His Improper Lady--A Historical Romance

by Candace Camp

  In the end, they agreed that they would tell Aunt Wilhemina who Desiree was and that Lilah would take the lead, as she appeared to be the woman’s favorite—or, as Lilah put it, the least disliked.

  The carriage was too small for all five of them, so Desiree dismissed it, and they walked the short distance from the Morelands’ home to Aunt Wilhemina’s house. A footman answered the door and showed them into a large sitting room that looked much smaller than it was because it was stuffed with furniture and knickknacks. Antimacassars adorned all the chairs and couches, and lace runners and tablecloths covered the tops of every table. Vases of flowers and one full of peacock feathers were scattered around the room, and the shelves were filled with everything from ceramic statues to glass paperweights to a collection of thimbles. Needlepoint samplers and paintings occupied each empty area of wall. It seemed as though there was not a surface in the room that was left undecorated.

  At the center of the room sat a rotund gray-haired woman in a lavender dress and a lace cap that bore a great deal of similarity to the doilies draped about the room. Her blue eyes were bright with interest. “Well, there you are,” she greeted them. “Right on time. I like people who are punctual. Please excuse me for not getting up. My lumbago has laid me low today. Susan, don’t just sit there. Go greet our guests.”

  This latter was directed to the rather colorless woman sitting in a chair near her. She was as thin as Aunt Wilhemina was round, and her face was set in a resigned expression. “Yes, Mother,” she said and made her way through the various tables, chairs and ottomans to Desiree and her companions.

  As the women sat down, Aunt Wilhemina launched a lengthy description of her various aches and pains, illnesses and resentments. Finally, she ground to a halt and peered at Desiree. “You must be that by-blow of Alistair’s everyone’s talking about.”

  Desiree’s jaw dropped. This was what the Morelands considered stodgy?

  “Mother...” Wilhemina’s daughter sighed.

  “Well, no point in ignoring it, is there?” Wilhemina retorted. “My maid told me. If the servants know, then everyone else soon will, too.” She directed an accusatory look at the Moreland women. “I would have thought one of you would have visited me as soon as Miss Malone turned up.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” Lilah replied. “We are terribly sorry. But you see, I wanted to accompany them, and I have been feeling a trifle under the weather lately.” She laid a hand on her abdomen meaningfully.

  “Yes. Of course. I remember how I was with Susan. Not a day went by when I didn’t have to take to my bed.” Wilhemina shook her head reminiscently, apparently mollified by Lilah’s excuse. She followed this remark with a thorough interrogation of Lilah’s symptoms, adding frequent comparisons to her own, apparently horrific, pregnancy, ending with, “You’re a jewel, Lilah, and I don’t know how that boy with the lizard ever managed to catch you.”

  “Con.” Lilah supplied his name, a bit of steel slipping into her voice. “His name is Con.”

  “Yes, well, I never could tell the two of them apart.”

  “Lizard?” Desiree asked, puzzled. “I thought it was a parrot.”

  “Humph,” Aunt Wilhemina retorted. “Don’t remind me about that squawking monster. I’ll never forget the uproar that bird caused back when one of the girls got married—not the redhead, must have been Olivia. As I remember, that was the wedding where that foreign man was stabbed and then some ruffians disrupted everything by taking Emmeline hostage. It was a most disquieting visit.”

  Desiree pressed her lips together tightly and forced herself not to look at Tom, for she was certain she would break out laughing if she did. It was no wonder the Morelands were inured to scandal. Desiree was beginning to think that the Malones were too staid for the Morelands.

  “Now.” Wilhemina directed her gaze at Tom and said, “I can’t imagine what you’re doing here. Emmeline has always been far too lax with her servants.”

  Desiree opened her mouth to give a heated reply to Aunt Wilhemina’s comment, but Tom caught her eye and shook his head, and Desiree, after an internal struggle, clamped her lips shut.

  “Tom isn’t a servant, Aunt Wilhemina. He’s Con’s business partner,” Megan said.

  Wilhemina turned to Desiree. “I imagine you’re here today to find out about Alistair.”

