Anita Mills

by Scandal Bound

  “Must’ve been drunk when he said it.”

  “No. ’Twas the morning after.”

  “Ah! See, that explains it.”

  She closed her book and set it down carefully on the table. “I have been thinking, you know, and I am convinced that I could earn my way with my music. I could go to the Continent under a false name and become a musician with an opera house in some place like Milano.”

  “No. Worse than being a rich man’s mistress,” he told her positively, “for you’d wind up having to share your favors with a string of men to keep you fed. They don’t pay much in places like that. I mean, look at the Mantini: a prime singer and—” He caught himself at the strange expression that came to Ellen’s face, and then he remembered the gossip about Trent. “Well, what I am saying is that even someone like that has protectors.”

  “Thank you, Gerald Deveraux, for your confidence in my moral character,” she muttered with unwarranted sarcasm. “You and Alex would have it that any female who tries to earn a living winds up in the muslin company.”

  “Didn’t mean it like that, my dear, but ’tis about true. There ain’t any money in playing the pianoforte.” He stood up and stretched lazily. “Tell you what—let’s not worry about it and take a walk in the village instead. The air’s chilly, but not miserably so, and the sun’s shining for a change. And since I cashed in, I am growing as fat as a toad from sitting.”

  “Now, that, Gerry, is a capital idea. Let me get my cloak. I promise not to keep you waiting above five minutes.”

  She met him in the vestibule and they walked the half-mile or so to the small village situated on the Meadows land, stopping briefly here and there while he pointed out various spots of childhood sport to her. Just before they reached the row of cotters’ cottages, he stopped at a small wooden bridge. Leaning over, he pointed to the bank beneath them.

  “Down there, Alex and I used to play knights. We were awful—challenged poor villagers who would cross the bridge. Alex used to take pride in his ability to knock even the most strapping lads into the water.”

  “And you?”

  “Oh, I admit I knocked my share off also, but my specialty was the small sword. It was the only weapon I could ever best Alex with, for he was always quicker with the rapier, more accurate with the pistol, and handier with his fives.”

  “Poor Gerry,” she sympathized.

  “No, we were much like any other brothers, in spite of the title. I actually liked him—still do, as a matter of fact.”

  and steered her off the bridge and across the narrow lane to where an elderly woman swept her stoop. “Ah, Mrs. Wallace.” He smiled. “Allow me to present our cousin, Mademoiselle Deveraux, come to stay with us this winter—French, you know.”

  “I’d a knowed she was Deveraux anywheres—got the look of ye.” The old woman bobbed respectfully and gave Ellen a toothless grin.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Ellen managed politely, schooling herself to keep a straight face until they were out of the old woman’s hearing. “Gerry,” she murmured as she leaned closer to keep from being overheard, “do they truly not know?”

  “Aside from Cousin Dominick, they’ve never seen another of us and can only guess as to the family. You forget that there is still a vast social difference between marquess and tenant.”

  They continued along the entire row until he stopped her again, this time to knock at the door of a small cottage much like the hunting box at Little Islip. “Button!”

  “Quit your pounding, boy! I do not move so quickly as I once did,” the small sprightly lady with thinning white hair admonished as she opened the door a crack. She threw it wider, -and her old face lit with pleasure at the sight of him. “Gerald!”

  He enveloped her in a hug and then stood back to present Ellen. The old nurse beamed at her and, before he could make the introduction, clasped her hand warmly. “So you’ve brought me your betrothed at last, my boy.”

  “Not quite.” He grinned. “But I have brought a cousin, Miss Ellen Deveraux, for a visit.”

  The old woman looked sharply at Ellen for a moment and then nodded. “Ah—Miss Deveraux it is, then.”

  “I have heard about you from both Alex and Gerry,” Ellen told her.

  “We told her you were responsible for the ruffians we have become,” he teased.

