While a footman quickly set a place near Lady Augusta, Greystone turned to Anne. “My cousin, the new marquess we were speaking of. No bad blood at all.” He turned to glare at Southerton, who in turn looked a trifle shamefaced.
Anne smiled and continued to enjoy her soup. She could no longer see the young man, Penworth, but she was rather pleased to think she had seen her first rake—or, at least, the first one she had known of. Though she had to think it must have been unpleasant to hear his family spoken of in such disparaging terms.
Chapter Seven
In which a burglary does not take place
Bad blood! Philip slammed into his room. Hellfire and damnation, was he never going to escape the reputation of his contemptible family? Was he truly just following in their bedamned footsteps?
Perhaps he should rethink this business of becoming a rake. It could not possibly be necessary, despite the bawdy conversations and wagers in the clubs. He had no desire to have the world think of him as just one more dissolute Tremaine.
More importantly, he did not really like Lady Hadlow. Indeed, he realized, he actively disliked her. Unfortunately, he was afraid he had come to that understanding too late, at least as far as this assignation was concerned. It was rather like taking a dare. One simply could not back out. Could one?
Perhaps one could.
No one need ever know the assignation had been made. Except Charles, and he did not precisely know. Besides, he would never say anything.
The lady would suffer no public humiliation. If she liked, if there was any hint that an assignation had been made, she could even pretend that she had dismissed him as inadequate. He felt as if a burden had suddenly been lifted from him. Now all he had to do was tell her.
By the time he had removed his coat and boots and washed off the dirt of the day, the house was quiet. Should he put on a banyan? No. Shirtsleeves and waistcoat provided sufficient dishabille.
He took a deep breath, slipped down the long, long hall and knocked on Lady Hadlow’s door. She opened it herself and when she saw Philip, stepped aside to let him in.
“I was beginning to think you would fail me,” she said with a seductive smile. It seemed to Philip to be a very practiced smile, but it was seductive nonetheless, and his body responded in spite of his good intentions. She wore a confection of some sheer pink stuff and lace that caressed her curves and concealed nothing—rather, he thought, like the lady herself.
“I know it is late,” he began.
“Nonsense,” she said huskily. “We have hours and hours before us.” She reached up to seize his cravat and used it to pull his head down to hers. Her mouth seized his.
He grasped her arms and tried to detach himself, but she was stronger than she looked. He managed to pull his mouth free long enough to gasp out, “I must tell you something.”
“Later. There will be time to talk later.” She attached her mouth once more to his.
They became slowly aware of some commotion erupting in the hall. A loud, angry male voice was demanding something.
Lady Hadlow pulled back. “My god, that’s my husband,” she said, shocked and angry. “What brings him here? Has he no sense of decency?”
Philip withdrew himself from her embrace. Was this his salvation?
A heavy fist was banging on the door. “Claudia, open this door at once. Penworth, you villain, I know you’re in there. I saw you.”
“Has he run mad?” Lady Hadlow snatched up a wrap to cover herself.
“I believe this is my cue to depart,” said Philip, trying to suppress a smile of relief. He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, retrieved his cravat, and swung himself out the window, grateful for the balcony that circled the house. He had slipped around the corner before Lord Hadlow reached the window, and he could hear Lady Hadlow berating her husband for his lack of faith in her.
Philip now had a new problem. How was he going to get back into the house and into his own room without anyone noticing? There were no convenient trees that would enable him to climb down to the ground, and if he jumped, he would be lucky if all he broke on the terrace below was a leg. Guests had been arriving, but perhaps one of the rooms on this floor was still unoccupied. As he moved along the balcony, he could see draperies covering almost all the windows, but finally there was one where the draperies were pulled back—an almost certain sign that the room was empty. What lady or gentleman would want to be awakened by the sun?
He was relieved, when he reached the window, to discover that it was unlocked as well as uncovered. He eased himself into the room with a sigh of relief. He was going to escape from this adventure unscathed.
