by Cheryl Holt
They were for the governess! Alex would have her strolling about the estate looking stylish and fetching.
He’d claimed to have hired her from Mrs. Ford’s agency, but was that true? How long had he known her? Was he…he… having an affair with her? Were they lovers?
He was a randy, virile man, but in all the years she’d been with him there had been but the rarest hints that he was philandering. The reason she hated him to be in London with Price Pendergast was because Price had a passion for strumpets, and she was certain they misbehaved when they were away.
But she’d never, ever, never had an inkling that he cheated around Wallace Downs where Camilla might be slapped in the face with it. She was so stunned she wasn’t even angry, but once the shock faded she would become angry.
He’d insisted Miss Barrington was staying on, but he couldn’t keep her now. Not after this insult, and if Miss Barrington thought Camilla would roll over and relinquish an inch of what was hers, then Miss Barrington would ultimately be very, very sorry.
She went to the door, and her maid was loafing outside and flirting with a footman.
“There’s been a mistake,” she said. “These are all for the governess at the cottage.”
“The governess?” Her maid was thunderstruck. “But…but…they’re from Master Alex.”
Camilla smirked. “Yes, it seems our schoolteacher is no better than she has to be, and Master Alex has discovered she’s not.” She gestured to her bedchamber. “Pack it all up for me, then summon my carriage and haul the boxes down. I’ll deliver them to her myself.”
They hurried to complete their task as Camilla stoically watched them. Schemes raced through her head, and she plotted the best and quickest conclusion.
With Camilla announcing the gift was for Miss Barrington, her ruination had already commenced. Gossip would spread like wildfire that Mr. Wallace was paying her for services rendered. Very soon, she wouldn’t be able to show herself in the village or at church. The neighbors would hear the disturbing story, and she’d be shunned everywhere.
Alex would be able to ignore the problem for a small slice of time, but not forever.
Camilla grinned maliciously. As a first step in guaranteeing Miss Barrington’s departure, it wasn’t bad. Next, she’d visit Mrs. Ford in London to learn if she was really from the agency. If anybody had unveiled the vixen’s secrets—Who was she? What was her history?—it would be Mrs. Ford.
Hopefully, she could provide tidbits that would add fuel to the fire, and even if she didn’t the news that one of her girls was engaged in a salacious affair with her employer would be a very sturdy nail in Miss Barrington’s coffin.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Abigail had just entered the house through the rear door. She’d been at the beach with the twins, enjoying a late-afternoon stroll. They’d stayed outside to play.
A maid from the manor was in the foyer, and the front door was open. A carriage was parked in the drive. She heard someone coming down the stairs, and she glanced up, stunned to see Miss Robertson descending. Why would she have been upstairs? What had she been doing in the bedrooms?
Abigail glared, hoping she seemed sufficiently irritated. She couldn’t describe Miss Robertson’s authority in the cottage, but Abigail had no right to tell her she shouldn’t enter into any room she chose.
Where was Faith when Abigail needed her? It would be so much easier if Faith would arrive and order her out. Unfortunately, Abigail was very much alone.
“Ah, Miss Barrington, there you are,” Miss Robertson said.
She was flamboyantly fashionable, her gown bright red and cut low to reveal an enormous amount of bosom. Her hair was styled in an intricate array of braids and curls, and she’d donned an ornate bonnet complete with lace and feathers. With such an exotic flair, she could have been a famous actress on the stage.
As usual, she towered over Abigail with her superior height, and her bonnet made her seem even taller.
“Hello, Miss Robertson,” Abigail responded. “What brings you by?”
Miss Robertson smiled like a predator, appearing dangerous and deadly, and Abigail actually took a step back.
“I received some packages over at the manor, and I opened them.”
“How…interesting,” Abigail muttered, confused.
“They were from Alex so I assumed they were for me. Imagine my surprise when I learned they were for you.”
Abigail scowled. “What are you talking about?”
Miss Robertson handed her a note, and Abigail perused the words.
I realize you didn’t want me to buy you anything, and I’m sure you’ll deem it to be incredibly improper, but I did it anyway. If you intend to work for me, you can’t gad about attired like a pauper!
“Mr. Wallace purchased clothes for me?” Abigail mumbled like a dunce.
“Yes, boxes and boxes of them.” Miss Robertson’s cruel gaze wandered down Abigail’s slender torso. “I detest blue myself, but I suppose the paltry color will look good on you. I’ve always found blond hair and blue eyes to be bland and insipid, but certain men are charmed by it.”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Abigail insisted even though she understood she should shut up.
“Yes, well clearly Alex thought you should have them. I put all of it on your bed so you’ll have a fun evening trying it all on. I’m positive the gowns will fit. He’s judged your size with astonishing accuracy. He must be very familiar with your bodily shape.”
“I’ll send them back immediately,” Abigail said.
“I wouldn’t if I were you. He rarely gives gifts, and it would upset him to discover that he went to so much trouble but you weren’t grateful.”
“I don’t care. I won’t keep any of it.”
