Читать книгу The Handmaiden's Necklace - Kat Martin - Страница 10

Needing a moment alone, Danielle stood at the window, staring into the darkness of the city they had reached just two weeks ago. Tonight she and her aunt were attending a small house party being given by close friends of Richard’s in honor of their engagement. It seemed there were always more people to meet, and though they were friendly, sometimes it was a bit overwhelming.

Dani gazed into the quiet outside the house. With its narrow cobbled streets and redbrick buildings, tall white church steeples and large, open green parks, Philadelphia was charming, if nothing at all like London.

Though America and England had once been connected, it was as if the American colonists had done everything in their power to carve out a new identity all their own. Their speech was less clipped, less formal. Their clothes followed English fashion, yet, with the distance between the two countries, even the most lavish costumes seemed slightly out of vogue.

Still, the people here had a strong, rugged independence that Danielle admired and respected. They were their own people, these Americans. She had never met anyone quite like them.

Danielle turned away from the window and walked over to join her aunt, who stood next to the cut-crystal punch bowl. During the two weeks since her arrival, Dani had settled comfortably into the narrow brick row house Aunt Flora had let for her stay in America. At present, Dani and Caro resided there with her in the charming, colonial-style home.

After Dani’s wedding, three weeks hence, she and Caro would move into Richard’s home on Society Hill, and once they were settled, Aunt Flora would return to England, accompanied by a companion she hired for the journey.

Dani would remain with her husband in Philadelphia, a completely new and different world. She was grateful Caro would be staying, as well.

She took a sip from the cup of punch Aunt Flora slid into her hand.

“Here comes Richard,” her aunt whispered, smiling at the blond man who approached from across the parlor, what the Americans called a drawing room. “He is certainly a handsome man.”

She cast Danielle a sideways glance, trying to read her emotions where Richard was concerned, but Dani kept her features carefully blank.

She liked Richard Clemens enough to accept his proposal, but she wasn’t in love with him. And she didn’t think Richard was more than moderately enamored of her. He was a successful, practical man who needed a wife to replace the one who had died in childbirth and a mother for his two children. Over time, Dani hoped, their affection would grow deeper.

“Ah, Danielle—there you are.” He smiled and she returned it.

“I saw you talking to Mr. Wentz,” she said. “Since you and he both own textile manufacturing companies, I imagined the two of you were talking business.”

He reached down and caught her hand, gave it a squeeze. “Very astute. I sensed that from our first meeting. A man with a wife who understands her role can be a tremendous asset to her husband’s business.”

Dani continued to smile. She wasn’t exactly certain what role Richard expected her to play, but in time she supposed she would figure it out.

“Actually Jacob Wentz is in the dye manufacturing business. His plant is in Easton, not far from Clemens’s Textiles.” Richard turned for a moment to speak to Aunt Flora, and as the pair made polite conversation, Dani studied the man she was to wed.

Richard stood slightly above average in height, and he was attractive, his hair a deep golden blond and his eyes a mixture of brown and green, turning more one color than the other, depending upon his mood.

She had only begun to know him during his time in England. He’d been attentive and interesting, an intelligent man, successful in his business endeavors, a widower who seemed to find her attractive. Here he was different, more driven. Here, business always came first. At times it seemed to consume him.

“If you will excuse us for a moment, Lady Wycombe,” Richard said, “there is a gentleman I would like Danielle to meet.”

“Of course.” Aunt Flora gave him a last warm smile, turned her attention to the matron standing next to her and they began to pleasantly chatter.

Dani let Richard guide her across the parlor, a well-designed room with molded ceilings, Aubusson carpets and Chippendale furniture. Even the furniture in the houses she had visited seemed decidedly American, mostly mahogany, with smooth lines and graceful curves, pretty lace doilies and high-backed Windsor chairs.

Richard covered her hand where it rested on the sleeve of his tailcoat as they wove their way among the guests, stopping for a greeting here and there. It was obvious by the way people deferred to him that her fiancé held a high place in Philadelphia society. In fact, there were times he seemed overly concerned with it, but perhaps she was mistaken.

He stopped in front of a tall, burly, gray-haired man with mutton-chop sideburns. “Senator Gaines, it’s good to see you.”

