Читать книгу A Treacherous Proposition - Patricia Frances Rowell - Страница 11

There was nothing for it.

He would have to ask for her help. And God! How he hated to do it.

Hadn’t he caused enough trouble for her in the past? Vincent trotted up the stairs of the town house and lifted the knocker. A dull booming on the other side of the door rewarded this effort and immediately thereafter a startled face appeared in the portal.

“Why, Lord Lonsdale! We haven’t seen you this age.” The tall, white-haired butler stepped back and bowed Vincent into a small but elegant entry.

“Good morning, Feetham.” Vincent nodded at the butler and handed his hat and gloves to a footman. “Is Lady Litton in?”

“I’m not sure, my lord, but I will inquire.” Feetham nodded at the footman who disappeared up the stairs.

Vincent carefully schooled his face to show no expression. What the butler meant was, of course, that he did not know if his mistress was willing to see Vincent. The footman reappeared in a matter of minutes.

“Her ladyship is in the morning room,” he reported. “She asks that you come up.”

Vincent nodded to Feetham and followed the footman back up the stairs and into a cheerful chamber, bright with sunlight.

The dark-haired lady on the sofa, a lady only a few years Vincent’s senior, smiled warmly and held out a hand. “Vincent! What brings you here?” A tiny wrinkle formed, marring the perfect skin between her eyes. “Is something amiss?”

“No, my lady.” Vincent bent and kissed his stepmother’s smooth fingers. “At least not…”

“Well! Will wonders never cease?”

Vincent turned toward the fair-haired gentleman who had just sauntered through the door and bowed. “Good morning, Lord Litton.”

“We haven’t seen you since Helen and I married.” Adam Barbon, Viscount Litton, extended a hand, which Vincent shook.

“For which, I am sure, you are suitably grateful.” Vincent tried to smile.

“Now, Vincent, don’t talk so. You know you are welcome here.” Vincent was relieved to hear that. He had not been sure. Helen Barbon reached for a fresh cup on the tray just provided by the footman. “Do you still take your coffee black?”

“Yes, ma’am, thank you.” Vincent took the cup and marveled that she truly seemed to mean what she said. How could anyone be that forgiving? But he had hoped she would be. Otherwise, he would not have come.

Had it not been for Diana, he would not have come at all.

He only hoped his stepmother’s new husband would find himself able to command an equal degree of forbearance.

His lordship grinned. “I’ll hold my gratitude in abeyance until I discover what has brought you here this time.”

Vincent took a sip of coffee, struggled with the words and finally choked them out. “I need your help.”

One of Litton’s eyebrows rose. “Do you, indeed?”

“I would not ask… I dislike troubling you, but…” Vincent felt his mouth tighten. “I am not asking for my own sake.”

“Heaven forfend that you should ask your family for help.”

The sarcastic tone caused Vincent to look at his stepfather more closely, his eyebrows drawing together. He half rose. “If you had rather I not, I will immediately relieve you…”

Litton waved the comment away. “Oh, sit down, sit down. Tell us who needs what.”

“Pay him no mind, Vincent.” Helen reached out to place a calming hand on Vincent’s sleeve. “You know how he is. We are happy that you asked. Now…who needs our help?”

Setting aside for the moment that he had never understood how Adam Barbon “is,” Vincent directed his gaze at Helen. “It is a lady.”

“A lady?” Litton looked at him with renewed interest. “I begin to have hope.”

Vincent felt the blood heating his cheeks. “You misunderstand me, my lord. Not…not my lady.”

“Hmm.” Litton held out his cup for his wife to replenish.

“Who, Vincent?” Without asking, Helen took Vincent’s cup and added hot coffee to it. “Is it someone I know?”

“I’m sure you at least know of her. I am speaking of Lady Diana Corby.”

“Ah. Yes, I have a slight acquaintance with her. One does not see her out anymore.”

“Little wonder in that.” Litton helped himself to a pastry from the tray. “With that wastrel for a husband, she could hardly afford it.”

“Lady Diana no longer has a husband.” Vincent looked back at two pairs of startled eyes. “Wynmond Corby was killed last night.”

“Oh, my. How awful.” Helen covered her mouth with one hand. “He left her with small children, I believe.”

Vincent nodded.

“I don’t suppose he left anything to care for them?” Litton looked at Vincent, eyebrows raised.

