The Marriage Trap (23 page)

Ellie raised her umbrella threateningly, but this only provoked the boy who wanted her coat. He wrested the umbrella out of her hands and would have hit her with it if Alice had not given him a hard shove, sending him into the gutter.

A whip cracked and the next instant, Derek Acton had jumped down from his box and was advancing upon the little group. Another crack of his whip sent the boys running.

“Get in the hackney,” he yelled, “before they come back.”

A hostile crowd was gathering. Ellie grabbed Alice's arm, dragged her to the hackney, pushed her in, and climbed in after her. Acton slammed the door behind them.

“Back to Mayfair?” he asked.

“No!” cried Alice.

Ellie said the first thing that came into her head. “Take us to the Clarendon Hotel on Bond Street.”

That would give her time to decide what to do for the best for all concerned.

Jack arrived home to find a hackney stationed outside his front door. Assuming it was for Robbie, he barely glanced at it. He was running late and knew they would not start dinner without him. After dinner, he was to escort the ladies to the opera, not so much for the performance—which always left him in a stupor—but to mingle with friends and acquaintances and enjoy the pleasure of their society. That was the theory. For himself, he aimed to show Ellie off and demonstrate to the world that he was well pleased with his lot.

And that was a barefaced lie. He was anything but pleased. He was confused. He didn't understand why Ellie continued to hold him off, or why he would let her, when the air between them would become charged whenever their glances met. He didn't know why he was turning into a sanctimonious old fogy. When had he ever objected to a beautiful woman wearing a revealing gown? Only with Ellie. And as for being jealous of Ash—he must be losing his mind.

Thoughts of Ellie evaporated when he heard raised voices coming from the drawing room. As he approached the door, his grandmother exited, white-faced and tight-lipped. When she saw him, she crossed to him at once.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Ellie,” she said. “She sent a hackney driver to fetch clothes and money. She's putting up at the Clarendon with Alice. Frances is in such a taking, I think she'll have an apoplexy if she doesn't calm down.”

Jack was bewildered. “Ellie at the Clarendon? Start over, Grandmamma, and speak slowly. Why is Ellie at the Clarendon?”

“Because Alice refused to come here. Look, talk to Robbie, or better still, talk to that nice hackney driver, Mr. Acton. They can explain better than I. I'm going to pack Ellie's things and see if I can find something that will do for Alice, too.” She let out a sigh and managed a smile. “I'm glad you're home to take charge, because Frances has turned this unfortunate incident into a full-blown Cheltenham tragedy. You'd better get in there”—she pointed to the drawing room—“before Robbie throttles her.”

With that, she turned and made for Ellie's chamber.

Jack's mind was buzzing. For one awful moment, he wondered if Ellie had left him. Sanity returned in the next instant. If ever she did leave him, she'd want to tell him to his face.

On that reassuring thought, he breathed deeply and entered the drawing room. When he shut the door with a snap, four people, all standing, turned to face him—Frances, Caro, Robbie, and a young maid whose name he could not remember. Since she was weeping into a handkerchief and seemed to be integral to the proceedings, he did not ask her to leave.

“Robbie,” he said, “what's this about Ellie?”

Robbie opened his mouth, but Frances cut him off before he could say a word.

“Ellie has disgraced us all,” she declared. “Without a by-your-leave or a word to anyone except”—she glared at the maid—“this wretch, she went off alone to the stews of Westminster to aid and abet that immoral slut I dismissed from our service not two days ago.”

“What ‘immoral slut'?” asked Jack.

His bewildered question had the young maid weeping again.

No one was listening to Jack. Robbie shot Frances a withering look. “Whom
you
dismissed without a penny to her name. Where else could she go but to the stews of Westminster or the workhouse?”

Frances's voice rose shrilly. “To put it delicately, the girl is
enceinte
. She deserves to be pilloried for her immoral behavior, not rewarded!”

Caro's hands flew up to cover her hot cheeks. “Oh, Jack,” she wailed, “Ellie took Alice to the Clarendon! The
Clarendon
, of all places! What if someone sees her? What if they find out about Alice? There are so many fashionable people who go there. They'll be laughing behind our backs.”

Robbie sneered at this outburst. “What a heartless girl you are! Can't you think of anyone but yourself?”

Caro's eyes glinted with fire. “And how like your sister you are!” she retorted.

This was too much for Jack. “Silence!” he roared.

Startled, everyone stared at him mutely.

Jack was beginning to make sense of all the fragments of information that were being tossed around, and it became clear to him that Caro had no business being there, a young girl of seventeen embarking on her first season. Too late now, to send her to her room. What was his grandmother thinking of?

As he well knew, his grandmother was not a stickler for propriety. Frances was, but not when she was bristling with self-righteousness. He supposed that most people would have agreed with her, but not Ellie. She had been raised by a different standard.