“You, as well, Richard.”

“Senator, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Danielle Duval.”

Gaines made a very polite bow over her hand. “Miss Duval, you are every bit as lovely as Richard has said.”

“Thank you, Senator.”

“Senator Gaines was once ambassador to England,” Richard told Dani. To the senator he said, “Danielle’s father was the Viscount Drummond. Perhaps you met him while you were abroad.”

One of the senator’s thick gray eyebrows went up. “I’m afraid I never had the privilege.” He tossed Richard a look. “So you’ve caught yourself the daughter of a viscount. Quite a feather in your cap, old boy, if I do say so myself. Congratulations.”

Richard beamed. “Thank you, Senator.”

“When’s the wedding? I presume I’ll be invited.”

“Of course. We’d be very disappointed if you couldn’t attend.”

They spoke a moment more, then Richard said a polite farewell and so did Dani. She tried to ignore the uneasy feeling the conversation had stirred. Richard seemed so concerned with her background, so impressed that she was a member of the English aristocracy. It seemed to come up at every party they had attended since her arrival.

“Richard! Do bring your lovely bride-to-be over here for a moment. We’ve a guest tonight I would like the two of you to meet.”

Dani recognized their rotund little host for the evening, Marcus Whitman, a wealthy farmer Richard had introduced her to at a musical affair they had attended last week. Since her arrival, her fiancé had insisted on attending one affair after another.

“I want you to have a chance to get acquainted with my friends,” Richard had explained.

Dani had hoped they would have more time to themselves, a chance to get to know each other better before the wedding. So far, she had only met his children once and then only briefly.

“Good evening, Marcus.” Richard smiled. “It’s been a lovely party. Thank you so much for hosting the affair.”

“My wife and I were pleased to do it. Before he died, your father and I were friends for nearly twenty years.”

Richard politely nodded. His father was often mentioned at these events. Apparently he had been quite a respected man in the community. “You said there was someone you wanted us to meet?”

“Yes, yes…indeed.” He turned and touched the coat sleeve of a tall man standing behind him, drawing the man’s attention.

“Richard, I would like to introduce you to an acquaintance from London, a friend of a friend, if you know what I mean. Rafael Saunders is the Duke of Sheffield. He’s here in Philadelphia on business.”

Shock ricocheted through Dani. She felt as if the floor had just tipped sideways. She could feel the blood slowly draining from her face.

Whitman continued the introduction. “Duke, meet Richard Clemens and his fiancée, Miss Duval. She’s a countryman of yours. Perhaps the two of you are acquainted.”

Dani stared into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, eyes she would never forget. Her chest tightened almost painfully.

“Mr. Clemens,” Rafael said, making Richard a very formal bow. “Miss Duval.” His eyes fixed on hers and for an instant she couldn’t look away.

Dani couldn’t talk, couldn’t form a single word. She just kept staring, her hand trembling on Richard’s sleeve. When he turned to look at her, he must have seen the pallor of her face.

“Darling, are you all right?”

Dani wet her lips, her mouth gone completely dry. “I am…I am happy to make your acquaintance,” she said to Rafael, silently thanking God she had never told Richard the name of the man who had once been her betrothed. The man who had ruined her.

Rafe’s eyes remained on hers. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you, Miss Duval.”

She dragged her gaze away, ignored the wild beating of her heart, and glanced frantically around the room in search of an avenue of escape. “I—I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I am feeling overly warm. I think I could use a breath of fresh air.”

Richard slid an arm around her waist. “Here, let me escort you. A moment on the terrace and I’m sure you’ll be right as rain.” Guiding her toward the French doors leading out into the garden, Richard led her across the room. Several people glanced their way, but Dani barely saw them. Her mind was spinning, her stomach tied into a knot.

Rafael had followed her. She couldn’t think of any other explanation. Why had he come? What did he want?

Did he hate her so much that he had come to ruin her chance for a new life with Richard?

Dani clamped down on a moment of fear and prayed there was some other reason Rafael had traveled all the way to America.

Rafe watched Danielle leave the parlor and wished he had handled things differently. She looked so pale, so shaken. Then again, what had he expected?

Not that he’d had any choice.