“I must advise you to reconsider. He doesn’t like to have his plans frustrated, and I’d hate to cause a quarrel between you.” She loomed over Abigail. “But you should be cautious in prancing about the estate in your new wardrobe. If you ever strut by me in one of those dresses, I will march over and rip it off you. I’ll leave you standing in your corset and drawers, and it won’t matter who’s watching.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t ever see me wearing them.”
“Let’s go,” Miss Robertson said to her maid. “I’ve delivered the little whore’s presents so there’s no reason to linger. Alex should be home tonight, and I must get everything in order at the manor to welcome him.” She snickered nastily. “After I’ve exhausted him, I’ll permit him to slither over to you, Miss Barrington. He won’t have much energy for philandering after I’m done with him, but then I’m not partial to sharing.”
Abigail was struck by the maid’s condemning glower. Obviously, Miss Robertson had told her what was in the packages, and Abigail sighed with exasperation. She was hardly acquainted with any of the servants yet, and if Miss Robertson had spread gossip that Abigail was a trollop, Abigail would be a pariah.
Just before Miss Robertson exited, she peered over at Abigail. “I’m off to London. Would you like to know who I’ll visit while I’m there?”
“Not really,” Abigail replied.
Miss Robertson continued as if Abigail hadn’t spoken. “I’ll call on my old chum, Mrs. Ford, at her employment agency. She insists she only provides females with the highest reputations for ethics and moral character so I’ve decided she needs to be apprised of how you’re behaving. I wonder what her opinion will be of your affair with Mr. Wallace.”
She sauntered out, and her maid cast a last, reproachful glare, then she left too.
Abigail sank down on the bottom stair and steadied her breathing, staring out the front door as they climbed into the carriage and drove away.
* * * *
Alex walked into his bedroom suite and tossed his coat on a chair. In light of how he’d almost lost Wallace Downs after the duel, and how long he’d wandered through foreign lands during his banishment, it was always a special joy to retu
rn.
The trip to town had been mostly uneventful. After he and Price had been kicked out of the ball, they’d confined their revelry to gambling clubs and seedy pubs where they could drink and make merry and—usually—no one cared who Alex was.
Price had finally had his private meeting with Princess Sasha, but Alex had sneaked away before it occurred. He figured Price would eventually show up to fill him in, and Alex was more convinced than ever that his friend was probably betrothed—or would soon be.
He dashed into his bedchamber, in a hurry to wash and change so he could head to the cottage to tell Abigail about his adventures. She’d relish his stories about the ball and Princess Sasha, and he was excited to regale her with all the details.
He was positive she’d grown up in a world of fancy parties, and he was curious if she might know some of the people he’d encountered. He’d have to slyly mention various names, then watch her to see if she recognized any of them.
While he was away, he’d pondered her constantly, and on the ride home he’d been giddy as a boy with a crush.
He couldn’t wait to be with her again. The twins too. He’d promised to join them on another picnic, and he’d missed it which would disappoint them. So he’d barge in and surprise them, and he’d be laden down with items he’d bought for them: candy, dolls, ribbons, lace for trimming some of their new dresses.
And of course, Abigail’s clothes must have arrived. He hoped she’d be wearing one of the blue gowns he’d picked out for her, and he was eager to discover how she looked in it.
He was so wrapped up in his ruminations that he didn’t notice Camilla was seated in a chair over by the window and studying him with cool disdain.
His initial reaction was aggravation. She was aware that he didn’t like her to come into his bedroom. He liked to have a spot that was his and his alone, where no one—including her—would bother him. But he’d been in London four days longer than he’d expected, and he was glad to be back. He wouldn’t start off by quarreling.
“When did you get in?” she asked.
“Just now.”
“How was your visit?”
“Tedious. We mostly gambled and caroused.”
“Is Price with you?”
“No, but I’m betting he’ll drag himself in tomorrow.”
Or he might not. He might tarry in the city to engage in a bit of courting, and Alex felt sorry for Princess Sasha. Price was a practiced seducer, and if he paid her the slightest attention she wouldn’t be able to resist marrying him.
“We received some packages when you were in town,” she said.
He scowled. “Packages?”
“Yes, an entire stack of boxes and bags.”
His scowled deepened. He couldn’t guess what it might have been or why she’d wish to discuss it the minute he strolled in the door.
“What was in them?”
“It appears it was a fashionable wardrobe for your governess. The delivery was supposed to have gone to the cottage, but the messenger brought them here instead.”
His cheeks reddened with chagrin. “Oh.”
“I thought they were for me, and I opened them without realizing they weren’t mine. You can imagine my shock when I saw your note.” She forced a fake smile. “But not to worry! I rectified the situation by taking them to her myself.”
She stood and stomped over to him, and she was dressed in her traveling suit as if she was about to leave him. Would she?
His mind was busy, rushing through his opinion as to numerous topics. First, he would have to find out which idiot had transported the parcels to the wrong house. He wasn’t particularly concerned that Camilla had learned about the gift, but he’d rather not bicker about it.
Second, he was furious that she would interfere with his decision to surprise Abigail. He was still basking in the pleasure the gesture had generated. Had Camilla wrecked it?
She leaned in and crudely hissed, “Are you fucking her? And don’t lie to me. I’ll know if you are!”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re planning on it.”
