Nicola Cornick (13 page)

James shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why did she never say anything if it were true? Why didn’t
you
ever say anything before?’

Marcus laughed at that. ‘When would you have liked me to tell you? If I’d written to you immediately after you’d left the country, how much credence would you have given the story? We’re talking about it seven years later, in cold blood, and you’re still having difficulty believing it. Besides, as I said before, it is Caro’s story about Alicia, not mine—I had no right to tell you things Alicia might not wish you to know. Even now I only spoke because I felt you were maligning her.’

‘If what you say is true, everybody has maligned her,’ James observed sombrely. ‘Why has she never told anyone the truth?’

‘Would you?’ Marcus asked bluntly. ‘It’s hardly an edifying tale, is it? For a start, I imagine that it was too personal and painful for Alicia to want to discuss it and, God knows, the scandal was great enough as it was! Would anything Alicia said have had any effect other than to fan the flames? Also, she was very ill after this happened. Lady Stansfield took her away for a long time and it was generally said that that was to allow the scandal to die down, but I think it was because she was very ill indeed.’ Marcus paused reflectively. ‘No, I think Lady Stansfield handled it in the only way possible—by subtly hinting that Alicia had been the victim of a forced marriage, and by reintroducing her into Society in as slow and circumspect a way as possible.’

Marcus did not add that James’s own defection had done immeasurable damage to Alicia’s reputation. His public denouncement of his betrothed could only add weight to the story that she was an adventuress who should be drummed out of Society. James was, however, quite capable of working that out for himself. He reached almost blindly for the brandy decanter.

‘Indulge me,’ he said after a moment, ‘and answer some more questions.’

‘If I can.’

‘Why do you suppose that Alicia has not remarried? Surely she could have added a better title to her fortune by now?’

Marcus laughed ‘She has hardly been short of offers! They say that Peter Weston proposed to her six times before he settled for Maria Loseley, and Severn’s heir was the latest to try his luck and end up nursing a bruised ego at her rejection! She does not covet a title,’ Marcus added with certainty.

‘Then what else is there? Money, property, status—she has them all,’ James pursued.

‘I suppose,’ Marcus agreed, ‘that there’s very little anyone could offer her which she does not have already. Respectability she has won by hard work, which leaves only love, and I expect Alicia feels she has burned herself badly enough on that in the past! Now I can only imagine her choosing to marry for companionship.’

‘Is there no one she might wish to marry?’ James asked quizzically.

Marcus laughed. ‘No one! Alicia lives like a nun, James! She has become such a figure of virtue that she is almost a caricature! She has a reputation for coldness to the point of frigidity.’

James slanted a look at him. ‘Is that a rumour spread by those whose suit has not prospered?’ he suggested with a smile. ‘It’s usually the way!’

Marcus smiled reminiscently. ‘Well, those who have offered a carte blanche do not make the same mistake twice! Alicia has a temper to rival her grandmother’s when she wishes to use it!’

‘I know!’ James said with feeling. He picked up one of the chess pawns, idly admiring the intricate carving. ‘And Christopher Westwood?’ he asked, with apparent casualness.

Marcus looked surprised. ‘Oh, so you’ve heard about him, have you? Well, he is Lady Stansfield’s great-nephew, and as such I suppose he has a legitimate reason for hanging on the family’s coat-tails. I don’t like him,’ he admitted, ‘but Alicia seems to enjoy his company. There’s no more to it than that, though, even though he moons about her like a lovesick puppy! She won’t marry him,’ Marcus concluded, with certainty. ‘Alicia’s reputation for coldness is well-founded. Whether to avoid fortune-hunters or the intimacies of marriage it would be difficult to ascertain, but, for whatever reason, it is true.’

Now it was James’s turn to laugh. ‘Coldness?’ Involuntarily he remembered the intense physical awareness that had flared between himself and Alicia. ‘Maybe on the surface she appears cold, but it is only skin-deep. The fire is banked down, not burned out.’

Marcus gave him a look of genuine curiosity. ‘Is that so? Well, if you saw that much, old fellow, you must have had more of an effect on her than anyone else in the last seven years! But then, you did catch her at a disadvantage. Next time you meet her, I expect she will have resumed her habitual chilliness!’

James slanted a smile at him. ‘So you think that there will be a next time, do you, Marcus?’

His friend gave him a very straight look. ‘I would lay odds on it, James!’ He yawned suddenly. ‘Well…I must retire, or Caroline will come looking for me! We always keep early hours in the country. Goodnight, James!’

James stayed by the fire for a little while, finishing his brandy and stroking the somnolent puppy he had lifted back into his lap rather absent-mindedly.

There was something about the name Westwood that was nagging at the edge of his memory, although he could have sworn that he had never met the man. He moved the chess pieces thoughtfully back to the side of the board, deliberately avoiding any thought of Alicia. And then he remembered. He
had
met Westwood before, and the circumstances of it gave him pause.

