Two Little Lies

by Liz Carlyle

  But it was not Lord Chesley who eventually appeared on the path which led from Hill Court to Arlington. The children were playing hide-and-seek in Chesley’s maze when Viviana heard distant laughter. She lifted her hand to shield the low, slanting sun from her eyes. Below the stables, she could see a lady and three children emerging from the trees.

  Lady Alice. Viviana was sure of it. The smallest child Lady Alice carried on her hip. Behind her, the two older children appeared to be wrestling good-naturedly over something. Lady Alice turned around and whacked the smaller of the two soundly across the bottom. Swathed in coats and cloaks as they all were, Viviana doubted the swat had much effect, nor had it been meant to.

  Suddenly, something struck her. Allie. Alice was Allie—Quin’s elder sister. She had recalled vaguely that Quin had had a sister. But she could not recall his ever having called her Alice. There was yet another small mystery resolved, she supposed. A pity she had not tried to solve them all a little sooner.

  When the three saw Viviana by the maze, they hastened toward her, giving every impression of being well-mannered children on their best behavior. “I hoped to find you here,” said Lady Alice brightly as she set her smallest child down. “The day has turned quite clear, has it not?”

  “Yes, it is lovely,” agreed Viviana.

  “I thought the children might play together,” Lady Alice suggested. “Do your children like battledore?”

  By then, Nicolo was tugging at Viviana’s skirts, and the girls were peeping from the maze. “I do not think we know this game,” Viviana admitted, lifting Nicolo to her hip. “My Felise does not speak English perfectly—and this little one, not at all.”

  Lady Alice’s children were carrying several wooden paddles, rather like small tennis rackets, but solid and stringless. “This is the battledore,” said the boy, thrusting one of his paddles toward the maze to Cerelia.

  “And this is the shuttlecock,” said the girl, balancing a befeathered object in the palm of her hand. Viviana recognized it as the object the children had been squabbling over. “We hit it back and forth with the battledore and try to keep it in the air.”

  Lady Alice laughed, and plucked the feathered object from the girl’s hand. “Do not be deceived, Contessa,” she said. “This is really just an old cork stuck full of feathers. Mr. Herndon, Arlington’s steward, made it for my children.” Hastily, she introduced them.

  The eldest was Charlotte, so named for her great-great-aunt, a fact which made Viviana inwardly cringe. “But we call her Lottie to avoid the confusion,” Lady Alice went on. “And this is Christopher, who is seven, and Diana, who is four.”

  Cerelia had taken the wooden paddle from Christopher’s outstretched hand and was studying it. Hastily, Viviana translated the introductions and presented her own children in turn.

  Lady Alice did not appear to need further encouragement. She drew a long piece of red yard from her pocket, went out onto a square patch of lawn, and stretched it out across the grass. Nicolo squirmed his way down and dashed off to investigate it.

  “This is the boundary line,” said Lady Alice, pointing authoritatively. “Cerelia, you shall play with Christopher on that side of the line. And Felise, you will play with Lottie. You must not let the cork touch the ground, or the other side will score a point. Does everyone follow me?”

  “Si, Signora,” said Cerelia, nodding.

  “Yes, my lady,” prompted Viviana from the sidelines.

  Cerelia laughed. “Yes, my lady,” she agreed. “We will be sure to send your feathers flying.”

  The elder girl had given one of her paddles to Felise and was showing her how to use it. Lady Alice gave the last two paddles to the youngest, and moved them into place behind the elder children. Little Diana was hopping up and down excitedly, but she looked just as confused as Nicolo.

  “I shall keep score,” cried Lady Alice over her shoulder as she left them. “Contessa, I fear my feet hurt and I wish to sit on that bench just there. Will you indulge me?”

  She left Viviana little choice, other than to appear inhospitable. “Yes, of course,” she said, falling into step. “But the little ones, they cannot play this batting game, can they?”

  “Oh, heavens, no!” Lady Alice agreed. “In two minutes’ time, they will have thrown down their battledores and wandered off to chase one of Uncle Ches’s cats or poke about in the shrubbery. But if we do not give them any, they will whine and cry until we wish we had.”

