Baron: The Deception Part 3

She smiled at that. "Oh, that's not important. I'm a widow, your grace, not some young girl, pure and innocent of mind and person, with hopes of finding a rich husband. I'm also a relative, of sorts. No one would believe you would have your wicked way with me, surely."

"You must be remarkably ignorant of my reputation, Madame."

"Oh, no, I know many wicked stories about you. Again, I'm a widow, a mature woman, a woman who surely couldn't be of any interest to anyone, a woman beyond the need for such observances."

"Not only are you appallingly ignorant, you are also obtuse."

"I'm a cousin. Relatives are a different matter entirely."

She couldn't know his reputation or she wouldn't be so flippant about the matter. But the fact remained that she was dest.i.tute. Where would she go? No, there was no choice. She had to remain here. He would try to prevent anyone knowing why she was here. The fact that she was related to him by marriage only made it worse. She didn't realize that a simple unknown employee would be perfectly safe because, frankly, that simple unknown employee would have no reputation to protect. He would leave her in ignorance.

"Doubtless you are right, Madame. You also forgot to mention your advanced years."

"No, I told you I was a mature woman. Maturity means advanced years."

"I've always hated the word. So does my beautiful mother."

Not a full minute pa.s.sed before Mrs. Raleigh came to the library, her l.u.s.trous purple bombazine skirts rustling with every light fairy step she took. She was very small, beautiful white hair piled atop her head, framing an unaged face. She wore a thick key ring about her narrow waist. It was highly polished key ring, one that the duke's mother had given her some years before.

"Mrs. Raleigh," the duke said, smiling down at her. On a good day when she was wearing slippers with heels, she came to his shoulder. This day he could easily fit her under his arm. "This is Madame de la Valette, my cousin. Actually, she was her ladys.h.i.+p's cousin. She's come to pay us a visit, to meet Lord Edmund. Perhaps, if I can convince her to remain, she will become Lord Edmund's nanny. Unfortunately, all but one of Madame's valises were lost in a Channel storm. Her traveling companion became very ill and insisted on returning to France. Thus we have her to ourselves for a time."

Evangeline wanted to applaud his tale. It was generous and fluent and well done of him. "Mrs. Raleigh," she said, and nodded to the small woman with the large key ring. Mrs. Raleigh gave her a graceful curtsy. "Ah, you're another tall one, just like his grace's mama. We are glad you are here, Madame. Such a treat this will be for Lord Edmund. If you will come with me to your bedchamber. Do you wish to dine at six o'clock, your grace?"

"Yes, Mrs. Raleigh. Do tell Mrs. Dent that she has a new convert, one who will doubtless eat every dish that's placed in front of her, one who will likely kill the butcher if he displeases her."

"Mrs. Dent will be pleased. I will also tell her that Madame is too slight and needs to gain flesh. It will become a mission for her."

"Why not show Madame to the d.u.c.h.ess's bedchamber? Perhaps it will comfort her to be in her cousin's room."

Mrs. Raleigh said to her, "We keep the bedchamber spanking clean, but no one has stayed in it since her grace left us over two years ago. Oh, dear, such a sad time. I hope it will please and comfort you, Madame." "It is bound to do something," she said, nodded to the duke, and followed the very youthful Mrs. Raleigh from the library.

The duke heard Mrs. Raleigh say in her high musical voice, "How terrible for you, Madame, to lose not only your luggage but your maid as well. Just look at all the b.u.t.tons on that gown. It's a miracle you managed to get them all fastened yourself. I will send Dorrie to a.s.sist you. If you find her helpful, she can a.s.sist you for your stay here at Chesleigh Castle."

Just an hour ago he'd been alone. Now he had a cousin staying with him. A young cousin who, if he wasn't mistaken, and he wasn't ever mistaken when it came to anything doing with a female, had beautiful b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Life was unaccountable. He leaned down to pick up the crumbled letter from Drew Halsey. He locked it in the top drawer of his desk.

