The Housemaid's Scandalous Secret (6 page)

Ross waited through a long moment of awful suspense, knowing exactly where Harry’s thoughts would turn next. Finally, when he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion, as if the words were being gouged out of him.

‘What is known about her?’

‘On Giles’s request I have been to see her.’

‘What did you make out?’

‘She is an intelligent woman—she is also likeable and quite charming. She has a child she claims is Jamie’s heir, and she also has a letter from the chaplain who performed the marriage ceremony—and Jamie’s ring.’

‘But...that is preposterous. As the heir, on a matter of such importance, it would be so unlike Jamie to commit himself to marriage without consulting with or at least informing his family first.’

‘I agree. However, having met her she could very well be the type of woman Jamie would have fallen for.’

Harry felt a prickling along his nape. His instincts urged him to use extreme caution in making any judgement. ‘What do you think, Ross? Could this woman be an imposter?’

Ross sighed and shook his head slowly. ‘I don’t know that. In fact, in all honesty I don’t know what to think, which is why the truth concerning the marriage must be determined—along with the facts concerning Jamie’s demise—before disaster strikes.’

‘And if it is proven that Jamie is dead and the child is indeed his son, then as heir the estate will pass to him on father’s death. And Mother’s money too.’

‘It looks like it. And should no body be found, then it will be seven years before an act of Parliament is passed officially declaring Jamie dead. In the meantime his finances will have to remain untouched. You’ve been to Spain, Harry. You have knowledge of the country, and being attached to the diplomatic service in London means you are ideally placed to go to there and search out the truth. We need hard evidence that Jamie is dead.’

Leaning his head against the back of his chair, Harry closed his eyes and drew a long, deep breath. Spain! He didn’t want to go back. Reminders of that time evoked painful, personal memories he preferred not to recall. And now Ross was asking him to go back.

‘You are right, Ross. I must return. If this woman’s claim cannot be disproved, then her son is heir. It could be devastating to the whole Montague dynasty. Dear Lord, Ross, how has it come to this? As youths we lived like princes, champagne was drunk as though it were water and guests invited to Castonbury Park to partake of the Montague’s hospitality were open-mouthed at the liberality and display. We hunted with the best of the county, the stables filled with expensive hunters, the kennels full of hounds—the hunt servants, the display of wealth. How is it possible that it’s in danger of disappearing? It cannot happen. We cannot let it happen. We have to stop it.’

Ross knew that Harry would do everything within his power to seek out the truth. The Montagues’ attitude to family was possessive and protective. They were a warrior clan defending what was theirs at all costs, their instinct being to hold on to what they had won. ‘What are your chances, Harry?’

Harry’s eyes narrowed into a slight frown and his features took on a pensive expression. ‘The answer is that I don’t know.’ His tone implied the chances were not extremely good, but then he had contacts in Spain who might be able to help him so it was not entirely hopeless. ‘But to find out what really happened to my brother is a mission I am duty-bound to undertake—and to find out what I can about this woman and if her claim is genuine. Leave it with me. I’ll make arrangements to leave for Spain. Unfortunately I have commitments to fulfil regarding my work here in London so I am unable to leave right away. I’ll write to Giles at Castonbury informing him when I can depart and again as soon as I have anything to report.’

* * *

Although Lisette had learned to contend with the varying moods and whims of Lottie Arbuthnot, this, she feared, was a different environment and a different mistress entirely. She had complete care of Miss Araminta’s wardrobe and it was her duty to clean and repair any garment that needed it. She attended her toilet and arranged her hair—a task Lisette was taught by the maid who had attended Araminta before Lisette took up her position.

Her young mistress was a leading belle of the
ton
, and to Lisette’s despair she was unpredictable and problematical. But she was also warm and open and there was something about her that Lisette liked.

She had completed her first week and was arranging Miss Araminta’s hair when there was a knock on the door. Meeting Lisette’s eyes in the mirror, Araminta gave her a knowing smile.

‘That will be Ross—impatient as ever.’ She bade him enter.