“No, sir. That is the difficulty. Lady Diana is allowing me to assist her temporarily.” His face got warmer as his stepfather’s eyebrows rose higher. The devil take him. It had been hard enough to leave her last night without… “Now, my lord. Damn it, Litton, that is not the way of it!”

Helen sighed. “Don’t tease, Adam.”

“No, no. I’m not teasing.” Litton sobered. “It is just very… How did this come about, Vincent?”

Vincent related the whole sorry tale.

“And he had no will?” Litton studied Vincent seriously.

Vincent shook his head. “Apparently not. Wyn always did seem to think he would live forever.”

“Damned irresponsible young jackanapes!” Litton scowled. “With a wife and children and he…”

Vincent nodded. “Just so. But this is the first thing he has ever asked of me—and perforce the last—and I intend to oblige him.”

“And the lady herself?” This time Litton’s expression was not sardonic, simply inquiring.

“She is a very fine lady.” That was all that Vincent intended to say about that.

“I see.” Litton pondered for a moment, his expression speculative. “It is going to look very havey-cavey, you know, your providing for her. I suppose you can afford it?”

Vincent waved the question away. “Oh, yes, but it may not come to that. She intends to write to her cousin. It is his duty as head of her family.”

“Won’t do it.” Litton shook his head. “Her father was the only Bytham worth his salt, and his cousin hated him. So what will you do?”

“For the long run, I cannot yet say. That is why I need your help. The rooms where they were living are infested with cockroaches, rats and a corpse. Lady Diana could not stay there with the children. I took her to Fenton’s for the night, but that is not a good situation, either. It would be, however, much worse to bring her to my house.”

He could never trust himself for that.

“Of course,” Helen broke in. “I understand what you need. Bring her to me. She and the children may stay with me until she can make other plans.”

“I would be very grateful. I hope it will not be for long.” Vincent sighed with relief. “I will see to the funeral, but it would be a great kindness if she had someone with her.”

“She will be more than welcome. I will write her a letter immediately and invite her. You may carry it to her when you leave.”

Helen went to her desk, pulled out stationery and began to write. Litton gazed at Vincent speculatively. “Do you need help with the funeral?”

“I think not, but thank you.”

Litton nodded silently, but continued his contemplation of Vincent. Vincent began to feel uncomfortable. Well, more uncomfortable. He wondered if the man was remembering the brawl Vincent had provoked between the two of them. Or the time that he— He shoved the thought aside. There were so many unpleasant things Adam Barbon might be thinking about Vincent’s past. It was a wonder he tolerated him in his house at all.

But Vincent had had enough of his taciturn scrutiny. “You have another question, my lord?”

Litton shook his head. “No. I was just thinking how little we know of you now.”

Vincent smiled. If only his lordship knew how little.

By the time the knock sounded on the door of their rooms, the children had completely exhausted the entertainment possibilities of Fenton’s Hotel. Had she been there alone, Diana would have been reveling in the luxury of the service, the fine furnishings, the wholesome food. The basic cleanliness. It had been so long since she had enjoyed those comforts.

But cooping youngsters up in a hostelry with little outlet for their energy presented a challenge. Diana was nearing the end of her wits as to how to keep them occupied for the rest of the day. At present she had them working in their copy books in the sitting room, but they would soon grow restless.

They knew something was wrong.

She had not yet found the courage to tell them about their father. The crushing reality of her situation had simply drained her of the strength needed to find the words. What could she tell them about what would now happen to them? She didn’t know.

Even the stipend Wyn had earned at the Foreign Office was now gone. Or what she had seen of it. It had been little enough, but it had paid her a small household allowance. Sometimes. And the rent. Occasionally. How could Wyn have gotten four months behind? The position should have provided for their basic needs, but had it not been for the other money…

Oh, God! And what was she going to do about that?

And what must she do about the man standing in the door?

Other than invite him in.

“Good morning, my lord. Come in. Children, say good morning to Lord Lonsdale.”

Bytham and Selena jumped to their feet and chorused a “Good morning, my lord,” accompanied by a marginal bow and a creditable curtsey. One advantage of the small home to which they had been accustomed was that they often saw visitors, as children in a larger house did not. Diana could depend on them to know their manners. Besides, she knew the newcomer offered a welcome distraction from copying.

She gestured them back to their work. “Please sit, my lord. Should I ring for some tea?”

“No, thank you. I just had coffee with my stepmother. I have come to bring you this note from her and to discuss…” He glanced at the children. “The other matters.”