Was he? He probably was, but he doubted Abigail would be amenable. Even if he coaxed her into it, she’d likely regret it in the end. She’d depart in a huff, and he couldn’t bear to have her go.
“I have no idea what I’m planning,” he said.
“Liar. Have the decency to admit it to my face.”
“All right. I’m thinking about it.”
“You bastard!”
He deserved to be slapped, but she wouldn’t dare. She spun away to the window to stare across the park, and he went to the table in the corner where the butler kept a convenient array of liquor. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, then sat in the chair she’d vacated.
Her back was stiff as a board, her anger wafting out, and he watched her dispassionately. They’d been together for years, and she’d glommed onto him when he’d been forlorn and raging over the unfairness of life.
He didn’t ever feel guilty about his agreeing to support her. She’d jumped into their liaison of her own free will, and he’d been very clear that he’d never commit himself, would never wed her or pension her off with a stipend. He’d also always urged her to split with him if she received a better offer, but so far she’d been content to remain.
Were they separating? Had she finally had it with him?
He was amazed by how little he cared either way, and he wouldn’t explain his behavior with Abigail. He couldn’t explain it. His entire range of sentiment toward her was beyond his ability to clarify.
Ultimately, she whirled around. “How am I supposed to deal with this? What is it you expect me to do?”
“I don’t expect you to do anything. My relationship with her is none of your business.”
“Not my business!” She was practically sputtering with affront. “You’ll openly consort with her, but I’m not to comment? Am I to turn a blind eye—as if I’m some pathetic housewife?”
“It doesn’t matter to me how you handle it. In fact, you should head to London for a few weeks. Why don’t you? You enjoy the city in the summer.”
At his suggestion, a dangerous silence festered. She seemed terrified to break it, and he wasn’t about to.
Eventually, she said, “Are you ordering me to go?”
“No.”
“Should I step aside so she can have you without a fight? Should I slither off so she can move in and take my place? It sounds as if you’d like me to depart and not come back. Is that what you’re telling me?”
“I’m not telling you that, Camilla. You’re obviously upset, and I don’t blame you. I’m simply recommending you have a holiday in town.”
She scrutinized him, then sneered. “You’re cold as ice, aren’t you? It makes no difference to you what I choose. You have no heart.”
“Not much of a one, no. But then, you know that about me.”
“If I left for good, would you even notice?”
He bristled with exasperation. “Let’s not travel down this road. You won’t like where it ends.”
“Fine then, let’s travel in another direction. Answer me this—if you can.”
“If I can,” he said.
“How many of the servants have you tumbled? Have there been dozens? How about females in the neighborhood? How about my friends? How many have there been over the years? Call me naïve, but I could swear you’ve been faithful.”
He shrugged. “I’ve been faithful enough.”
“When I took the boxes over to her, I told her if I ever saw her in one of the dresses, I would rip it off her.” She paused for dramatic effect. “And several of the servants saw the clothes and the note you penned. Gossip has spread that she’s a trollop. They’re saying you’re just like your father after all. What do you think of that?”
“I think it’s too bad that you’re so angry.”
“You bring a pretty, young girl into my home. Y
ou plan to start fornicating with her—right under my nose—but I’m to have no opinion?”
“You can have an opinion, but it’s my home. Not yours. Please remember that.”
“I shouldn’t be livid? I shouldn’t be jealous?”
“Are you jealous?” He scoffed. “I find that hilarious, particularly when there’s no need to be.”
“Why is that? Am I to assume you intend a short dalliance? Will it conclude abruptly after you’ve lifted her skirt a few times?”
“I can’t begin to guess how it will play out.”
He shrugged again and sipped his drink.
Was he being callous and cruel? Was he a beast? A dog? A cur? Was he treating her horridly?
She was demanding promises he couldn’t give. They were connected in many ways, but in many other ways they weren’t. If he’d wanted her in a position where she could judge and complain, he’d have married her.
She was a mistress who provided sexual services in exchange for all the wealth and splendor he deigned to shower on her. In his view, she’d been highly compensated, but apparently she’d forgotten the terms of their bargain.
Was he ready to part with her? He wasn’t sure, and he thought it would be best if she vanished for a bit. He could flirt with Abigail until he was weary of her. No female ever tickled his fancy for long, and Camilla had been spot on in recognizing how quickly he’d grow bored.
He wasn’t certain, but when she returned from London, Abigail Barrington would likely be a distant memory.
“As you wish,” she muttered. “I’ll go to town. My bags are packed so I’ll go immediately. You have a house full of guests you can’t abide so you’ll have to act like a host for once.”
“The staff is competent. We’ll manage.”
She huffed over to the door, and when he didn’t try to stop her, she whipped around and glared. “Aren’t you concerned enough to ask if I’ll ever be back?”
“I suppose you will be.”
“Prick!”
“When should I expect you?”
“Three weeks from today. Trifle with that tart until you’re sick of her. Perpetrate whatever foul, disgusting deed you need to commit to get her out of your system, then fire her and kick her out of here. Don’t force me to lay eyes on her ever again.”