He walked to the fireplace and gazed down thoughtfully into the glowing embers. He remembered now the thirteen-year-old girl, tall for her age, taller than her older cousin Marissa, who'd reached her full growth. He vaguely recalled thinking her oddly mature for her years, her thin shoulders proudly set, and her dark brown eyes wide and serious when they rested upon his face. Seven years later, her eyes held an appeal that as her kinsman he couldn't dismiss.

"What," he said to the huge silent room, "have I gotten myself into now?"

Chapter 6.

"Your grace."

The duke came to a halt at the foot of the ma.s.sive, wide staircase. "Oh, Ba.s.sick, don't concern yourself. It isn't your fault that I refused to listen to you. Thank you for seeing to the comfort of my cousin."

Ba.s.sick stepped closer and lowered his voice to a whisper. "It was no bother, your grace. She seems a very nice young lady. She will be remaining with us for a while?"

"Therein lies a question. I will tell you when the matter is decided."

"Oh, yes, your grace. I finally pried out of Juniper that a note from Lord Pettigrew had arrived for you. Was it bad news, your grace?"

"Yes, the worst. The traitor remains unmasked. Drew doesn't want me to involve myself, but I am now. Robbie won't go unavenged. I vowed it to his wife. d.a.m.nation, he left two twin boys, not much older than Lord Edmund." He stood there, nearly shaking with impotent rage. Finally, he got hold of himself. "Sorry, Ba.s.sick. Now, I understand that Madame de la Valette arrived in the blacksmith's gig."

Ba.s.sick nodded. "She didn't see me do it, but I paid the smithy. He expected it, the good Lord knew that, but she didn't. A young lady traveling alone, it fairly curled my toes. And she's obviously a lady. One can look at her for the barest instant and know that."

"Yes," the duke said. "My toes curled as well at how she got here. But she's safe now, here with us." He nodded to Ba.s.sick and began to climb the stairs. He turned abruptly, laughing. "As you rightly surmised, she arrived with no funds. Actually, there's no reason not to tell you, since she tells me that she would like to become Lord Edmund's nanny. Nothing's decided yet. What do you think?" "It makes my hair white to think of it, your grace." "Your hair is already white, Ba.s.sick." "I will contrive to think of another utterance that is more appropriate to the situation, your grace. I can only say now that I hope she is firm of spirit. Actually, I hope that she has a will of iron."

"We will find out." The duke grunted and headed upstairs, his destination his son's nursery.

When the duke reached the landing, he turned into the east-wing corridor. He knew servants were about, but he couldn't hear anything. He walked slowly past the scores of portraits that covered the walls of the interminable corridor. Corridor, that was a jest. It was a good ten feet wide, that corridor. What a rabbit warren of a house, he thought as he walked the fifty more feet to the nursery suite. As his hand turned the k.n.o.b, he paused, listening to his son's laughter. It never mattered what kind of a mood he was in. When he heard Edmund laugh, he smiled.

He was barely through the door when Edmund dashed a straight line to him and leaped. The duke, used to this, caught him handily, holding him high in front of him, then bringing him down and hugging the st.u.r.dy little body against his chest.

Edmund reared back in his father's arms. "Papa, Ellen has set my table just like Ba.s.sick does yours. I am now about to begin my third course. It's a fish course." He twisted in the duke's arms. "Isn't that right, Ellen? Didn't you say I was to pretend you were serving me baked sea ba.s.s?"

"That's right, Lord Edmund. It's Mrs. Dent's recipe and quite delicious." "Ellen is my butler," Lord Edmund said. The duke noticed that Edmund's normally rather shy nurse, Ellen, all of nineteen years old, daughter of a local seamstress, was wearing a black coat, probably one loaned to her by Ba.s.sick, the sleeves rolled up. She'd fas.h.i.+oned a napkin around her neck to resemble a cravat. "Does he use the correct silverware yet, Ellen?" "He is all that is brilliant, your grace." "Papa, what's wrong?"

