A Grand Deception (14 page)

That afternoon Sherwin drove through Hyde Park with
Miss Shrope. Whether the day was exceptionally fine or
not, he had no idea, for Freddie's notion that he should marry
Muriel had not been forgotten. The idea was one Sherwin
could not easily rid himself of, and, as the hours passed, he
spent more and more time considering its merits. Sadly, he
had to admit he was not very attentive to his companion.

"Do you search for Lady Muriel? Is it she you favor?" Miss
Shrope sounded somewhat distant, as though she knew rather
than simply suspected.

Sherwin looked at her but said nothing. Apparently his
expression told her whatever she needed to know.

"That really is most unfortunate. Oh, no!" Her small gloved
hand covered her lips moments after her faux pas. "I beg
your pardon, my lord. I had not meant to say that."

"Why do you say `unfortunate'?" Sherwin dreaded what
might come next.

"It is only that- Oh, I dislike gossip." She made a most disagreeable expression, which reinforced his concern that
what Miss Shrope knew, what she was about to tell him,
might be alarmingly unpleasant. "You know they call you
the catch of the Season, do you not? Any young lady would
be flattered if you were to show her interest."

Yes, he understood that every matchmaking mama wanted
to snare him for her daughter, and every eligible miss
seemed to cast lures in his direction. He might have been
easily snared if his own mother, aided by the ever-observant
Mr. Gibbons, hadn't been watching with such keen interest,
making sure Sherwin sidestepped the traps.

"If only you would turn your attention to someone else,
someone more worthy." It sounded more like a plea than a
suggestion.

"Why? What is it you're not telling me?" Sherwin truly
did not wish to hear further gossip concerning Muriel. On
the other hand, he must learn what it was people were saying about her.

She glanced away from him. "I do not wish to upset you,
my lord."

"Please, I wish you to tell me." He all but begged her.

"What they are saying may not be true." She still resisted
and would not look directly at him.

"I still wish to know, if you please." Sherwin did not know
any more he could say to convince her. He waited patiently,
hoping she would accede.

"Very well. If you insist. I-" Miss Shrope drew in a
slow, deep breath before she began. "Last night I heard that
Lady Muriel meets with someone."

"'Someone'?" Sherwin whispered to himself, finding it
difficult to believe such a thing.

"Without her aunt or her father's knowledge." Miss Shrope began to cry. Relaying the rumor, knowing it injured Sherwin
to hear the words, obviously pained her as well. "No one
knows who he is or where they meet."

"How do you know this to be true, then?" Sherwin uttered the words, but he did not recognize his own strained
voice.

"I do not-not for certain, that is. That is why I detest
gossip. It could be completely untrue. See how it wounds
you." Miss Shrope blinked up through her tear-moistened
lashes. "If only you would favor a more suitable young lady,
there are many who would look upon you with..."

The image of the young man following Muriel into the Roman ruins from days ago came to mind. Apparently Sherwin
had not been the only one who'd seen them, and the thought
of her keeping company with an undesirable fellow ...

"Never fear, Miss Shrope." Sherwin patted her hand, trying to lend her some comfort. "I cannot will my affection
from one to another, but I shall not give my favor to anyone
unworthy. Rest assured, I shall obtain a satisfactory resolution."

With satchel in hand, Muriel strode into the marbled foyer
of Worth House and informed Susan of her change of plans.
It seemed as of late that Muriel had difficulty rising early to
study. She had trouble rising because she had difficulty falling asleep at night. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts
of Sherwin. The new Earl of Amhurst had become a constant and unexpected distraction to her.

She hadn't increased the number of lessons as she had
hoped. Muriel did what she could and managed to make
some last-minute arrangements.

"I am to meet with Signore Biondi this afternoon."

"You don't mean now?" Susan cried, sounding heartbro ken. She held the newly crafted bonnet she'd been working
on for a good portion of the week. "But Sir Samuel is to
take us for a drive."

"Sir Samuel will still take us for a drive, goose." Muriel
continued in a whisper. "Only there will be an additional
stop."

"Does he know?"

