The Copeland Bride

by Justine Cole

  "And this is Mrs. Newcombe's son. Mr. Newcombe, my ward, Miss Pope."

  The vision extended her hand and bestowed a smile so dazzling that for a moment Mr. Newcombe had difficulty finding his voice. "Delighted, Miss Pope," he finally managed as he took her hand and touched his lips to it.

  Margaret Newcombe darted an angry look at her brother. He thought himself to be such a man of the world just because he had come of age and had his own lodgings in London. Well, if he could see himself now, he'd find that he looked like nothing so much as a love-sick calf! Obstinately she placed herself in his path as he tried to maneuver next to Miss Pope on the settee and seated herself there instead. She ignored the furious glare he shot at her and jealously studied the young woman who sat beside her.

  Mrs. Newcombe, in the meantime, was proudly displaying a gaudy ruby and diamond bracelet to Noelle. "My husband is such a generous man. He felt it was the least he could do, as I have been so wretchedly plagued with illnesses lately. I tell you, Miss Pope, shortness of breath is well known to be the first sign of consumption. It quite terrifies me."

  Observing the florid hue of the woman's complexion, Noelle thought it more likely that she was suffering from too tight lacing of her corset, but she wisely did not voice this opinion.

  "Miss Pope, I understand you've lived most of your life in India!" Mr. Newcombe took advantage of the slight lull to inject himself into the conversation.

  "Yes, I have. Until my parents' death."

  "Such a tragedy." Mrs. Newcombe pursed her lips mournfully. But her son was not about to let her back into the conversation so easily. "Tell me, how did you find India?" he asked.

  "Have you ever been to India, Mr. Newcombe?" the beauty inquired innocently.

  "No, I have not been so fortunate."

  "Well, then, let me tell you all about it." She sent him a shattering smile that left him weak-kneed. He listened, entranced by her perfect features, as she described the air of Kashmir and cruel poverty of Calcutta to him.

  Finally Mrs. Newcombe decided she had kept silent long enough. "Tell me, Miss Pope, how do you find England now that you are here?"

  "Much as I had expected, Mrs. Newcombe," Noelle replied.

  "Ohhh." Mildred Newcombe drew out the single syllable and then gave a tight, offended sniff. She was obviously less than satisfied that one who had lived among the heathen for so long should dismiss His Majesty's realm so lightly.

  Noelle looked at her solemnly, aware that her response had displeased the woman. A mischievous elf teased her.

  "As a matter of fact, I found it just as I had dreamed it would be —a demi-paradise, a precious stone set in the silver sea. As I first set foot on England's soil, I thought, this blessed plot, this earth, this realm—this England!"

  She smiled sweetly at the Newcombes and then folded her hands demurely in her lap.

  Constance almost choked on her tea. The little imp! She was quoting Richard II at them, and none of them knew it.

  Mrs. Newcombe looked slightly bewildered. "Quite so, Miss Pope," she muttered faintly. A hush fell over the drawing room.

  Constance jumped into the gap. "Tell me, Mr. Newcombe, are you enjoying your stay in the country?"

  "Very much so." He responded with more enthusiasm than he could possibly have mustered a half hour before. "The country is always pleasant, although I am generally partial to life in the city. Have you seen the sights of London yet, Miss Pope?"

  Noelle picked up her teacup and took a small sip, then looked at him golden-eyed over the rim of her cup. "What sights would those be, Mr. Newcombe?"

  "Why, the Tower of London, Hyde Park, Oxford Street."

  "No," she responded. "I have not been so fortunate."

  "You must permit me the honor of being your guide when you do visit," he urged. "It is a fine city."

  "Fiddlesticks!" Mrs. Newcombe snapped. "Fine city, indeed. I vow, I do not know what you see in the place, Robert. I only pray you shall soon come to your senses and settle down here where you belong."

  Margaret watched with satisfaction as her brother's face reddened in embarrassment.

  "Why, you know very well what happened to your father only last month when he was in London." Mrs. Newcombe turned to Constance and Noelle, her face stiff with indignation. "The poor man had his pockets emptied while he was strolling through Piccadilly."