  Desiree answered as politely as her irritation could allow. “Yes, ma’am, if you don’t mind.”

  “I never mind talking about Alistair. Dear boy.” Wilhemina dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “We were close, you see. Almost like brother and sister. Our families lived near each other, and we often visited. Alistair and I were much the same age.” She sighed ruefully. “But I don’t know anything about your birth, I’m afraid. Of course, he wouldn’t have talked to me about setting up a mistress.”

  Desiree sagged in disappointment. She had told herself she would likely learn nothing from her father’s cousin, but she’d hoped for at least a scrap of information.

  “I knew he was unhappy with Tabitha,” the older woman went on. “Anyone could have seen that marriage was a mistake. Tabitha was horse-mad, like all the Darringtons—rode to the hounds and all that. She was always outdoors doing something—archery, lawn tennis, croquet. The woman was tiring to be around. And so dull. No sense of humor at all. Whereas Alistair was such a homebody and so witty and intelligent. The two of them couldn’t have been less alike.”

  Wilhemina brought her handkerchief to her eyes again. “But Tabitha was obviously head over heels about him. She chased him from her first Season. It was quite tiresome, really. One could scarcely have a good chat with Alistair at a party without her showing up, making sheep eyes at him. I thought he shouldn’t have proposed. I would have told him so if I’d known he was about to ask her. But Alistair was young and no doubt flattered by her adoration of him... I think perhaps he mistook that for love. And, of course, Grandmother and Aunt Agatha pushed him to offer for her.”

  “Why did they want so much for him to marry her?” Desiree asked.

  “They liked the match. It had always chafed Grandmother that Henry had married a nobody—although, really, a Moreland can scarcely marry up, now, can they? So Alistair proposed to Tabitha. I think he realized almost from the start that it had been the wrong thing to do. Then he fell in love with someone else. I remember him saying to me that he hadn’t known what love was before he met her.”

  “Did he tell you her name?” Desiree asked.

  “No. I gathered that she was unsuitable. I knew the things he said about eloping with her to Scotland were all pipe dreams. After all, a gentleman couldn’t break off an engagement. It would have been a terrible scandal, and not only would that affect the Moreland name, it’s always worse for the jilted bride. Aside from the scandal, it would have devastated Tabitha, and Alistair was always so tenderhearted. Grandmother and Aunt Agatha positively hectored him to ‘act honorably,’ and heaven knows it was hard to stand up to either one of them, let alone both.” She paused, then added in a confidential tone, “I think there was more—it was whispered that Alistair and Tabitha had been caught in a compromising situation...alone in a closed room...in one another’s arms.”

  “That hardly sounds like a man in love with someone else,” Desiree said with disappointment. She was illegitimate, but at least she had believed she was born out of love.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t blame Alistair for that.” Wilhemina shook her head. “I imagine it was more a case of Tabitha throwing herself at him and begging him not to leave her. I always found it a bit suspicious that someone happened to walk in at that exact moment. If word of that got out and he didn’t marry her, Tabitha would have been ruined. In any event, Alistair went ahead and married her. Poor boy. I knew he was unhappy, but of course an affair was not the sort of thing he would have talked about with me.”

  “Did he tell you he was leaving the country?�
�� Megan asked.

  “No! And it wasn’t at all the sort of thing Alistair would have done. He wouldn’t have just abandoned his family without a word. If it hadn’t been for the note he left Tabitha, I wouldn’t have believed it. I was sure he would write me and explain everything. But I never heard from him.” She dabbed at her eyes again, her voice thick with tears. Looking up, she said bitterly, “I’m sure that friend of his encouraged him. That Paxton boy. It was just the sort of harebrained thing he would do.”

  “Paxton!” Desiree barely kept herself from shooting up from her chair. She glanced at Tom, who was looking back at her with the same excitement. “You said my father had a friend named Paxton?”

