The Deception

by Catherine Coulter

  She said, “If you will allow me to remain as Edmund’s nanny, it perhaps will relieve you to know that, unlike you, I much prefer the country and the sea. I have always detested large cities. I find them dirty and noisy. If you allow me to remain, your grace, you can be certain that I will be quite content right here at Chesleigh. It is written of in all the guidebooks as one of the most noble and stately residences in all of England. Not Blenheim, to be sure, but nonetheless.”

  “Blenheim is a tasteless heap of stone, of no particular style and no antiquity. Its gardens are paltry, its forests scraggly. It has no pride of ancestry in its walls, no sense of permanence. Warwick Castle, now, is quite another matter. One can feel centuries of human misery and triumph within its walls. Unfortunately, my ancestors had not the famous Warwicks’ wherewithal.” The duke arched a black eyebrow. “I’m not a useless fribble, Madame. Don’t give me that surprised look. Sometimes my attention turns to politics.” Her heart nearly stopped. What the devil did he mean by politics? Oh, God, she had to know. Houchard had said that the duke didn’t deign to care about politics. “What do you mean, your grace? Do you sit in the House of Lords? Do you propose new laws?”

  “No, not exactly. Not at all, really. It’s not important. Actually, what I should have said is that I try to do precisely what pleases me at any given moment. Much of what pleases me is not fit conversation for a lady’s ears.”

  He’d left something out. She wondered what it was. She said, “That didn’t stop you this afternoon, or just thirty minutes ago either.”

  What else was one to do? He laughed. “Touche, Madame. Perhaps you would like to go to the drawing room? I imagine that Bassick would serve us some tea shortly.” “But we just finished dining.” “Bassick believes that tea is the foundation of happiness, health, and well-being. If we adjourn to the drawing room, the tea tray will be brought within an hour.”

  The duke settled her in a lovely pale blue silk-covered chair near the fireplace. He himself remained standing, his back against the mantel, his arms crossed over his chest.

  “Have you thought about me remaining here, your grace?” “You arrived only four hours ago, Madame.” She looked down at her hands and said truthfully, “I’m afraid, your grace.” “I shan’t boot you off the premises.” “No, but perhaps you would simply allow me to remain, doing nothing, having no importance at all. I wouldn’t like that. In fact, I couldn’t have it.” “Why the devil do you sound so nervous?”

  “Because you haven’t yet told me if I may remain as Edmund’s nanny.”

  “You are a young woman, Madame. I would think that you would prefer to join Society. I am your kinsman. It is my duty to see that you are established, that you don’t want for anything. I know that my mother would be delighted to introduce you into the beau monde. With your French blood, and your undeniably lovely face and figure, I predict your instant success. I’m not at all tight-fisted, Madame, and will provide you sufficient dowry to support a suitable second alliance.”

  It had never occurred to her that he would be so wretchedly generous. She had to stay at Chesleigh at all cost. She finally said, “Even though I’m half French, I’m actually English to my very bones. I don’t like the French.”

  “Those are my sentiments as well, particularly Napoleon. Now, what do you say?” “I don’t want to go to London.” “I beg your pardon?”

  “I have no wish whatsoever to leave Chesleigh. I’ve told you. I love this house, the sea. I want to stay with Edmund. Even though I haven’t met him, I’m sure that we will suit.”

  Suddenly he looked bored with her, and cynical. He looked as if he would say something, but contented himself with just shrugging his shoulders.

  She jumped to her feet, accidentally tipping the chair and sending it onto its back on the beautiful Axminster carpet. “Oh, dear,” she said, picked up the chair and righted it. “I gather you are perturbed about something?” “I don’t understand your skepticism, your grace. I have told you what it is I wish, yet you pretend to disbelieve me.”

  “Were you widowed so recently that good taste forbids gaiety? If that is your reason for wishing isolation, then I will accept it.”

  “I was widowed over a year ago, your grace. My father died shortly after my husband. I have fulfilled my social obligations. Now I just wish for peace and rest.”