  “Don’t you believe it, miss. ’Twas the blood. I tried to make them behave when I had charge of them.” She cocked her head to look up at Ellen with renewed interest, and her old eyes twinkled. “So you know Alex, do you? I hear the tales, but he never behaved badly as a boy, I promise you. He was always truthful—even when the truth hurt him.”

  “He spoke of you with great affection, ma’am.”

  “Aye—and one of these days he’ll settle down again just like his father did after he brought Lady Caroline home to the Meadows. Never, was such a change in a man, I can tell you for the truth.” She turned to Gerald. “You know, this one reminds me of your mother. Oh, she don’t look like her, but there’s something.”

  “Her highest compliment,” he murmured in an audible aside to Ellen.

  “But I forget my manners,” the old woman continued brightly, “and I do go on. You’ll be staying for tea, of course. Naught’s baked today, but there’s jam and bread and the water’s hot.”

  “Strawberry jam?” Gerald asked hopefully.

  “And what else would I be keeping, Gerry?”

  They stayed nearly an hour drinking tea and listening while the nurse rattled on about the exploits of the Deveraux brothers as boys. Finally, Gerald checked his pocket watch and rose to leave. Ellen stood reluctantly and watched as he stooped to brush a kiss on the old wrinkled cheek.

  “She’s a fine one, Gerald,” the nurse hissed wickedly. “I hope you mean to come up to scratch soon so I won’t be too old to hold your babes.”

  “Alas, Button, but Alex has forbidden the flirtation.”

  “Then tell him to make an offer. I cannot be waiting forever.”

  Ellen colored uncomfortably and hastily mumbled her good-bye before slipping out the door. Gerald caught up with her in the tiny yard and held out his hand. She clasped it and they began the slow walk back down the lane.

  “Button—Mrs. Allison—is the closest Alex and I have to a mother. I suppose that since I could not remember much about Mama, I depended more on Button than he did. She’s a good soul, but she’s blind to our faults.”

  “But why is she not still at the Meadows?”

  “She left two years ago to care for an invalid sister, and then she refused to come back, saying there was no one at the big house to need her anymore. I think she just wants to see us settled.”

  “As though you did not have any time left. How old are you, anyway?”

  “Twenty-five.”

  “Scarcely into your prime.”

  “The problem is, Ellie, that I’ve never found a female I thought I could live with. I took the usual trips to London for the Season and looked over the Marriage Mart, sipping nasty lemonade and eating stale cake at Almack’s, but I never saw anything but empty-headed beauties. I could hear their mamas whispering to them, ’Trent’s brother—he’s got forty thousand at least.’ It was obvious that they expected to take my money in exchange for sitting around looking fashionable at my expense. It’s no wonder men turn to opera dancers and actresses and the like—they only expect part of a man’s purse.”

  “You and Alex seem to have met the same young ladies,” Ellen responded dryly. “And I cannot believe that all were like that. I’ll warrant that somewhere in the background there was a papa telling them to keep their tongues and just try to marry money.”

  “Well, I never was inspired to look that far.”

  “What you need to do is to go to town next Season, Gerry, for my sister Amy is out then. She is very beautiful and not the least empty-headed.”

  “Is she like you?”

  “She is much, much prettier than I ever hoped to be.”

 
“She could not be.”

  “Spanish coin, Gerry,” she dismissed. Suddenly, she gave a start and her fingers tightened in his. Her violet eyes widened and her face lost its color.

  “What is it, Ellie? Is something the matter?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she answered slowly as she regained her composure. “But I thought I saw Mr. Leach over there. No, it cannot be.”

  He followed her direction and saw nothing. “Probably just a villager that resembles him. Who is he, anyway?”

  “He was Trent’s driver when we were at Little Islip and he was discharged. You must be right—I thought Mr. Leach went to London.”

  “Well, you look as though you had seen a ghost. Come on—’tis time I got you home, anyway.”