Contrary to Araminta’s comment, Ross sauntered in and made himself comfortable in a chair facing his sister. He’d made it a practice to visit her in her room each day, and although he kept his visits brief, he found himself nevertheless looking forward to them because it gave him the opportunity to see Miss Napier. Out of uniform, Colonel Montague was the very epitome of an elegant gentleman. With his dark hair brushed back and shining, he was the image of relaxed elegance in his black and white evening clothes and one well-shod foot propped casually atop the opposite knee.

‘I thought I’d come and see what’s keeping you, Araminta. We’re expected at the Bosworths’ in half an hour.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry, Ross. As soon as Lisette has finished arranging my hair I’ll be ready.’

‘I’m sure they’ll understand if we’re a bit late,’ he said, content to sit and observe the delectable Miss Napier put the finishing touches to his sister’s toilet. Even his expression was casual.

Looking at Lisette through the mirror Araminta eyed her in watchful curiosity, noticing her wandering attention and the soft flush that had risen to her cheeks when Ross had entered. She wondered what lay behind her maid’s lovely face, for she really was exceptionally beautiful and in the right clothes she would be stunning.

‘Tell me, Lisette, do you speak any other languages besides English?’

‘I speak Urdu and Hindustani,’ she answered, aware of Colonel Montague’s eyes observing her every move and willing herself not to think of it. ‘My parents taught me well and were quite insistent that I learn the language in order to understand the people and the culture of India.’

‘That must have been difficult.’

‘Not really. I was young so it came naturally.’ Suddenly she felt like disappearing into the floor, for her announcement might have sounded like boasting and probably branded her a bluestocking in her mistress’s eyes. But it had done no such thing. It had only increased her mistress’s growing respect for this unusual maid of hers.

‘Do you play the pianoforte and sing too?’ Ross asked with a teasing smile.

Lisette returned his smile through the mirror and said, ‘Oh, no. I can’t do either. I gave up the piano in frustration, and when I opened my mouth to sing, to my immense relief my mother covered her ears and gave up on me.’

‘And do you like working here, Lisette?’ Araminta asked.

‘Of course. I consider myself extremely fortunate to be working for such a fine family.’

‘I am glad my brother brought you to my attention.’

‘Our meeting on the docks was brief. I’m surprised he remembered me at all.’

‘I’m not. You’re very pretty, Lisette. Exceptionally so, and never have I seen hair so dark as to be almost black—in fact, I do believe it is. It’s a beautiful shade—exotic, even, the perfect frame for your features and creamy skin. Do you not agree, Ross?’

Caught completely off guard, Ross said cautiously, ‘Forgive me, Araminta, I’m not sure what you mean?’

‘Either you’re extremely unobservant or else your eyesight is afflicted. I was talking about Lisette’s hair. It’s quite extraordinary, don’t you agree?’

‘I am sure Colonel Montague has many things to think about other than my hair, Miss Araminta,’ Lisette remarked. ‘It is black and quite ordinary, which I do not find in the least exciting and is a common shade in India.’

‘You don’t like it,’ Ross summarized.

‘Not really,’ she answered, touching Araminta’s light brown tresses with something like envy in her eyes, ‘but one must be satisfied with what one is born with. I would imagine that living in India and seeing nothing but dusky skins and black-haired natives day in and day out you would find monotonous, Colonel Montague.’

‘Not at all—quite the opposite, in fact,’ he replied, his gaze shifting to that exotic hair twisted and coiled neatly about Miss Napier’s well-shaped head, with not a hair out of place. His fingers ached to release it from the pins and to let the heavy mass tumble in waves over her shoulders and down her back, to run his fingers through the tresses and to smell its fragrance.

It began to register on Lisette that the expression on his face wasn’t dislike at all. In fact, he really did look almost admiring—and she saw something primitive flare in his eyes, which stirred her alarm and which she chose to ignore. Meeting his gaze she favoured him with an irrepressible sidewise smile. ‘You mean you really do like it?’

Ross liked it. He liked every damn thing about her. In fact, he wanted nothing more than to thrust his sister out of the room and snatch Miss Napier into his arms, to kiss the smiling mischief from her lips until she was clinging to him, melting with desire. She’d indicated a feminine concern about her hair, then calmly accepted it. This gave him the distinct impression that pretence and pretension were completely foreign to her, and that she was refreshingly unique in those ways and probably many other delightful ways as well.