  He said, his voice becoming distant, “You must have been very attached to your husband.”

  “No—yes, I mean, certainly I was attached to him. Andre was a great man.” “And a poor one, evidently.” “I am left penniless because I did not bear him an heir. That is the way of the world, everywhere, even here in England. His younger brother is now master. I never got along well with his younger brother. After Andre died, I returned to my father.” “Did the young fool try to seduce you?” Again, his cynicism burned the air between them. “Well, yes, I suppose he did. I couldn’t abide him. I left. His breath smelled always of garlic.”

  “I see,” the duke said, and examined his thumbnail. It was a bit jagged. “Exactly who was your husband, Madame?”

  “The eldest son of the Comte de la Valette, André Neigeon, by name.”

  “I can’t very well continue calling you Madame or cousin. May I call you Evangeline?” She nodded and thought that her name sounded like smooth honey when he said it. It also sounded seductive and provocative. It was odd about this man. Other than being the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life, his was a brooding, complex nature that she doubted anyone understood. Perhaps his father had. “Certainly, your grace.” “You may call me Richard.” She nodded, but she didn’t want to be close enough to him so that his first name came naturally to her. She wanted to keep him apart from her, separate. She should have been relieved that he had so quickly accepted her, but instead she felt so ashamed she wanted to slink away and hide.

  “If you truly wish to remain at Chesleigh in the company of my son, I suppose it would be ill-natured and unreasonable of me to disallow it. You will not, of course, be treated like a nanny. Indeed, I will expect you to be mistress at Chesleigh when I am not here.”

  From an unknown to the mistress of his house in his absence. She just stared at him, words vague in her mind and dead on her tongue. She began to pace, her strides long, bounded only by her skirts. She whirled to face him. “That is ridiculous. You don’t know me. I’m nobody at all. Never would I agree to such a thing. I would be your employee, just like your other hundred or so employees.”

  “How did you know their number? Were you counting faces all afternoon?”

  “No, but this place, it’s immense. Every time I’ve looked up, there’s been a different footman or maid standing not three feet from me.”

  “The fact remains that you were my wife’s first cousin. You have no family left except your uncle, who doesn’t even know you’re in England. Thus, I’m now the head of your family, or, if you wish, you have become part of my family. I am now responsible for you. I cannot in good conscience place you in an airless room in the attic.”

  “I didn’t mean it to sound like that. But it is impossible. Forgive me.”

  He withdrew from her as effectively as if he’d walked from the room and left her alone. He looked indifferent. He said, “Having my lovely cousin in residence at Chesleigh cannot but make every gentleman of my acquaintance red with jealousy. Besides, it is what my mother would insist upon. If you don’t choose it, it is unfortunate, but it is what will happen.

  “Once you have settled in, I will bring my mother here to meet you. The propriety of your living here, without proper chaperone, cousin or not, is another matter upon which my mother is well versed. We can’t have your reputation sullied by being here with me. Perhaps my mother should come to Chesleigh now, though her health suffers from the sea air.”

  “I’ve been married. There’s nothing for you to sully. I see that you are quite bored with me, with this entire conversation. I will excuse myself.”

  “Am I bored? I don’t
think so. So there’s nothing for me to sully? Given that you are half French, I find that opinion extraordinarily naive. Where, Madame, is your touted French common sense? Surely you plan to wed again some time in the future. Let me assure you that the gentleman of your choice will be much concerned.”

  “I have no intention of ever marrying again. Also, the thought of your poor mother being dragged here just because of some nonsensical rule is ridiculous. The fact is that I’m nothing more than a poor relation. No one cares about my reputation or lack of one.”

  He wasn’t even looking at her, merely frowning at his face in the shine of his boots. “Very well,” he said. “In a month or so, after Edmund has driven you distracted, and you find yourself on the point of throttling him, you will pay a visit to London. You don’t have to marry any man there, I promise you.” “I won’t ever want to leave Chesleigh.” “We shall see,” he said. He drew his watch from his waistcoat pocket and consulted it. “It’s late. Perhaps your nonsensical opinions result from fatigue.”