"We'll tell him as soon as he arrives." Muriel retrieved
her favorite poke bonnet, smoothed her hair, and placed it
upon her head. Their outing would not be altered. The coach
would simply make an unscheduled stop, dropping Muriel
off, and continue on with Susan and Sir Samuel. No harm
would be done, and no one would be the wiser.

"If you wear that, you will be instantly recognized." Susan held out her new Capucine-colored silk, wide-brimmed
hat with a delicately arching ivory-colored ostrich plume.
"You should wear mine. No one has seen it yet."

Susan pulled Muriel's bonnet from her hands and exchanged it with her own. Before the echoes of the knock at
the front door faded, Susan, who had just slipped on her
Spencer, was there to greet Sir Samuel.

"Are you ladies ready?" The Baronet stepped inside and
waited patiently.

"Certainly." Susan had finished tying the ribands under
her chin and accepted Sir Samuel's proffered arm. Walking
out the front door, she glanced over her shoulder at her
friend.

"You go ahead," Muriel urged them. "I'll be ready by the
time you return, Sir Samuel."

"Don't be all day about it," he replied, and he escorted
Susan to his waiting carriage.

Muriel found Susan's hat difficult to don. She thought the
weight of the bonnet unwieldy and would vow she could feel the feather soaring above her head. And how, Muriel
wondered, would no one notice her when she wore this?

Sherwin returned Miss Shrope much sooner than either had
expected. They did not see much point in continuing their
outing or their conversation. She'd fallen into a melancholy
he could not alleviate.

He started back on the journey home. While staring off to
one side, he saw, from a great distance, a gentleman escorting a lady to his carriage. From the movement, the way she
swung her arms by her sides, and the gait, the lady, he was
certain, was Muriel.

"Stop! No-turn around! There!" he called out to the
coachman, pointing to the opposite side of the square.

"You're wantin' to stop off at 'anover Square, sir?" The
jangling of the horses' harness grew to an almost unbearable din when the coachman reined them in.

"Yes, around the outside of the circular path," Sherwin
instructed. "Pull up on the far end, and keep quiet."

At this distance Sherwin could clearly see it was Muriel
in an astonishingly fancy bonnet. With his bonnet knowledge, bestowed upon him by Miss Holbrook, he knew that
the effort it took to fashion such a creation would be immense. This man accompanying Muriel must surely be one
she cared for greatly, unlike Mr. Ambrose or Lord Peter.

Sherwin also felt this was the very same gentleman he
had seen earlier at the Roman wall. Who was he?

Muriel stepped up into the carriage, the man followed, and
the door closed. Soon the black carriage moved off. The long
feather atop her head poked out the window and seemed to
be waving at Sherwin, beckoning him to follow.

So be it.

"Follow them," he ordered the coachman.

"I beg your pardon, my lord, but my orders were-"

Sherwin followed his friend the Earl of Brent's example
and leaned forward on the bench seat, exerted the privilege
of his rank, and for the first time in his life barked out an
order. "I said, follow that carriage."

The barouche shot forward, knocking Sherwin back into
the seat. They headed out of Mayfair, down streets and city
intersections he would never be able to identify. He had no
idea where he was. After a good twenty minutes or so, the
carriage they followed slowed, coming to a stop.

"Walk on," Sherwin instructed. "Turn the corner, and
come about. Don't lose sight of them."

"Aye, my lord," the coachman answered without a hint of
refusal. By the time the barouche came around and rolled
to a stop, the black carriage had dropped off its occupants
and continued on its way.

With foliage obscuring his view, Sherwin could only
catch a glimpse of the long feather on Muriel's hat every now
and again. She, and whoever else accompanied her, had descended from the carriage and crossed to a building. All
traces of the plume disappeared once she stepped inside.

The deep, heavy weight Sherwin felt in his stomach worsened. He must follow her. He would find out exactly what
was going on and whom she was meeting.

"Uno minuto." Signore Biondi raised his hand and shook his
index finger in Muriel's direction. "We shall begin the lesson after I return. Scusi." He retreated into a hallway behind
his carved desk. Muriel could see the back of his balding
head and hear the swish from the hem of the long, heavy,
dark maroon banyon.

