it is as I remembered it.”

  “You will not deter me by changing the subject, Captain.”

  “ ’Twas not my intent. Speak with Alex if you would leave.”

  It was useless to argue with either of the Deveraux brothers, she decided, when she did not even have a plan of her own. Resolutely, they fell to eating, and by the time they were done, the discussion had been dropped. As Edward began removing the covers, Gerald gave her an engaging smile.

  “Well, my dear, are you ready to explore the barn?”

  “I’d scarcely call it a barn, Captain Deveraux, when it looks more like a palace.”

  “But then you have not lived in it all your life. Some of it is as cold and drafty as a stable, particularly when you get into the older parts. There are rooms that have been under holland covers for years because they are so difficult to heat. You’ll think that the early Deveraux must have been a hardy lot to have survived the winters.”

  “Nonetheless, this house surpasses everything in my limited experience. I think it quite beautiful.”

  He tucked her hand in his elbow and proceeded to give her a tour with the thoroughness of the director of the Elgin exhibit, stopping to point out pictures of this ancestor or that, and to repeat some of the moderately lurid tales of them. They walked through rooms that had been occupied as far back as the sixteenth century, when the early Deveraux had had the foresight to side with the Lancastrians in the waning days of the Wars of the Roses and been rewarded by Henry VII with confiscated Yorkist lands. To Ellen, it was fascinating.

  “You really ought to talk to Trent about the house, of course,” Gerry told her, “for he is the scholar in the family when it comes to history. Before he was sent down from Oxford, he was an excellent student.”

  “Trent?”

  “You seem surprised.”

  “I am surprised. His more exciting exploits seem to have hidden or overshadowed his bookishness. Brockhaven told me only that he was a notorious rake and a high-tempered duelist, but somehow he forgot to mention he was a scholar.”

  “Oh, make no mistake, Ellen. Alex is everything you have heard of him, good and bad, but if I ever had to put all my faith in anyone, I should choose him above all others.”

  “And what of yourself, sir? Do you admit to being a scholar too?”

  “Well, I am not so well-versed in history or the classics as Alex, but I do like Shakespeare and poetry. Between us, I am probably the more romantic one.” He stopped to open the door to a spacious music room large enough to accommodate guests for a musicale.

  Her face lit up almost immediately when she saw the highly polished pianoforte, and she could not resist taking a seat before the keyboard and fingering it lightly.

  “My mother’s,” he told her. “She was quite accomplished, I think, and I can remember her playing when I was quite small.”

  She tested a note or two tentatively. “It seems well-tuned.”

  “It is. We use it for parties when Alex is in residence, particularly for the area gentry at Christmastide. We usually bring a musician from London to play it.”

  She cocked her head absently and began picking at the keyboard until she got the feel of it, and then she fingered a melody with her long fingers until she was ready to launch into a fast-tempoed country song. After several minutes, she changed to a soft, lilting melody of surpassing and haunting beauty.

  Alex was coming down the stairs when he heard it, and he stopped to listen to the sweetness and clarity of the song. Following the sound to his music room, he stood in the doorway and applauded when she finished.

  “Bravo, my dear!” He came into the room and stood behind her, smiling his approval. “I thought you were funning when you said you played rather well, but I have paid to hear far worse.”

  “Oh, Alex, do you think I could earn my living with my playing?”

  “No, I do not.” The smile had left his face and he was frowning. “It is out of the question, Ellie. I do not mind if you play here, but you will not appear publicly as a musician.”

  “That is not for you to say, my lord,” she reminded him. “It is for me to decide how I am to live.”

  “I will not have it said that I abandoned you to the boards,” he snapped before he abruptly started to walk out.

  “I would rather have it said that I earn my money honestly than have it said I am your mistress when it becomes known that I have been living here,” she flung after him.

  He stopped but did not turn around. “There is no question of your doing either, Ellie. I have given it out that you are our cousin from France, but you have been in school in England. Since your parents are both dead, you have come to live with us.”

  “But I cannot live here forever.”

  “It is the only way I can keep you safe from Brockhaven.”

  “I have to earn my way, Alex.”

  “You saved my life, Ellen, and that is sufficient.”

  “But it isn’t!”

  “Practice your piano, my dear, and I will talk to him,” Gerald told her before he left to catch up with his brother. “Alex!”

  Trent waited. “Back off, Gerry. This is not your affair.”

  “Careful, Alex. You sound like a damned tyrant.”

  “I thought I told you I’d tolerate no flirtation, Gerry.”

  “Flirtation? Dammit, I like her!”

  “Let me remind you, brother, that there is Brockhaven, an impediment even in these lax times.”

  “Is that the way you see all females?”

  “Gerry, I am your brother,” Trent managed evenly, “and I know you are no better than I am when it comes to the fairer sex. You are not to prey on her foolish desire for an independence that she cannot maintain. It is incumbent on both of us to see that she does nothing indiscreet until we can think what is ultimately to be done. Had Augusta Sandbridge been at home, she could have given it out that Ellen had been with her these past weeks, but she was not. I have not yet determined how to save her from the scandal, but I do know one thing: until I can get her out of this mess, she must not be allowed to even think of leaving to earn her bread.”

  “ ’Tis mad, Alex! What about Crawfurd? Or Timms? Or Dobbs?”

  “They all fairly worship her, they’ll not give her away.”

  “I don’t know, Alex.”

  “Neither do I, but I cannot get a decent night’s sleep for thinking about it. I have to leave—there’ll be less talk if I am gone. And I should think you’ll be getting back to your regiment soon. ’Twill not be so remarked when she is but here with the servants.”

  “Actually, I have been thinking of selling out, been thinking of it for some time now.”

  “Since this morning?” Trent a
sked sarcastically.

  “No, since the last time you had to flee the country and I had to look after the Meadows.”

  Alex stared hard at Gerald and then shrugged. “You will do what you want to do, of course. Do not let us be quarreling over the girl, Gerry. You look after things and I will be back for Christmas.”

  “That’s almost two months away.”

  “I can use the time to think. Besides, the Mantini is still in London and I do not know if I am through in that quarter or not.” He hesitated and then shook his head. “But while I am gone, Gerry, I expect you to keep your amatory instincts in check where Ellen is concerned.”

  12

  “DEAR LADY LEFFINGWELL,” Lord Brockhaven teased, “if I did not know how the other ladies looked forward to our rides in the park, I would suspect you arranged other engagements for them.”

  Lavinia colored guiltily, as that was exactly what she had done. After three successive mornings of driving in the park with his lordship, she had found Gussie and Nora reluctant to accompany them again. Propriety required that she demur also, but she managed to invent an important errand. And when Augusta had been on the verge of capitulating and accompanying her, Vinnie had lied and said she was taking a maid.

  “La, Sir Basil, how can you say such a thing?” she tittered as she fanned herself nervously in spite of the cold weather.

  “Well, it is not a bad idea, anyway,” he admitted generously as he waved to a gentleman wrapped up in a passing carriage. As they neared, the other driver reined in, and a middle-aged man leaned out the window to inquire of Ellen.

  “Ah, Rockingham—howdedo! Ellen? Not much better, I am afraid. The doctors are beginning to despair of a cure. May I present one of her relatives, Lady Leffingwell?” After the appropriate nods, the gentleman signaled his driver to go on, and Brockhaven turned to Vinnie, “You’d think they’d forget to ask, wouldn’t you? It’s a deuced nuisance keeping up with the questions.”