“Some wine, then?” When he shook his head, Diana took a seat at one end of the comfortable sofa and he sat in a chair at her elbow.

She took the note and glanced at the name in the corner. “Lady Litton is your stepmother? I had not realized that.”

“Yes, she married Litton quite a while after my father died.”

She broke the seal and perused the message. “Oh! Oh, how kind she is. She invites the children and me to stay with her.” She met his lordship’s expressionless gaze over the top of the note. “I’m sure that you brought this about. I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but… How can I—a virtual stranger—impose on her with two children?”

His expression did not change. “How can you not?”

“How indeed?” Diana studied her hands where they lay in her lap. “I cannot stay here at your expense—and certainly not at my own. I cannot return to our rooms. They have likely been stripped by now. I cannot go to my cousin without knowing he will take us in—and in truth I have no confidence that he will. Oh, God, Vincent! What am I to do? There is always St. Edmunds, I suppose, or someone like him, but…”

He gazed at her intently, as though to see into her mind. “I cannot believe that you are willing to seek a protector.”

“No. No! My children… Do you know what that would mean to them?”

“So accept the invitation for now. We will discover a solution to the problem in time.”

Feeling something brush his sleeve, Vincent looked down to find himself gazing into the upturned face of little Selena where she leaned against the arm of his chair. Storm-gray eyes, the image of her mother’s, stared back at him.

He cast a startled glance at Diana, but before she could speak, Selena blurted, “You carried me. I remember.”

Vincent remembered, too. Never having been around children, he had never had an experience quite like it. The weight of the soft little body on his arms, the trusting little head on his shoulder, the sleepy murmurs. Surprisingly pleasant, in spite of the awkward circumstances. Would he ever hold a child of his own? A moment’s sadness flowed through him. It did not seem likely.

“Selena…”

Before her mother could send her back to copying, the girl hurried on. “Where is my papa?”

Alarm shot through Vincent. How the devil was he to answer that question? He cast a frantic glance at Diana, only to see a moment of panic on her face. In an instant it was gone, leaving the tranquility he had always seen there—and deep, dark circles under her eyes.

She held out an arm to her daughter. “Come here, Selena. Bytham…come and sit with Mama.”

The small boy slid off his chair and slowly crossed the room to his mother while his sister edged closer. Both youngsters clearly sensed the distress of the adults. For a heartbeat Vincent allowed himself to feel relief that it was not his place to tell them their father was dead.

And then he recollected the moment of consternation that had broken Diana’s calm. She knew no more what to say than did he. And she looked to be at the end of her endurance. He should at least support her. Vincent moved to sit beside her on the sofa and lifted Bytham onto his lap. The wiry little boy squirmed himself into place, and Selena climbed up beside Diana. Diana drew in a deep breath. After a second’s hesitation, Vincent lost the battle within himself and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

After a moment she took one hand of each child and pressed a kiss on it. “I have something sad to tell you, children.” Her voice choked a bit and she swallowed. “Your papa…your papa is dead. We will not see him again.”

“Not ever?” Selena’s diminutive brows came together. “Never?”

“No, my dearest. That is what it means to be dead. He has…he has gone away into heaven.”

Vincent wondered briefly if that had, in fact, been Wynmond Corby’s destination. He hoped so. For all his shortcomings, Wyn had been a loyal friend.

But how could he have done this to his family?

Selena’s face puckered. “But I don’t want him to be dead. I want him to come back!”

She burst into tears and Diana pulled her daughter into her lap, resting her cheek against the child’s hair and rocking her gently. Tears streamed down her own cheeks. Bytham, not quite understanding, but seeing his mother and sister in tears, began to wail. Diana freed a hand to clasp one of his, and Vincent held him closer.

God! How could these tiny beings stand such loss? How could Diana bear to see her children so unhappy? She had already borne so much. What could he say or do for her? Able to think of nothing else, Vincent circled the three of them in his strong arms, willing his strength to shelter them.

Only later did he feel the tears on his own face.

Strange. Vincent could not remember the last time he had shed tears. In fact, he could not remember the last time he had felt any strong feeling for someone else at all. He made a policy of not having strong feelings for others. That way lay danger. Detachment provided a much better wall against the world.

But Diana was different.

He had known that for months, watching her contend with the miserable circumstances of her life—always calm, always patient and kind, always lovely. Had he actually embraced her? How often in recent weeks he had longed to do that? To comfort her. To offer her protection. To feel her sweet body against his.

