The Devilish Mr. Danvers Page 11

“You cannot possibly manage on your own,” Ursa stated, matter-of-factly, before turning toward Calliope. “Lady Everhart, perhaps you could persuade her to end this delusion of hers, and return to the bosom of her family where someone with her . . . illness belongs.”

  Hedley interrupted before Calliope was obliged to respond. “Ursa, I hope that is not a tea stain on your lace.”

  “Where? Oh!” Her sister quickly examined her wrists. In seeing a slight discoloration, her histrionics began. “It will be ruined! I must have it cleaned immediately.”

  “Unfortunately, I have no maid to help you.” Hedley said with a tsk. “In fact, I have nothing here for you at all.”

  “Come now, Ursa. We’ll return to your aunt’s,” Mother said, already turning her back and heading into the foyer. “After your trip to London, we’ll find a place to put the girl.”

  Then, without another word, they left.

  “Good-bye, Mother. Ursa,” Hedley said as the door closed a moment later.

  She was too ashamed to look over at Calliope. Instead, she busied herself with cleaning up the mess on the table and within the basket. The small amount of tea in her cup seemed to have soaked everything.

  In silence, Calliope bent down and used her serviette to wipe off the biscuit tin. Thankfully, the tea chest was still in the kitchen.

  The entire basket had been such a lovely gift—no, it still was a lovely gift. And Hedley would never forget how wonderful it had been to see Calliope standing on her doorstep, eager to have a cup of tea with her. Eager to be her friend. It was heart-wrenching that their afternoon and their friendship had ended this way. But Hedley didn’t blame Calliope for what was bound to happen.

  “I apologize for what you witnessed and what happened to the lovely gift you brought,” Hedley said, holding back tears.

  Calliope balled up her serviette and threw it down. “I am positively appalled. Forgive me, but I can no longer hold my tongue.”

  Hedley cringed inwardly. She knew what was coming. Drawing in a deep breath, she lifted her head and met Calliope’s gaze.

  Calliope’s lips were drawn tight. “I have never in my life spoken against another person’s family, but your sister is . . . horrible! And your mother, to behave so coldly toward her own child”—she settled a hand over her middle as if in a gesture of protection—“is beyond my understanding. Hedley, you’ve no need to apologize. I am the one who should apologize to you. There was so much I wanted to say while they were here, but I was so stunned by their actions that I couldn’t speak.”

  “You were going to—” Now, Hedley was speechless. Calliope was going to stand up for her?

  “Absolutely,” Calliope said with a firm nod. Her brown eyes were fierce with anger. “And if they walked through that door right now, I wouldn’t hesitate. Not now, when all the perfect things I’d wanted to say have finally formed into coherent thoughts.”

  A watery laugh escaped Hedley. “That happens to me too. I always think of the perfect thing to say the moment the door closes.”

  Calliope laughed as well. “Between the two of us, we could manage a quite thorough set-down . . . albeit marginally delayed.”

  The more Hedley thought about the absurdity of laughing at this moment—especially after all that had happened—the more she laughed. And even more absurdly, Calliope joined her until they both had tears leaking from the corners of the eyes.

  Grinning, Calliope used the corner of the serviette to dry her eyes and then placed it, gently this time, into the basket. “Let’s take this disaster with us to Fallow Hall and see what can be made of it.”

  It was a lovely idea, but then Hedley looked down at the state of her clothes. Not only was her dress smudged, but now it was splattered with tea. “I’m not fit to be seen at the moment.”

  “Nonsense. We have clothes aplenty in the manor. Crates and crates.” Calliope waved in a gesture of dismissal before she picked up the basket. “This time, I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Hedley smiled.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “I just knew we would find several evening gowns for you,” Calliope said from her bedchamber while Hedley dressed behind a screen. Calliope’s maid, Meg, had offered to help, but Hedley wasn’t entirely comfortable with the idea.

  Meg had discovered several costumes among the attic trunks that Calliope thought would fit Hedley’s figure. But since Hedley had had ill-fitting garments to wear all her life, she hadn’t allowed her hopes free rein. And slipping her arms into the cap sleeves of a peach-colored silk gown with a sheer white overdress, her doubts resurfaced.