  They returned to the Meadows in time for a light nuncheon, and then Gerald left to ride out with Trent’s bailiff to visit tenants and collect the rents. Ellen watched him go and then settled in to give her novel another try. Less than fifteen pages into the story, she was interrupted by Mrs. Biddle, who announced that there was a gentleman to see her. Knowing that none knew her whereabouts except for Trent and Gerald and Gerald’s friend Allendar, who had already departed for London, she decided it must be a mistake. Aside from her brief foray into the village that morning, she’d kept close to the house and none had seen her.

  “Pray tell whoever it is that I am not in, Mrs. Biddle, for I know of no one who should be received when Captain Deveraux is not at home.”

  “I’ll tell Biddle, miss.”

  Ellen turned back to her book thoughtfully and then dismissed her concern as she became absorbed anew in the story, a rather gothic romance Gerald had ordered for her from Hookham’s. But as the heroine of the tale allowed herself to be victimized again and again by her unscrupulous relatives, Ellen finally set it aside in disgust. How very like a male author, she decided, to assume that a woman was a helpless creature. But then her thoughts brought her up short—aside from her daring escape and her care of Trent, what had she herself done to change her own destiny?

  With that lowering thought, she rose and stared at the late-afternoon sky. The days were short and the sun was already fading. Her spirits declined further as she turned again to her own dilemma, and she longed to confront the marquess to resolve her situation. She missed him so terribly that sometimes she actually ached in her breast. Stop it, she chided herself severely, you cannot look to him to take care of you no matter what he says. But none of her very limited options was inviting in the least, and both Gerry and Trent had made the life of a musician sound so unappealing that she was almost ready to abandon that idea. Perhaps she would have to invent some credentials and become a governess.

  Outside, the wind was coming up and the bare tree branches were rattling against the many-paned windows. There was something about the wildness, the freedom of that wind that drew her as she abandoned yet again the attempt to resolve her problems. She took her cloak from the hall closet and decided to clear her mind with a solitary walk. As she stepped out into the empty garden, now devoid of greenery, the dead leaves and small twigs crunched beneath her soft slippers. The cold air was fragrant with the smoke from the mansion’s many chimneys rather than from summer’s blossoms. She pushed her hood back to let the wind whip her hair, and bent into it.

  She rounded the curve of the long drive and was surprised to see a coach parked on the side while the occupants argued. Since she was certain that Gerald had invited no guests, she instinctively started back toward the house. Running footsteps sounded behind her, and she began to run, too, as they drew closer. At the last minute, she turned around and saw Leach bearing down on her. Her scream was lost in the wind as his hand closed over her mouth and he wrestled her to the ground.

  A coachman caught up, and together he and Leach carried her kicking and fighting back to the waiting coach, where they threw her up in the open door. She righted herself and came face to face with her despised husband.

  “Basil!”

  “Surprised, my dear?” he asked nastily. “I’ll warrant you are not nearly so shocked as I when I found you to be Trent’s latest.” He smiled unpleasantly and leaned to grasp her wrist painfully with pudgy fingers. “But you find me willing to forgive this lapse on your part if you do as you are told.”

  “You cannot. Trent—”

  “Is consoling himself with the Mantini, my dear, and I doubt he has any interest in you anymore.”

  He was disappointed that his news did not inflict the desired pain in her, but then perhaps the chit concealed her feelings better than most. He began to stroke her hand possessively and moved closer.

  “Yes, my dear, I think I shall enjoy having you back in spite of this,” he chortled, “for I have not the least doubt that now you know how to please a man.”

  “I would not wager on it,” she answered evenly.

  “You ain’t increasing, are you?”

  “Why?”

  “I’ll have no one’s bastard inherit from me, Ellen. But then that’s simple enough to know, isn’t it? I shall just have to wait to take you until I am sure.” He leaned back, quite pleased with himself for thinking of the obvious, and released her hand.

  “What if I told you that I have not been Trent’s mistress?”

  “D’ye take me for a fool?” he snorted derisively. “There’s not be another reason in the world for a man like him to look at the likes of you.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “But do not be fretting over it, my dear. Since the story is not known, I’ll not repudiate you. I shall, however, expect the utmost in correct behavior in the future. And,” he added significantly, “I shall expect you to give him the cut direct if you ever chance to see him.”