  Viviana could not argue with her strategy. “You are very kind to visit,” she said quietly. “My children were growing bored with hide-and-seek in the maze.”

  “It isn’t even much of a maze, is it?” Lady Alice admitted, her gaze running over it. “More like hide-and-peek, I should say. The thing looks on the verge of death.”

  Viviana found herself laughing. “Your uncle says there was a blight last year,” she answered. “Much of it had to be cut back.”

  “One all!” cried Lady Alice suddenly. “Lottie, watch Felise’s toes!”

  In her next breath, she returned to their discussion of the shrubs. Then she turned the topic to the coming holidays, and after that, to the unseasonable temperatures. But all the while, Viviana knew Lady Alice had had another purpose in coming to Hill Court.

  Finally, Viviana had had enough of the suspense. “Lady Alice,” she said quietly. “Why have you come here? Not, I think, to talk of the weather?”

  Smiling benignly, Alice turned on the bench to face her. “To let the children play,” she repeated. “And also to invite you to join Mamma and me for luncheon tomorrow at Arlington Park.”

  “Ah, to luncheon!” said Viviana. “But I think you must know, Lady Alice, of the incident which occurred this morning in your brother’s study.”

  Lady Alice clasped her hands in her lap for a moment. “I apologize, Contessa, on my brother’s behalf.”

  “Do you indeed?” said Viviana a little mordantly. “Are you quite sure?”

  Alice’s brows knotted. “Quite sure that I apologize?”

  “On your brother’s behalf.”

  The smile did not fade. “By the time Mamma has had done with him, yes, I am sure he will be quite penitent indeed.”

  “Oh, dear.” Viviana bit her lip. “She must be frightfully angry.”

  Alice shrugged. “Three-two, Chris!” she called across the lawn. “Do not elbow your sister!” At once, she returned her attention to Viviana. “Mamma has been reduced to mere mortification now, I think. Her bosom bow, Lady Tatton, has gone haring back to London with her oh-so-eligible niece in tow, whilst Quin has already penned the announcement ending their betrothal, and sent it on a fast horse ahead of them. By tomorrow, it will be in the London papers.”

  “Oh, Dio!” whispered Viviana, pinching hard at the bridge of her nose.

  “Contessa?” Alice asked. “Are you quite all right?”

  No, she was not all right. She had a terrible headache coming on. And what she utterly could not fathom was the sense of relief which was surging through her just now. Quin’s betrothal was ended. An innocent young woman had been humiliated, perhaps even devastated. It was hardly a thing to feel good about.

  “Miss Hamilton has jilted him, then?” she managed to whisper.

  “Oh, yes!” said Alice. “Though she insisted to Mamma that she had meant to do it anyway. Indeed, she claims that was her very reason for asking Aunt Charlotte to show her the way to his study.”

  “I cannot believe that.”

  Lady Alice smiled tightly. “Well, in any case, Quin seems almost relieved, though he will never admit it. Of course, this is all for the best, if you ask me.”

  “Oh, Lady Alice, you cannot mean it!” said Viviana. “Consider the embarrassment to your family, and to that poor girl!”

  Again, the shrug. “Miss Hamilton would have been incapable of making Quin toe the mark,” she said. “And that is what he needs; someone whom he cannot bully or wheedle. A man cannot be cowed by a woman he does not love. Besides
, what of the embarrassment to you, Contessa Bergonzi?”

  “Viviana,” she said without looking at Alice. “Please, call me Viviana. And yes, I was embarrassed. Both by your brother’s behavior, and by my reaction. It was…excessive. I lost my temper. And those servants! I fear they saw everything.”

  “Oh, they saw enough to encourage some idle speculation,” Alice agreed. “Without a doubt they saw Aunt Charlotte on the floor. But can they say with utter confidence what had caused her to swoon? No, that they did not see.”

  “Grazie a Dio!” whispered Viviana. “But that won’t stop the rumors.”

