The Deception

by Catherine Coulter

  “I agree with you, Dorrie. Remove all ruffles and anything else that moves you to remove it. As you can see, her grace and I were of a very different size. I am the maypole of the family.” Or, as the duke had said, she was a big girl. And he’d held her waist between his two big hands.

  Dorrie examined the seams, the hem, then said briskly, “When I’m finished, all the gowns will look as if they were made especially for you, Madame. And they won’t look old-fashioned. His grace’s mother sends me magazines with all the latest fashions. I read them constantly. You will look a dream, Madame.”

  Evangeline left her, wondering if Houchard, who seemed to know everything about the duke’s family, had known that the duke would insist that she take his dead wife’s gowns. Houchard probably assumed that the duke would more or less use the gowns as payment after he allowed her to seduce him.

  She knew that Edmund was taking his nap. The duke was with his steward in the estate room. The castle was quiet, at least as quiet as it ever was with nearly fifty souls moving about in it. She went to the North Tower. It was late in the afternoon. She saw only a lone footman in this part of the castle. She smelled the tower room before she was even close to it. It was a sweet yet tart odor, like rosemary mixed with cinnamon. She intended to find out what Mrs. Needle had meant when she’d told her she had heat in her eyes.

  The odor grew stronger as she climbed the winding wooden steps. She rapped lightly on the old oak door and heard Mrs. Needle’s lilting singsong voice telling her to come in.

  The old woman was standing in the middle of a circular room with windows cut deep on all sides, at least ten of them, thick wooden beams between them. It was an incredible room, divided into sections by thick silk screens. Tables curved against the walls, obviously built especially for this climber, especially for Mrs. Needle. On the tables were dozens of labeled jars in neat rows, three jars deep. There was a fire in the fireplace, a hob with a pot seated on it, sending out the cinnamon smell along with comforting warmth. Even on a warm day like today, the fire felt good in this open room.

  “Och, ye’ve come sooner than even I guessed ye would. Sit over here, little lassie, and I’ll give ye a nice cup of herbal tea.”

  Evangeline nodded, and followed the slight old woman into the sitting area that faced the immense fireplace. A sleeping area was set in an alcove. The rest of the huge space was devoted to Mrs. Needle’s herbal laboratory. While she prepared the tea, Evangeline walked to one of the tables and examined the labeled jars. DRIED ROSEMARY, she read. CRUSHED GINGER BERRY. ROSE PETALS. IRINGO ROOT. JAMARIC SEEDS. And so many others, names she’d never heard of. There were several small braziers, small pots set atop them. From one came the strong odor of roses. She breathed in deeply.

  “This is a wonderful room, Mrs. Needle,” she said, coming back into the sitting area.

  “Aye,” Mrs. Needle said as she pointed an arthritic finger toward a worn crimson brocade settee. Evangeline sat down. “His grace’s father, Duke William, had it arranged just for me. He was a good lad, the former duke, strong and pure, loved his boy more than anything.”

  “I have heard that. His grace—the boy—appears to have cared mightily for his father as well.”

  “Aye, that’s true enough. His grace was such a wild lad, always into some sort of trouble, hurling himself into adventures to make a parent shriek, but not Duke William. He just laughed and told his boy not to kill anyone, not to impregnate any girls, and not to cause pain. He would have given his life for his son. It was a sad day when Duke William died. His grace changed on that day. For the longest time he seemed sober as a monk; his eyes became cold and hard, all the laughter sucked out of him. Even now he doesn’t try anymore to turn his mother’s hair white. He’s become staid.” Mrs. Needle smiled, showing only two remaining teeth, both of them very white. “Aye, her grace still has hair as dark as a sinner’s dreams, just a few threads of gray.”

  “I understand his grace married my cousin because his father wanted him to settle down.”

  “Mayhap there was something to that. I think Duke William was very fond of young Marissa. He wanted her for a daughter and knew if he didn’t push his grace to the altar, some other gentleman would snap her up. And, as I said, his grace would have done anything for his father, anything at all, including marrying a girl he didn’t love. Don’t mistake me, lassie, the duke wanted her, and marriage was the only way he would ever have her in his bed.”