Anne was awakened by something—a noise, perhaps. She was lying there, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the darkness and trying to decide what could have disturbed her, when she saw a shape—someone—at the window. And that someone was raising the sash.
A burglar! It must be a burglar. Who else would be coming in through a window? How dare he try to sneak into Uncle George and Aunt Augusta’s house!
He must be mad!
She would not have it!
How dare he! No burglar was going to invade this house if she had anything to say about it.
She slipped out of bed and picked up the silver candlestick that stood on the dressing table. She hefted it in both hands. It was a solid, heavy weight. Good.
As the man stepped into the room she closed her eyes and swung it with all her might. Unfortunately, though perhaps fortunately for him, he caught the movement in the corner of his eye and managed to sidestep enough so that he was hit on the arm, not the head.
“Damnation!” he gasped in pain.
She squeaked in protest. That wasn’t right. People were supposed to fall down when they were struck. What was wrong?
She swung again and called out, “Help! Thief!”
He grabbed at her arm before she had completed her swing and pushed the candlestick away easily. How could he do that? She wasn’t a child. He was strong—too strong for her? She stumbled back.
“No, hush!” he said, half in a shout, half in a whisper. “I’m not a burglar. Please hush.”
He grabbed at her again, missing her arm but almost seizing her breast. Judging from his yelp, he was startled by the discovery and she was able to pull free. Swinging her candlestick frantically from side to side in front of her to keep him off, she backed away, right into a table.
Over it went, and over went the vase of flowers, smashing onto the floor, splashing water everywhere, and making an almighty crash.
“Oh no,” she cried out, turning to look. “Not the flowers!”
“Flowers?” he echoed, sounding confused. “You’re worried about flowers?”
He reached for her again, but skidded on wet leaves and half fell onto her.
She tried to swing again. He caught her arm and they both careened into another table, knocking it over.
“Oh please,” he gasped, trying to wrestle the candlestick from her. Clutching it to her with both hands, she tried to keep possession of her weapon. With a hard yank he finally succeeded in getting it away, but there was a ripping sound.
She shrieked again. He tried to keep her quiet by putting a hand over her mouth.
Twisting, she pulled back and fell on the bed.
He followed her down, landing hard and knocking the breath out of her.
He pinned her underneath him, holding her hands to keep her from doing him any more harm.
She sucked in air, about to scream again, when the door burst open.
What seemed like the entire house party tumbled into the room. Some were holding candles, and by the light she found herself staring up at a young man who looked very distressed and not at all like her idea of a burglar. In fact, he looked slightly familiar.
“Oh my God,” he said, shutting his eyes and bowing his head.
He was the rake who had come in late for dinner.
She had a sinking feeling that she might have made a terrible mi
stake. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.
Before he could answer, Greystone had seized him and pulled him up off the bed.
“Philip, you blackguard! How could you!” Greystone was shaking his cousin, who was offering no resistance.
Mrs. Craddock was red with fury. Her fingers were curved into claws as she tried to get her hands on Anne. “You ungrateful hussy! How dare you disgrace us like this! Oh, my poor Corinne.”
Lord Hadlow was chortling. “So this is where you were heading, Penworth.” He turned to his wife. “Sorry to have mistrusted you, my dear.”
“If you think an apology will make up for humiliating me, you had best think again,” said Lady Hadlow, a calculating look on her face.
Anne could see and hear them all, but through a haze, as if they were all far, far away.
Lady Augusta sat down on the bed and wrapped Anne in her arms, pulling the sheet up to cover the torn nightdress. Miss Carruthers shooed everyone out of the room. It took some persistence, but eventually the room was emptied.
Miss Carruthers, Lady Augusta and Lady Anne remained.
“I thought he was a burglar,” Anne whispered. “I tried to stop him. He wasn’t a burglar?” She saw the pitying look on Lady Augusta’s face. “Oh dear. What have I done?”
