Double Deception (27 page)

"I have missed you, child," Sir Henry Rothingham said gruffly, opening his arms.

That was all the encouragement Athena needed. With a cry of joy she ran into her father's arms and clung to him, her eyes blurred with emotion. "I have missed you, too, Papa," she murmured, her voice a sob. "I wrote and wrote, but when you never answered, I thought..."

"I wrote, too, child," he interrupted brusquely. "How could you imagine I would not? I wrote to Standish Park, then to your Aunt Mary's in London, then to Spain, but I never received any word of you until St. Aubyn mentioned, quite by accident, that you were staying here in Cornwall as his aunt's guest."

Athena abruptly recalled that they were not alone. She glanced over her shoulder at the earl, who had not moved from behind his desk. There was a strange smile on his face, and Athena knew, with a flash of sudden intuition, that the mention of her presence at the Castle had been no accident.

"I asked Sir Henry for his assistance in authenticating a vase I purchased in London last year," the earl said evenly. "When your daughter told me that her father was a collector of long standing," he continued, addressing the baronet, "and that you had an identical piece in your collection, I could not resist the temptation of inviting you to the Castle to help me verify the provenance of the piece." He paused and smiled ruefully. "But enough of this talk. I expect that Sir Henry is anxious to have you to himself for an hour or two, Athena. I shall meet you again, sir, in the garden over tea."

In the silence that followed the earl's departure from the library, Sir Henry examined his daughter's face avidly. "You have not aged a day since I saw you last, my dear," he said at length, tracing her cheek gently with his fingers. "But I trust that I will never again have to spend so many long years without a glimpse of you, my pet. It makes my heart break to think that I have a granddaughter I have yet to meet. Where is she, Athena? Does she take after you, my love?"

Athena smiled up at him mistily. "I believe you will find that Penelope takes after Mother, Papa. And after John, too, of course."

"Where is Standish, by the way?" Sir Henry asked suddenly, catching Athena quite unprepared. "I look forward to renewing my acquaintance with the lad."

Athena opened her mouth but no sound came. She had forgotten that, not having received any of her letters, her father was unaware of John's death.

"Oh, Papa," she moaned softly, laying her head on Sir Henry's comfortable chest. "John is no longer with me. That is to say," she faltered, "he was lost at Talavera nearly two years ago."

"My poor darling girl," Sir Henry murmured hoarsely, enveloping Athena in another bone-shattering hug. "And I was not with you to help you bear that terrible burden, child. How can I ever forgive myself? I should have known you had written, and would never leave my letters unanswered. That woman shall pay dearly for this, love. I promise you."

Athena raised her head and wiped her eyes. "Whatever are you talking about, Papa?" she demanded.

She saw there was pain in his eyes as he looked down at her. "Your stepmother, Athena. I have a feeling she is behind this, and I shall get to the bottom of it, mark my words."

"Grade?" Athena had never been close to her father's second wife, but she had difficulty believing evil of her. "Surely you are mistaken, Papa?"

"I hope you are right, love, but let us not waste time on that now. There is so much I want to know about your life in the past years. But first of all, I want to meet my granddaughter."

"And Aunt Mary?"

"Yes, and your Aunt Mary, too, dear. It is time this family came together again, would you not agree?"

Athena agreed whole-heartedly, but at the back of her mind, she could not rid herself of the notion that, had it not been for the Earl of St. Aubyn, this family reunion might never had happened at all.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of contentment for Athena. She could not remember experiencing such happiness since she had lost John, and as she watched her daughter's unrestrained joy in her newly discovered grandfather, Athena could not contain the surge of gratitude she felt for the man who had made this reunion possible.

She knew she should thank him, but had been too shy—after that strange interlude they had shared under the willows—to approach him when the family dispersed after taking tea in the garden. When they gathered before dinner in the Blue Dragon Saloon, the earl and Lord Ridgeway had talked politics with her father, and Athena knew better man to interrupt gentlemen while they debated the fate of their country.

So she sat on the imposing dragon-footed settee with Lady Ridgeway and Lady Sarah, basking in her newly acquired bliss, and wondering why she was not quite as delighted as she should have been at her father's insistence that she make her home at Rothingham Manor with him. She had accepted, of course. Her dream had been for Penny to grow up in her childhood home, with the dogs—Papa had told her that Paris and Juno had left numerous progeny when they passed on—the lake with its new generations of frogs and minnows to tempt a young girl's sense of adventure, and the pony Buttercup, which Lord St. Aubyn had insisted belonged to Penny, to have for her very own.

