Anne Barbour (10 page)

* * * *

Despite Alison’s restless night, she woke at a relatively early hour, and, slipping from her bed, went down to take breakfast alone. To her surprise, the earl joined her there before she had finished her first cup of coffee.

“My lord,” she exclaimed, splashing the contents of her cup onto the tablecloth, “when did you arrive? That is, I did not hear—

“One of the housemaids was polishing the brass work on the front door, so I just walked in unannounced,” he explained curtly. He gestured an acceptance of ham and eggs proffered by a footman and held out his cup to Alison, who poured coffee from the silver urn resting on the table. “Has my sister come down yet?”

“Good heavens, no,” she replied, startled. “I should be surprised if she were to appear in another two hours.”

“Two hours! But she knows I particularly wish to speak to her.”

“My lord,” said Alison hesitantly, “she did not retire until very late, as ... as you know. She was exhausted, and—

“Yes, I know all about her late night and her exhaustion, but I would have you send for her immediately. I do not have all day to waste.”

So imperious was his tone that Alison’s hackles rose unconsciously. Striving for calm, she spoke quietly. “I know you are ... unhappy with Meg at the moment, and for good reason,” she added, observing the signs of rising temper in his eye, “but she is truly repentant of her actions last night.”

The earl snorted, and Alison continued hastily. “I do not think I am betraying her confidence when I tell you that her wish to attend the masquerade was not mere willfulness, but the result of a childish, albeit very painful infatuation.”

March raised his brows disdainfully. “Are you telling me, Miss Fox, that my sister divulged her plans to you and you said nothing to Lady Edith or me?”

Alison stiffened. “Of course not. I was aware of her interest in this person, but I knew it for a schoolgirl crush and never dreamed she would carry it so far.”

“Go on.” His words carried the merest hint of an apology, and Alison, still bristling, told him of Meg’s harrowing adventures of the night before.

“She is truly sorry for what she has done, my lord, and I believe she has already been punished for her misdeeds.”

March, watching her as she spoke, found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying. He was, instead, trying to determine the precise shade of her eyes. Their color changed, he decided, depending on her mood. Right now, they had turned from their usual boundless Mediterranean blue to what he rather fancied was the tint of a Renaissance Madonna’s robe. She was gazing at him, directly and earnestly, as she spoke, and he felt somehow suspended, as if flung from a precipice out into a dizzying, amethyst void.

“What?” He came to himself with a start. Alison had finished her monologue some moments before and sat staring at him in puzzlement.

“I said, I think your sister has been punished enough. Do you not agree?”

“Oh ... ah, yes, of course. That is, no, I don’t,” he said in some confusion. “I agree that Meg has apparently learned her lesson, but I cannot let her think I am prepared to simply overlook these adolescent starts of hers.”

Alison frowned. “Of course, I would not dream of advising you on how to deal with a member of your family, but—

March grinned. “No more than you would dream of maneuvering my aunt into getting out of the house regularly and eating proper meals, which I know she did not before you came to her.”

Alison flushed. “Oh! As to that...”

“As to that,” returned March, a smile still curving his lips as he reached to cover her hand with his, “I feel that I am about to benefit from your advice whether I wish it or not. I have discovered by this time that you are a rather determined sort.
”
Alison felt ready to sink. She had apparently won him over. Why, when this ought to put her in transports did she feel like the worst sort of humbug? And why was she so conscious of a running fire in her veins simply because his fingers were gently massaging the back of her hand?

As though he had read her thoughts, March hastily removed his hand to pick up his fork, and for some moments addressed his breakfast with great concentration. He lifted his eyes once more when Alison cleared her throat and began speaking.

“I certainly think you ought to speak to her, but she is already aware of the folly of her behavior last night, and anything more you have to add on the subject would only make her resentful. I think rather than punishing her, it would be more to the point if you were to express to her—briefly—your disappointment in her betrayal of your trust and your hope that she will never do so again. She loves you, you know, and the knowledge that she has caused you hurt will be more punishment than anything else you could inflict on her.”

March sat for a moment in bemused silence, and the ticking of the mantel clock sounded loud in Alison’s ears.