“I take it,” he said, “that Alice is or was one of our maids?”

“She was a rather clever seamstress,” Frances allowed, “before her fall from grace.”

“I see.” He let the thought turn in his mind. “How did Ellie find out?” He looked at the maid. “You told her?”

Meghan gulped and nodded. “Her ladyship wanted to help her.”

“How?”

“
How
doesn't signify!” Frances's agitation could not be contained. She began to prowl the room. “It's
why
that matters, why Ellie does what she does.” She pivoted to face Jack. “Your wife, let me tell you . . .” Whatever she saw in Jack's face made her trail to a halt.

Ignoring Frances for the moment, he spoke to the maid in the gentlest voice he could manage. “What is your name?”

Another gulp and a whispered, “Meghan.”

“Well, Meghan, you did the right thing in telling her ladyship about Alice. You need not worry about your friend. Lady Raleigh would never allow any harm to come to her. Off you go, then. Get back to work.”

Meghan darted a glance at Frances, then looked at Jack. “You mean, you're keeping me on?”

“Of course. Your position here is secure. You have my word on it.”

Jack walked to the door and held it open. Meghan bobbed him a curtsy, sobbed out her thanks, and hastened from the room. Those who remained were perfectly still, their eyes fixed on Jack as he took a few steps toward them.

He spoke conversationally, but no one was deceived by his pleasant manner. His eyes betrayed the depth of his feelings. “You are quite right, Frances,” he said. “It's the ‘why' that matters. Why does Ellie do the things she does? I'll tell you why. Because she won't listen to reason; because she is stubborn.” Robbie moved restlessly, but Jack paid no attention to that. “Because of the way she was raised. She's a Brans-Hill, and all the Brans-Hills are tarred with the same brush.”

“I say, sir,” began Robbie, stiffening, but Jack drowned him out.

“They're taken advantage of at every turn. They're easy pickings for anyone who comes to them with a sad story. They don't count the cost; they don't think of consequences.” A smile touched his lips and he glanced at each person in turn. “So you see, Ellie deserves our utmost respect, and I intend to see that she gets it. Do I make myself clear?”

Evidently, he did. If a petal had fallen on the carpeted floor, everyone would have heard it. Satisfied that he had made his point, Jack left the room.

There was a footman crossing the hall downstairs. Jack called out to him, “There's a hackney outside. I want to speak to the driver. See to it, um—” He couldn't remember the footman's name.

Ellie would know it. Promising to do better in the future, he went to Ellie's room to have a few quick words with his grandmother before speaking with the hackney driver.

Jack arrived at the Clarendon in a mild state of panic. Though the hackney driver, Acton, had assured him that Ellie was relatively unharmed, he'd been appalled to hear of the attack on her and her maid in a part of town that was inhabited by the dregs of humanity. “A plucky lady,” Acton called her. “Reckless” was the word running through Jack's mind. He was sympathetic. He understood her scruples. One part of him admired her, but another wanted to give her a good shaking. A husband should have some say in the ordering of his wife's life. Ellie had too much freedom for her own good and he had no one to blame but himself.

He was out of the hackney the moment it stopped. Needless to say, he rewarded the driver with a generous gratuity for all his trouble. But Acton hadn't finished with him yet.

“Beggin' your pardon, guv'nor,” he said, “but . . .” He stopped momentarily as Jack hefted the valise out of the cab, the valise his grandmother had packed with clothes and toiletries for Ellie and her maid.

“Go on, Acton. You were saying?” He tried not to show his impatience, because this young man had come to Ellie's aid, and he was grateful to him.

Acton gathered himself to say what was on his mind. “Go easy with her, guv'nor. She's had a bad fright. A bad shaking up, is what I mean. But I don't think she's hurt in any way that counts, leastways, not that I could see.”

“I thought you said she was unharmed?”

“She is, she is!” Acton hastened to reply. “But she did take a bump on the head and she's acting a little odd.”

Truly alarmed now, Jack made for the stairs to the hotel lobby and, in spite of the leather valise, took them two at a time.

A footman was hovering just inside the door. Jack wasted no time in asking him to lead the way to the countess of Raleigh's chamber. The footman, a stoic, elderly gentleman, gave no sign that the request was odd, coming as it did from the lady's husband, who had a luxurious town house at his disposal within walking distance of the hotel. He answered in the disinterested accents of one who has seen everything and is surprised by nothing.

“Your suite of rooms is upstairs, your lordship,” he replied. “If you would be good enough to follow me.”

A suite of rooms.
Jack wasn't sure what to make of that, but a hotel lobby was not the place to show his ignorance. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of acquaintances who, in the normal course of events, he would have been happy to talk to. But not now, not before he had a chance to speak to Ellie.