  “No, it won’t,” agreed Lady Alice. “Which is why you must come to luncheon tomorrow.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  Alice reached for her hand and gave it a swift, reassuring squeeze. “Viviana, tomorrow the announcement of Quin’s ended betrothal will be in the papers,” she said again. “It will not do for it to be put about that the fault was yours. And it was not. I believe that.”

  Viviana studied her for a moment. “You seem to place a vast deal of faith in one whom you do not know well.”

  “Oh, but I know my brother.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  Alice’s face colored faintly. “My brother has been unhappy, Contessa, for a very long time,” she answered. “He has lived a hedonistic, careless life, and this notion of marriage has perhaps made matters worse. I wonder if he isn’t regretting…oh, something! I know not what—but I know he is not thinking clearly. I tried to warn him, but he ignored me. He said…he said he just wished for a marriage like mine.”

  Viviana lifted one brow. “And what sort was that, pray?”

  Alice lifted one shoulder lamely, and looked away. “A marriage made for family and duty,” she said. “A more or less emotionless marriage.”

  “I see,” said Viviana. It sounded little better than her own marriage.

  Alice turned on the bench to fully face her. “Oh, do say that you will come tomorrow, Viviana!” she implored. “Do give us Hewitts a chance to prove we are not all jaded boors. And I do think that your coming will ensure that there will be less gossip about this morning’s little altercation.”

  Viviana shrugged. “I cannot think it matters,” she said. “No one in England knows me now.”

  Alice’s brows shot up. “Oh, you are a fool if you believe that,” she responded. “The greatest soprano of our time? London’s own fair Konstanze? Yes, my dear, even here in this backwater of Buckinghamshire, we keep up with the world of opera.”

  Viviana considered it. It was despicable of Quin to have put her in such a position. But Alice was right. Her name was not unknown. And in a few months, if all went as planned, her father’s name, along with Lord Digleby’s, would be on everyone’s tongue. And there were always her children to consider.

  “We must all appear on good terms, Viviana,” Quin’s sister continued. “From now on, my brother will be on his most gentlemanly behavior, or he will be on his way back to London. Because he will take Mamma’s tongue-lashing only so long before he stalks out.”

  “I see,” said Viviana quietly. “But your mother…these circumstances cannot but pain her. And I cannot imagine she wishes to befriend me.”

  Alice was silent a moment. A stiff breeze sent leaves skirling around their skirt hems, and across the makeshift battledore court. The shuttlecock lifted, and went spinning off-course, making the children shriek with laughter.

  Alice watched it all with a muted smile. “I won’t deny that Mamma can be a high stickler,” she answered. “But I’ve already told her that at this point, she’d be better served by accounting you a dear friend.”

  Viviana stiffened her spine. “I did nothing to invite your brother’s attentions, Lady Alice,” she said. “And I shan’t be foisted upon anyone socially. I have my own pride. And much as it may surprise you, in my country, we, too, have high standards of deportment.”

  Swiftly, Alice laid a hand on Viviane’s arm. “I am sorry,” she said at once. “I did not mean to insult you. Please, can you not at least consider being my friend? I think it perfectly natural, myself. We are going to be living very near one another for a few weeks, and we have a great deal in common.”

  Tightly, Viviana nodded. “Yes, all right,” she finally said. “I thank you, Alice, for your offer of friendship. Yes, I shall join you and Lady Wynwood tomorrow. May I ride over? Or is that thought dreadfully unfashionable?”

  “Not at all.” Lady Alice leaned nearer, her eyes dancing. “Now, as your new friend, I claim the right to ask you a prying question.”

  Viviana turned to face her. “You may ask, by all means.”

  A slow, lazy smile curved her mouth. “How well did you know my brother, Viviana, when last you were in London?”

  Viviana held her gaze quite steadily for a moment, and considered her question. “I think, Lady Alice,” she finally said, “that perhaps I did not know him at all.”

  Seven

  In which Lord Wynwood’s refuge is Discovered.