It had been seven years previously, and play at White’s had been high and drinking deep. It was only a couple of nights after Alicia’s scandalous defection and James had been trying to drown his sorrows. He had been on a phenomenal winning streak, but even he knew that there had been an explosive element in his own behaviour, just waiting for release. Westwood had given him the opportunity, by being amongst the first to sling mud at Alicia’s name.

James frowned, remembering with unpleasant clarity the real hatred on Westwood’s white face as he had made those claims about Alicia, claims which had found their mark with James because he was vulnerable and in two minds about her innocence himself. The whole of White’s cardroom had heard Westwood denounce her as a duplicitous adventuress who had the benefit of an innocent face hiding an amoral soul. James had raised his fist to hit him across the room, but Marcus had caught his arm in a grip of iron and persuaded him rather forcibly to let the matter drop. James, half inclined to agree with Westwood’s assertions, had gone and got seriously drunk instead, after which he remembered nothing. Unfortunately there were plenty of kind souls who later reminded him that in his cups he had damned Alicia with more colourful invective than Westwood had ever used.

Remembering all this, James found it odd in the extreme that Westwood was now so close to both Alicia and her grandmother. In those days Westwood had not been a visitor at Stansfield House, but had pursued a far more rackety existence on the fringes of Society, always wagering more than he could afford and indulging in some very expensive habits. There were many such, living beyond their means and gaining membership to the exclusive clubs such as Whites’ by extract
ing a favour from some luckless sprig of the nobility over whom they had some hold.

James wrinkled his nose with disgust. Something had evidently occurred to help Westwood overcome his loathing of his fair cousin to the extent that he now wished to marry her. Or perhaps, James pondered, he simply saw ingratiating himself with his Stansfield relatives as the best hope for the future. Either way, it left a rather unpleasant taste in the mouth. James wondered whether Lady Stansfield, normally sharp as a razor, had ever known that Westwood had been one of the first to denounce her beloved granddaughter. Still, it was none of his business, after all.

What had become his business was the truth about Alicia. For the first time in years he allowed himself to wonder if he had made a mistake, and to think of the Alicia Broseley he had once known, with her bright, indomitable spirit. To think of that life and brightness crushed and defaced by the likes of Bertram Broseley and George Carberry was almost intolerable.

He put down the pup and raked out the embers of the fire. He was determined to see Alicia again. He had to make her tell him the truth. Only then could he be free of the past. He paused, remembering the lovely, heart-shaped face, the flashing green eyes, the perfect, curved mouth…and felt a rush of desire that took him by surprise. He was hardly a callow youth to be enslaved by a pretty face and neat figure! If he was not careful, he could find himself in as deep as he had been seven years before.

James Mullineaux had always been a gambler, but he seldom took an uncalculated risk. It meant that he did not often make mistakes. But now he knew the course he had chosen was going to be dangerous. It made no difference. He had made his decision.

C
hartley Chase had changed since the days when a young James Mullineaux had been taken there as a protesting child to visit some indigent maiden aunt. In the pale sunlight of the late February morning its creamy stone gleamed warm. In his memory was the smell of camphor and sal volatile—now he noticed the mingled scent of beeswax and lavender in the air, and paused to appreciate the sparkling stained glass of the landing window as the sun scattered its colours over the graceful, curving stair. The whole house exuded an understated good taste and subtle, welcoming warmth that was a reflection of Alicia’s hospitality.

Alicia was standing by the drawing-room window looking out over the garden to the moors beyond. She turned as the Marquis’s name was announced and came forward unhurriedly as he started to cross the room towards her. She was wearing green, a colour which established a satisfyingly subtle contrast with that glorious auburn hair, today piled on the top of her head in an artfully contrived knot of curls. She looked every inch the Society hostess; no genuine emotion could be discerned in her manner or countenance. Her smile had exactly the right degree of warmth in it for one dealing with a surprise visit from a mere acquaintance, which put him in his place, James reflected ruefully. Marcus had been quite correct. There was a chilly composure about Alicia which suggested that her defences were firmly in place. Well, they would see.

Alicia, contrary to her outward calm, was shaking inside. When Cheffings had announced that the Marquis of Mullineaux had called to see her she had been astounded, for she hardly considered that they were
on calling terms. Her second reaction, following swiftly on the first, had been a cowardly instinct to avoid James by pretending to be out, but in the end the urge to see him again had proved too strong. She had put aside her book, pressed her palms together in a brief, nervous gesture, taken up her stance by the window, and sent Cheffings to show James in.

She watched him cross the room towards her, casually elegant and assured.

‘Lord Mullineaux.’ Alicia summoned up a faint, distant smile. She felt a little colour come into her cheeks as he took her hand in his, and took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘How good of you to call, sir. Will you take a seat? May I offer you some refreshment?’