He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin, continuing to watch her from beneath hooded lids. ‘That is what I said.’

‘And my brother’s opinion matters,’ Araminta said smoothly, regarding Ross with fascinated disbelief. It was time for them to leave for their appointment, but there was something about the undercurrents flowing between her brother and her maid, something so very strange about everything, that she was reluctant to break the mood.

‘I am glad you think so, Araminta, since it is my opinion that Miss Napier is in need of some new dresses as befits her position—although it would be more pleasing to the eye to see her decked out in satin and lace.’ He studied Miss Napier surreptitiously. Beauty was moulded into every flawlessly sculpted feature of her face, but her allure went much deeper than that. It was in her voice and her graceful movements. There was something inside her that made her sparkle and glow, and she only needed the proper background and situation and elegant clothes to complement her alluring figure and exquisite features.

‘Really, Ross,’ Araminta chided lightly, ‘it’s very ungentlemanly of you to remark on that.’

A lazy smile transformed his harsh features. ‘Surely I haven’t done anything to give you the impression that I’m a gentleman!’

It was the exaggerated dismay in his voice that brought a smile to Araminta’s lips. ‘Nothing at all, and if you must know a trip to the modistes to purchase Lisette some new clothes is imminent—but ball gowns are quite out of the question.’

‘Of course they are,’ Lisette said quietly. ‘It’s quite ridiculous to contemplate such a thing—although Colonel Montague has my gratitude.’

He gave her a puzzled look. ‘For what?’

Those candid eyes lifted to his in the mirror, searching, delving, and Ross had the fleeting impression that with time she might see straight into his devious soul. She obviously hadn’t gotten his true measure, however, because a warm smile touched those soft lips of hers.

‘Why, for providing me with this opportunity.’

Her gratitude only made him feel guilty about everything, more of a disgusting fraud, for letting her think of him as some gallant white knight, instead of the black-hearted villain who had every intention of luring her into his bed.

Having watched the byplay between Ross and her maid and quite enthralled by this teasingly flirtatious side of her brother, Araminta’s eyes twinkled mischievously. ‘Ross never forgets a pretty face, Lisette. I’m quite certain that if I hadn’t mentioned that I was in need of a maid, he would have concocted some other means of renewing your acquaintance.’

Lisette flushed with embarrassment. ‘Oh, I—I never meant...’ She saw Miss Araminta’s pitying look and knew she was being seen as completely besotted.

‘No, of course you didn’t. But be wary,’ she said, meeting her brother’s eyes with something akin to cynicism. ‘Don’t let my brother’s charm sway you. Many a villain has been god-like in appearance, and such an attribute can be to the dire cost of the poor victims.’

And there speaks the voice of experience, Lisette thought, beginning to realise that her young mistress might not have come out of her broken betrothal as unscathed as some might think, after all.

She was proved right a moment later when Araminta pulled herself up straight and smiled, her eyes meeting Lisette’s in the mirror. ‘As clever as you are, Lisette, and looking as you do, you no doubt will want to find a husband eventually.’

Lisette stiffened at those words and tried to ignore the fact that Colonel Montague was listening most intently. She could not detect any hint of ridicule in Miss Araminta’s voice, but she must be laughing at the very idea that someone might want to marry her.

‘As a matter of fact there is nothing further from my mind, but if I were, I see nothing wrong with that.’

‘Well, if marriage is your goal, pray let me dissuade you from it. You may think me something of a radical, but I have come to think that womankind is rendered helpless by her dependency upon men. At their mercy we are no better than rabbits in a trap. It is far better in life to remain unencumbered, if possible.’

‘Thank you for your cynical view on the subject, Miss Araminta, but it is not a view I share. I would like to think that marriage is a partnership based on mutual love and respect, and companionship, not an encumbrance.’

‘You are quite right, Miss Napier,’ Ross remarked. ‘I can see that when I single out the object of my matrimonial intentions, I would be wise to seek your advice.’

Over her shoulder, Araminta threw him a glare of mock offence. ‘Ladies are not objects, Ross. Little wonder you have failed to secure yourself a wife. And if you did I can only assume that you would toss her over your shoulder, carry her off and beat her into submission.’