Timeless Deception

by Susanne Marie Knight

  Alaina stood, then bent over to give the Dowager a hug. “More likely a dozen words—and all choice ones at that!”

  Leaving Lady Wilhelmina laughing, Alaina took a step toward the staircase, then turned back around. “Dana, please inform His Lordship I'll be with him shortly. First I want to see Terry."

  “But Milady. ‘Tis certain that news will put him in a fair pucker."

  Alaina patted the maid's shoulder to keep her from shaking. “Don't worry. I'll bear the brunt of His Lordship's ‘fair pucker.’”

  Dana curtseyed. “Yes, Milady.” She continued on her way.

  Entering Terry's Hanover Square nursery, Alaina immediately smiled. With splashes of toys thrown this way and that, it was definitely a happier place than the room at Saybrooke Hall.

  Terry was in the middle of the play area, staging a mock battle with his troops. When he glanced up at her intrusion, a cry of glee escaped his lips. “Mama! Mama, you're here!"

  Gosh, she felt like the most wonderful person on earth. “So, this is where you've been hiding, Terry.” She sat down on her heels to review his soldiers. “Where's Wellington?"

  Terry rushed at her to give her a hug, which caused her to tip over to the side. “I missed you so much! Can you play a game with me?"

  Arms wrapped tightly around him, she enjoyed every sensation this closeness entailed. What a privilege being a mother was. Kissing his forehead, she then disentangled herself and ruffled his hair. “Sorry, tadpole, your father wants to see me in the Study. Maybe when I'm done, okay?"

  The little boy stuck out his lower lip. “Tadpole. Isn't that a baby frog?” He also stood and set his pudgy hands on non-existent hips. “You calling me a Frenchie?"

  She laughed. “Heaven forbid, no! Just a term of endearment, sweet pea."

  “Good-O!” Terry ran to her again. “I like it when you like me, Mama."

  Once again, regret filled her for this child's previous life. But now it would be different. She'd see to that. “Well, get used to it, Terry. Because I'm liking you a whole lot!"

  One more hug and kiss later, Alaina closed the door to the nursery. Now she had the senior Cransworth man to deal with.

  ~*~

  Although the Study door opened quietly, Richard instinctively knew, without looking up from his desk, that it was Alicia who entered. She hesitated by the door, then selected a Jacobean upholstered wing armchair near his desk to sit on.

  “Well, Richard,” she said in a light tone. “Here I am. You wanted to speak with me? I was having a chat with your mother, and then I went to see Terry.”

  Richard braced himself to view his wife head-on. She wore an enchanting pink morning dress of jaconet muslin that modestly clung to her figure. Masses of curls covered the top of her head, with the back arranged in a soft chignon.

  Incredible as it seemed, every time he saw her, she was more beautiful than before. And as odd as it sounded, every time he studied her, it was as if he was seeing her for the first time.

  Now she sat across from him, intently staring at something to his left—at the bust of Augustus Caesar. Irrational as the feeling must be, Richard was saddened at the thought that even when they were alone, she never had “eyes” for him.

  More brusquely than he intended, he snapped, “It would not do for you to overtire the Dowager with your various intrigues. Your visits with her will be limited to five minutes once a day."

  When Alicia didn't respond, he saw that she was still contemplating the statue. What the devil, it was as if nothing else in the room existed for her! Since she never cared a fig about antiquities, her pretense of abstraction was all the more enraging.

  He stood and approached her chair from behind. As she gazed into the marble visage, the blasted woman was unaware of his presence. Abruptly blocking her view with his body, he pulled her by her shoulders to a standing position. “What is the meaning of this ... disrespect? Why are you in a trance at the sight of this statue? You called it ‘hideous’ when I first brought it home.”

  By all that was holy, she still had a dreamy expression on her face. “I'm sorry, I didn't expect to see a bust of Augustus here. This is a particularly fine example of Roman sculpture."

  She broke away from Richard's grip to gently touch the smooth planes of the stone face and the idealized waves of the hair. “It's genuine, of course. Must have cost a fortune. Where did you get it?"