Her life had suddenly changed dramatically for the better. Dreams that she had never expected to achieve now seemed within reach. Not all of them, perhaps, but enough to assure that Penny's future was as secure and happy as Athena could make it.

But what about her own future? she wondered. She would be secure enough in her father's house, but would she be happy?

Lady Ridgeway reached over to squeeze her clasped hands. It was uncanny, Athena thought, how this woman could tell when her mind was troubled. She smiled at the countess and was not surprised when she received a sly wink in response.

After dinner, the ladies removed to the Blue Dragon Saloon again, and Athena was persuaded to play a duet with Lady Ridgeway. It amused her to discover that they were entirely compatible on the pianoforte and later in singing old country ballads that Lady Sarah played for them.

"We are destined to be bosom bows in our old age," Jane remarked jokingly. "I wager you are a rotten card player, too, Athena, and that you do not like needlework."

"She is that all right," Aunt Mary remarked with a laugh. "I tremble every time I partner my niece. She has no guile whatsoever, which is what a successful gambler needs."

"Who is talking of gambling?" Sir Henry boomed out heartily as the gentlemen sauntered into the room. "Still up to your old tricks, are you, Mary?" he teased.

After a cheerful amount of badinage with the baronet, Lady Sarah—whose passion for cards matched Aunt Mary's—organized a game of whist with Sir Henry and Mrs. Easton. Perry was persuaded to make up the fourth, on the condition that Lady Sarah cover his losses.

As soon as the card players were absorbed in their game, Lady Ridgeway linked her arm in Athena's and led her friend down to the morning room and out onto the long brick terrace overlooking the rose-garden.

"It is cooler out here," the countess remarked. "And I do so enjoy the summer twilight. I think it the most romantic part of the day."

Athena took a deep breath, savoring the perfume of roses in the still air. A splash from the pond told her that one of the fat fish had bestirred himself enough to jump for his dinner. And from a distant hedgerow, a nightingale sent up its first liquid trill of the evening.

As they strolled in comfortable silence, Athena felt her heart swell with happiness. She needed to share her joy with her new friend, and speak of the shadow that troubled her heart.

As if divining her intent again, Lady Ridgeway spoke first. "Tell me all about Rothingham Manor," she said. "Will you be happy there, Athena?"

Ah! that was the rub, Athena thought. At Rothingham there would be Gracie to deal with. If her stepmother was indeed guilty of destroying all communication between Sir Henry and his daughter, how could Athena forgive her?

"It will not be easy, my dear," the countess agreed, after Athena had confided in her. "But it might be that Lady Roth-ingham acted out of love for your father. And if this is the case, then how can you not forgive her?"

"Love?" Athena exclaimed in astonishment. "How can you say so, Jane? What she did was irrational and unkind."

"And do you suppose love is always rational and kind, Athena?" Lady Jane laughed softly. "Nothing could be farther from the truth. The things we do in the name of love are often hurtful and selfish."

Athena stopped abruptly and stared at her, an uncomfortable thought crossing her mind.

"Yes, exactly, my dear," Lady Jane said gently. "Only consider your own love for your daughter, Athena. Was it not that love that moved you to accept an offer from a man you did not love?"

"But I merely wished the very best for Penny," she protested weakly. "Is that so very wrong?"

The countess smiled. "No more so than St. Aubyn's wish to save his son, whom he obviously loves very much, from an unsuitable marriage."

"Are you suggesting that I tricked Perry into making me an offer?"

"No, of course, not," Lady Jane responded soothingly. "But if you are honest with yourself, you must admit that St. Aubyn was right. It would have been an unsuitable match for both of you."

Since this was not the first time such a thought had crossed her mind, Athena did not respond immediately. Jane was right, of course. How could she deny that marriage to Perry, sweet boy that he was, would have fallen far short of fulfilling her own needs as a woman? Such considerations had not entered into her decision to accept his offer. All she had seen—in her blind love for her daughter—had been the immediate solution to their straightened circumstances. Had she really been so unconcerned about Perry's needs, and her own? The answer was so obvious now that Athena felt deeply shamed at her own callousness.