  “Why, yes.” Wilhemina looked startled at Desiree’s enthusiasm. “Lloyd Paxton. Though Alistair always called him something silly. Pax, I believe it was.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “HE WAS ALWAYS a wild thing, a terrible influence on Alistair,” Wilhemina went on. “Gambling and drinking and engaging in silly stunts. Anytime Alistair went astray, you could count on it being at the encouragement of Lloyd Paxton. But Alistair simply would not give him up. That was one thing Tabitha and I agreed upon—Alistair would have been better off without him. But if one said so, Alistair got very stubborn about it.”

  “Do you know where Mr. Paxton lives, ma’am?” Tom asked. “Is he still in London?”

  “Goodness! I have no idea. I never kept up with the man.” Wilhemina looked offended at the idea. “I suppose he’s still alive. At least, no one has told me he died. I haven’t heard much about him the last few years. He must not have stirred up any scandals. Perhaps he reformed.”

  Desiree had a difficult time sitting still and politely chatting for the next few minutes, but eventually they had satisfied the demands of courtesy and were able to take their leave. Outside, they parted from the Moreland women, who walked back to the Moreland house while Tom flagged down a hack for him and Desiree.

  Desiree could barely hold back her excitement until they were seated inside the vehicle. “This is what we needed. I know it. Mr. Paxton is the person most likely to know everything about my parents—not just whether Alistair was my father, but what they were like and what they said and did. He might have been privy to their plans!” Excitement swelled in her. “Perhaps he’s even corresponded with them. I know Aunt Wilhemina believed Alistair would write her, but I think it’s more likely he would have written his lifelong friend. Don’t you?”

  “Maybe. Desiree, you know, he may not—”

  “Don’t tell me not to get my hopes up,” Desiree said. “I know quite well that life doesn’t always turn out the way you wish, but I don’t intend to give up. Surely we can find this man Paxton.”

  “We will. I’ll start on it as soon as I get back to the office,” Tom said. “I’ll find him.” He leaned in and kissed her softly—and far too briefly. “I promise.”

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  He shook his head. She thought—she hoped—she saw regret in his eyes. “I need to talk to some of my contacts. An extra person, let alone a female, would not be welcome.” He paused. “Are you planning to visit the club tonight?”

  “Yes.” She looked at him in surprise. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because someone attacked you yesterday?”

  “I am not going to let some ruffian—some incompetent ruffian, at that—keep me from living my life,” Desiree retorted, eyes flashing.

  Tom chuckled. “Somehow I thought that was what you would say. Then I will see you tonight.” He paused, then added, “Unless you don’t want me.”

  A slow smile spread across Desiree’s face. “Yes, I want you.”

  He had no idea how much.

  * * *

  “MISS MALONE, LADY MORELAND is here to see you.”

  Desiree looked up from the book she was reading—or, rather, trying to read, for she found her thoughts drifting off to Tom Quick and the investigation far too much. Templeton stood in the door of the library, looking awed.

  “Moreland?” Desiree stood up. What was a Moreland doing here?

  “I seated her in the parlor.”

  “Thank you, Templeton.” Desiree hurried to the parlor, but when she entered, Desiree found a woman she’d never seen before sitting in one of the chairs, her back straight as a board. The woman turned to look at her, her chin lifted in a haughty manner.

  “Lady Moreland?”

  “Yes.” The woman rose to her feet. Her eyes were gray, as was the hair atop her head. Both were almost the same shade as her fashionable dress, giving her a uniformly colorless look. Diamonds sparkled at her earlobes, and on her fingers, matching the iciness of her gaze. “I am Lady Alistair Moreland.”

  Tabitha. A little shiver ran through Desiree, but there was no need to use her skills to see that this woman thoroughly disliked her. Tabitha’s antipathy was written all over her face and even in her posture. Desiree went toward her, holding out her hand in greeting, determined to be polite. After all, it was understandable that a woman would resent the children who were the result of her husband’s affair. “Good afternoon. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Desiree Malone.”

  The other woman’s nostrils flared slightly, and she ignored Desiree’s outstretched hand. “I am well aware of your name.”

  “Please. Sit down.” This close to Tabitha, Desiree caught a whiff of alcohol. Had the woman been drinking? In the middle of the afternoon? That would certainly explain the touch of disorder that Desiree felt from her.

