Читать книгу Lady Olivia And The Infamous Rake - Janice Preston, Janice Preston - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Olivia awoke the next morning with a woozy head and a vile taste in her mouth. She grimaced and cranked open her eyes. The maid had been in to open her curtains—she must have slept right through that—and the bright sunlight stabbed at her eyes. She screwed them tight and groaned. Then, as memories of the previous evening filtered into her consciousness, a feeling of sick dread settled in her stomach.

Mama’s necklace.

She rolled on to her side and curled into a ball, her head in her hands, fingers rubbing her temples as she tried to think of a solution.

All she could think was: Thank goodness Papa is away.

But would Freddie notice the necklace was missing?

She shot up into a sitting position, ignoring the nauseous roil of her stomach, and forced her eyes open. There, on her dressing table, were the bracelet and eardrops. She hadn’t even had the sense to put them in a drawer last night when she took them off. Had the maid noticed them? If she had, hopefully she would not realise their significance.

Olivia swung her legs out of the bed and levered herself to her feet, wincing as pain speared her temple.

How much punch did I drink last night?

And she had Lord Hugo Alastair to thank for that. Lord Hugo Alastair...legendary for his exploits, according to Alex and to the gossip of her friends. There had been much giggling and whispering behind their hands on the few occasions his path had crossed that of the young innocents out in society for the first time. And the most recent on dit—that his older brother, Lucas, was due back in town for the first time in six years—had stirred not only much excitement among some of their older sisters, but also the retelling of the most lurid tales of the infamous Alastair brothers—tales intended to act as a dire warning to beware of Lord Hugo and his ilk, but that instead merely intrigued.

No woman was safe, they had been told.

Hmmph. No woman is safe...except me.

She had been ready to fight him off in the hackney, but he had shown no inclination to even flirt with her, let alone kiss her.

I prefer my ladies willing. And experienced.

She supposed he had acted the gentleman, but it still rankled. She had become accustomed to young men courting her and paying her compliments, not ignoring the charms that others praised. He had scolded her and treated her like his sister. All her life she had striven to prove she was good enough for her brothers, only to be dismissed, time and time again, as a mere female and, even worse, a child. But Alex was only two years older than her, and Dominic three—that wasn’t so big a difference. Not like Papa and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Cecily, who was a full ten years younger than Papa.

Olivia went to the dressing table and scooped up the jewellery, a sharp memory of her mother rising from the past as she stared down at the rubies and diamonds.

Mama...seated at her dressing table as her maid clasped the necklace around her neck. The rubies had looked like drops of blood and the diamonds like chips of ice as they sparkled in the candlelight.

It was Olivia’s last clear memory of her mother—being pushed impatiently aside as she tried to touch the jewels...her mother snapping, ‘Oh, do get the child away from me. She will crease my dress...’ The maid scurrying to the door and calling for Nurse...being bundled from the room in tears at yet another rejection from her mama.

No matter how hard Olivia had tried to be the perfect daughter, Mama had been...uninterested. That was the word. She had been proud of her boys, as she had called them—although Olivia couldn’t recall her spending much time with her sons—but the only love and approval Olivia could remember from her childhood had come from her father, her uncle and her aunt.

Her throat thickened and she swallowed past the painful lump that had formed. Not long after that memory, she had been told her mother was dead. She had been just five years old...she barely understood at the time but, as she had grown, she had finally understood that she would never now have the chance to make her mother proud of her.

The sound of her door opening shook her from her memories and she quickly opened the drawer in front of her and flung the jewellery inside. She would put them back in the safe later.

‘How are you this morning?’ Nell’s violet eyes were wide with sympathy.

‘I am very well.’ Olivia ignored the pounding of her head. She did not deserve sympathy. She crossed to Nell and took her hands. ‘I am sorry for disturbing you last night, Nell.’

‘I do not mind, although I should have preferred it if you had told me your plans. Mayhap I could have persuaded you not to go...that it was a mistake.’