  The devil of it was, she sounded sincere. He roughly turned her away from the bust. His fingers pressed deeply into her upper arms and he confronted her face to face. “Desist this act once and for all, Alicia. I will not be made a fool of any longer. Why this pretended interest in my acquisition? As you should know, it has occupied the same space in this room for three years. You are badly mistaken if you believe you can gull me. If it was not for my mother's condition....”

  Meeting his gaze, she remained motionless, instead of pulling away from his grip. “Forgive me,” she apologized again. “It's that darn memory loss again. I didn't mean to offend you. Perhaps we should sit?”

  He did not release his grasp, but studied her features from this close proximity. She looked so familiar and yet seemed a total stranger. If only he could put his finger on it.

  Having her so intimately near was beginning to flood his body with remembered sensations and long-buried desires.

  “Richard, I did hear you,” she said somewhat huskily. “You want to limit the time I spend with your mother to five minutes. The Dowager won't like it, I can tell you that much. Wouldn't it be more reasonable if she decided how long the visits are to be?”

  “My mother does not understand what is best for her.” Tight-lipped, he suddenly released her and quickly sat at his desk, placing more distance between them.

  “That's better.” Alicia also found her seat. “I was beginning to get a crick in my neck from looking up at you!”

  The devil! Was she trying to lighten his mood?

  With her hands demurely in her lap, she added, “You know, it might make your mother angry if you imposed a time limit against her wishes. I don't think it's a good idea to get her upset. What do you think?”

  Damn it all! His wife's words made sense—hard to admit, but true. Busying himself with some papers, he grudgingly agreed. “Ten minutes then.”

  “That's a start.” She had the effrontery to smile. “There's something else I would like to talk to you about, Richard. I—”

  “Surely not your new-found interest in Roman artifacts?” he sneered.

  Just for a moment, hearing her lilting laughter made him think he was the wittiest man alive.

  Her brown eyes retained their sparkle. “No, but you did forget to tell me where you got that handsome head.”

  Obviously she meant Augustus Caesar, but she must have realized how her words sounded because she reddened.

  Raising an eyebrow, Richard succinctly stated, “Pompeii.” Her excuse of memory loss was becoming tedious. Nor did it explain an interest in an area she had previously loathed.

  Perhaps his scrutiny made her uncomfortable for she stood and started pacing the room. “Well, I wanted to talk to you about Terry and Eton. How can you—”

  Again, Richard interrupted. “I shall not discuss my son, whom you vulgarly call ‘Terry,’ with you. If you will excuse me, I have a meeting to attend.” He began piling papers into a brown leather case.

  “But don't you know the school's reputation for brutality? It's unconscionable to send any boy, let alone a six-year old, to a place where the schoolmasters and the upper classmen prey on younger children—doing who knows what?” She stamped her foot. “I can't believe you would willingly send Terry there. That's ... that's inhuman."

  An aroused Alicia was indeed an arousing sight. And may he fry in hell for admitting the fact.

  “Why, your mother said the headmaster's nickname is ‘the flogger.’ How can you do this to Terry? To your son?” Small tears shone crystal-clear in Alicia's eyes.

  “Save your dramatics
for Drury Lane, where I am confident the theaters can use an actress of your talents and reputation. Your tears are wasted on me, Madam.”

  Richard rose and shrugged himself into his somber chestnut tail coat. Adjusting his cravat in the gilt-edged mirror, he shot back at her. “This conversation is at an end.”

  She allowed his slur against her to pass. Odd again, for Alicia. “This news is breaking your mother's heart and you act as if you don't care, Richard. I—I just can't believe it of you."

  He angrily turned from his reflected image. Damn the woman. Was she always right? Why on earth had she changed so much? Or had she?

  “Since there is no one capable of looking after my son, least of all you, I find no other alternative. Now, I take my leave for the Dilettani Society.”

  As he was about to exit, she placed her hand on his arm. “I'm aware of your opinion of me, you make it very plain. If someone else were found to take care of Terry—maybe a relation—would you reconsider? Together with Miss Kerns his governess, he would be in good hands. What do you say?”

