The Incomparable Miss Compton

by Regina Scott

  “And my own heart,” she assured him. “But there is something else you must know. I had help invading your privacy. Mr. Appleby accepted money from me to let me in and ensure others knew about it afterward.”

  Malcolm felt himself chill. So, Appleby had become greedy. Or had he? Could Malcolm believe the girl even in this? “Did he indeed?” he murmured with little conviction.

  She nodded. “So you can see why I was so angry when he then asked you for more money to remain silent.”

  That wasn’t the only thing Malcolm saw. Despite himself, he heard a ring of truth in the girl’s story. Appleby’s uneasiness that evening suddenly made sense. He had been afraid of just such a scene as this. He knew how Malcolm felt about treachery. Malcolm had warned him against it from the beginning. Friendly gossip was one thing. Selling his privacy was quite another.

  “What will you do, my lord?” she asked, lifting her head at last to eye him solemnly.

  “About you, Miss Persephone?” he returned. “Nothing. It would appear to me that your natural tendency toward goodness triumphed over your momentary lapse in good sense. Pray you do not let it happen again.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord. I’ve learned my lesson. What about Mr. Appleby, though? How do we know he will be discrete?”

  “Leave Mr. Appleby to me,” Malcolm replied. “He has a comeuppance due. Now, dare I hope you will favor us with another song?”

  She shook her head again, blushing. “I think I will retire, my lord. May I beg your escort to my room?”

  She may have confessed, but he still did not trust her by half. He refused to allow himself to be entrapped again. “If rumors fly despite our efforts, it will do us no good to be seen alone together. I’m sure you understand.”

  She nodded, bidding him goodnight, then went to take her leave of Sarah and their hosts. Her desultory manner apparently affected everyone’s mood, for it was relatively easy for Malcolm to make his excuses shortly thereafter.

  His own mood was far from good when he saw that Appleby was waiting for him in his room. The valet moved forward to help him undress, and Malcolm held up a hand to stop him.

  “Is something wrong, my lord?” Appleby asked humbly.

  “Yes, Appleby,“ Malcolm replied, “it is. You’ve been very helpful in relaying gossip.”

  Appleby cocked his head. “But, sir, that is what you asked me to do.”

  “It was,” Malcolm agreed, moving into the room. “And for that I bear part of the blame. However, I never expected you to be so blasted good at it.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” Appleby replied.

  “That wasn’t a compliment,” Malcolm assured him. “However, let me return the favor. Rumor has it, Appleby, that you betrayed me. You put your monetary desires above my privacy.”

  Appleby’s tongue flicked out to lick his lips, and Malcolm wondered why he had never noticed how much like a snake the fellow was.

  “I have not heard such rumors, my lord,” his valet replied.

  “Haven’t you?” Malcolm stepped closer, arms loose. Appleby apparently recognized the boxer’s stance, for he scuttled back so quickly he fetched up against the dresser with a yelp.

  “Let me tell you some other rumors you will not hear,” Malcolm persisted, closing the gap. “You will not hear that Persephone Compton found her way into my bedchamber. You will not hear that I refused to marry her. Above all, you will not hear anything that would cause Miss Sarah Compton any embarrassment or pain. Do you understand me?”

  “Certainly, my lord,” Appleby squeaked. “And may I say that your pay is certainly sufficient to keep me from hearing or repeating any such rumors.”

  “No, I’m afraid it isn’t,” Malcolm replied. “You see, you may spend the night with the other servants here at Prestwick Park, but I want you out of the house before noon tomorrow. You will not get another cent from me, and you will not get a letter of referral. I’m afraid money can no longer be an incentive for your silence. Since loyalty never was, you will have to make do with fear.”

  Appleby blinked, then flinched as Malcolm leaned closer. “F. . .f . . f. . .fear, my lord?”

  “Fear, Mr. Appleby. You know the power I hold in this country. That alone should be sufficient. And if it isn’t, remember that if I ever connect you with rumors about me or anyone associated with me, I will cheerfully beat you to a bloody pulp. And that, sir, is no rumor. Now, get out of my sight before I change my mind about indulging my savage streak.”