Lord St. Aubyn had seen the betrothal for what it was. She realized with painful clarity that he had also seen her for what she was. He had called her a fortune hunter, and in a sense he was right. She had accepted Perry under false pretenses, not for rank or fortune as the earl had suppossed, but for something her heart had yearned for and imagined within her grasp.

"Yes," she murmured after a while, "he was indeed right. The betrothal was a mistake.
My
mistake, if you will. But it was a shabby trick to use seduction as a weapon against me, do you not agree?"

"Seduction is always a weapon, my dear Athena," Lady Ridgeway said with a knowing smile. "A weapon as old as the world itself. But even when used innocently, as your St. Aubyn seems to have done—"

"There is nothing innocent about that rogue," Athena broke in heatedly, her mind flying back to the searing kiss she had shared with the earl in the dungeon.

Lady Ridgeway laughed outright at this protestation, and Athena felt herself blush at the wicked light that danced in her friend's tawny eyes. "Well, now," the countess murmured complacently, "that is a good sign, my dear. Our seducer is not such a slowtop as I had feared."

"Our
seducer?" Athena repeated incredulously. "You must have windmills in your head, Jane," she added severely. "This is no laughing matter, I can assure you."

"Well,
your
seducer, if you insist, my dear," Jane corrected herself teasingly. "I should warn you, Athena, that seduction can be unpredictable. All too often the unwary seducer becomes the seduced, as Martin found out to his surprise. I cannot wait to see what St. Aubyn does when he discovers he has been seduced."

Athena stared at the countess, a horrible suspicion coiling inside her. "Seduced?" she repeated vaguely. "By whom, pray?" 

"By you, of course, you silly goose." Lady Ridgeway laughed delightedly as Athena's hands flew to cover her mouth. 

"How absurd you are, Jane," Athena managed to choke out after a fit of coughing. "I am not the least bit interested in seducing anyone."

"How cruel of you to say so, Mrs. Standish," an amused baritone murmured behind her. "Are we gentlemen so devoid of all manly appeal that you can cast us aside without a quiver of regret? What a lowering thought. Would you not agree, Sylvester, old chap?"

Both ladies had swung around at the sound of Lord Ridge-way's voice, and now Athena noticed that he was not alone. Lord St. Aubyn, his face enigmatic in the deepening twilight, stood beside his friend, his eyes fixed on Athena.

Lady Ridgeway must have sensed Athena's shock, for she slipped her arm through her husband's and smiled up at him with immoderate pleasure. "You are a sad tease, my lord," she murmured. "You will have Athena thinking you are the veriest libertine. Come, let us stroll through the gardens for a while before we go up to bed."

"Anything your heart desires, my love," Ridgeway murmured huskily.

Lady Ridgeway's words were spoken softly, but Athena caught the hint of anticipated pleasure in her friend's voice and blushed hotly. Before she could think of an excuse to prevent Jane's desertion, the couple had turned away and descended the shallow steps into the twilight.

Athena was left standing beside Lord St. Aubyn in the gathering dusk of the warm summer evening, her heart beating furiously.

***

In the sudden silence, Sylvester heard the soft splash of a fish jumping in the pond. The air was redolent with the scent of roses, and in the distance a night bird cut through the dusk with a burst of sweet song.

Sylvester's heart felt like singing, too. Thanks to his ingenious friend, Ridgeway, he was finally alone in the warm summer evening with a female who made his pulses race like a young man's. It amused him how deftly Martin had arranged the scene, separating his countess from Athena with just the right hint of intimacy in his voice to deter others from joining them in their amorous tSte-a-te'te. Even now the randy devil must be kissing his wife, Sylvester thought enviously, gazing down at the woman beside him.

Athena's expressive eyes were lowered, her hands clasped tightly, and for a delirious moment Sylvester wished he were Martin, who would undoubtedly have pulled her into his arms without further ado and kissed her soundly. But Sylvester was not Ridgeway; indeed, they were so different in this respect that he often wondered why they had developed a lasting friendship over so many years. Martin would not be a loss for words, he thought, chafing at his own lack of initiative. There was so much he needed to tell this woman, so much he wanted to share with her, but aside from his beloved Adrienne, he had never been adept at expressing his intimate feelings to any woman. Much less to one who still seemed to hold him in dislike.