“You are very wise, my dear,” he said at last, in a voice so low that she could scarcely hear him. “And you are right. Betrayal is the worst crime one human can commit against another—and the most hurtful.” Alison sensed that he was no longer speaking of Meg’s transgressions, and she held her breath.

To her surprise, March rose abruptly from his chair and said in a brisk tone, “Very well, Madame
Consigliori,
I will leave you now, and return a few hours hence. I shall speak to Meg then, and you may trust me not to bruise her fragile young sensibilities.”

The smile he bent on her was warm and carried such an intimacy that Alison felt a tide of color rush into her cheeks. She stammered an incoherent farewell, and sank back in her chair, trembling, when he had left the room.

Dear Lord, who was she to speak of betrayal? She had won the earl’s trust, but at what cost? She would spend the rest of her life praying that he would never discover her part in the family tragedy from which he had still not recovered. She was forced to admit that the Earl of Marchford had come to mean a great deal to her, although she knew only too well the barriers that separated them. She was the granddaughter of an earl, but his social position, if not his rank, effectively removed him from her, as did his impending betrothal. Not, she was sure, that he looked upon her with anything beyond a friendly acceptance. In other circumstances she would value his friendship as a precious jewel, but she knew she must deny herself even that consolation. He had already invaded her dreams; she must under no circumstances let him creep into her heart, for that way lay sure disaster.

Sighing, she abandoned the cooling remains of her breakfast and made her way to the service area of the house, where she collected the little spaniel Honey for an invigorating walk in the park across from the Crescent. Honey was her usual enthusiastic self and, after clearing the area of any birds who might be threatening the peace and security of the neighborhood, she brought sticks for Alison to throw. An hour spent in this fashion was sufficient to restore Alison’s natural cheerfulness, and by the time she bundled the little dog back across the street, much of her equanimity had been restored.

As she approached the house, she was surprised, given the earliness of the hour, to observe a fashionable traveling carriage pull up to Lady Edith’s door. When a young woman, casting furtive glances in all directions, was handed down from the vehicle, Alison’s eyes widened in astonishment, and she hurried to intercept the visitor.

“Molly!” she cried breathlessly. “Molly! Molly Callander! Whatever are you doing here?”

Chapter 8

“I really should not be here,” gasped Molly breathlessly, her dark curls fairly vibrating in distress. She accepted a cup of tea from Alison and sank back in her chair in the library. Her black eyes darted about apprehensively, as though she feared retribution might be immediately at hand. Alison observed her affectionately, her eyes soft with remembrance.

She and Molly and Beth had been inseparable at school. Alison, the sensible one, was not always successful in restraining Molly, whose snapping black eyes viewed the world as one vast, amusing playground. Beth, golden-haired, pretty, and sweet as the smile that fell from her rosy lips, was the compliant one, always the first to acquiesce to Molly’s hare-brained escapades, and always the first to stand side by side with her friends when those schemes inevitably crashed in ruins.

Alison sighed. In the end, it had been her own escapade that had brought ruin—to so many people. She shook herself, attending Molly’s next words. “I am supposed to be on my way to Bristol, where I am to join Callander at his mother’s house. The family is gathering, you know, for the christening of his sister’s latest. I set out from London yesterday and spent the night in Marlborough. I just had to stop and see you. I know we must not be seen together, but oh, Alison, I have dreadful news!”

“Molly, calm down. Lady Edith is still abed, so we can be private. Tell me what has you in such a pother. Nothing can be all that terrible.”

“Oh, but it is! Marchford is in Bath!”

“Yes, I know,” answered Alison calmly. “He arrived several days ago and has spent most of his time here at his aunt’s house.”

“But—”

“Really, Molly,” Alison continued with an assurance she did not quite feel, “the earl and I have met on several occasions, and he has been all that is cordial.”

Molly expelled a gulping sigh. “Oh, my love, I am so relieved to hear you say that. When I heard he had departed for Bath, I made sure he had discovered all! But,” she continued apprehensively, “if he has not come to ruin you, why is he here?”

Alison chuckled. “To deliver his aunt from the clutches of a certified adventuress, of course. Me.”