  “We are fortunate that they were packed so well. Only a few garments were moth eaten. Most of the lot is still lovely. And look,” Meg said, draping a pair of elbow-length gloves over the top of the screen. “They are still white, for the most part.”

  “I’ve spent some time pilfering the crates,” Calliope remarked. “Much was left in the attic when the current owner of this house took possession of Fallow Hall after he’d won it in a card game.”

  Pulling on the silk gloves, Hedley stalled halfway up her arm. “The gentlemen gambled for a house?”

  “Men will wager on absolutely anything. In fact, the gentlemen here have—” Calliope didn’t finish. Instead, she gasped when Hedley stepped out from behind the screen. Standing across the room, she’d been examining another gown, but it fell from her fingertips to the arm of a chair. “Oh, Hedley! You look divine. I had no idea you possessed such a tiny waist.”

  Meg ushered her to a full-length mirror, and Hedley stared blankly at her own reflection. It was her face, but the rest of the image looked nothing like her. Or perhaps too like her—when she wasn’t wearing clothes at all. “I look naked.”

  “Isn’t that a fine trick,” Calliope cheered. “However did you fit all that bosom in the dress you wore today?”

  And all of her bosom was well defined beneath the silk, square-cut bodice. “The dresses I have once belonged to Ursa. As you saw today, we do not have the same figure.”

  In the mirror, Calliope pursed her lips and sniffed. “Yes. She is very much like your mother. You must take after the women on your father’s side.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.” Hedley didn’t elaborate or mention the rumors she’d heard throughout her life. Her new friend had already been subjected to enough of her family dealings for one day. “Are you certain the woman who left these clothes here won’t be angry if I borrow this one for the night?”

  “I am certain, though I hesitate to tell you the reason.” Calliope leaned in to whisper. “It’s quite scandalous.”

  “Tell me,” Hedley whispered back, unable to suppress an errant thrill that shot through her. She hardly knew herself.

  “According to my friend, Lady Knightswold, whose husband owns this house now, the previous owner was a notable member of Parliament. Rumor has it that his wife eloped with a French count and left all of her belongings here. The house was left empty for years before it was recklessly gambled away.”

  “So . . . I am wearing the clothes of a woman who had a scandalous love affair with a French count?”

  Calliope nodded slowly. “I would completely understand if you would rather not . . . ”

  “No, I rather like the idea. Somehow, knowing the sordid history makes my skin tingle.” Hedley laughed and Calliope joined her. Even Meg snickered.

  “Oh, good, because it looks perfect on your figure.” Calliope lifted a selection of combs, comparing each. “I must warn you, Hedley, this experience may change your life forever. Once a young woman finds a perfect dress . . . she always wants another.”

  Hedley could well imagine that being the truth. “Do you think I should try the blue one?”

  “Well, it would certainly save me from having to coerce you.”

  Meg laughed. “If you were to debut wearing that gown, miss, you would be married by morning.” Then, she addressed Calliope. “I’m sure many of the upstairs maids will wonder what Lord Lucan and
Mr. Danvers will say.”

  “Hmm . . . ” Calliope mused. “I find that gentlemen reveal more by what they do not say. Their actions usually speak for them.”

  Nervous at the turn of the conversation, Hedley raked her teeth over her top lip. “To say what, exactly?”

  “Whether or not they are interested in pursuing you.”

  “Pursue . . . me?” The way that gentlemen callers had pursued Ursa? Surely not. It was one thing not to be invisible and quite another to be . . . pursuable. Hedley knew very well that she was not. “Oh, but I have no interest in marrying.”

  It was better to say it directly before anyone had aspirations.

  “My darling friend,” Calliope smiled broadly at Hedley’s reflection. “Never say those words to a newlywed. It reeks of challenge.”

  Boris lifted his head from Rafe’s knee and looked toward the open archway of the study.

  By the sound of the familiar, methodical footsteps, Montwood had returned to Fallow Hall.

