The Scoundrel's Daughter

by Anne Gracie

  “No, no, nothing physical. It’s a . . . it’s a different sort of threat.”

  “I’m sorry. I wish he wouldn’t do this kind of thing but—”

  “It’s not your fault, Lucy. Now, think—could you bear to continue with this scheme?”

  Lucy wrinkled her nose. Alice’s tension mounted. Without Lucy’s cooperation, she’d never get those wretched letters back.

  “I like the clothes,” Lucy said after a minute. And then added, “But I’m not very good with all that society stuff.”

  “I wasn’t either when I was your age. I was frightfully shy.” Lucy might not be confident, but she wasn’t shy. “Believe me, all of that can be learned. As long as you’re willing, I can teach you how to go on.”

  Lucy absently folded and refolded her napkin. “I suppose it might be all right—as long as I don’t have to marry a lord.” She said lord the way most people would say snake.

  “What have you got against lords?” Alice asked curiously. For most young ladies, the idea of marrying a lord was a dream. “I can see how marriage to a titled gentleman would be a daunting prospect, but you never know wh—”

  “I’m not daunted. I just don’t like them and their high-and-mighty attitudes. They all think they’re God’s gift.”

  “Have you met many titled people?”

  Lucy sniffed. “Plenty. Nearly all of the comtesse’s visitors were titled. The ladies were—well, high in the instep doesn’t begin to describe them. Some of them were right cows! And as for the men, a peasant like me was just something to help themselves to, whether I wanted it or not.” She snorted. “But I showed them.”

  “I see,” Alice said. Thaddeus had been much the same. It was the reason she’d never been able to keep young maidservants.

  “And some of the girls I was at school with were titled and they were complete bitc—er, cows as well.”

  “It seems you’ve been very unfortunate in the titled people you’ve met so far, but not all titled people are the same. And people without titles can be equally unpleasant.”

  Lucy eyed her in silence, her chin jutted stubbornly, unmoved by Alice’s argument.

  Alice stomach knotted at what she was about to do. But she couldn’t in all conscience force this young girl into a marriage with the kind of man she found abhorrent. Even though her father had given Alice specific instructions: I want a proper lord . . . I won’t stand for nothing lower than a baronet.

  But surely what Bamber truly wanted was for his daughter to be happily settled and secure. A title was no guarantee of happiness. She took a deep breath and took the plunge. “What if I accept that you don’t wish to marry a lord?”

  Lucy’s eyes narrowed. “You will?”

  Alice nodded. “It will make it easier.”

  “Why?” Lucy flared. “Because I’m not beautiful?”

  My, but she was quick to take offense. Alice said in a calm voice, “No, because the number of unmarried titled gentleman is limited, but if we include all eligible gentlemen, you would have a much wider choice.”

  “Oh.”

  “Presuming, of course, that you want to find a husband.” There was a short silence. “Do you, Lucy?”

  Lucy shrugged. “I suppose so. What else is there for me to do? I’m not clever enough to be a governess, and anyway, I hated school.” Beneath the would-be indifference, Alice thought she could detect a faint note of hopelessness.

  What else was there indeed? The options for unmarried women, especially those with no income, were few, and not very pleasant.

  “But I don’t want to marry someone high and mighty. I don’t want a husband who’ll look down on me.”

  “Understood.” And Alice did understand, having experienced it herself.

  “What about you?” Lucy said. “Are you happy about having me here and taking me about?”

  Alice was about to assure her politely that she was only too delighted, but stopped herself. Lucy had already shown herself to be cynical and suspicious. She would see through any false assurances.

  “I wasn’t at first,” she admitted. “To be honest, I was angry and resentful. And your behavior didn’t help. You were hoping I’d want to be rid of you, weren’t you?” She’d probably done the same at all those schools she’d been expelled from.

  Lucy’s expression was a grudging admittance.