The footman led him up one flight of stairs, to where the best rooms the hotel had to offer were located, and stopped at a door halfway along the corridor. This floor was well lit by candles in pewter sconces on the wall. The carpet underfoot was luxuriously soft. Jack was pleased to note that the hotel's staff had recognized Ellie's quality and were treating her with every civility.

When he knocked on the door, there was no answer. The door was locked. “Ellie,” he said urgently, jiggling the door handle.

The footman cleared his throat. “Might I suggest, your lordship,” he droned, “that you use the key?”

Jack tried not to look sheepish. “The key,” he said, and plucked the object from the footman's hand.

“Her ladyship asked me to give it to you. There are two keys to your suite of rooms. Her ladyship has the other.”

“My suite of rooms?” said Jack. He left the question hanging. No need to show the footman that he was totally ignorant of his wife's arrangements.

The footman nodded. “Two bedchambers with an adjoining parlor. I believe her ladyship is in the parlor entertaining guests.”

“Thank you.”

The footman bowed and walked away. Jack used the key and entered the room. The only light came from a fire burning in the grate and from a door that was slightly ajar, the door to Ellie's private parlor, he supposed. When he heard her voice calling “Trump!” he was sure of it.

He threw the valise on a chair, then, smile fixed, he pushed open the door to the private parlor. One step in, he halted. Three gentlemen and Ellie sat around a table playing cards. It was evident who was winning by the pile of guineas beside Ellie's elbow. Now, why wasn't he surprised to find Ash here?

One comprehensive glance told him that his wife seemed none the worse for her adventure. Her cheeks were flushed, the result, no doubt, of the wine she was drinking. Apart from that, she seemed in fine fettle, cheerful even. But that could be because she was counting the money she'd won.

Since no one seemed to have noticed him, he shut the door with a snap. Ash was the first to react. Just as though he were still a soldier, he slipped his hand into his boot to retrieve his dagger and turned sideways in his chair to face the intruder. As recognition dawned, a big grin spread over Ash's face.

“Finally,” he said, rising, “the cavalry has arrived. What kept you?”

“I wasn't at home when Ellie's messenger came calling.” Jack's smile was unwavering.

He turned that icy smile upon the two sprigs of fashion who were also present—silly young jackasses, in his estimation, who were far too obvious in their attentions to his sister.

“Good evening, Mr. Plaisance, Mr. DeVane,” he said.

They jumped to their feet. “Evening, Lord Raleigh,” they chimed in chorus. His scrutiny brought blushes to their beardless cheeks.

Ellie was on her feet, as well. “Jack,” she cried, “these gentlemen have done me a great service. Had it not been for Mr. Plaisance and Mr. DeVane, Alice and I would have been turned away at the door. They vouched for my identity and insisted I be treated with the utmost respect.”

“Ah no, I h-hate to correct a l-lady,” said Mr. Plaisance, stumbling over his words, “but it was Lord Denison who deserves the credit.” He gave a forced laugh. “No one recognized DeVane or me, but everyone knew Lord Denison.”

Jack could well imagine the scene in the hotel lobby. Had Ellie no sense? Didn't she care about her reputation? That thought led to another. Eyes narrowing, he said, “Where is your maid?”

The question brought Ellie up short, as though it had just occurred to her that a lady entertaining gentlemen with no chaperon present was no lady at all. She said feebly, “In her bedchamber. The excitement was too much for her. She wasn't up to company, I'm afraid.”

Jack's focus was diverted when Ash thrust a glass of wine at him. “Drink it,” said Ash, his face unsmiling, “before your blood turns to ice. The chill in here is becoming unpleasant. That's what comes from leaving all the doors open while we were waiting for you.”

The reference was understood, but hardly made a difference. So all the doors had been left open to protect Ellie's good name. She shouldn't have been in this predicament in the first place. Had she confided in him, her husband, he would have taken care of everything.

Ash was smiling again. “Come along, gentlemen,” he spoke to his companions. “Our usefulness is at an end. No, don't thank us, Jack. What we did, we did for your lovely wife.” His smile slipped momentarily. “I should hate to hear that anyone had made so lovely a lady unhappy.”

Plaisance and DeVane said much the same, but they did not try to emulate Ash when he pressed a kiss to Ellie's hand. With a wary eye on Jack, they bowed themselves out of the room.

Ash lingered for one moment longer. “Don't worry about the gossips,” he said. “As far as anyone knows, there was an accident to Ellie's carriage. Her poor maid took a spill and cannot be moved until the doctor gives his permission. You'll note, Jack, I had the presence of mind to bespeak a suite of rooms in your name. Only the best, of course, because only the best is good enough for Ellie.” He allowed himself a small smile—all for Ellie's benefit, Jack thought—then he went on, “I wish I could be there to see your face when you get the bill.”