  A t half past eleven the following morning, the Earl of Wynwood put on his boots and breeches and stalked off toward his stables. It was, he had decided, a good day to begin the visits to some of his larger tenant farms. He had no real wish to do so; it still felt as if he were usurping his father’s role. But there was another, more overriding reason than duty which prompted his burning desire to escape.

  Today Viviana—Contessa Bergonzi—was to take luncheon with his mother and his sister. It was Alice’s crackbrained notion. But his mother had fallen in with it, albeit witheringly, after hearing Alice’s reasoning. A part of him knew Alice was right, and he was grateful that his mother and sister were trying to mitigate the damage his temper had caused. Nonetheless, it made him feel like a fool.

  When he reached the stables, Quin saddled his own horse with quick, impatient motions, and rode off in a cloud of dust. He expected to make a long day of it. In his saddlebag, he carried a slice of bread, a hunk of cheddar, and a flask full of Alasdair’s best whisky, the latter having been accidentally left behind by his hastily departing houseguest. Alasdair’s loss might as well be his gain, Quin had decided, since he had a strong suspicion that wind was blowing the other way where marriage was concerned.

  Yes, Quin had every notion that, as soon as decency permitted it, Alasdair would be placing his betrothal announcement in the Times. Well, he wished him happy. Quin had not wanted to marry anyway. He was far better off with Alasdair’s whisky than Alasdair’s woman, if that’s what it really was coming to. He worried, though, about Esmée. Would Alasdair be good to her? He hoped so. He prayed so. He had no choice but to trust that Esmée knew what she was doing.

  Quin had enough trouble managing the women he was not wedded to; his mother, his sister, and Viviana Alessandri. As to his mother, Quin had decided a heart-to-heart talk was in order. He had decided that marriage—or at least a rushed marriage—was not for him. She would not take the news well, and he dreaded it. She really did not deserve to be hurt. But this disaster with Esmée had made him realize that he needed more time to sort out his own mind. And he simply could not think straight when Viviana Alessandri was in the same country, let alone the same village, as he.

  Ah, Viviana. Now, there was a woman he had once considered wedding. Another lifetime and another world ago. She had stunned him when she had first proposed marriage. Yet once the shock had passed, and he had lain sated and happy in her arms, the wheels of his mind had begun to turn.

  She had wished to marry him. And he had known, even then, that to live without her would have been an unbearable hell. But he had been so young, his mind had known little beyond that nebulous truth. He’d had no notion how one even went about getting married.

  Stripling that he was, he’d always assumed his parents would find him some pretty, dutiful girl of good breeding, hammer out the details, and present him with a fait accompli. To him, it was rather like buying a broodmare at Tattersall’s—
and he didn’t even have to do the haggling. And by then, he’d seen enough of Town ways to know that that was how his new London friends saw it, too.

  Viviana’s proposal had thrown him badly off-balance. Although it had been a little frightening, the question had sent a world of possibilities whirling through his imagination. He could have Viviana forever. In a way which would bind her to him for all eternity. But he had wanted more than her name on a license and her head on his pillow. He had wanted the one thing Viviana had never given him. He had wanted her heart. So he had asked her the question which had been eating him alive.

  Do you love me, Viviana?

  She had admitted that she did not. In the space of that quiet, husky whisper, all the fragile, half-formed notions flying about in his head had crashed back down to earth again, shattering and splintering like so much spun glass. He had known it, of course. Viviana had resisted his overtures for months. And when he had finally managed to bed her—an inane euphemism if ever there was one, for there had been no bed involved—still, she had resisted.

  After that maddening taste of her, Quin had had to lay siege to Viviana’s stage door for another two weeks. And then he had been permitted to take her to supper. Another two weeks, and finally she had agreed to move out of that convent of a boardinghouse in which she had been living. No, she had never loved him. She had tolerated him. Been amused and sexually satisfied by him. But never, ever had she given herself to him.

  He wondered what his life would have been like had he never had that first perfect taste of her. Of course, he had relived that fateful evening a thousand times, sometimes wishing to God it had never happened. And sometimes clinging to every shred of remembrance as a dying man might cling to life.