Before he’d set sail, he had done his best to discover any information that might help him find her, but there simply wasn’t enough time. He knew the name of her ship, the Wyndham, and that she had sailed to Philadelphia, where her fiancé, a wealthy manufacturer, apparently had a home.

Beyond that, he didn’t know exactly where to look for her. Instead, he had arrived in the city with letters of introduction engineered by Howard Pendleton, a close family friend. Letters from men of influence in London with friends in Philadelphia who might be able to help him find Danielle.

Howard Pendleton, an army colonel who worked in the British War Office, had helped Cord and Rafe bring Ethan home from France, where he had been imprisoned. Through Ethan, Pendleton had heard of Rafe’s intended journey and come to him with an offer of assistance—but there was a favor he wanted in return.

“Rumors have been surfacing,” the colonel had said, “whispers that a venture may be in the making between the Americans and the French. A deal that would be of great benefit to Napoléon. We need your help, Your Grace. If you agree, you won’t be on your own. You’ll have Max Bradley to assist you.”

Rafe knew Bradley well, knew how good he was, and that he was a man to count on. England had been fighting the French for years. Thousands of British lives had been lost.

Rafe agreed to help in any way he could and received the colonel’s assistance in return, which included the letters of introduction. When Rafe set sail aboard the Triumph, one of the newest ships in the Belford shipping fleet, Max Bradley sailed with him, a man who worked undercover for the War Office—a polite way of saying that Max was a British spy.

In the days since their arrival, Bradley had gone underground in search of information, and Rafe had used the letters to find someone who could lead him to Dani. He had been introduced to Marcus Whitman, a close friend of Richard Clemens, and secured an invitation to the house party Whitman was holding in honor of the bride and groom.

Rafe stared off toward the terrace, his chest feeling heavy. In her gold brocade gown, with her glorious red hair swept up, Danielle looked even more beautiful tonight than she had the last time he had seen her.

Still, as he had watched her moving around the room on the arm of the man she was to marry, there wasn’t a spark of joy in her lovely green eyes, not the least hint of passion. Perhaps, like himself, she had merely learned a greater degree of self-control.

As he watched her disappear out of sight into the garden, he wished he could have found a better way to proceed. But he had wanted to meet Richard Clemens, to discover as much about the man as he could, and with the wedding just three weeks away, there wasn’t much time.

Rafe made conversation with Whitman and his dark-haired, likable little wife, all the while watching the terrace door, hoping for another glimpse of Dani.

“If it isn’t His Grace, the duke.” Flora Chamberlain appeared beside him, a round-faced little woman with keen blue eyes. “One never knows whom one might encounter, even all these miles from home.” She studied him from beneath thick gray lashes, her gaze coolly assessing. “It never occurred to me that you might actually come.”

Rafe’s gaze met hers. “Did it not? You knew I would discover the truth when you gave Jonas McPhee that letter. Did you really believe I would let the matter rest without speaking to Danielle?”

“You could have discovered the truth five years ago if you had made the effort.”

“I was younger then, and extremely hotheaded. I was insanely jealous of Dani. And I was a fool.”

“I see… You’re older now, not so wildly passionate.”

“Exactly. When I last saw Danielle and she continued to profess her innocence after all of these years, I decided to investigate the matter and discovered, to my everlasting regret, that I had wronged your niece.”

“Quite a surprise, I’m sure. Still, it was a goodly distance to travel.”

“I would have gone to any lengths to find her.”

“I’ll admit I hoped you might come. I believe Danielle deserves an apology from you—even if you had to sail nearly four thousand miles to make it.”

“Is that the only reason?”

She glanced away, out toward the terrace. “For the present…yes.”

“I need to speak to her, Lady Wycombe. When can that be arranged?”

The countess continued to stare off toward the garden, then she turned back to Rafe. “Come to my house tomorrow morning—221 Arch Street. Ten o’clock. Richard isn’t due to arrive until noon.”

Rafe reached down and captured the lady’s white-gloved hand. He lifted her fingers to his lips. “Thank you, Lady Wycombe. You have ever been a good friend to Dani.”

“Whatever you do, do not make me regret my involvement in this affair. Promise me you will do nothing more to hurt her.”