Muriel settled onto her customary seat and emptied her
satchel, setting her notepad, various papers, and books upon the small table next to her instructor's massive desk. She
reached into the bag to locate her last item. Her fingers
scuttled around the bottom for the short pencil.

The sound of someone entering the room through the
open door from the narrow corridor behind her alarmed her.
She straightened and spun in her chair to face the visitor.

"Muriel!"

"Sherwin?" She rose from her chair and could not have
been more surprised to see him. "W-what are you doing
here?"

"Where is he?" Sherwin demanded, glancing from one
corner of the room to the other. His gaze finally settled on
the darkened, narrow exit behind the desk. "I know he's
here-the fellow who brought you."

"Brought me? The one who ..." Muriel finally understood that he meant Sir Samuel. No, he wasn't there. He'd
had no reason to remain. He and Susan would continue on
their proposed drive without Muriel until it was time to collect her after the Latin lesson. "I'm afraid I will not reveal
his identity."

"Then it's true." The realization washed across the Earl's
face. "You've been deceiving your family into believing
you care about making a match, and you've been toying
with your suitors to tryst with him."

Was he still referring to Sir Samuel? What gave him the
idea that ...

"Well, my lord, what will you do?" Muriel would not be
tricked into exposing Sir Samuel's involvement. "Expose my
secret? Ruin my reputation? Disgrace my family? Create a
scandal? The entire notion that I'm taking part in an illicit
association is ridiculous."

"You do not deny that you are meeting with him?" Sher win inched forward as he spoke. "You will not even say
who he is." He sounded more than concerned; he sounded
angry.

Muriel moved behind Signore Biondi's desk to put space
between them. "I do not name him because I have no wish
to punish his involvement in this venture when he is all that
is kind by coming to my aid."

"All of London is talking about your indiscretion." Now
Sherwin sounded outright jealous.

"My mistake," she uttered calmly. "I thought we agreed
they were gossiping about us and what was going on between us."

Their mutual silence stretched on for a long while. They
stood there, glaring at each other. Muriel did not understand
the reason for his outburst. Why blame Sir Samuel when it
was Sherwin who had introduced Signore Biondi to her?

Her pulse quickened, and the excitement mixed with anger, twisting inside her, making it difficult for her to think.
"If you could only hear yourself. I would expect you to be the
one person who'd understand." Tears came to Muriel's eyes,
and she did not know why. She never cried. "Do you not realize? Look around you. Do you honestly not know where
you are?"

He blinked, then squinted before lifting his quizzing
glass to take a closer look at the completely filled bookcases,
the extra tomes stacked on the floor against the walls. "This
is . . ." Sherwin's angry expression faded when, as she suspected, he recognized his surroundings.

Signore Biondi appeared out of the small dark opening
behind his desk. "Ah, another visitor. Buon giorno!"

"Signore Biondi, it is Sherwin Lloyd." Sherwin inclined his
head. A flush rose into his face at the recognition of his error.

"He is now the Earl of Amhurst," Muriel added in a sharp
tone, feeling acutely cross with him.

"Si, ah-si!" Signore Biondi nearly shouted and raised
his hands high in welcome. "It has been many years since
we have met, no? And I think there has been much that has
happened between you two, yes?"

Muriel glanced over to Sherwin, who returned her
slightly guilty glimpse. Their correspondence, albeit innocent, would never have been considered correct.

"I shall leave you two to your ... discussion." Signore
Biondi shrugged and readjusted his banyon around his
shoulders. `Amore," he mumbled to himself. "The English,
what do they know?"

"I beg your pardon?" Muriel wasn't sure she had heard
correctly.

"We Italians invented love!" He shook his finger at them
before returning to the small corridor behind his desk. "Remember, children, amor animi arbitrio sumitur, non ponitur." Then he left.

"What does he mean?" As if their situation wasn't difficult
enough, Muriel saw no need for cryptic phrases to further
confuse matters.

"'We choose to love, we do not choose to cease loving,'"
Sherwin translated.

"I understand what he said. But I cannot see how it has
anything to do with us." Muriel had no wish to continue
their "discussion." It was taking up her precious lesson time.