“What?” Molly gasped once more. “But I thought you said—”

Alison launched into a somewhat expurgated version of her acquaintance with Lord Marchford, at the end of which Molly broke into a gurgle of laughter. “Oh, Alison, I might have known you would land on your feet. Certified adventuress, indeed. You, my little Vixen, are one of the most honorable persons I know, and I am glad the earl has the sense to see it.”

Alison smiled at the sound of her girlhood nickname, but immediately, she flushed. “I hardly think I can call myself honorable, Molly. When I think of how I have been deceiving him—”

“Nonsense,” retorted her friend stoutly. “It is not as though you are perpetrating a fraud just because you are keeping information from him that would lead to a completely erroneous conclusion on his part.”

“What do you mean? I am indeed the notorious Lissa Reynard whom he has been seeking under every bush in England for the past four years.”

“But you are not the perpetrator of the tragedy for which he has blamed you.” Molly paused and continued hesitantly. “Have ... have you ever considered simply going to Lord Marchford and explaining what really transpired between you and Susannah Brent?”

“Yes,” replied Alison sharply, “and I have come to the conclusion that it would be a great piece of folly to do so. Despite your kind words, Molly, I cannot help but feel responsible for all that happened.”

Molly set her cup down so hard on the little table before her that it rattled. “Alison, I never knew someone with such a—a Methodist sort of conscience. You did not cheat Susannah Brent. You were not even responsible for her horrendous gambling losses. I tell you, Alison, it was all I could do not to repudiate all the lies she told about you.”

“Well, it was a very good thing you did not,” said Alison, smiling ruefully. “You would have been hard put to convince Lord Marchford after that that you knew nothing about me.”

“Or that dreadful little man he set on to me as well,” added Molly. She smiled, and her black eyes danced wickedly. “Oh, Alison, I was truly marvelous. I had both the earl and his persistent detective convinced that I was a totty-headed widgeon who had been victimized by a clever female.”

“You should have gone on the stage,” said Alison with a laugh. “Beth and I always used to marvel at your abilities.” A shadow crossed both their faces at the mention of their friend.

“Poor Bethie,” Molly sighed. “I knew that her marriage to Jack Crawford would end in tragedy.”

“Yet, she loved him,” Alison’s mouth twisted. “And he loved her, too, in his way. He mourned her death sincerely, I believe.”

Molly nodded her head in agreement. “Yes, that’s true. He came to see me some months after she passed away, and I was quite appalled at the change in him. He had lost a great deal of weight, and become careless in his dress. I’ll have to admit, he was one of the handsomest men of my acquaintance, and always rather of the dandy persuasion, you know. Oh!” She sat up abruptly. “I must be losing my mind! I almost forgot the other thing I have to tell you. Jack Crawford is also in Bath!”

“What?” Alison could only stare in disbelief. “Here? I have not seen him. What is he doing in Bath?”

“I don’t know. Of course, he probably does not move in the same circles as Lady Edith Brent, so it is no wonder your paths have not crossed. However, I’d be on my guard if I were you. I don’t see how it would be possible for anyone to make the connection between Lissa Reynard and Jack Crawford, but it seems prudent to keep your distance from him while Lord Marchford is in town.”

“Yes,” replied Alison faintly, awful visions of imminent retribution rising before her eyes. “Thank you, Molly, I shall take great care.”

Molly drained the last of her tea and stood up. “And now, I must leave, my love. I left my abigail cooling her toes in the carriage and must make haste now to reach Bristol at my appointed hour. Do write to me, Alison, and tell me how you go on.” She swept her friend into a scented embrace. “And it goes without saying that if you get into any trouble, and you find yourself driven from Lady Edith’s door with a fiery sword, you are welcome—no,
more
than welcome—to take up residence with me.” She grinned crookedly. “After all, every good little vixen deserves a safe earth.”

Alison returned the embrace wholeheartedly. “I am blessed in my friends, Molly,” she said mistily.

“Pooh,” was that lady’s response. Bestowing an airy kiss on Alison’s cheek, she hurried from the room. As she made her exit from the house, she paused for an instant and looked up and down the street, as though fearful of being observed, before plunging into her waiting carriage.