  White-faced, Appleby flew from the room.

  Malcolm shook his head. Sarah accused him of not being able to show his emotions. Apparently it was only the tender mercies he lacked. He managed intimidation just fine.

  It was a blasted sad thing to say about a fellow.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sarah didn’t get much time to herself until she retired for the night. Oh, she had indulged in a brief bout of tears right before dinner, but it had not been nearly enough to ease her tensions. She thought she had acquitted herself well at dinner, however, speaking to him as if they were the friends she had hoped they’d be. She had been calm and composed, the very picture of a lady. She was quite glad to escape to her room and throw the pillows against the wood-paneled walls.

  That didn’t help, of course. The problem was a great deal deeper than could be fixed by a momentary fit of pique. She loved Malcolm Breckonridge, and he did not love her. Allowing herself to fall in love with him was a terrible mistake, but as she had not seen it coming, she supposed she could not have prevented it. There only remained to be seen what she could do about it now.

  The choices seemed clear. Despite her calm words at dinner, she could refuse to have anything more to do with him and suffer the pain of losing his friendship. She could remain friends but continue to refuse to marry him and watch a part of her die when he turned to another woman to be his wife and the mother of his children, as he would have to do. Or she could forget the fear that held her heart closed and marry him. She thought she would make him a good wife, and she would have his companionship. It was possible he might someday grow to love her. It was also possible that he would realize his marriage was less than ideal and grow to hate her. He might even fall in love with another, but be unable to wed. In a way, wasn’t marrying him without his love as much entrapment as Persephone hiding in his room?

  She could not answer the question, or the others that buzzed around in her head. Consequently, she did not fall asleep until late and slept badly. She awoke with just enough time to don her riding habit for her ride with Persephone, if she missed breakfast entirely. She considered telling the girl she was unwell. Certainly she felt no better then when she had gone to bed. But a glance out the window showed the beginnings of a lovely summer’s day. Surely fresh air and sunshine would improve her mood. She went to retrieve her cousin, and the two of them proceeded to the stables.

  After over a week at Prestwick Park, she and her cousin were a well-known sight to the Prestwick grooms. Old Dobbs, the head groom, always managed a grin for her, assuring her again that the mare she had been riding was the sweetest tempered mount in all the magnificent stables. Sarah didn’t have the heart to tell him she had been riding since she was a child and could easily have handled the more massive Thoroughbreds she could see in the various stalls. She would even have liked to try her hand at the brute of a stallion Lord Prestwick liked to ride, especially today. With her mood, she would have loved nothing better than to pelt down the drive instead of riding sedately along the wide riding path that wound its way through the oak wood surrounding the park. But Dobbs led out the dappled gray mare he had given her all week, and she could only smile politely into his wizened, grizzled face. At least she would be able to keep up with Persephone, whose roan gelding was only slightly more spirited.

  They set off on the path through the wood, the trees arching overhead to form a tunnel of green and brown. A squirrel scampered away in front of them. A gentle breeze danced among the oaks, sett
ing the leaves to chattering. But while the day was indeed splendid, Sarah soon found that the company was less than inspiring.

  Persephone had apparently spent the night examining her conscience and wanted nothing more than to confess each and every one of her sins. She proceeded to tell Sarah every tiny unknown bothersome thing she had ever done. These included the time she had taken the last of the iced cakes when she’d known Aunt Minnie had wanted it and the time she had hidden the shears from her mother so she would not have to have her hair trimmed. These escapades came as no surprise to Sarah. Indeed, Sarah could have added any number of slights and unkindnesses her cousin had inflicted on the family in the last few years. What did surprise Sarah was how unwilling she was to relive them. Each story only served to push her farther into her bad mood, as if reinforcing all the things she disliked about her current life. She wanted to scream. She could only imagine how their groom Roberts, trailing a respectful distance behind, liked the reminiscing ride.