But his relatively new, carefully nurtured sense of honor would not let him. Even had she not been the wife of his only friend, he would not have done it. Not even if he thought that she would have someone like him. His own existence remained too precarious. He must be careful.

This afternoon the children sat primly across from them in the carriage, dry-eyed but tense. Diana had dressed them in their best— Selena in a simple white dress and Bytham in short britches and jacket. Vincent wished they would smile. How did one play with children and make them laugh as he had seen Wyn do?

Vincent had no idea. His father had taken him fishing from time to time and taught him to ride and hunt and other manly arts, but he had never been one to play. Perhaps the burden of so many children lost, so many babies buried, had taken the joy out of being a father for him. But he had always defended and forgiven Vincent’s every misdeed.

Even when he should not have.

Especially when he should not have.

Vincent’s gaze shifted to Diana. She stared out the carriage window, apparently lost in thought. At least he was able to bring her to the Litton mansion in the comfort and discretion of the Litton carriage rather than a dirty hackney. No one would think ill of his escorting her there.

Or perhaps they would. He could not put a stop to that. The ton always hungered for something to gossip about. If he and Diana did not come upon a solution to her problems soon, society would find a great deal about them to discuss.

One more thing to be careful about.

As the carriage pulled up before the stylish house, Diana dragged her gloomy thoughts away from the unprofitable channels they had followed for the last night and day. There was no benefit in going over and over the same ground until she had heard from her cousin. Perhaps he would prove to be more magnanimous than everyone expected, and the anxiety would have been for nothing. In the meantime, she would take advantage of Lady Litton’s hospitality to give her attention to her children’s disrupted lives.

The carriage door opened and Vincent Ingleton stepped out and turned to assist her. As she leaned forward, their gazes met. The intensity in his black eyes suddenly took her breath. Why had she never noticed… Flustered, Diana paused. He was hardly what the world would call a handsome man—too dark, too angular, too… Too what? Too predatory. That was it. Much too much the bird of prey. And he was looking at her…

How?

Before she could decide, his strong hand grasped hers and helped her to the ground. She stepped back and watched him lift the children out, aware all at once of the muscles moving under his black coat and the way the sunlight glistening off his ebony hair set colors dancing amid the shining locks.

Who was this man? This man to whom she had entrusted herself and her little ones? Abruptly, Diana realized how little she knew about Vincent Ingleton. Only that he had been Wyn’s friend. That he treated her courteously.

That he had summarily taken the decisions she should be making from her.

While she was sorting through these disturbing reflections, he had picked up Bytham in one arm and offered her the other. Cautiously she took the arm and Selena’s hand, and he led them up the stairs and into the entry.

“Lady Diana. Welcome.”

Diana turned toward the feminine voice. Good heavens! This was Lord Lonsdale’s stepmother? She could not be but a few years older than he was.

The lady approached and held out her hand. “I am so sorry to hear about Mr. Corby’s death.”

“Thank you. I cannot sufficiently express my gratitude to you for inviting us to stay.” Diana accepted the extended hand and had her own patted gently.

“I only hope I may make this terrible time a bit easier for you. Do you know my husband, Lord Litton?”

Diana smiled at the gentleman who had emerged from a doorway and was presently engaged in tickling Bytham’s ear. Bytham, finding himself surrounded by strangers, was overcome with a fit of shyness and hid his face against Vincent’s shoulder.

Lord Litton left off the tickling and bowed. “Your servant, my lady. Who is this fine fellow and this lovely maiden?”

“My son, Bytham, my lord, and my daughter, Selena.”

Selena managed a bashful curtsey, but Bytham apparently decided that good manners were beyond him at the moment. He clung tighter to Vincent.

“Oh, dear.” Diana smiled ruefully. “I fear he needs a nap.”

“Of course.” Lord Litton patted the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll come about.”

Diana thought she detected something wistful in his expression, and that of Lady Litton, as well, when they smiled at the children. Lady Litton gestured to a young woman standing a few feet away. “Alice will take them upstairs and get them settled.”

The maid stepped forward and offered her hand to Selena, who cast a doubtful look at Diana, but took the hand. Vincent attempted to shift Bytham to the floor, but stopped when the child let out an unhappy shriek.

“It is the strange surroundings.” Diana held out her arms. “Here, give him to me. I’ll go with Alice.”

But Bytham was having none of it. He fastened his arms around Vincent’s neck and hung on for dear life.