"I'm debating whether or not to become ill. You, brilliant, Edmund? That's a thought that has never crossed my mind."

"Oh, he is, your grace," Ellen said, then quickly stepped three steps back. He intimidated her, he knew it, although he did his best not to. She'd done well until just now. The duke smiled at her, even as he hugged his son again. "If you believe it to be true, Ellen, then I won't argue."

The duke felt memories flow over him and into him each time he came into the Chesleigh nursery. It was the most important room of the castle, not the great entry hall downstairs. No, here in the Chesleigh nursery, every single generation of Chesleigh boys and girls had spent their formative years. When Edmund had begun his lessons the year before, the duke had had the large room repainted and papered in the colors and patterns Edmund himself had picked out of the pattern books. Each occupant of the nursery had left his and her own stamp. The duke's mark was the beautifully carved bookshelf in the far corner, his initials proudly etched onto the underside of the top shelf. He'd worked nearly a year on that bookshelf, staining it until he'd finally achieved the particular fluid shade of brown he'd wanted. His father and mother had praised him endlessly.

He strode across the long, carpeted expanse toward his son's dining table, which Ellen had pushed into a place of honor in front of the fireplace. He set his son down and watched him walk to his chair at the head of the table, standing still until Ellen could pull it out for him. He looked serious and somewhat abstracted. The duke wondered if his son was trying to ape him. Actually, he realized that it was exactly what his own father had done, and probably his father before him. He saw Ba.s.sick's fine hand in this. When Edmund selected the proper fork, he looked up at his father, his dark eyes s.h.i.+ning with excitement.

The duke grinned at Ellen. "It is rather brilliant. You're absolutely right, Ellen."

His five-year-old son began to carefully cut a pastry that Cook had shaped like a slice of fish. He then took a bite, chewed slowly, and nodded thoughtfully. "It's excellent, my good man. Please give my compliments to Cook."

He had even achieved the duke's own tone. It was frightening and comforting at the same time. My good man? Where the devil had his son heard that? Continuity, the duke thought, it was yet another example of continuity. Ellen abandoned her pose long enough to hug Edmund. He imagined she loved his son more than had Edmund's own mother. No, he wouldn't think about Marissa. It gained naught to do so.

"While you dispatch your sea ba.s.s, let me tell you that Ba.s.sick informed me that you rode Pansy this afternoon."

Lord Edmund offered his father a gla.s.s of pretend wine, then took a pretend sip of his own from a very nice wine goblet. "Yes, sir, Grimms and I explored the beach after we brought Pansy back to the stable. We built a castle with turrets and a moat. Grimms said we would consider the tide to be William the Conqueror and his soldiers. We watched the castle disappear from where we were standing on the cliff path. Nothing was left when William was done with it."

The duke squatted down to his son's eye level. The tide doesn't have a man's brain, Edmund. It destroys, nothing more. Were you or I to attack the castle, we wouldn't want to destroy it. We'd want to capture it. We'd want to rebuild it and have our people work it and grow fat and prosperous. Now, I have a surprise for you. We have a guest."

"Is it Phillip?"

"No, it isn't Phillip Mercerault. He's at Dinwitty Manor with his new wife. Her name's Sabrina, and you'll like her. She could lead a cavalry charge."

"I didn't think ladies could be soldiers."

"I didn't mean it that way. I just meant that she's brave and she's got guts. You know Phillip, a lady would have to know strategies to deal well with him."

"Is it Drew?"

"No, it isn't Drew. Now, before we spend the next three hours guessing, let me tell you that it's a lady and you've never met her. She is your mama's cousin.