  Noelle's eyes flew open, and Constance gazed at her uneasily.

  Mrs. Newcombe touched a lace handkerchief to the faint beads of moisture that had gathered on her upper lip. "I see you are shocked, Miss Pope, that such a thing could happen in our civilized country. I assure you that it is commonplace in London. The city is filled with peddlers and beggars. I find the worst to be those dirty little guttersnipes that are always scampering about. Thieves, every one of them."

  "Guttersnipes?" Noelle purred dangerously. "Do you mean children?"

  "Children?" she responded haughtily. "I don't know that I would dignify them with that description. They are barely human, Miss Pope. Yet they are permitted to run loose. It is a disgrace. Why, any person of good sense can't help but agree that they simply do not belong out in the open where they can taint the rest of us. How much better it would be if they were locked away in orphanages or asylums. Perhaps the prisons could even be used."

  "Have you considered the possibility of hanging them?" Noelle interjected, lifting one arched eyebrow.

  Even Mildred Newcombe was taken aback. "Why, I hardly think . . ."

  "Oh, hush, Mama," Margaret snapped. "Don't you see that Miss Pope is poking fun?"

  "Really, Margaret, she's doing no such thing!" Mr. Newcombe exclaimed, sounding more positive than he actually was.

  Constance decided things had gone far enough. "You misunderstood her, I'm sure, my dear. Here, let me pour you another cup of tea. Now, Margaret, you must tell me who made your frock. I vow, I can't remember when I've seen so many pink ruffles. Unusual to place them at the waist like that."

  Thus distracted, Mrs. Newcombe and her daughter launched into an enthusiastic account of their dressmaker's latest creations while Mr. Newcombe ate four chocolate madeleines and sighed over the tilt of Miss Pope's charming nose.

  The hour was finally over. Standing in the doorway next to Noelle, Constance waved to the Newcombes as their carriage pulled away. She had not failed to note the stubborn set of Noelle's jaw and was relieved that the rest of the visit had passed without incident. With the exception of her remark about the children, Noelle had been a model of graciousness. She had obviously smitten Robert and had even managed to draw Margaret into conversation. All in all, it had gone well, and Constance was pleased. Still, she had not been entirely sure of the success of the visit until Mildred Newcombe had put on her bonnet and whispered to Constance how extraordinary she thought it was that one raised in a heathen country could be so charming and well- mannered.

  "Miss Pope, you minx, what a delight you were." Constance hugged Noelle affectionately. "Next time, however, I'm going to choose our callers more carefully. Faith, I had forgotten how dreadful Mildred can be."

  "Really, Constance, you surprise me." Noelle's expression was mildly reproving. "It's not like you to speak badly of someone who is suffering."

  "Suffering? What on earth do you mean? Mildred is hardly suffering."

  "Perhaps not now," Noelle said, her eyes bright and guileless, "but she certainly will be. I hope you will see that this is returned to her first thing in the morning. The poor dear won't be able to sleep a wink all night wondering what has happened to it."

  Into Constance's hand, Noelle slipped Mildred Newcombe's ruby and diamond bracelet.

  Word of the Newcombes' visit spread through the countryside, and the two women found themselves deluged with callers and invitations. Within a fortnight Noelle had consumed countless cups of lukewarm tea and enough currant buns to satisfy even her voracious appetite. She discovered that most of Constance's acquaintances were genial people and making conversation with th
em, while not particularly inspiring, was also not very difficult. She discovered, too, that the men she met, whether young or old, were drawn to her like moths to a flame. They praised her beauty, her wit, her intelligence, and made themselves willing providers of her slightest whim.

  As the weeks passed she began to toy with them, tentatively searching for the limits of her powers. She would flirt outrageously one day, only to ignore her unhappy victim the next. Still, they flocked to her, spellbound by her uncommon beauty.

  Constance made the painful decision that Noelle must begin to accept some of the invitations she received from them despite the fact that she was legally a married woman. If it ever became known, the scandal would be ruinous, but Constance felt she had no choice. A young woman as beautiful as Noelle could not remain sequestered from male company without arousing suspicion and dangerous conjecture.