  At last, Rafe thought, feeling a semblance of relief. After spending the day in his workshop, he’d been waiting for this opportunity. He needed to set his plan in motion before . . . Before he found himself distracted by Hedley Sinclair again.

  Yesterday had altered him. He couldn’t stop thinking about her account of the carriage accident. He could only imagine what it must have been like for a young girl to bear witness to such a tragic death. If Hedley’s reactions to seeing a horse and carriage were so strong, even now, he could only imagine what they’d been like when she was a child.

  And the Sinclairs had locked her away because of it. He didn’t think it was possible to hate that family more, but he did. Strangely, he didn’t see Hedley as an extension of her family. Not any longer. In fact, he almost feared that he wouldn’t be able to go through with his plan to take Greyson Park from her. Almost. Regaining control of Greyson Park was the only way to restore his family’s legacy.

  Even so, his plan had altered somewhat. Now, he was determined to make sure Montwood fell in love with Hedley and treated her in the manner she deserved.

  Just then, the man in question strode in from the stables, handing off his hat and gloves to Valentine, who trailed him into the study. “Have any letters arrived for me?”

  “None, my lord,” Valentine said. “However, a messenger boy came by four days ago to inquire if you were in residence. I informed him that you were not.”

  Peculiarly, Montwood did not inquire further. Like any cardsharp worth his salt, his expression remained unchanged. “Very good, Valentine.”

  Summarily dismissed, the butler retreated. Montwood walked directly to the sideboard, poured a whiskey, drank it, and then poured another.

  Sitting in the shadows of the study, Rafe cleared his throat to make his presence known.

  “I know you are there, Danvers.” Montwood tipped back the second glass and poured a third. “I’ve spent too much of my life in the dark not to be aware of those who linger in the shadows.”

  For a man who rarely spoke about his past, this uncharacteristic revelation surprised Rafe. But he knew better than to comment on it. “Did London treat you well?”

  “I’m down 1,971 pounds and two shillings. I barely escaped having to put a bullet through a young buck’s head because he’d foolishly challenged me to duel. And the stable master at Stampton’s Inn refused to change my horse.”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t have slept with the man’s wife.” It was a guess, but Rafe knew it was either a case of a cuckolded man or one who’d lost a fortune gambling against him.

  Montwood scoffed. “His sister, and she wasn’t an innocent. Far from it. In fact, she might have even taught me things.”

  “Ah, yes, but you have that charming way about you that makes women fall in love with you.” Rafe was counting on it.

  Montwood turned and lifted his black eyebrows. His peculiar amber-colored eyes glinted with mischief. “And why, pray tell, are my romantic escapades suddenly under your quizzing glass?”

  “Absent observation.” Rafe shrugged.

  Montwood’s keen gaze sharpened. “I did hear mention of another matter while I was in town. There was a rumor flitting about, regarding the return of the infamous Ursa Sinclair—though she is Mrs. Nathan Cole now, isn’t she?”

  “I have heard the same rumor.” Rafe admitted. He knew that the surest way to disguise a deception was to pepper in plenty of truth. “Apparently, she believes that a treasure was left behind at Greyson Park and desires to add it to her husband’s fortune.”

  “Greedy lot, aren’t they?” Montwood asked. “Say, does our dinner guest share the family trait?”

  “Dinner guest?” Reflexively, Rafe’s hand tightened around the glass. It suddenly felt hot, as if he’d just removed it from the furnace. Hedley is here? He should have realized that her presence was the reason for the restless feeling that had settled over him the moment he’d arrived.

  “The kitchen maids were talking about our mysterious guest to a few of the groomsmen when I arrived,” Montwood said offhandedly. “You can learn a plethora of information from overhearing a servant’s conversation.”

  “And what else have you learned?” As if he didn’t already suspect.

  Montwood grinned, flashing a dimple. “That our dog spent a week with her. That she met with you in the drawing room. That she and Calliope have become fast friends. And, most important, that she inherited Greyson Park.”

  “Amazing what one gleans while eavesdropping.” Rafe sneered as his friend chuckled. “And she quite adamantly refuses to sell.”