Her name is-" He broke off, feeling like a fool. He had no idea what her first name was. "You will call her Madame de la Valette. Perhaps if you're really nice, she will tell you her first name." "She sounds foreign, Papa." "She's only half foreign. She's really quite English. You'll see. Now, I must change for dinner. I will bring her along tomorrow morning to meet you. Ellen, do have him presentable for his cousin." "Yes, your grace." "I don't have a choice, Papa?" "No, Edmund, you don't."

Edmund looked resigned. "She'll want to pat me on the head and try to look interested in me. Worse, she'll want to kiss me and whisper sweet things to me."

"If you're worthy of interest, then she will be interested. If you're not worthy of interest, then she will doubtless be polite, nothing more. Now, don't be impertinent."

"Is she as pretty as Ellen or Grandmama?" Ellen gasped at this. "Perhaps," the duke said. "You will have to decide for yourself."

"Well, I know she can't be as pretty as Rohan's mother. She's the most beautiful lady in all the world."

That was probably true, the duke thought, thinking of Charlotte Carrington, Rohan Carrington's mother, who was, indeed, a G.o.ddess, a glorious creature, a Venus in English clothing. He'd heard Charlotte had given Sabrina eye lessons so she could flirt with her husband. "Go to your fourth course, Edmund." He gave his son a pat on the shoulder, nodded to Ellen, and left the nursery.

Truth be told, Evangeline hadn't been the least bit hungry, not after stuffing Cook's delicious pastries into her mouth, but the food she'd managed to nibble on had been beyond anything she'd ever eaten in her life. "It was delicious, your grace. Your cook is a genius with veal. Actually, I begin to believe she's a genius with everything." Evangeline sat back in her chair with a sated sigh and wiped her fingers on a napkin.

"Thank you. Ba.s.sick, please convey Madame's compliments to Cook. Would you care for a bit of sherry?" He heard nearly the same words coming out of his son's small mouth. He smiled down the table at her.

Evangeline gulped. That smile, she thought. It should be outlawed. No man should be allowed to smile at a hapless woman like that. She carefully watched Ba.s.sick pour sherry into a delicate crystal goblet.

The duke dismissed Ba.s.sick. "I won't need you any more tonight, Ba.s.sick. I know you and Mrs. Raleigh play whist on Tuesday nights. You must keep our male dignity intact. I expect you to win."

"I shall try, your grace. However, Mrs. Raleigh is a fierce opponent."

After Ba.s.sick had herded the two footmen out of the dining room, the duke leaned back in his high-backed, intricately carved chair that looked fit for royalty, and looked down the table at his cousin-in-law. "There's too much distance here," he said. "I hadn't realized it before. I'll have Ba.s.sick take the leaves out of the table. That should bring it down to no more than ten feet in length." He lifted his goblet toward her. "Welcome to Chesleigh, Madame. May I be so impertinent as to drink to your health?" "It is kind of you, your grace," she said, clicked her gla.s.s toward him, and took a very small sip. It was exquisite sherry, deep and rich, curling a warm path to her belly. "This is a very impressive room. I believe this table, fully extended, seats at least forty people?"

"About that, yes. Ba.s.sick likes to leave it in all its splendor. At least he moved the three epergnes so that we could see each other. Oh, yes, it occurred to me earlier when I was with my son that I don't know your name."

"De la Valette."

"No, your given name."

"It is Evangeline, your grace."

"A lovely name, that." She'd behaved just as she should during dinner, what with Ba.s.sick and the footmen hovering, speaking of mundane things that neither cared a farthing about. He matched her, never leaving any lurching pauses in the conversation, a coolly friendly host, not overly interested in either his dinner or in his guest.

"My mother selected it, she told me. She was older when she birthed me, and thus when I came, she thought I was a miracle. She said that Evangeline was her name of thanks for me." She broke off, realizing that what she'd just said, she'd never told another person in her life. She just stared at him.

"When I was born, so my father told me later, my mother looked at me and said, 'Saints be praised. Finally I have the heir.' She'd had three miscarriages before she carried me." "You were a miracle too."

"When you meet my mother, you will have to ask her that."