The mischief in Nell’s smile suggested she was well aware that Olivia would not have listened to her and, despite the guilt and worry causing Olivia’s stomach to alternately clench and roil, she laughed. They had been firm friends ever since their first meeting at the start of the Season, even before Nell’s stepsister and Olivia’s father had met and fallen in love.

‘Have you thought about how to get the necklace back?’

‘No.’ Olivia rang the bell for Hetty, her maid. ‘But I am sure I shall find a solution.’

‘And Freddie definitely does not know about the necklace?’

‘No. You have not told him, have you?’

‘No, not about the necklace, but I did tell him we spoke last night because he looked so worried I was almost afraid he would speak to Lady Cecily about it and she, of course, would be duty bound to tell your papa when he returns.’

‘Did Freddie find Alex?’

‘Yes, although he stormed off when Lord Hugo scolded him for putting you at risk. Freddie was quite impressed by his lordship... He has promised to help Freddie watch out for Alex until your papa comes home.’

Impressed?

Olivia pictured those lazy, mocking eyes and that hard edge to his smile as he goaded her into agreeing to a guinea a point. Now her head was no longer fuddled with the effects of punch, she realised Lord Hugo had seemed like two completely different men the night before. She had no trouble reconciling the Lord Hugo Alastair of notoriety with the bored, cynical man in the supper box, but the man who had come to her rescue, and who had escorted her home...safely...and who had, according to Nell, agreed to help Freddie watch over Alex...he was less easy to define. Which was the real man? She trusted Freddie’s judgement, but...what if it was an act and, somehow, Lord Hugo meant Alex harm? She’d told him things last night she would never normally reveal to anyone outside her family. Was he the sort of man who might use those revelations against Alex? One thing was for sure. Somehow, she must contrive to speak to Lord Hugo and try to make sure Alex was at no risk.

It is a pity I cannot so easily deal with Lord Clevedon—unless I reveal all and throw myself upon his mercy.

At the moment, that was her only hope. She had been scared last night by his insistence that she dine with him when she redeemed her necklace but now, having thought it through, she realised her disguise as a female of lax morals had prompted his treatment of her. Clevedon was a respectable and well-respected nobleman—if he knew Beatrice’s real identity, he surely would not still insist on her dining with him. Would he?

But...if I reveal to him that Beatrice was me, will he keep my secret? Or will he tell Papa?

Maybe, if she prayed most devoutly at church later, God might show her another way.

The door opened and Hetty came in with a jug of water. Nell squeezed Olivia’s hand.

‘I shall see you later.’

* * *

Reluctance slowed Hugo’s steps as he neared the Bruton Street town house where his mother resided with his new stepfather, Sir Horace Todmorden. His lack of enthusiasm did not stem from any disinclination to see his mother—he loved his mother and, despite his initial doubts about their whirlwind courtship and marriage last year, he had to admit Mama and Sir Horace were happy together. And having Mama living closer to hand—instead of at the far end of the country at Rothley—had proved more agreeable than he had anticipated.

No. His reluctance was entirely due to the fact that Mama was nobody’s fool. He inhaled deeply and then released that breath with some force. He must do this. He could not leave things as they stood. It was his fault Olivia had ended up playing to such high stakes and had been forced to pledge that necklace and it behoved him to set her mind at rest. He walked on with renewed purpose and rapped on the front door.

‘Good morning, Stape,’ he said as the door opened. ‘I’ve come to escort my mother to church.’

The butler’s eyes widened slightly, then he stepped back and bowed as Hugo strode past him into the house.

‘I shall inform her ladyship of your arrival, my lord, if you would care to wait in the salon?’

Not ten minutes later the door opened and Mama swept in, already dressed for church in a dark blue pelisse and matching hat.

‘Hugo?’ She crossed the room in her normal brisk fashion and placed both hands to his chest. ‘You are real.’ Her dark eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. ‘I felt certain Stape had made a mistake. I almost accused him of helping himself to the brandy while dear Horace is away.’

‘Mama. Looking as beautiful as ever, I see.’

Hugo kissed her cheek, then gave her a hug, feeling his heart lift.

‘But what is this nonsense? You? Escort me to church? Stape must be mistaken about that.’