Rafe looked down at the stout little gray-haired woman who had been far more loyal to Danielle than he ever had been. “I give you my solemn word.”

Wearing only her chemise and a light silk wrapper, since the night was warm even at this late hour, Danielle sat on a petit-point stool in front of the dressing table in her room. Caroline Loon sat on the edge of the four-poster canopied bed across from her.

“He was there at the party, Caro. I still can’t believe it. He came all the way from England. What could he possibly want?”

“Perhaps it isn’t what you think. Perhaps the man who introduced you is right and the duke is simply here on business. You told me the duke is quite wealthy. Perhaps he has financial concerns in America as well as England.”

Dani felt a glimmer of hope. “Do you really think it’s possible?”

“I think it’s entirely possible.”

“Perhaps he has come to see Richard, to warn him against the sort of woman he believes me to be.”

“Your fiancé knows the truth. There is nothing the duke can tell him that you haven’t already told him yourself. What Sheffield might say won’t make any difference.”

“I’m not so sure. Richard is extremely concerned with appearances. He might believe in my innocence, but he would be highly concerned should others hear the story.”

Caro tapped the silver-backed hairbrush she held in one hand. “You said the duke pretended not to know you last night. Perhaps he will keep his silence.”

Dani shook her head. “Rafael hates me. He ruined my life once before. How can I believe he will not try to do it again?”

“Maybe you should talk to him, find out what he is thinking.”

An odd feeling stirred to life in Dani’s chest. She couldn’t imagine what it was. “Yes, perhaps I should. At least I will know where I stand.”

Caro got up from the bed, taller and thinner than Dani, wearing a mobcap over a thatch of pale blond curls. “It’s getting late. Turn round and let me brush out your hair, then you should try to get some sleep. Tomorrow we can make some sort of plan.”

Dani nodded. She turned on the stool and Caro deftly pulled the pins from her hair, letting the heavy strands fall loose down her back. The bristle brush followed, stroking through the thick mass of curls. Caro was right. Tomorrow she would make plans to confront Rafael.

Her stomach tightened.

In the meantime, it was highly unlikely that she would be able to sleep.

Danielle was up early…at least by London standards. Americans didn’t seem to enjoy the same ungodly hours as the ton, whose members stayed out half the night, then wasted most of the next day in bed preparing to repeat their indulgence again the next evening. The people in this country might enjoy a late night on occasion, but it didn’t seem to be the norm. The Americans she had met were hard workers and extremely ambitious.

Richard was certainly one of them.

Still, today he had promised they would spend the afternoon with his children and share an intimate supper with his mother and a couple of family friends before he left for his factory in Easton, a small town fifty miles away where he would be working for the next few days.

“Dani! Dani!” Caro burst through the doorway, her blue eyes wide as saucers. “He’s here! He’s downstairs in the parlor!”

“Slow down, Caro. Who is downstairs in the parlor?”

“The duke! He says he wishes to speak to you. He says it is a matter of extreme importance.”

A wave of nausea hit her and her hands started to tremble. Dani took a calming breath and tried to slow her wildly beating heart.

This was what she wanted—wasn’t it?

She needed to talk to him, discover his intentions.

Dani made a quick survey of her reflection in the tall, cheval glass mirror, turning to assess the back of her pale blue muslin day dress, straightening the slim skirt, adjusting the high-waisted bodice.

The gown looked presentable and Caro had pulled back her hair on the sides and fastened it with tortoiseshell combs, but a heavy mass of curls fell down her back.

“You look fine,” Caro said, tugging her toward the door. “You wanted to talk to him. Now go find out why he is here.”

Dani took another deep breath and raised her chin. She squeezed her hands together until they stopped shaking, then headed for the stairs. As she entered the parlor, a comfortable room done in shades of white and soft rose, she spotted Rafael’s tall figure seated on the sofa. He came to his feet the instant she walked through the door.

“Thank you for seeing me,” he said very gallantly.

“Did I really have a choice?” She knew Rafael. If he wanted to speak to her, aside from shooting him, there was no way to keep him away.

“No, I don’t suppose you did.” He motioned toward the sofa. “Join me?”

“I would prefer to stand, thank you.”