  By the good Lord above, Richard looked at his wife in a new light. She was resigned in accepting his feelings toward her but in everything else, she was a fighter. And here she was fighting on behalf of her son.

  In addition, she had suggested the ideal solution to his dilemma.

  He gently brushed away a tear that had slid halfway down her cheek. “If you can find a relation, then yes, I agree,” he said softly.

  Alicia touched her cheek and stared up at him.

  His emotions unsettled, he murmured good-bye, then left for the archaeology society.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The search for a relative to take care of Terry didn't take long. Lady Wilhelmina remembered a genteelly impoverished distant cousin named Isabel, and, evidently, Cousin Isabel was thrilled to learn of her good fortune.

  As the Dowager explained to Alaina, leaving the remote northeastern village of Bamburgh in Northumberland to take up residence in the metropolis of London was a stroke of luck granted only to a precious few. And a lonely spinster's dream of adventure fulfilled.

  When Isabel arrived at the Hanover Square townhouse, her position was somewhat ambiguous since Terry already had a governess and a mother, albeit a surrogate one. With Isabel and Alaina assembled in Lady Wilhelmina's bedroom, the Dowager welcomed the country cousin and pronounced her Terry's new companion.

  Alaina smiled at the newcomer. Terry would like her open face and twinkling green eyes.

  As the sparse woman, probably about thirty eight or nine, bobbed her head happily, she prattled, “Yes, oh my yes! Just so. The very thing."

  She sounded as if she would have agreed to just about anything to escape her dreary country existence.

  “I'm so glad you could come here, Isabel,” Alaina offered. And, it was going to be really good to have another woman's company in Richard's house.

  “Thank you, Lady Alicia. I am thrilled, just thrilled. Oh, thank you."

  “You must call me Alicia, please."

  “Oh, but I could not. Truly.” The woman's green eyes clouded with worry.

  “I insist, Isabel. Okay?” Alaina held out her hand for a shake. Isabel must have never heard of Alicia's “sins,” so now a friendship could be built without the taint of the past.

  The woman ducked her head. “I am honored....Alicia. Just so. You are too good."

  The only obstacle to friendship was the poor woman's extreme subservience. But that would change. Alaina rubbed her hands together, planning the makeover. If she could work wonders with Lucy, then there was hope for Isabel.

  “Come, Isabel.” Alaina stood. “Lady Wilhelmina needs to rest. I'll show you to your room."

  The country cousin rose with alacrity and followed Alaina like a shadow.

  Things were really coming together now that evil Eton was off her shoulders. After dropping Isabel off at her room, Alaina walked downstairs to the first floor. Not unexpectedly, Richard had thrown a few roadblocks in her way as she started her new life. In addition to timing her visits with Lady Wilhelmina, contact with Terry was also to be limited. And she was forbidden to attend any social event, embark on any social outing, or pay any social visits.

  In effect, he restricted Alaina's contact with society. But, hey, that was okay with her. There was a number of things she could do that weren't “social” in nature. In a way, she was relieved not to go to any of these functions. After all, how was she to know which people were friends and which ones were strangers?

  No, she had better ideas on how to spend her time. Slipping into the Library, she walked over to Richard's desk and picked up a pile of illegibly written papers. On top of it was a memo to his secretary, Mr. Ellis, informing him to transcribe the work. The note explained that the Earl was scheduled to present a paper on his Roman archaeology fieldwork to the Dilettani Society on Tuesday, the sixth of April.

  She scanned some of the papers. Yeah, she could handle this—easily. She'd probably live to regret it but she forged a note from the secretary stating the presentation paper would be ready for His Lordship by the date requested.

  Talk about being invigorated! She returned to her bedroom and started to read. For a tiny moment, her conscience niggled her at the deception. But why should it? She had a wealth of experience behind her in Greek and Roman matters; why not put it to good use?