  Constance watched as Noelle began to accept invitations and tried to come to terms with the changes in her life. She was well aware of the animosity the young women in the neighborhood were directing at Noelle and, in truth, could not find it in her heart to blame them overmuch. The exquisite Miss Dorian Pope had created a sensation, and they were not at all pleased to see their favorite beaux so distracted.

  One morning Noelle found Constance in the greenhouse, arranging cut flowers in a vase of black basalt. "Robert Newcombe is pressing me to attend a picnic with him in two weeks. What do you think?" She handed Constance a white, long-stemmed blossom.

  "Not a delphinium, dear. Give me that gladiola."

  Noelle placed the proper flower in Constance's gloved hand.

  "I don't see why you shouldn't attend. Robert is a sweet boy. Who is to chaperon?"

  "George and Emma Simpson are back from their honeymoon and have agreed to accompany us, if you can imagine those two as chaperons." She tossed her comely head disdainfully. "They wouldn't notice if lightning struck in front of their noses. I've never seen anything as silly as the way they ogle each other."

  "They're in love, Noelle. You mustn't be so cynical."

  "I'm just being realistic, Constance. Besides, I don't really believe in love. It's just a charming invention of the poets."

  "Now, there you are wrong, my dear," Constance said, her features hidden from Noelle's view as she turned away to pick up another flower. "It does exist, and it is magical."

  The memory of that long-ago day in London when Simon Copeland had said almost those exact words came back to Noelle. Swiftly, she planted a light kiss on Constance's cheek.

  "Forgive me; I'm being a cynic. It's just that it can never happen to me."

  Constance put the final flower in the vase and then stepped back to examine the finished bouquet. At last she removed her gloves and turned her attention to Noelle, a frown puckering her forehead.

  "Noelle, you have been with me for over a year now. Simon should be returning to England next month, and soon you will be leaviâig to take your place with him in London." She hesitated. "Are you happy with your new life?"

  Noelle's eyes widened. "How could I not be? I have more than I ever dreamed possible, and you've been wonderful to me."

  "I've loved having you with me, Noelle. You've been like the daughter I never had. But, lately, as I've watched you, I confess I've been concerned."

  "About what?"

  "I detect a certain—for lack of a better word, I can only call it —callousness in your attitude toward the gentlemen who are so smitten by you. If it were any other girl, I would just assume she was insensitive to the feelings of others. But you are not a shallow person, Noelle. It seems unlike you to behave so. Why? What do you hope to achieve?"

  Touched by the deep concern she saw etched on Constance's face, Noelle said, "I have upset you, haven't I? I'm sorry, Constance. I wouldn't hurt you for the world. You're correct, I have been behaving badly."

  Noelle framed her words carefully. "It's as if I were an actress and this, my dress rehearsal."

  "Your preparation for London?"

  "No, Constance, my preparation for Quinn Copeland."

  "Quinn?"

  "As long as I continue to maintain contact with his father, I realize I'm also making myself accessible to him. I suppose I've been testing my new powers. Finding out what they are and how to use them. If I meet him again, I must be ready."

  Constance reached out and put a hand on Noelle's arm. "You cannot know how it distresses me to hear you talk like this. What Quinn did was unforgivable, but you must stop all these foolish thoughts of revenge. Noelle, I have known Quinn since he was a boy. I care deeply about him, but I warn you, he is a dangerous enemy."

  "I underestimated him once, Constance. I'll not do it again."

  "Noelle, do not attempt to toy with him as you have with the others."

  Noelle put a small hand to Constance's worried cheek. "I know you mean well, Constance, but I must live my life in my own way. Please don't worry. I can take care of myself." With a smile that was meant to be reassuring, she left the greenhouse.

  Constance shook her head sadly. "That pride of yours, Noelle, is going to be your undoing."

  Chapter Twelve

  Three mornings later an envelope lay on Constance's breakfast tray beside her cup of chocolate. It was addressed to her in Simon's familiar handwriting. Constance tore it open, her eyes flying over the single page.