  “Just because I have no liking for your kind of life, your grace, you believe me stupid. Oh, dear. I’ve insulted you, haven’t I? I am sorry for it. Will you still let me remain as Edmund’s nanny?”

  “Do you know,” he said after a moment, “I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman like you before? You run smoothly along a certain road, then suddenly take a turn that leads to another road that goes in the opposite direction. You’re something of a puzzle. I have always been quite good at solving puzzles. Why don’t you say good night? No, don’t say any more. I’m giving you the chance to escape the drawing room without further offending your host.”

  He took a step toward her, then paused. His long fingers stroked his chin. “Before you retire, let me inquire exactly what you believe my kind of life to be.”

  She looked up at him full face. “I believe you to be a man of the world, a man who can have most anything he wishes with but a snap of his fingers, a man, in short, who, because of his wealth, rank, and personal attributes, can indulge himself in any pursuit he fancies.”

  “In conclusion, not a very estimable man.” She said without hesitation, “I will always believe you an estimable man, your grace. I think you have a good deal of kindness. Indeed, how could I ever believe otherwise?” She turned and walked to the drawing room door. She paused, her hand on the doorknob, and said over her shoulder, “After all, have you not allowed a poor cousin-in-law to invade your stronghold?”

  “Yet another different glimpse of you,” he said quietly. “I trust you won’t regret coming here.”

  “I cannot regret it, your grace,” she said, and quickly left the room.

  Her choice of words perplexed him. He went to his library. He decided an hour later, before he went to his bed, that he would postpone his return to London, at least for a week, until he was certain that she and Edmund rubbed along well together.

  Chapter 8

  It was raining hard; the building was old gray stone, an open gutter flowing in front of it. Inside, she could hear the echo of her boots on the stone floors. She’d never known such fear in her life. One of the two men shoved her through a door into a small, narrow room. There was only one high window in that room behind a young man who appeared so thin as to be gaunt. He looked like a monk in his cell. He was sitting behind a very old, scarred desk that held no papers, nothing, on its surface. The young man rose slowly, never looking away from her, his eyes never leaving her face. He was wearing a black, musty-looking wool coat and trousers.

  He walked up to her and took her chin in his long, thin fingers, lifting her face. She tried to jerk away, but one of the men twisted her arm behind her, saying low in her ear, “You hold yourself still, Mademoiselle, or I’ll break this pretty wing.”

  The fingers on her chin tightened, then suddenly released her. He motioned to a chair. “Sit down.”

  She sat. There was no choice. She wanted to ask where her father was, but the words were buried too deep in her throat. Why had they brought her and her father here? To Paris? She was so afraid, the words were stuck in her throat. The man said, “My name is Houchard. I need you. You will do exactly as I tell you, or I will kill your father.”

  Where were the words to scream at him, to demand why he was doing this, whatever this was?

  “I’m relieved that you’re well enough looking. The duke only likes beautiful women. If you must, you will bed him.”

  She leapt from the stingy chair and screamed, “What are you talking about? What duke? I know no duke. What have you done with my father?”

  “Oh, you know the duke. Soon you will know him even better. You’re half English. I find it amusing that you will aid me in my cause. You bloody English, you are always so certain that you and only you are right. I wonder if I should bed you first to see that you’ll know how to properly seduce the duke, if, naturally, the need arises.” He turned to one of the men. “Did you strip her? Examine her?”

  The man shook his head. “The little chick was too frightened and her father too incensed. I didn’t want to have to kill him. Do you want me to strip her now?” Houchard looked at her, slowly shaking his head.

  He threw back his head and laughed and laughed. Then, with no warning, he started singing in Latin, in a deep monotone, as would a priest intoning a benediction to the people.

  The two men standing behind her began to sing as well, their voices high as young boys’, pure and light, their Latin beautiful and smooth and resonating in that monks’ cell of a room. Evangeline jerked awake, her heart pounding, sweat heavy on her face, breathing so hard she thought she’d choke.