  “Persy,” she ventured after nearly a half hour of the stories. “I understand your aim. You obviously want to return to the days when you were a sweeter person. I think that’s a marvelous decision. Couldn’t we just forget the rest of the self recrimination and simply resolve to do better next time?”

  “I don’t see how,” her cousin stated blithely. “I need to see the full depth of my depravity before I can change it.”

  “Very well,” Sarah snapped. “Accept that you are utterly lost. A full cataloging would be excessive.”

  Persephone was silent for a moment as if considering her words, and Sarah sighed in relief. They rode through the wood, the dappled sunlight filtering through the green of the leaves, birds calling in the distance. Sarah began to relax.

  “I think I should atone,” Persephone announced. “I should do some heroic act to make up for my misdeeds.”

  Sarah managed a polite smile. “Simply living a good life might be heroic enough,” she suggested.

  “No,” her cousin replied, and Sarah could hear the pout in her voice. “No, I must do more. I must right the wrongs I’ve done.”

  Sarah sighed. “Very well. You may give Aunt Minnie the entire plate of iced cakes the next time she visits.”

  “That,” Persephone told her with a sniff, “is the very least of the things for which I should atone. No, I know what I must do. Sarah, I will not rest until you are married to Lord Breckonridge.”

  Sarah clutched the reins so hard her very docile horse balked. Their groom pulled up short to keep from running into her. Persephone passed her and had to turn her mount in a circle to join her again.

  “Persephone,” Sarah scolded when her cousin drew abreast once more, “that is nonsense. There is no need for you to meddle in my affairs.”

  Persephone made a face. “I am not meddling, and you are being too noble. I know your difficulties are my fault. I swear, Sarah, I did not know you loved him. Indeed, I never suspected someone like you could fall in love.”

  Sarah choked. “What do you mean, someone like me?”

  “Someone older, more sedentary,” Persephone said, obviously unaware of the havoc she wrecked with Sarah’s feelings. “Mother said you never had a single admirer during your Season. As you are quite pretty and capable of being charming when you assert yourself, I assumed you simply didn’t care for gentlemen.”

  “I had admirers,” Sarah told her, hearing the pout now in her own voice but powerless to stop it. “Not as many as yours, but there were some. I was simply scared to death of them. It took me awhile to become this older sedentary person, you know. I might have done all right in London if Aunt hadn’t insisted on rushing home.”

  “To me,” Persephone concluded. “Because I was sick. You see? I knew it was my fault.”

  “For God’s sake, Persy,” Sarah exclaimed, “it was no one’s fault. Life simply turned out differently than any of us had planned. Do you think I expected to be an orphan? Do you think I expected to be your chaperone during your Season? Things happen. Leave it alone.”

  “I cannot,” Persephone replied plaintively. “I must make it up to you. You were always there when I needed you, Sarah. I see that now. And I’ve been hideously ungrateful. But I will help you, I swear. I’ll go to Lord Breckonridge and explain that you love him and . . .”

  “You will do no such thing!” Sarah reined in her horse, forcing Persephone and Roberts to stop as well. “Do you hear me, Persephone Compton? You will say nothing to Lord Breckonridge concerning my regard for him or lack thereof. When I decide what to do about the matter, I will face him. Until then, you are to stay away from him, do you hear me?”

  Persephone frowned. “But Sarah . . .”

  “But me no buts, young lady. You are not so old that I cannot put you over my knee and paddle you!”

  Persephone tossed her head. “You wouldn’t dare!”

  “Do not tempt me.”

  Her cousin glared at her. “Well, I like that. Here I am willing to sacrifice myself on your behalf, and you dare to threaten me. I do not have to listen to this. I’m going back and write to Mother this instant. See if I do you any more favors, Miss Sarah Compton.” She wheeled the horse and spurred it into a gallop.

  Sarah closed her eyes. A more childish display she could not have found, and she had been the one to be the child. Sighing, she opened her eyes to find Roberts regarding her warily.

  “Should I go after her, Miss Sarah?” he asked.