  Evangeline was appalled. She sat forward, shaking her head. “Oh, no. The duke married my cousin because he loved her. I was told that by the people I loved and trusted.”

  “Och, love, what a fanciful thought that is for a lad so young as his grace was when he met Marissa. He wanted her, little lassie, he wanted her in his bed and he didn’t want to let her out of his bed, and all knew it. He made no bones about it. He was young and wild and randier than a goat. Lust is the guiding principle, the only motive for a young man, nothing more, ever. His grace was no different. He saw her and he wanted her. His father was pleased. His son’s lust played into his plans perfectly.”

  She poured Evangeline’s green herbal tea, which looked nauseating, into a lovely Wedgwood cup, then sat down opposite her. Evangeline took a very small sip. It was surprisingly delicious, like tart apples mixed with something sweet. Mrs. Needle drank her own tea, slurping it between her teeth, and continued. “It all seemed to go so well until young Marissa discovered she was pregnant. Then she changed. She was afraid she’d die birthing Edmund, but she didn’t. But she remained changed.”

  “Marissa’s mother died in childbirth. She was doubtless terrified of dying in the same way.”

  “I thought that was true until I spoke to her. She trusted me, you see, to save her. She spent time here, questioning me endlessly. Her labor wasn’t arduous. I gave her laudanum to lessen the pain. Lord Edmund was born in just over six hours. She was just fine two days later. I even gave her herbs to dry her milk since she didn’t want to nurse Edmund.” “Marissa was fortunate you were here.” “Aye, that fool of a doctor that his grace brought from London, he didn’t want to give her anything. He believed that women should suffer, it was their lot, God’s will. Bosh, I said, and gave her laudanum when he stepped out of the bedchamber. She was bleeding too much after the birth, and the fellow simply shook his head and said he hoped it stopped, for he had not an idea of what to do. I took care of her. She healed quickly, as I said, after just two days. But it still didn’t seem to matter.

  “I don’t wish to speak more of Marissa. Forgive me for being blunt, but at my age every moment is a gift granted by God. I don’t like to waste a single one of them. I know that ye don’t want to be here. Ye’re fighting yerself every minute about it. I wonder why. Perhaps ye’d tell me why ye came, came against yer will.”

  Evangeline froze. “You’re a witch,” she said.

  “Och, mayhap it is so, but there’s this feeling I get from ye. Ye’re afraid. But the strangest thing—ye belong here. That’s odd, now, isn’t it?”

  “You know why I’m here, Mrs. Needle. My husband died and left me with no money. I’m dependent on his grace’s good will. I will be Lord Edmund’s nanny. There’s nothing at all odd about it. I’m most certainly not afraid of anything, at least anything that has to do with Chesleigh.”

  “Ye’re a terrible liar, little lassie. Just terrible. Her grace spoke to me of ye several times. It was fond of ye she was. She wished she could see ye, see how ye were growing up, but her father and the former duke weren’t speaking to each other, and thus yer father had to side with hers. Wicked it was.”

  “Do you know the reason for the falling out between the two families? I also missed my cousin, and Lord Edmund.”

  Mrs. Needle sipped her tea, then set the cup on a small, very old table at her side.

  “Her father didn’t sever the connection. Far be it from Old Rolfe to close off the till when his pockets were to let.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean, ma’am
. Marissa’s father was an honorable gentleman, and a man of some means.”

  “Rolfe was a gambler, little lassie. He spent three fortunes. I believe he’s now spending a fourth fortune, one that he managed to steal by marrying his son to an heiress. Poor girl, with Old Rolfe as a papa-in-law.” “My father never told me that,” Evangeline said. “Surely you are mistaken.”

  “Believe what ye want to believe. Old Rolfe never paid a single sovereign of the girl’s dowry to Duke William, not even a sou.” The old woman laughed.

  “Oh, goodness. That bespeaks a fine gall, Mrs. Needle.”