When he left, he shut the door carefully.

Ellie glanced at Jack. “You, sir,” she said, “have the manners of a barbarian. How
could
you be so abrupt with these gentlemen whose only offense was to be kind to me? They helped me when I got into difficulty. I'm sure you were told that Alice wouldn't return to Park Street at any price. And who can blame her?”

He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but not this unprovoked attack. Her smiles and thanks were all for Ash and her two springs of fashion. No word of thanks to the husband who had rushed to her rescue and would have to pay the shot. Knowing Ash, he would guess that this suite of rooms was going to cost him dearly.

“And you, Madam Wife,” he replied with equal force, “have the discretion of an unschooled puppy.” To make his point, he walked to the door to Alice's room and closed it soundlessly.

For a moment, she looked crestfallen, but her expression cleared and she said in the same forceful tone, “We left it open to preserve the proprieties. That ought to please you. Besides, Alice is dead to the world. The excitement was too much for her.”

“That's what you call propriety? Your maid asleep while you entertain three gentlemen next door? And playing cards, of all things!”

Her mouth flattened. “The money is for Alice. She's in need of it, as you surely were told by Mr. Acton. And it only amounted to a few guineas. Besides, these gentlemen are your friends. They could not have been more helpful.”

And here was the source of her frustration. For the last little while, she'd come under a heavenly cloud of masculine admiration. Those kind young gentlemen, no more than boys, really, had treated her as though she were a princess. And they were kindness itself to Alice, a mere maid. That said a great deal about their character.

Then, when Ash arrived on the scene minutes later, she and Alice were whisked into a private parlor and feted with champagne and tiny sandwiches. Ash certainly knew how to please a lady.

Naturally, she had to account for the straits they were in, but she'd judiciously expurgated anything detrimental to her maid. She was willing to admit that things had turned out better than she deserved, but she did not think she deserved Jack's angry harangue.

What was he saying now? More on propriety?

“And do you think it proper to go off to the stews of Westminster without telling anyone, mind, on an undertaking fraught with danger?”

It was his tone of voice more than his words that hurt, and that hurt swiftly converted to temper. “I didn't know Alice's lodgings were anything but respectable. How should I? Had I known, I would have asked Robbie to go with me.”

His voice rose. “What about your husband? You should have come to me for help.”

“You were not there. Besides, I could not be certain that you would help me.”

“That's my point!” Without conscious thought, he'd been edging closer to her and they were now toe-to-toe. “I said you were unschooled and this whole misadventure proves it. I'm your husband, but I might as well be a doorpost, for all the attention you pay to my wishes.”

She stuck her nose in the air. “Oh, not a doorpost, Jack. Say rather a bell that constantly rings a peal over me.”

He slowly lowered his face to hers. “Maybe you deserve it.”

She'd always thought his eyes were the color of dark chocolate. For the first time, she noticed flecks of amber lurking in their depths, flecks that were glinting dangerously, turning his eyes a lighter hue.

If he was trying to intimidate her, it wasn't working. She lifted her chin. “You did not forbid me to go to Alice's lodgings.”

“Because you never asked!”

“And now you know why!”

She pushed past him, lifted the candle from the table, and marched into her bedchamber. After setting the candle on the mantel, she went to the valise and began to unpack it. He watched her from the open door.

Having found what she wanted, she marched with her bundle through the parlor and entered Alice's room. A moment later, she returned. He was still stationed at the door to her bedchamber.

“Would you mind?” she said, adopting her vicar's daughter mode. “My gown smells of the gutter and I'd like to change.”

Her meaning was plain. She wanted him to leave. It was a challenge no self-respecting husband could tolerate.

“I won't stop you,” he said. He took a step inside the room and shut the door with his foot.

Not a word from Ellie. She went to the valise, shook out a frock, and, preserving her silence, stalked to a tapestry screen in one corner of the room.

“Ellie,” he said, “this is foolish.”

He lost his train of thought when the gown she'd been wearing was tossed on top of the screen. His mind was filled with a vision of Ellie in her lacy underthings. The pleasant reverie vanished when it occurred to him that, for all he knew, her undergarments might be made of serviceable calico. A fine state of affairs when a husband did not know what his wife wore next to her skin!

His temper was spent, but not his determination to show Ellie the folly of her ways. Next time, she might not be so lucky. Next time, she might be taken up by scoundrels and wastrels, and not by gentlemen who followed a code of honor.

He tried to sound reasonable. “May I remind you, Ellie, you are not Aurora? You are not a woman of the world. You are my wife. What you do affects every member of our family. Our actions have consequences.” He stopped and winced. He was beginning to sound like a pompous ass.