Rafael released a breath. He was six years older than she, which meant he would be thirty-one by now. Fine lines crinkled beside those blue, blue eyes, and there was a weariness in his features that hadn’t been there when he was younger. Still, he was handsome. One of the handsomest men she had ever seen.

She felt those intense blue eyes on her face. “I have traveled thousands of miles to see you, Danielle. I understand your animosity toward me—no one could understand it more—but I would appreciate it if you would sit down so that we might have this chance to speak.”

Dani blew out a breath. Knowing it was useless to argue, she went over and sat down on the rose velvet sofa and Rafe walked over and closed the parlor doors. She was surprised when he settled himself beside her a barely respectable distance away.

“Shall I call for tea?” she asked. “Since we are suddenly being so civilized.”

“Tea isn’t necessary, only your attention. I came here to apologize, Danielle.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“You heard me correctly. I am here because everything you said was true. That night five years ago, I am the one who betrayed you, not the other way around.”

She swallowed, suddenly feeling light-headed. She was glad she had agreed to sit down. “I’m afraid I don’t…don’t understand.”

Rafe turned more fully toward her. “Oliver Randall lied about what happened that night—just as you always claimed. He engineered everything, right down to the note I received, which was the reason I went to your room that night.”

Rafe explained the events of the evening and the reason he had been so convinced she was having an affair with Oliver Randall. The story was so incredible that the words began swimming round in her head.

“Why…?” she asked softly. “Why would Oliver do such a thing? I tried to figure it out, but it never made any sense.”

“He did it because he wanted you for himself. He was in love with you, Danielle, but he couldn’t have you. And he was insanely jealous of me.”

Dani leaned back on the sofa, her heart beating oddly, a tight feeling inside her chest. Rafe got up and walked over to the sideboard. Pouring a dollop of brandy into a crystal snifter, he returned to where she sat and pressed the brandy glass into her hand.

“Drink this. It’ll make you feel better.”

When she made no effort to raise the glass, he wrapped his fingers around hers and lifted the snifter to her lips. Dani took a tentative swallow, felt the warm burn, and took another. In truth, she did feel somewhat better.

She looked up at Rafael, still unable to believe he stood there in the parlor. “How did you find all of this out?”

“I hired an investigator, a Bow Street runner, a man I had used on a number of occasions before.”

Danielle shook her head. “I still can’t believe it.”

“What is it you don’t believe?”

“That you would travel thousands of miles simply to tell me you were wrong.”

“And also to tell you that Oliver Randall paid the highest price for his treachery.”

Dani came up off the sofa so swiftly brandy sloshed against the sides of her crystal glass. “You killed him?”

Rafe took the snifter from her unsteady hands and set it down on the table. “I challenged him to a duel, as I did before, only this time I forced him to accept. My shot bounced off a rib and lodged in an area around his spine. Oliver Randall will never walk again.”

She tried to feel something, tried to make herself abhor what Rafael had done. But she knew the code of honor a highborn Englishman lived by. Knew that if Rafe ever discovered the truth, he would make Oliver pay.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally.

“For Randall? Don’t be.”

“For all of us. For the years we lost. For the damage that was done.”

“Randall destroyed our lives, Danielle. Mine as well as yours. You might not believe it, but it’s true.”

“Well, now he has paid, so it’s over. Thank you for telling me. I was afraid…”

“You were afraid of what, Danielle?”

Her chin went up. “I was afraid you had come to destroy my plans for the future. My chance of finding happiness with Richard.”

“You believed I would go that far, that I hated you that much?”

“Didn’t you?”

“I never spoke a word to anyone about that night. Not once in all of these years.”

“But you never denied the rumors. You cried off two days after it happened. By breaking our betrothal that way, you made it clear that I was guilty.”

Something moved across his features. She thought it might be regret. “There is no denying my role in what happened. If I could change things…if I could do it over, I would.”

“But we can’t do that, can we, Rafael?”

“No. We can’t undo the past.”

Danielle rose from the sofa. “Goodbye, Rafael.” She started walking toward the door, her heart still beating fiercely, fighting an urge to weep.

“Do you love him?” Rafe called suddenly.

Danielle just kept walking, out through the parlor doors into the entry. Lifting her skirt up out of the way, she concentrated on climbing the stairs, one by one, up to her room.