“Bytham!” Fatigue and worry made her voice sharp. What was she to do with the little rascal? “Now, Bytham…”

Lord Litton let out a crack of laughter. “You seem to have an admirer, Vincent. One who especially admires your neckcloth.”

Vincent looked down at the chubby fist clutched in the ruined folds of his starched cravat and grinned crookedly. “Obviously a man of good taste. He liked the one I wore last night, too. Never mind, Diana. I shall carry him up for his nap. But what should I do if he does not wish to nap?”

Diana lifted her hands helplessly. For some reason she just could not focus on the problem. “I—I don’t… I’m sorry, my lord. I better come with you.”

“Never mind.” Vincent seemed to sense her exhaustion. “I will rely on my own resources. Bytham and I will settle it between us.”

Diana nodded gratefully and followed Lady Litton to the drawing room.

In the end the resources Vincent relied on were a sugar cake provided by Alice and a promise of a ride in the park on a real horse. He had always found that there was nothing like bribery to achieve one’s ends. Descending the stairs to the drawing room, he tried, with limited success, to straighten his neckcloth. It was coming to his attention that children were a mixed blessing.

At the door of the drawing room he encountered Diana and Helen on their way upstairs. Litton intercepted him. “They are off to discuss mourning clothes—a clear indication that you and I should repair to my club.”

His club? His lordship had never before invited Vincent anywhere, let alone to a public place. Of course, Vincent had never given him much opportunity. What might this portend? “Thank you, my lord, but after my recent engagement with Corby’s heir, I fear I’m not fit to be seen abroad.”

Litton made short work of the objection. “Never mind that. It will only take a few minutes to put you to rights. You may borrow one of my stocks.”

Considerably astonished by this magnanimous offer, Vincent made the necessary restorations and the two of them strolled off in the direction of St. James Street. More than a little wary, Vincent responded politely to the commonplace conversation initiated by his stepfather and wondered about the real purpose of the overture.

As they turned into the busier streets, the crowds thickened, forcing them to slow their steps. A man wearing a shabby brown coat and boots made a misstep as he approached Vincent and lurched into him. “I say! Sorry, guv’nor.”

Vincent regained his balance and the man tipped his hat and continued down the street without looking back. Vincent made a grab for his pocket.

“Purse still with you?” Litton stopped and followed the man with his gaze. “Shall we give chase?”

“No.” Vincent patted all his pockets. “I seem to have everything.”

“Amazing. Of course, had he taken your coin, he would have passed it to a confederate by now.”

“Undoubtedly.”

They walked on in silence for a few more steps before Litton cleared his throat. “I cannot help but wonder, Vincent…”

Ah. The real purpose of this jaunt at last. “Sir?”

“You were close friends with Corby since you came down from Oxford, were you not?”

“Yes, sir.” No need saying more than necessary.

“I have heard some talk about him—talk unbecoming his position at the Foreign Office.” Litton glanced at Vincent, his eyes narrowed.

“Oh?”

“Come now, Vincent. You are bound to have heard it, too. Did Corby support the return of Bonaparte to the throne of France?” Litton stopped walking and turned to look at Vincent.

“He never said as much to me,” Vincent replied with complete truth and no hesitation.

Unfortunately, Adam Barbon was a difficult man to deceive. He gazed at Vincent from under lowered brows. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

After a moment Litton’s expression cleared and he started walking again. Several steps later he glanced at Vincent. “I suppose this is none of my affair. What the devil am I to you? A stepfather by marriage or some such cockamamie thing?”

Vincent shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest notion.”

“Nor do I, but Helen and Charles and I—such as we are—are all the family you have. I have been a bit concerned that you may have involved yourself in that business. No, no…” Litton held up a restraining hand as Vincent opened his mouth. “You needn’t answer. I don’t wish to trap you into an admission—nor necessitate a lie. It is just that…well, we are not unaware of the changes you have made. We would hate to see anything happen to you such as happened to Corby.”

Indeed? They considered themselves his family? Had followed the changes in him? He didn’t know they had noticed. Vincent did not know what to make of that. “I… Thank you. I appreciate your thought. However, I assure you that I am no supporter of Bonaparte. On the contrary. I very much wish to see him remain on Elba. Or much farther afield than that.”

Once again what he said was completely true.

As they stepped up to the door of Litton’s club, he slipped his hand into his pocket, just to be sure.

The crinkle of folded paper assured him that the note that had been passed to him was still there.