  “I did not come to sit and chat, Miss Malone.” Tabitha remained standing. “I have heard about your monstrous claims. You must cease them at once. I don’t know what you want—I presume it is money—but I will not allow you to slander my husband’s name.” She jabbed her forefinger at Desiree. “You will not create a scandal. I can assure you that you will not get any money, either.”

  “You walk into my home and accuse me of trying to take money from you?” Desiree’s voice rose. It was one thing to be polite to the woman, but she wasn’t about to meekly take an insult from her. “I have no need of your money, as you can see.” Desiree swept her hand around her, indicating the elegantly furnished room.

  “This?” Tabitha looked around the room as if the Malones’ fashionable and commodious house was a hovel. Her lip curled up in something that, if not a sneer, was certainly a close cousin to it.

  “Yes! This!” Desiree had helped Brock choose this house and every piece of furniture in it. “I think it’s time you leave this place that is so beneath you.”

  “Your slut of a mother—”

  “What!” Desiree almost shrieked, fury shooting up in her.

  The other woman ignored her, plowing ahead, “Your slut of a mother may have ensnared Alistair—all men are subject to lust—but I am his wife. He belonged to me.”

  “I can certainly understand why the man fled across the ocean to get away from you!”

  “How dare you!” Tabitha slapped Desiree.

  Desiree gaped at her, so astonished she hardly felt the sting in her cheek.

  “You will get nothing from us. I will not let you stain my husband’s name. You will not hurt my son!”

  “I am not trying to hurt your son,” Desiree shot back. “And you have no right to come here and insult my mother. To insult me. I’ll—”

  “Mother!” A man rushed into the room, followed by a protesting Templeton.

  Desiree turned to the new arrival. He was tall, slender and dark, and although he did not resemble Tabitha, his stiff posture and cold expression were enough to tell Desiree that he was Tabitha’s son. Gregory Moreland. Her half brother. Desiree felt not the slightest connection to him.

  His gaze went from his mother to Desiree, and his eyes widened as he saw the red mark his mother’s slap had left on Desiree’s cheek. “I beg your pardon,” he said in a tone tha
t belied his words. “It’s rude for me to barge in like this.”

  “Gregory!” Tabitha turned to him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came looking for you. You shouldn’t be here, Mother. It will only upset you.”

  “This girl has been most impertinent.” Tabitha waved her hand in Desiree’s general direction. “She must apologize to me.”

  “What? I should apologize? You’re the one who slapped me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not necessary, Mother.” Gregory sent Desiree a look of apology and embarrassment, mingled with dislike. “We should leave now.”

  “What is all this racket?” Wells stood in the doorway, frowning, his arms crossed.

  There was a long moment of silence as Wells and Gregory stared at each other.

  “I beg your pardon for disturbing you,” Gregory told him coolly. “We are just about to leave.”

  Gregory wrapped a firm hand around his mother’s arm and steered her out of the room. Wells watched them coolly as they passed him, then turned a questioning gaze on Desiree. She ignored him and followed the Morelands to the front door. Looking out through the sidelight at the front door, she watched Gregory hand his mother up into the coach. It was a shiny, elegant black town carriage that perfectly suited the man. Not an odd American-made coach.

  Wells turned back to Desiree. “What, may I ask, was that?”

  “That was our father’s wife...and your half brother.”

  Wells cocked an eyebrow. “What delightful relatives.”

  * * *

  “ARE YOU SERIOUS?” Tom asked when Desiree told him that evening about her visit from Alistair’s wife. “She slapped you?” Tom’s eyes went to Desiree’s cheek, fury rising in him.

  “Yes, but she doesn’t deliver much of a punch.” Desiree shrugged. “I believe she’d been drinking.”

  “What did she say? Why did she come? Just to slap you?”

  “No. She did that when I said an unkind thing to her, which I shouldn’t have. I was just so angry because she’d insulted my mother. She told me a number of things, primarily that she was not going to let me cause a scandal or get money. That she wouldn’t allow me to hurt her son. But she didn’t offer any explanation of how she intended to stop me. It was more along the lines of an aristocratic command, as if I would do what she said simply because of who she was. You know, that sort of air.”