  “But now that we’ve brought our differences into the open, I feel more positive.” Alice was starting to feel some sympathy for this awkward, uncommunicative girl. “If you’re willing, we could regard this as an opportunity.”

  Lucy eyed her cautiously. “What sort of opportunity?”

  “I’ve never had a young lady to sponsor into society. I had no children of my own, and I’m lamentably lacking in relations. And now, here you are, and while it wasn’t what either of us planned, or particularly wanted, we can choose how we want to go forward—endure it or enjoy it.”

  There was a short silence, then Lucy said, “You mean it could be fun?”

  “Exactly.” Alice smiled. The girl was quick. “And I promise you that I will never try to push you into an unwanted marriage—lord or no lord.” A chill thread of doubt wound through her as she spoke. She ignored it. Bamber wanted his daughter to be happy; he must. She would lose the bonus that he had promised, but that didn’t worry her. All she cared about was getting the letters back.

  “So, what do you say?”

  “It depends.” Lucy tilted her head. “What was all that godmother stuff about? You’re not planning to launch me with rats and lizards and pumpkins and glass slippers, are you?”

  Her dry, slightly caustic delivery surprised a laugh out of Alice. So the girl had a sense of humor. “I’ve always thought glass slippers would be horridly uncomfortable—so cold, and with no give in them at all.”

  Lucy raised a sardonic eyebrow. “But you’re fine with rats and lizards?”

  Alice chuckled again. “Becoming your godmother was your father’s idea.” She explained the difficulty she would have had trying to introduce Lucy as a relative, however distant. “Besides, I’m a terrible liar. People who know me well can always tell.”

  “Really? That’s awkward.”

  “So, are you willing to enjoy this whole thing?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Very well. I’ll try.”

  “I’ll try” was hardly an enthusiastic response, but Alice was grateful for what she could get. “Good. Now, I’ll need to know a great deal more about you and your background.”

  Lucy eyed her cautiously. “Why?”

  “Because people will ask, of course—they’ve already started. The ton is quite a small and rather closed society, and people like to understand how we are all connected. It’s the reason I became your godmother—so we’d be connected in a way people could appreciate.”

  “I see.”

  “So far I’ve managed to imply to people that your mother and I were girlhood friends—luckily I had a very obscure girlhood, so nobody could contradict me—and that we had lost touch over the years because your family moved quite often. That your mother had died, and it was for her sake I was bringing you out.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Lucy seemed indifferent to the conversation. She was folding her napkin into some intricate shape.

  Alice smacked her hand on the table. “No, it’s not nearly good enough, Lucy. You don’t seem to understand. To most of the people in the ton, background is everything. If anyone suspects I never saw you or any of your family before this week, and that I’m trying to pass you off—falsely—as my goddaughter and a friend of the family, we’ll be ruined.”

  Lucy looked up. “We?”

  “Yes, we—both of us. You for not being who they think you are—the ton can be very unforgiving of people who try to deceive them in order to gain access to the highest levels of society. As for one of thei
r own who aids and abets such a deception . . .” She shook her head.

  “Oh.”

  “Yes, oh.”

  “We’ll have to agree on the story then,” Lucy said, quite as if this were an everyday occurrence for her. And perhaps it was.

  “Exactly, but we should keep it as close to the truth as possible. Now, what was your mother’s name?”

  “Louisa.”

  “And her surname—her maiden name?” Alice prompted.

  Lucy’s brow furrowed in thought, then she shook her head. “I don’t remember.”

  Alice was shocked. “You don’t remember your mother’s maiden name?”

  Lucy gave a careless shrug. “She never talked much about the past, never mentioned her parents. And if ever I raised the question, she’d change the subject.”

  “What about your father? Surely he knows.”

  She shook her head. “I asked him once and he got so angry, I never asked again.”

  “I see.” How strange not to know such basic information about one’s parents.

  “Do you know where your mother grew up?”

  Lucy shook her head. “No. What about where you grew up? Was that in the country?”