  Sarah waved him on. “Yes, Roberts. She’s liable to pitch herself from the saddle. I’ll follow behind, more slowly. Perhaps that will give us both time to reflect.”

  Roberts touched his forelock in salute and turned to canter after Persephone. With another sigh, Sarah turned her mount as well and headed back toward the stable.

  What had she come to, she wondered as the mare plodded along. She had lamented Persephone’s self-centeredness. If the girl was sincere in wanting to change, Sarah should encourage her. She was evidently not as mature as her cousin named her. All it took was a mention of her own Season, when she was a frightened little girl who couldn’t utter a sentence to a handsome gentleman at a London ball, and she lost all reason. Even now it hurt to admit she had not been wanted.

  She had hoped it might be different with Malcolm. She had not realized how much she wanted to love and be loved until she had met him. He had indeed been a wonderful suitor. From the first he had been honest with her. It would have been easy for him to pretend he loved her merely to get her to agree with him. Certainly she would never have known the difference.

  Or would she have known? What, after all, was the difference between the way a man in love treated his lover and the way Malcolm treated her? He was attentive, he was considerate, he was certainly passionate. He made her feel as if she were the most important person in his world, a fairly tall order when one considered the world in which he lived. She could not imagine a husband in love treating her better. Had she let her childhood ideals and her wounded heart color her view? How could one be loved, after all, without loving first?

  The woods around her had grown as silent as her arguments. She had been a fool. In his own way, Malcolm had proven he cared for her. She had demanded something that was not in his nature to give, and so had hurt him badly. At the very least, she should apologize. Then, if he still wanted to marry her, she was ready to agree to be his bride. She urged the gray into a canter around the next bend.

  Only to pull the horse to a stop when she found Lord Wells on foot in front of her.

  “Miss Compton,” he said, sweeping her a bow. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Her blood turned cold. “What is it, Lord Wells? Has something happened to Lord Breckonridge?”

  He smiled sadly. “Not yet, I fear. But, with your help, it soon will.”

  And that was the last thing he said to her before pulling a pistol from his coat.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Malcolm was disappointed to find that Sarah was not at the breakfast table
. He had gotten used to seeing her every morning before her ride. He too had had a difficult night, going over and over her argument, trying to find the flaw. Any argument built on emotions had to have a flaw, didn’t it? He had reached no conclusions but had awoken determined not to let her go. He would keep fighting until she gave in. To find no one with whom to debate had quite taken the wind from his sails.

  He had never felt so ill at ease in his life as that morning as he wandered about the great house waiting for her to return. He had debated going after her, but she would be with Persephone, and he was in no mood to share her attentions. He ended up in the library, thumbing through the books thronging the shelves, picking up one after another, seeing none of them, listening only for the front door. When it slammed a half hour later, he fairly ran into the rotunda to intercept her, only to come face to face with Persephone.

  That the girl was furious, her brow knit, her mouth pouting, barely registered, so great was his disappointment not to find Sarah with her. She didn’t bother to curtsey but put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

  “My Lord Breckonridge,” she declared in ringing tones, “my cousin Sarah is in love with you, and I hope you tell her I told you so.”

  Malcolm grabbed her about the waist and spun her about. The sound of a shout echoed to the rotunda roof two stories above them, and he was amazed to realize it had come from his mouth. He set Persephone down, and she staggered back, blinking in obvious amazement.

  “Bless you, girl,” he told her, feeling as if his heart were soaring. “You don’t know what you’ve done for me. I’ll be happy to tell anyone anything you like.”

  She straightened, paling. “Oh, dear. I knew I shouldn’t have done that. Sarah’s right. I’m utterly lost. Please forgive me, my lord, for Sarah won’t.”

  As quickly as his hopes had soared they plummeted. “Don’t tell me this is your sad idea of a prank.”

  “Not a prank,” she vowed. “But not my right to tell you. I’m having a very difficult time turning over a new leaf, my lord. Perhaps you should talk to my cousin.”