  “Given your circles, Basil, I doubt I shall encounter him.”

  “Aye—and he is not given to hanging after his discards, either.”

  Her mind worked feverishly while she tried to follow his conversation. “How have you managed to conceal my absence?” she asked suddenly.

  “Your Aunt Sandbridge did that for me—gave out that you was suffering from consumption.”

  “I have never been ill in my life,” she told him flatly.

  “Nevertheless, my dear, you will be pleased to appear fatigued until a recovery is effected.”

  She eyed the rotund baron with distaste, mentally com paring him to the tall, muscular marquess like night unto day. Finally, she favored him with a contemptuous shrug. “Well, I daresay that if you insist on appearing in clothes like those, I shall be fatigued.”

  He looked down on his coat and waistcoat in alarm and demanded to know, “And what, pray, is wrong with them?”

  His aggrieved tone told her that she had found her weapon in repelling her odious husband. She managed to laugh as she allowed her eyes to sweep over the offending garments. “But, my lord, they make you the veriest quiz—they accentuate your roundness, I assure you.”

  “Roundness?” he fairly howled in indignation as his florid complexion darkened to the shade of a cooked beet. “Listen, you ingrate,” he seethed as he slapped her hard across her face, “you ought to be grateful that I am willing to take Trent’s leavings.”

  “Grateful?” she scoffed. “And why should I be grateful for that? If the story were common knowledge, you’d divorce me. I should like to shout the tale from the rooftops, if you must know.” She could feel the sting where his hand had hit her, but she refused to acknowledge the blow at all. “No, Sir Basil, I am not grateful at all.”

  He leaned closer to her and hissed, “One day, dear wife, I shall be teaching you a lesson that you’ll not soon forget. Until then, I have nothing else to say on the subject.” He drew back and turned to stare in sullen silence out his window.

  The entire journey back to London was spent in cold silence, with neither party deigning to speak to the other as the hours and the miles rolled by. Occasionally, Brockhaven allowed himself to steal a glance at his wife’s proud profile. Damn the chit! Didn’t s
he know she would be disgraced if he repudiated her. She ought to be on her knees pleading for his understanding, but she was far from that. He fairly seethed with a sense of ill usage. She was the Marquess of Trent’s cast-off, and yet butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. Well, he’d teach the chit a thing or two—once he was certain she was not increasing. And he’d drag her out into society under close guard and show her off.

  As Brockhaven’s carriage sped down the London road, Ellen’s disappearance was being discovered back at the Meadows. Captain Deveraux returned and dressed for dinner while thinking Ellen was doing the same. But once in the huge dining room, he waited patiently for the always-punctual girl to appear. The ever-present Edward hovered expectantly by her empty chair ready to begin service of the meal. Finally, after nearly twenty minutes, Gerald nodded to the footman.

  “You may tell Miss Deveraux’ maid that we are waiting dinner for her mistress.”

  A few moments later, the maid herself appeared cautiously at the dining-room door. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but she ain’t here.”

  “Dash it! It isn’t like her to miss a meal.”

  “She went out—one of the downstairs maids saw her,” Edward explained.

  “Out? It’s dark!”

  “As to that, sir, I believe she left several hours ago. I think we should send out a search party,” the footman offered. “Had I been informed earlier, I would have done so on my own.”

  “Well, now we all know,” Gerald muttered tersely. “Set up a hue and cry, though what we’ll find in the dark, I don’t know. And send someone to the village, take lanterns and walk down the road, do what you have to do. No one eats in this house until she is found.” Gerald flung himself into the hall while calling for his cloak and pistol.

  Biddle shook his head and looked at his wife. “Never seen him so upset. It begins to look like he’s thrown his hat over the windmill for the gel, don’t it?”

  “The marquess’ll never stand for it if he has,” she murmured cryptically before turning her attention to her own tasks. “We’ll have to have a cold collation laid to feed them when they come back, I daresay.”