  “Aye, a very fine gall. He’s still doing so, as far as I know. I listen, but there’s no more to hear since Marissa died. Now, as for ye, little lassie, why don’t ye tell me what is troubling ye?” Evangeline was silent as a post. “Ye’re impetuous, just as she was, but ye’ve known a very different life. Yer English mother was the saving of ye, child. She gave ye balance, curbed yer willful ways. Ye’re proud, but not so proud that ye’d lose sight of what is right. Aye, and that father of yers, a beautiful man he was. I remember him very well from the wedding. A beautiful laugh he had as well. I’m sorry to hear he died. Odd, but I hadn’t expected that. It jest doesn’t feel right.” “He had a very bad heart.” Mrs. Needle just frowned at her, then turned to frown into the fire.

  Evangeline’s eyes fixed on Mrs. Needle’s face. “How could you know about my mother? Indeed, what can you possibly know of my character? You never met me until yesterday.”

  “I’ve lived for a very long time. I see things, ye must have guessed that already, and I know people, lassie. And of course her grace spoke of yer family. It’s true of many people that their character shines in their eyes. You are one of those, Madame.”

  Evangeline moistened her lips. “You said I had heat in my eyes. What did you mean?”

  The old lady’s nearly empty mouth smiled wide. “Ye’re all interested in that, are ye? I don’t blame ye. It’s a fine thing, having heat in yer eyes. Ye’ll find out soon enough. Yer life is just beginning. I only wish ye’d tell me what bothers ye. Ye feel fear and the oddest thing—ye also feel tremendous guilt.”

  Evangeline jumped to her feet. “I shouldn’t be here, that’s why,” she said, and banged the cup and saucer beside Mrs. Needle’s on the small table. “I should never have come to Chesleigh. Please, you mustn’t speak of this to anyone. There’s nothing to it. Just forget, Mrs. Needle. I beg of you, just forget what you feel, what you think you see in me.”

  “I won’t tell anyone anything. Except for the duke. I tell his grace everything. He’s my proud boy, my beautiful boy.”

  “He is much more than that. He is utterly without inhibition. He is outrageous. He’s also very amusing.” She dashed her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t expect him to be anything like the way he is.”

  Mrs. Needle cocked her head, her eyes intent on Evangeline’s face. “His grace has tempered his wild ways, moderated his appetites. He’s become a good man. He awaits the mate of his heart to become happy as his father was.” “You speak of love as though it was fate.” “For some it is.”

  “I don’t believe there is a single special person on this earth made just for the duke, made just for me. The chances are too great of that female or that male ever coming anywhere near the duke or me.”

  “Aye, ye’d think that. It only makes sense. The world is a grand place, more people than one can imagine.” The old woman smiled at her and nodded. Her eyelids drooped. Evangeline just stood there, staring at the old woman, who looked to be on the verge of falling asleep under her nose.

  “I will leave you, Mrs. Needle. Don’t get up. Thank you for the tea.”

  “Think about what I’ve told ye. Come back.”

  “I’ll come back.”

  “I’d like to hear tales of this husband ye said ye had. Nay, don’t tell me tales now.” Mrs. Needle’s eyes were very open now, sharp, filled with knowledge. “Ye know, little lassie, loyalties are sometimes dreadful burdens. They tear and rend us, even blind us if we let them.”

  “That’s true, but it hasn’t anything to do with me. Good-bye, Mrs. Needle.”

  As she let herself out of the North Tower room, she heard the old woman’s soft snoring. Was she so very obvious that one could just look at her and tell that all was not well? No, surely not. The old woman was a witch, although Evangeline had never before believed in witches.

  Dorrie arranged Evangeline’s hair in two thick braids, plaiting them together atop her head. She pulled free loose tendrils around her face, several falling down her neck. It was an attractive style on her. She looked at herself in the long mirror, aware that Dorrie was standing behind her, awaiting her reaction. She smiled at her image. The yellow silk gown, highwaisted and cut low over her breasts, fell in soft folds to the floor. Dorrie had removed the adorning flounce, indeed made the gown over, and it now fit her as if it had been made for her.

  Both of them knew it was a success. And she needed a success. Mrs. Raleigh had told her just an hour before that the duke was entertaining, and he desired her presence. Evidently, he’d already sent word to Dorrie since the beautiful gown had been ready and waiting for her.

  She drew up short as Bassick moved to open the door to the vast salon. The sound of a girl’s sparkling laugh reached her ears nearly at the same moment as she saw the elegant young lady, laughing still, her white hand on the duke’s black sleeve. She saw a much older lady, a huge diamond tiara balancing precariously on her iron gray hair, rouge spotting her cheeks red, seated near the fireplace, a gentleman standing on each side of her.