  A dream.

  It had been nothing but a dream. But most of it had happened. She wondered why she’d dreamed that Houchard and his henchmen had sung in Latin? She hadn’t understood what they were singing, and perhaps that was the point. She had no idea what would happen now.

  A dream.

  God, it had been so very real. She shook away the last remnants and pushed back the covers. She could deal with this. If she didn’t, her father would die. She’d won the major concession, thank God. The duke, for the moment, had accepted her, had welcomed her as a member of the Chesleigh household. She would be Lord Edmund’s nanny, if Edmund accepted her. Houchard’s drama was set irrevocably into motion, and there was nothing she could do to prevent his characters, herself included, from playing out their roles.

  The morning sun was shining brilliantly through her bedchamber windows. There was no fire lit, and indeed there was no need for one. It was so warm one would believe it was summer. This had happened several times during her growing-up years in England. There would be torrential rains, freezing weather, snowstorms, then several days so vivid and bright, so warm, that one dreamed of summer, lush and hot and so very green. She looked out at the naked-branched elm trees. Well, not really summer.

  Then, naturally, winter would return with a vengeance. There was so much she had to do, the most important thing to make friends with the duke’s son. If he took an instant dislike to her, she was ruined. She remembered saying this to Houchard. He’d merely shaken his finger at her, saying, “If that happens, my dear, I suggest you prepare yourself for your father’s funeral. The problem will be, of course, that you will never find his body.” She’d believed him then. She still believed him.

  She was dressed and ready to leave her bedchamber when she heard the sound of slow, heavy steps dragging closer and closer to her bedchamber door.

  She knew a spurt of terror. The two men who’d taken her and her father from their home, their image, their voices, were deep and strong in her mind. The smooth, younger one had been called Biron. She couldn’t remember the other man’s face, just his voice. He’d been a little ferret of a man who looked as if he hadn’t ever said a kind word to anyone in his entire life. At least they hadn’t harmed their servants, Margueritte and Joseph, merely left them staring out through the drawing room windows toward the carriages, their faces drawn and pale in the ca
ndlelight, wondering what was happening. They’d thrown her in one coach, her father in another. At dawn they’d arrived in Paris. And they’d shoved her into that narrow room that held Houchard.

  So quickly, her life had changed so very quickly, and irrevocably. No, no, she was being foolish. She was in England, in her bedchamber at Chesleigh. No men were waiting outside her door to drag her anywhere. She quickly pinched her cheeks to bring color to her face. She patted the severe chignon at the nape of her neck and called out in beautiful, clear French, “Entrez!”

  She heard someone mutter something, then shouted out, this time in English, “Enter!”

  The muttering continued. Frowning, Evangeline opened the bedchamber door.

  An old woman shuffled into the room, small feet peeping beneath a beautifully woven dark blue gown, fitted at her meager waist in the style of the last century. Her face was the texture of fine parchment paper, her back hunched forward with age. Her sparse white hair was pulled into a skinny bun, revealing patches of pink scalp. She didn’t come higher than Evangeline’s chin. She looked ready to fall over at any moment; indeed the look of fragility was frightening until she raised her eyes to Evangeline’s face. She had beautiful eyes, bright with awareness and intelligence, as blue as a summer sky, a young girl’s eyes.

  Was she a mad great aunt the duke kept hidden away in the attic? She had a hand ready just in case the old lady decided to crumble where she was standing. She said, “My name is Evangeline. Who are you?”

  The old lady didn’t say anything for the longest time, just stared up at Evangeline, her head tilted to the left, like an inquisitive sparrow.

  “May I do something for you, ma’am? If you’re lost, I’m afraid I can’t help you. I only arrived at Chesleigh yesterday afternoon.”

  “Och, I know where I am, and I know who ye be, my little lass. Ye be her dead grace’s cousin, all grown up now.” She had the softest voice, lilting in a faint Scottish accent. It was like singing.