‘There is no mistake, Mama. With Sir Horace away, I thought to offer my services, that is all.’

His stepfather had been called back to his estate near Brighton and was not expected to return until Tuesday. Mama tilted her head to one side, making her look more than ever like a bright-eyed, inquisitive bird.

‘Well, I am delighted to accept, my dear. In fact, nothing would give me greater pleasure than to walk into St George’s upon your arm, but...’ her eyes narrowed ‘...I know you. You are up to something. And I shall be watching you.’

She smiled, wagging her forefinger at him, and Hugo—who was already wondering how on earth he might contrive a private word with Lady Olivia Beauchamp without setting the gossips of the ton on fire—knew that his own mother, with the sharpest eyes of anyone in his acquaintance, would be the first to notice any particular attention. And, worse, she was the only person with enough nerve to interrogate him about it.

‘Watch all you like, Mama. If a son cannot do his mother a service without an ulterior motive, then what is the world coming to?’

Mama smiled serenely as she pulled on her gloves. ‘As you say, my dear. Come then. Shall we walk, as it is such a lovely day?’

Hugo bowed and proffered his arm.

As they crossed Hanover Square on their way to St George’s he saw her, alighting from Cheriton’s town coach. She was with her aunt, Lady Cecily, as well as her eldest brother, Avon, Freddie Allen—the Duchess’s brother—and the Allens’ stepsister, Lady Helena Caldicot. She and Olivia made a striking pair, both tall and willowy, but as different in colouring as it was possible to be, with Lady Helena’s silver-blonde locks contrasting with Olivia’s raven-black hair. No sooner had the pair set foot on the pavement than a pack of eager young pups clustered around them: bowing, proffering their arms, clearly striving to be the favoured one. Hugo bit back a derisive snort at the sight. At least he had never made a complete cake of himself over a woman like that.

No. You have made very certain never to risk your heart.

He dismissed that snide inner voice as he watched Olivia laughingly refuse all offers, instead linking arms with...Nell, she had called the other girl last night. They sashayed up the few steps to the church door—two young ladies with the world at their feet: beautiful, well connected and no doubt with generous dowries. It was what the ton...the Season...society...was all about. He stared at the pups dogging their footsteps. At least they were a better match for her than a cynical, world-weary man about town such as Clevedon. Or himself.

Which of them will she favour?

He wrenched his attention from the group, irritated by his random thoughts, the last of which he mentally amended to Which of them will they favour?

Last to emerge from the town coach was Lady Glenlochrie, handed down by Avon. She leaned heavily on her stick as the remainder of the party made their way slowly into church.

‘Hugo?’

Startled, he looked down at his mother. Saw the interest in her small, dark eyes. And cursed his inattentiveness that had slowed their pace to a near crawl as he had become absorbed in watching the Beauchamps’ arrival.

‘My apologies, Mama,’ he said smoothly. ‘I found myself wondering why Lady Glenlochrie was with the Beauchamps, but then I remembered her connection with the Caldicot chit.’

Mama’s lips thinned. ‘Chit? Really, Hugo, I do wish you would not use such words. It is most ungentlemanly.’

At his nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, he saw the interest in his mother’s expression fade into one of disappointment. She had made her ambition very clear. Since his brother, Lucas’s, nuptials at the end of last year, her one wish was that Hugo would meet a nice young lady and settle down. He huffed a silent laugh. Never. He wasn’t the marrying kind and, besides, no nice young lady would ever consider him as suitable husband material. But their exchange had reminded him...

‘I came across young Alex Beauchamp last night at Vauxhall. He struck me as being an unhappy man. Any idea why?’

His mother’s eyes twinkled. ‘It amuses me to hear you describe him as such, my son. He is not so very different from you at that age.’

‘I am aware of that. I, however, had good reason with the father I had.’

Guilt and pain fused in Mama’s expression. ‘You did and I am more sorry than you know for not protecting you and Lucas more.’