“Oh, my child, I don’t know, but it will be all right. I am sure it will,” said Lady Augusta.
“That was him, wasn’t it? The…one who was late to dinner?”
“Yes, that was Penworth, my cousin Philip.”
Anne closed her eyes. She had ruined everything. She had created a scandal for a marquess, who already had some scandals attached to him. She had created a scandal for Uncle George and Aunt Augusta.
There would be no need for her to wait until she came of age to escape Uncle Craddock. He would throw her out of the house right now with nothing but the clothes on her back. What on earth was she going to do?
That, she thought despairingly, was what came of getting one’s hopes up.
“Now there is no need for you to worry,” Lady Augusta was saying.
No need to worry? Anne would have laughed if she was not so close to tears. Lady Augusta had no idea. Lady Augusta did not even know Uncle Craddock.
“I do not know what on earth Philip thought he was about,” the older woman continued, “but he will take care of everything. You will see.” Lady Augusta smiled at Anne. “He really is a very good boy.”
“You don’t understand,” Anne protested. She closed her eyes. There had to be a way out of this. She had to think.
“Oh but I do.” Lady Augusta sounded so sad that perhaps she did understand.
Miss Carruthers returned carrying a cup of steaming liquid. “I prepared one of my special tisanes for you. Drink this. It will help you sleep. And then you’ll see. Everything will be all right in the morning.”
Anne shook her head— nothing was going to be all right in the morning or ever again—but Lady Augusta insisted, “Yes, do drink it down. We will talk in the morning when everyone has calmed down.”
Anne drank the tisane—it was simpler than arguing, and there was nothing she could do at the moment. Even if she decided to run away, she would have to wait for daylight.
But if she ran away, where could she go? She had no money. If friends from her childhood still remembered her, how could she find them? And if she could find them, they would hardly be likely to welcome her if she appeared on their doorsteps dragging a scandal with her. That would not work.
What could she do?
Perhaps she could hide in the attics or find a disused building somewhere on the estate. She could steal enough food from the kitchens…. Now she was thinking like an idiot. Like a child. Like an idiot child. She needed to think, but she was so tired.
So very tired.
Lady Augusta held Anne like a child and rubbed her head until she fell asleep. It did not take long. Lady Augusta knew her friend’s tisanes. This one would have contained a hefty dose of laudanum.
The two women looked at each other. “You had best come with me,” said Lady Augusta. “Otherwise I am sure to strangle Philip.”
They found the young man in Greystone’s study, collapsed on a chair, holding his head in his hands. The earl was in an incoherent rage, pacing back and forth no more than six steps in either direction, then bursting out with “How could you…” alternating with “What in God’s name…” and frequently raising his hand and shaking it in the general direction of the young man.
“Miss Carruthers, take my brother in hand and calm him down. Brandy might help.” Lady Augusta turned to Philip. “Would you care to offer an explanation? It is unlikely to be a good one, I suspect, but at this point any explanation would be welcome.”
Philip lifted up his head and sighed. “Oh, I can explain—or at least describe—what happened. I had found it necessary to make a hasty exit from…a lady’s chamber, via the balcony, and was seeking a way to reenter the house. The curtains were not drawn, so I thought the chamber unoccupied…” His voice trailed off and he gave a shrug. “The lady apparently thought I was a thief.”
Lady Augusta raised an eyebrow. “She was not entirely mistaken. You have succeeded in stealing her reputation.”
“Obviously,” said Philip with a sigh. “Who is she?” The question was not asked without hope. She might, after all, be someone, a governess, for example, who had no part in society and could be pensioned off. Liberally, of course, but still…
“She is my goddaughter, you…” Greystone burst out but could not complete the thought. His store of profanity had never been large and had been exhausted within minutes of hauling Philip into the study.
“Lady Anne Milhaven, the daughter of the late Earl of Elsworth.” Lady Augusta offered the expanded identification, and continued, “She is our goddaughter and my brother’s ward. She had just come to stay with us…” Like her brother, Lady Augusta found it difficult to complete her thought.