  My Dear Constance,

  I returned last evening to Northridge Square. There are some pressing matters to which I must give my immediate attention, but I hope to be free to travel to Sussex on Friday next as I am most anxious to see both you and N. If I do not hear from you, I will assume this is satisfactory.

  Simon

  Constance felt a curious weakness come over her. Her hands trembled slightly as she returned Simon's note to its envelope. It was only excitement, she told herself, for she had never informed Simon about the startling change in Noelle's appearance, preferring to let him see for himself. Now she was anxious for him to meet his beautiful daughter-in-law.

  When Noelle discovered Simon was to arrive on the day of the picnic, she prepared to write Mr. Newcombe a note, telling him there had been a change in her plans and that it would be impossible for her to attend. Constance, however, would not hear of it.

  "There is no reason at all to cancel your picnic, Noelle. I doubt that Simon will arrive before dusk, and you'll have returned long before then."

  Noelle allowed herself to be persuaded, and on the morning of the picnic she even found herself humming a tune softly under her breath as she tied the bright gauze sashes of her straw hat into a bow beneath her chin.

  It was a beautiful spring day. Peonies were pushing their shoots through the rich Sussex soil, and a hint of early summer touched the air. Constance watched from the doorway as Robert Newcombe placed Noelle's hamper in the back of his carriage and then helped her up onto the front seat. They waved gaily to her as the carriage sped down the driveway. She watched until they disappeared from view before turning back into the house and mounting the stairs to her sitting room.

  With all the recent activity, she had been badly neglecting her household accounts and her correspondence. Today would be a perfect time to put everything in order. First, however, Constance cast off the rather plain blue muslin dress she was wearing and slipped on her new jade silk. Silly, really, to put on a new dress just to work at her desk. Still, it was so nice finally to be able to wear something other than black or gray; why shouldn't she pamper herself?

  Concentrating on the stack of papers in front of her proved to be more difficult than Constance cared to admit. It was mid- afternoon, and she was still at her desk when Molly interrupted with the announcement that Mr. Simon Copeland had arrived and was waiting in the drawing room.

  Rising too hastily, Constance dismissed the young maid and then rushed to the pier glass to check her appearance. Although she was a bit pale, the jade silk could not have been more flattering. It had been cut low at the neck and fell slightly off her shoulder
s. Satisfied with the fit of the dress and the appearance of her auburn curls, she pinched color into her cheeks and then descended the stairs.

  She stepped into the drawing room to find Simon wandering about, leisurely smoking his pipe. He swept her with an admiring gaze as he caught sight of her.

  "Simon, it is so good to see you." She went over to him, her hand extended graciously.

  "Why all the formality, Connie?" He grinned as he ignored her outstretched hand and scooped her into a warm embrace. "You look beautiful." Gently pushing her back from him, he smiled down into her green eyes.

  Constance was shaken by the depth of her response to his presence. The past year had dealt too kindly with Simon. His face was as handsome as ever, his body still firm and muscular. There was a touch more gray at his temples, but its effect was dashing rather than aging.

  "You're a flatterer, Simon Copeland," she bantered, exhibiting more composure than she felt. "Noelle will be disappointed when she finds she has missed your arrival. In truth, it is my fault. I did not expect you until evening and told her I saw no reason she should stay home from her picnic. The others would have been so disappointed."

  Simon's dark brows shot up. "Others? Is it wise for her to go off without you to guide her?"

  As she sat in a small gilded chair Constance reminded herself that Simon had not seen Noelle in more than a year. "Noelle does very well."

  "Tell me how she is." He settled himself across from her, the slight tension in his upper torso the only evidence of the importance of her response to his question.

  "I will let you judge that for yourself, Simon."

  Noting the stubborn set to his jaw, she quickly interjected her own question. "What of Quinn? You mentioned nothing about him in your letters. Did you locate him?"

  Hard lines etched themselves around Simon's mouth. "My son seems to have disappeared from sight. He's quite good at that, if you remember."

  Constance thought of Simon's beautiful wife, whom she had met only once a few short months before her death. "Did you contact his mother's people?"