  “Madame de la Valette,” Bassick said in his deep voice.

  Everyone in the room turned toward her. What the devil had she gotten herself into now? Who were these people? All she’d wanted was to be left alone so she could betray the duke and keep her father safe. She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them wide, smiled, and walked into the drawing room.

  The young lady, whose hand was still resting possessively on the duke’s arm, looked up and smiled at her. She was a blonde, so fair her hair looked nearly silver in the candlelight. Her eyes were a pale blue, laughing eyes, and Evangeline imagined that a smile was her constant companion.

  “Do come in, Madame,” the duke said easily, walking toward her. His dark eyes started on her hair, and she saw him nod in approval. She wanted to tell him that she’d even pinched her cheeks to bring color to her face, something she’d never done before in her life, and didn’t understand why she’d done it now. He should look at her face, yes, and nod in approval. No, he was looking intently at her breasts, she knew it, and he knew that she knew it. He gave her a wicked grin as he took her hand, raised it to his mouth, and lightly kissed her wrist. “You look beautiful, but of course, you know it.”

  “Stop looking at my bosom. I have other parts that are just as nice.”

  “I’m not at all certain that you meant to say that. What parts are just as nice? Are these parts that would enchant me further south? Or perhaps these parts are tucked behind your ears? Later, you will tell me all about these parts. Perhaps I will concur with you, perhaps not. As for your breasts, it gives me great pleasure. Actually, they give me great pleasure. I wish my grammar to be correct, particularly in a situation as important as this one.

  “Ah, Dorrie did a fine job on this gown. Now, before you forbid me to do other equally innocent things, let me introduce you to my great aunt, Lady Eudora Pemberly, and her goddaughter, Miss Felicia Storleigh. The gentleman with the wild-tossed hair who looks like he’s just come in from a high wind, although his aim is to look dashing and romantic, is Lord Pettigrew, Drew Halsey by name. And this is Sir John Edgerton, a dapper gentleman who fancies himself as great an arbitrator of fashion as the departed Brummel. Both gentlemen just arrived from London not above an hour ago. Ladies, gentleman, my cousin, Madame Evangeline de la Valette, recently arrived from Paris.”

  Evangeline nodded politely to everyone, but it was diffic
ult. She couldn’t believe he was here. It was too soon, much too soon. Her heart began to pound, loud slow deep strokes. She felt faintly ill. She stared, frozen in place, at John Edgerton.

  Chapter 13

  He looked just the same. Perhaps there was a dash more of gray threaded in the light brown hair at his temples. Naturally, it hadn’t been all that long since she’d seen him last. His face was lean, an aesthete’s face, her father had once said, the face of a man with too much on his mind and not enough time. And now he was here.

  Because she was.

  She’d hoped she would have more time. She felt fear flood her, and for a moment she could think of nothing to say. No, she wished she had a gun. She’d shoot the bastard. The damnable, traitorous bastard.

  She’d known he would contact her, oh yes, she’d known, but there’d been no time to prepare herself. She’d been a fool. She’d spent just a few hours with the duke, and she’d forgotten for minutes at a time why she was really here. Now everything was real again, far too real, and she hated it and she hated herself.

  “You don’t need to introduce me to Evangeline,” John Edgerton said in his easy, deep voice, stepping toward her. “I have known Madame de la Valette since she was a little girl with stubby braids, dirt on her nose, and scuffed boots.”

  He bowed deeply, took her stiff hand in his, and lightly kissed her palm. His lips were dry and cold. But his eyes, when he looked at her, were strangely soft and warm, as if none of this were real, as if he’d been only a man who’d liked the girl, remembered her fondly, as would a kind uncle, nothing more. He said, “It’s a pleasure to see old friends, don’t you agree, Evangeline? I hope you are well. May I say that you are looking beautiful? You’re the image of your dear father, except you have your mother’s eyes.”

  “What is this?” the duke said, frowning from one to the other. Edgerton was still holding her hand. She looked odd, as if she were afraid to move, which was ridiculous. “You know her, John?”