  “Yes, in the village of Chaceley, in Worcestershire. My father was the vicar there. I implied this afternoon that your mother and I knew each other as girls, but had lost touch after she married and moved away,” she said.

  Lucy nodded. “That’ll work. We moved a lot. Papa has what he calls ‘itchy feet’—he always likes to keep moving.”

  Alice couldn’t imagine not having any place to call home. Even if home wasn’t very comfortable.

  “What should we tell people if they ask about your father?”

  “That he’s away, traveling. It’s what I usually say.”

  “I suppose that will have to do.” It was all very peculiar, but then this was a very peculiar situation. For all Alice—or Lucy—knew, her mother could have been Romani. This whole wretched business was a fantasy. Or a nightmare, if it got out.

  Chapter Five

  Alice paused in the doorway of the Charlton House reception rooms. They’d arrived late on purpose. As she explained to Lucy, it was easier to enter a room full of people than to be standing awkwardly, waiting for everyone else to arrive. Besides, it was fashionable to be a little late.

  “Don’t be nervous, it’s just a small family party,” Alice murmured.

  “I’m not nervous.” Lucy gazed around the room curiously.

  No, if anyone was nervous, it was Alice. She’d attended very few social events since Thaddeus’s death—none at all during her year of mourning, and very few since she’d gone into half mourning. She hadn’t enjoyed them.

  At each event, some so-called gentleman had sidled up to her and, after some token conversation, had made her an improper proposition. How could they imagine she’d be interested? She’d given them no reason to think so—she didn’t even flirt!—but it was apparently a widespread belief that a widow must be desperately missing her husband’s marital attentions.

  Alice was relieved to be spared them.

  But tonight she was here en chaperone. All she had to worry about was Lucy, because surely, at a family party—her late husband’s family at that—nobody would approach her with indecent suggestions.

  That was why she’d allowed her maid, Mary, to persuade her into the new dress that Miss Chance had made her. The design of the dress was perfectly respectable and the color quite comme il faut for a widow of eighteen months, and yet it felt like a gorgeously frivolous froth of a dress, a gleaming smoky cloud of lilac silk and taffeta—too pretty, no doubt, for a small family party, but who cared? It had been ages since she’d worn anything new, and in this dress she felt somehow lighter, younger. Ready to go dancing, though there would be no dancing tonight. Almeria’s parties were invariably dull.

  She knew, she just knew that Almeria would disapprove of the dress. If Almeria had her way, she’d have Alice wearing black widow’s weeds for the rest of her life. And just the thought of that put a smile on Alice’s face.

  She glanced at Lucy, who was scanning the crowded room with a faint anticipatory smile on her face. She, too, was feeling the magic of a pretty new dress and the confidence that came with the knowledge that she was looking her best in pale gold muslin and a lacy cream shawl.

  Alice could hardly believe the difference between the girl who stood beside her now and the one she’d first met—sullen and withdrawn in the unflattering, overly elaborate dress and the heavy, fussy lacquered mass of ringlets.

  Mary had braided Lucy’s tawny hair in a simple coronet around the crown of her head and tucked in some tiny yellow faux rosebuds. The simple style showed off Lucy’s lovely complexion and bright eyes. Her face had the roundness of youth, and now that it wasn’t half drowned in a mass of fat corkscrew curls, you could see the cheekbones that would emerge as she matured. She wasn’t a beauty, but she was quite arresting.

  As long as she behaved herself, Lucy couldn’t fail to make a good impression.

  Alice glanced around, looking for her hostess. It was rather more crowded than she’d expected. Not quite the intimate little “at home” gathering Almeria had indicated. Alice knew about half the people there, and as for the others, some she’d seen before, though never met, and quite a few were complete strangers. Not as many young gentlemen as she’d expected, though, which surprised her. One would have thought a party to celebrate a young man’s birth would have attracted more men of his age.