"I doubt that will happen," she said, then sucked in her breath. She'd spilled a bit of Cook's excellent gravy on the sleeve of her gown, her only gown fit for evening wear. She quickly dabbed it with water and patted it dry. She had no other gown. It was highwaisted dark gray muslin, with no ruffles or lace or underskirts. At least it was one of hers, not one that Houchard or his d.a.m.ned mistress has selected. She looked down the table at him, the glow of soft candlelight making his black hair gleam, admiring his formal black evening wear and his stark white linen. Her child's memories of seven years ago, frozen in time, hadn't done the real man justice. He was magnificent, and of course he was well aware of that.

That made her smile. She looked to be exactly what she wanted him to believe. So they were both exactly right for what they wished to present to the world. "You are smiling at your gla.s.s of sherry." "Oh, no, that smile had nothing to do with any libation." "What did it have to do with?" "I will tell you the truth, your grace. I was thinking that the two of us very nicely suit exactly what we are."

"I am a gentleman and you are a lady. I see nothing in that to make you smile. It wouldn't make me smile. What would make me smile is a beautiful woman walking through that door wearing only sheer veils to tease me."

"I doubt a gentleman would say that. He would think it but hardly say it. Isn't that true? Veils?"

"Let me say that my mother would probably prefer that I only think of such things. That way she wouldn't have to act all fl.u.s.tered. Although now that I think about it, I seem to remember my parents laughing when they didn't realize I was close by."

"Laughter is an excellent thing. My father and mother laughed as well, and at the strangest times."

"I know exactly what you mean. I remember seeing my father kiss my mother. He had her pressed against a wall, and he was kissing her thoroughly. It's something I've never forgotten. Naturally, I didn't understand at the time." He paused a moment, then said low, "My father's death has been difficult for her." "And for you as well."

"Yes. All my friends wanted to visit me simply because my father was the best of parents. He took to all my friends, treated them just as he should, made them want to be brave and solid and honorable." A lump was in his throat. He hated it, but he couldn't prevent it. He also couldn't prevent speaking of his father, a man he believed to be the best father in all the world. He thought of Edmund and what he had missed by losing his grandfather. He shook his head. "Do you find your bedchamber satisfactory?"

"Very. I remember that Marissa had excellent taste. The bedchamber combines her favorite colors, light blue and cream."

"I don't know about Marissa's taste. I have never set foot in her bedchamber."

Chapter 7.

He'd never visited his wife's bedchamber?

She started to open her mouth, to ask him, quite frankly, if he'd never visited his wife's bedchamber, then how could he produce a son.

He knew exactly what was in her mind at that moment. Her thoughts were writ clearly on her expressive face. She had no guile. She would have to learn if she was ever to enter Society.

"I bedded my wife. I just never bedded her in her own bed. Actually, Marissa never touched the rest of the castle. She didn't care to stay here. She much preferred London. Indeed, she was only here when she was pregnant with Edmund." He picked up a fork and lightly began tapping it against the white tablecloth. "She hated the sea, the dampness. She looked forward to birthing Edmund here so she could return to London. She's buried in the Chesleigh family plot in the churchyard in Chesleigh village. You can visit her grave if you wish."

His voice, when he'd spoken of his father, had been filled with pa.s.sion. With Marissa his voice was expressionless. She said, "Do you spend much time here at Chesleigh, your grace?"

"I try to spend a quarter of the year here. Besides the London town house, where my mother currently resides, there are three other houses in England. I am responsible for the Chesleigh properties. I spend time at all of them."

Spoken like a duke, she thought, a man who knew his responsibilities and accepted them. Well, she would remain at Chesleigh. Houchard had been adamant about that, at least until she received further instructions.

"Truth be told," he continued after a moment, "like Marissa and my mother, I prefer London. I have many friends there. There are countless attractions."

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 n.o.ble and stately residences in all of England. Not Blenheim, to be sure, but nonetheless."