  Knee-deep in Richard's research, time flew by. Some of his conclusions were really thought-provoking. One such theory was that after the Romans constructed Hadrian's Wall in northern England around 120 A.D. to 123 A.D., the Roman legions took refuge behind the Wall's strength and became soldiers in name only, which weakened the Empire's hold in Britain. Prosperity often led to a country's downfall. Fat and happy versus lean and mean. In wartime, lean and mean most often had the edge.

  Alaina took some editing liberties with the papers. Authors always assumed their audience had as perfect a grasp on the facts as they had. But how would Richard react to having his work tampered with? Maybe if she did it skillfully enough, he wouldn't realize it.

  Of course, the corollary to that was how would he react when he found out the tamperer was “his wife” and not his secretary, Mr. Ellis?

  Alaina smiled mischievously. Anticipating another confrontation kept a devilish twinkle in her eyes.

  When Dana entered, Alaina looked up with a start.

  “Milady, ‘tis past time to dress for supper,” the maid scolded.

  Drat. Who cares about eating when this is something I can really sink my teeth into?

  But duty was duty. Walking over to the wardrobe, Alaina reached inside and selected the first gown her hand touched. With knit eyebrows, she ignored the dress and concentrated on a transitional paragraph between the Fishbourne excavation portion of the paper and the Roman ruins in London.

  ~*~

  At the large dining table, Richard covertly studied his beautiful wife. She seemed so distant and remote; her distracted air haunted him—and also made him jealous.

  “Isn't that so, dear Alicia?” Charles pointedly asked for her opinion on a trivial matter. He too noticed her inattention, and now he seized the chance to bait her.

  Richard coolly regarded his brother. Evidently Charles felt he had a score to settle with Alicia. It was obvious that she had a hand in Lucinda's internal transformation as well as her external. The young woman's appearance was now more than pleasing, and her show of independence visibly nettled her husband. Which was, perhaps a good thing for Charles. The more he tried to bring his wife back to the fold, the more she flirted with her ever-growing number of admirers. Rumor had it that even Monique's charms were beginning to pale for him.

  “Doesn't seem as if your wife is attending, Richard,” Charles said snidely, probably in the hopes of igniting his ire.

  “Hmm? Pardon me, Charlie, I was thinking of something else.” A pink blush rose on Alicia's cheeks.

  She presented a charming picture—one that Richard had no hope of under
standing. When he had set the ground rules down for her London visit, he almost wished for some opposition. Her easy acceptance of her exile caused him not the sensation of relief but one of distrust. What the devil was she up to? Although a week had passed since her arrival, he could find no cause to complain about her exemplary behavior and she had uncomplainingly remained confined to the house, excepting a few innocuous shopping excursions.

  Devil take it, if she kept this up, he would have to resort to taking his meals at his club. Finishing the remaining Madeira in his glass, he then refilled it. Being in close proximity to her intoxicating presence was indeed taking a toll, wearing down the carefully built defenses he had created over the years—especially at night knowing she was only an adjoining door away...

  He glanced over at her, and took in her drawn brows of preoccupation. “Most likely she is dreaming of Augustus Caesar. Alicia shows uncommon interest in his statue.” Unfortunately he could not prevent a tone of bitterness from escaping.

  “Very close, but not quite,” she said laughing. She turned toward Charles. “Now, what were you saying, Charlie? You were right to goad me on for not participating in the conversation. With Lucy dining out, and Nigel having other plans, I haven't held up my end of the chitchat.”

  Cousin Isabel hurried to his wife's defense. “Oh, no, Alicia. You have done just fine. Truly. The very thing."

  But Charles flushed at the mention of his wife; her absence tonight must have been a sore point with him. “You would not have been interested in any event, Alicia,” he condescendingly stated.

  Then, for some reason, his blue-green eyes glittered dangerously. What the devil was Charles thinking?

  Signaling a footman, he waved an empty glass. “Richard, I believe it is time for some port, is it not?”

  Richard winced. Bad form on his brother's part. It was customary for the ladies to leave of their own accord, not be dismissed by the men. Obviously Charles was out of sort, most likely because his wife was off pursuing her own pleasures. Probably also felt impotent in his current situation, a condition Richard could sympathize with—in feeling rather than the actual event.