‘Mama.’ He put his arm around her shoulders for a quick hug. ‘You did everything you could to protect us and we’re both more than grateful for that.’ The memory of his mother taking the blows intended for her sons reared up and impotent rage raked his gut. His father had been dead three years and was way beyond any revenge or retribution. Hugo hauled his thoughts back to the Beauchamps. ‘Someone hinted at something in the past that affected young Beauchamp. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the story.’

‘It was his mother. She was murdered and Alex discovered her body. He was only seven years of age and it affected him really badly. And for some reason—no one quite knows why—he seems to blame his father.’ Mama shot a quick look around, then lowered her voice. ‘Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead, but it was a release for both the Duke and his children. Their mother had no time for them...they were far better off being raised by Lady Cecily. She is like a mother to the three of them and has devoted her entire life to them. They are very fortunate to have her.’

So that was what Olivia had alluded to in her jumbled tale of the night before. To know your mother had been murdered—even if she wasn’t the perfect mother—must have affected Olivia as much as Alex.

They continued on into the cool interior of St George’s.

* * *

Olivia squeezed her eyes tight shut as soon as they settled into the Beauchamp family pew at St George’s and prayed for a flash of inspiration. She waited, but none came and, finally, she opened her eyes to find her aunt frowning at her.

‘Are you unwell, Livvy?’ Aunt Cecily took her hand. ‘You are very pale. Are you in pain?’

As Olivia opened her mouth to protest her good health, she was distracted by the sight of a tall, dark-haired gentleman walking up the aisle with a tiny, older woman upon his arm. He turned his head, scanning the congregation already seated in the high-sided box pews and, even though she was seated furthest away from him, his gaze lingered on Olivia, a smile tugging at his mouth. She felt her eyes widen.

What is he doing here? What does that look mean? What is he doing with Lady Tod—?

Her thoughts stumbled and tripped over one another as Lord Hugo Alastair handed Lady Todmorden—his mother, who had been Lady Rothley before, Olivia now recalled—into a pew. Never had she seen Lord Hugo attend the church, although Lady Todmorden attended every week and, as she and Aunt Cecily were on friendly terms, they often exchanged a few pleasantries if they met at a function, or in passing on the street, or—and Olivia’s heart gave a racketing thump before it began to race—after church.

‘Livvy? What is it? You look as though you have seen a ghost.’ Aunt Cecily now chafed Olivia’s hand between hers.

‘I am perfectly all right.’ Olivia forced her gaze back to her aunt, praying she hadn’t noticed her interest in Hugo. She elevated her nose. ‘I was merely indulging in pious reflection. This is a church, is it not?’

The bells ceased ringing just as Aunt Cecily tutted and it sounded extraordinarily loud in the sudden, solemn hush inside the church. Olivia cast a sidelong look of reproach at her pink-cheeked aunt because that is precisely how Aunt Cecily would expect her to react, but inside she was a mass of seething conjecture. Alex rarely attended church—he claimed to prefer the services at St James’s Church, on Piccadilly, but Olivia was certain he had never set foot in the place. So Hugo was not here today to see Alex, which meant he had come to speak to her. Hope blossomed. Had he recovered her necklace already? She had prayed for a miracle; perhaps this was it.

And, in among that hope was...another emotion she did not recognise. She could put no name to it, but it prompted the frequent urge to slide her gaze sideways until she could just see, from the corner of her eye, his lordship. And, every time, a little jolt of...something...sped through her, making her feel, somehow, more alive. Excitement. But not just any ordinary, everyday excitement. This was...fizzing, bubbly, high—the feeling she always got at her first sip of freshly poured champagne. It made her heart feel somehow hollow and yet full at the same time. She could hardly bear to sit still as the vicar droned on or as she bent her head in prayer. She snatched another glance at Lord Hugo among the kerfuffle as they all stood to sing, drinking in his tall, broad-shouldered frame and the firm line of his jaw.

Olivia waited in a fever of impatience for the service to end, even though she could not see how she could snatch a private word with Lord Hugo. She might enjoy occasional acts of rebellion, but she was not reckless enough to talk openly to a man of his dubious reputation. She was well aware of the behaviour expected of a young lady and she took care to behave with perfect propriety in public.