  “Can you blame her? From what I’ve heard, she was kept locked in the attic. I can tell you from experience that being locked in a room is not pleasant.” Quite out of character, Montwood had revealed another peek into his past, though he did not elaborate. There was a dark edge that sometimes seeped through the cracks of the charming façade he’d adopted.

  “You’ve heard a great deal about our neighbor.” And most of it must have come from inquiries in London, because as far as Rafe knew, no one here, other than he, knew about her past. He realized that Montwood had likely wanted to test Rafe for how much he knew . . . and Rafe had fallen for the trap. Undeterred, he continued with his plan. “Do I detect a note of interest on your part?”

  “I make it a point to learn all I can about my dining companions. One can never be too careful. Poison is a nasty way to go, after all.” He swirled the liquid in his glass with an absent air. “Besides, I would have to be tempted beyond reason to woo an innocent. And I am never without reason.”

  Rafe knew better than to poke someone else’s demon. So he eased off a bit. “I think she would make a good companion for Calliope. Hedley could live with them at Briar Heath when the repairs are finished.”

  Montwood’s glass paused on the way to this mouth. “Such familiarity, and you are already planning her future.”

  “I simply abhor her surname,” Rafe said, exhausted by the need to explain this. She wasn’t one of the Sinclairs. They didn’t deserve her. “As for her future, I care not, as long as she is absent from Greyson Park.”

  Montwood placed a hand to his chest. “You have heartily convinced me, good sir. Now I have no fear that you were attempting to put her in my path so that I would lose the wager.”

  Damn. His friend was too cunning by half. However, Rafe refused to give in. “We have already won—each of us earning five thousand pounds from Everhart’s early ejection from our game.”

  “Ah, but five thousand pounds is not ten thousand pounds, is it? And I plan on winning it all, Danvers. I wouldn’t have made the wager otherwise.”

  Rafe took the challenge and lifted his glass in a salute. “Then you shouldn’t have wagered against me.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In the end, Hedley decided to wear the blue dress. She preferred not to be quite so visible for her very first dinner. The blue was a lovely satin accented with darker ribbons crisscrossed over the bodice, and a lo
ng skirt embroidered in silver thread. The best part was that it shimmered in the torchlight when she walked.

  Instead of the tips of her red shoes peeking out from beneath her hem, white-beaded slippers caught her gaze, though they pinched ever so slightly. It served as a reminder that no matter how lovely her evening promised to be, she didn’t really belong. The thought only amplified her nervousness and sent a fresh wave of icy dampness to her palms.

  While she was glad to be here, this would be her first formal dinner. Before the accident, she’d dined in the nursery. She remembered how her nurse had constantly remarked on the number of rules to follow for a proper young lady. Yet Hedley had never finished those lessons. She only hoped that she wouldn’t make a fool of herself.

  “We should have a party here at Fallow Hall and invite all the neighbors. Since you never had a Season, we shall give you a party.” Calliope linked arms with her as they walked down the long staircase.

  Before Hedley could answer, a familiar gray beast bounded up the stairs, tongue lolling off to the side and tail wagging so wildly that he lost his balance and missed a step.

  Hedley laughed, automatically reaching out to pet him but then hesitated when she saw her pristine white gloves. “Boris, I would pet you, but I am wearing borrowed gloves.”

  “Woof!”

  “Not borrowed at all,” Calliope said and reached out with her own elegantly adorned hand to scratch Boris behind the ears. “They are your gloves. In fact, all the clothes are yours.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t—”

  “You’d prefer to pack them away in order to feed the moths and mice. Ah, you have a generous spirit, Miss Sinclair.” Calliope laughed. “However, I would much rather give these clothes, and the others, a breath of life before they are moth-eaten and threadbare.”

  Hedley felt the flesh of her cheeks tighten from smiling so broadly. “Are you insisting?”

  “I am.”

  “Very well, then.” She was quite certain that her expression revealed that doing so was no hardship at all. Then, reaching out, she gave Boris a solid pat. “He’s a good sort, isn’t he?”