  Alice found her sister-in-law, resplendent in puce silk and gold lace, and greeted her cordially. “Almeria, what a very pleasant gathering. Thank you for inviting us.” Strictly speaking, Almeria hadn’t invited them at all. Gerald had.

  Almeria’s mouth pinched as she eyed Alice’s dress. After a brusque greeting she pulled Alice aside and said in a low, angry voice, “I don’t want this nobody of yours setting her cap at my son. Is that understood?”

  “Perfectly,” Alice said calmly. “If it’s any comfort, Almeria, my goddaughter has no designs on Gerald or any other titled gentleman.”

  Almeria made a scornful sound. “You always were a fool, Alice. Just keep her away from him, all right?” She turned away to speak to her other guests.

  * * *

  * * *

  James was restless. He should never have accepted Gerald’s invitation. A family party, as insipid as he had feared. As Thornton had warned him, the company was heavy on hopeful young unmarried misses and their mamas. He knew a few of the other gentlemen, some from the army and one or two acquaintances from school days, but there was nobody he particularly wanted to talk to.

  He sipped the wine, which was inferior, made small talk and found he was surprisingly popular—until he realized that for some of these females he was as much a target as Thornton. Married ladies on the hunt for a lover, and unmarried ladies on the hunt for a title.

  James had no interest in either. All that was behind him now. He’d had the best with Selina and had no interest in second best.

  He was aware that his daughters might need a mother figure, so he’d sent for Nanny McCubbin, who was as motherly a figure as anyone could want. And as the girls grew older, a good governess could provide all the female guidance they would need.

  He surreptitiously checked his fob watch. How soon could he make his escape?

  He observed the hopeful young misses clustered in groups, following young Thornton with their eyes.

  He’d met Thornton’s parents—they’d invited him for dinner before the party—and now he understood why Thornton seemed so restless and unsettled. They treated him like a schoolboy instead of a man who’d commanded troops—damned well, too, keeping a cool head under fire and showing a talent for tactics and strategy.

  Musicians began setting up in the other room. Time to leave. He was a good dance
r, but he wasn’t in the mood tonight, especially here, with the eyes of ambitious ladies on him.

  He drained his glass, set it on a nearby side table and prepared to make a discreet exit. And halted.

  She must have only just arrived: he would have noticed her earlier. Tall and slender, she was dressed in a soft lilac dress that clung in all the right places. As she walked forward to greet her hostess—with an unselfconscious grace that caused his mouth to dry—the dress seemed to caress her limbs, floating around her like a cloud.

  “Who is that?” he breathed. But there was no one near to answer.

  Her companion was a younger lady, a girl with light brown hair wearing a yellow dress. Her daughter?

  The woman glanced around the room, saw someone she knew, gave a little wave and smiled. He swallowed. The sweetness in that smile lit up the room.

  Her dark hair was arranged simply in a loose knot on her crown, revealing the graceful line of her neck. Her neck was bare—she was the only lady there who wasn’t draped in jewels—revealing smooth, creamy skin. He wasn’t close enough yet to tell the color of her eyes, but they were striking, framed by lashes that were long and dark.

  And her mouth—dear lord, her mouth. Lush, soft, vulnerable. Rich, dark rose against the creamy pallor of her skin. A mouth made for kissing.

  And why the hell was he thinking about kissing a woman he’d never even met, when not two minutes before he’d been telling himself that all that was behind him now? And believing it.

  He couldn’t drag his eyes off her.

  His gaze dropped to her left hand, but of course she was wearing evening gloves. Was she married?

  She had to be. A woman like that would never be left on the shelf. And she wasn’t in black, and though lavender was considered by some to be a color for half mourning, that dress was very far from being widow’s weeds. So, not a widow. Damn. He didn’t dally with married women.

  From the corner of his eye, he spotted Thornton and his mother passing—his mother gripping her son’s arm like an arresting sergeant and towing him determinedly along. Going by Thornton’s resigned expression, their destination was some young lady his mother particularly favored.