There was no hope. “I will, of course, marry the lady,” Philip said stiffly. He stood and bowed before turning and leaving the room.
There were a few minutes of silence after he left. Miss Carruthers was the first to break it. “It was that Lady Hadlow, I’ll wager,” she said. “I’ve never liked the woman.”
“Probably,” said Lady Augusta absently. “It was a surprise when her husband arrived.” Then she turned to her brother and burst out, “Oh, George, what will come of this? I must confess, once I had met Anne again—she is such a dear—I was hoping to promote a match between them, but to have it happen like this… Have they no choice?”
“Augusta,” said Miss Carruthers sadly, “you know what it looked like. Lady Hadlow will be sure to spread the tale with all possible embellishments, if only to proclaim her own innocence, and her husband will assist her. Even if they could somehow be silenced, there was that dreadful Mrs. Craddock berating Lady Anne at the top of her voice, so everyone in the house is aware that something happened.”
Greystone slumped down in his chair. “I told him to go off and have some fun, you know. The lad’s been working like a navvy since he was sixteen, taking care of his mother, helping us, taking care of me.” Lady Augusta looked up at that, and he gave a short laugh. “Oh, yes, I never would have managed in India without him and Basil, and I knew it. So now that we’re all set and he’s even come into a title, I encouraged him to sow some wild oats. Fine advice!”
“Well, we’d best all return to our beds,” said Miss Carruthers. “Perhaps it will all look better in the morning.”
“It could hardly look worse,” said Lady Augusta.
Chapter Eight
In which reparations are proposed
At ten o’clock the next morning, Lady Anne sat in a small sitting room with a view over the gardens through windows that reached from floor to ceiling. The walls were painted pale green with white plaster swags, while the settee on which she sat was upholstered in a deeper green silk with ribbons of pink roses. On eit
her side of her were bergere chairs, also upholstered in silk, but they were pink, like the roses. In front of her was a low table, and on it a delicate china tea service and a steaming cup of tea. The fireplace on the other side of the room had an elaborately carved wooden mantle painted white like the swags. There was no fire, since the morning was warm, but the white was immaculate, so clearly the fireplace did not smoke.
Lady Anne focused all her concentration on such details. Ever since Lady Augusta had come to her room earlier in the morning and explained, in a doubtless expurgated version, how Philip—Lord Penworth—had come to be in her room, and what would have to happen now, Anne had been focusing all her attention on small external details. When Lady Augusta said that they would have to marry, Anne had said nothing but had taken careful note of the way the fringe on the curtains trembled in the slight draft from the window. So long as she concentrated on the details she did not have to think about what was happening. She could almost convince herself that it was all a dream. A bad dream, but still just a dream.
He was probably a rake, she thought, not boring and virtuous, despite the way Greystone and Lady Augusta had sung his praises. No, not probably. Certainly a rake. Why else would he have been in Lady Hadlow’s room? Lady Augusta had not actually said that name, but Anne had overheard Miss Carruthers muttering the name in no complimentary fashion. Having seen Lady Hadlow at dinner, Anne could well believe that she would have an assignation.
Anne pretended to know nothing. After all, what was the point? Lady Augusta spoke as if marriage to Philip was a foregone conclusion, and his character, or lack thereof, was irrelevant.
After Lady Augusta left, Millie had brought a pitcher of warm water. It was really very pleasant to wash in warm water that someone else carried up to her room. She had held the wet cloth just in front of her face and breathed in the steam.
Then Millie had helped her dress—it was the green striped muslin again, but freshly pressed. At least it went nicely with this green sitting room. Unless—a dreadful thought struck Anne—unless it looked like part of the upholstery. Anne looked down. No, her dress was a lighter shade of green, and had no roses.
A MATCH FOR THE MARQUESS Page 4