‘Thank you, but no.’ James inclined his head, as formal as she. ‘I am to join Caroline and Marcus Kilgaren at Pilton Abbey shortly, so this is only a brief visit.’ He took the chair that she indicated and returned his attention to his hostess, allowing his gaze to travel over her in a thoroughly disconcerting manner.

‘Caroline and Marcus both send their best wishes. They are looking forward to seeing you later in the week. I called to enquire whether you had recovered from your accident,’ James added, in an impersonal tone. ‘The last time we met, I had no opportunity to enquire after your health.’

And whose fault was that? Alicia thought rebelliously. He had been too busy hurling accusations to indulge in polite conversation! She crushed down the prickles of resentment. Today he would
not
get under her guard. Today, her equilibrium restored, she could view him as a mere acquaintance. She knew she was lying to herself, but did not want to stop and think about it.

‘How kind of you to ask,’ she said coldly, drawing on the strength which had seen her through so many trials in the past. ‘As you see, I am much recovered.’

She thought she saw James’s lips twitch slightly at her formality.

‘You are still a trifle pale, perhaps, but I see that you have had your wrist attended to properly,’ he observed solemnly.

‘Yes, indeed.’ Alicia glanced down a little self-consciously at the bandage, its pristine whiteness reminding her of their last meeting. ‘The doctor tells me that it is a slight sprain, nothing worse, but that I must rest it for a week or so more.’

‘You were fortunate that your injuries were not more severe,’ James commented.

The conversation lapsed. Alicia wished he had agreed to a glass of Madeira—at least it would have given them something to do to pass the time. She was aware of a feeling of resentment growing within her as she watched him marking time to the end of what must constitute for him a tedious, duty visit. He could not have made clearer that he had called only out of a sense of social obligation. She wished that he had not bothered. The nature of her feelings for him had inevitably led her to hope for more than the grudging consideration he was according her.

‘And Miss Frensham?’ James enquired, after a strained pause. ‘Do you have any news from Ottery?’

Alicia fought down the sense of irritation that this superficial conversation was provoking in her. It seemed they could never be comfortable together, for they must always be either coming to blows or talking in trivialities. She pinned on a bright, insincere smile.

‘I hear that Miss Frensham is recovering well from her ordeal,’ she replied. ‘She hopes to return here in a couple of weeks. Mrs Henley also mentioned in her letter that you had called to enquire after Miss Frensham’s health before you left Ottery.’ A shade of genuine warmth came into her tone. ‘That was most kind of you, sir. I know that Miss Frensham deeply appreciated the help that you gave her that evening.’

James was also suffering from the artificiality of the conversation. Matters were not progressing as he had intended, but he seemed powerless to bridge the gap between them. Alicia’s chilly welcome had set him at a distance and she had seemed disinclined to allow him any closer. He, in turn, had responded by taking his cue from her and talking at only the most shallow of levels. He was beginning to find their stilted words deeply frustrating.

Alicia was fidgeting with her dress, pleating and re-pleating the material between her fingers. James looked at her bent head and felt a sudden acute pang for what they had lost.

Alicia looked up abruptly and met his eyes. Just for a moment she surprised there an expression which she thought she recognised, before his face was wiped clean of all emotion. She must have imagined it. Once again, she summoned up a brilliant, superficial smile.

‘I hope that you have found the house at Monks Dacorum to your liking, my lord.’

James shifted restlessly. ‘Monks Dacorum is a fine house. I like it a great deal.’

‘And the estate?’ Alicia continued politely. ‘You must have found much to interest you in the past week.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ James leant forward, a sudden flicker in his eyes. ‘I have heard much spoken of your good works, Lady Carberry. Tell me, how do you equate your apparent determination to make a profit with the almshouses you have had built? And how much revenue does the village school generate for you?’

Alicia opened her mouth to deny all knowledge and met his quizzical gaze. She swallowed hard. Suddenly finding she could not prevaricate, she tried to make light of it. ‘It is no great matter, my lord.’

‘No?’ James refused to smile and let it drop. ‘I believe I owe you an apology, Lady Carberry. You misled me with your insistence that you always sought financial gain, but I believe I should not have been so quick to condemn. The facts do not bear out your words.’

Neither did the facts seven years ago, Alicia thought with sudden anguish, but you waited for no explanation then. She had to turn away from him, so acute was the sudden pain in her breast. It took a moment for her to regain her composure, but then she was able to turn back with a gracious, social smile.

‘I repeat, my lord, it is of no great moment.’

‘I think it is.’ James was looking sombre. ‘It is easy to make false assumptions.’ He held her gaze very deliberately with his own. She could read there the one question he did not put into words:
Why did you lie to me
?

Alicia could not even begin to consider the implications of that question. She broke the contact between them with an effort.

James now found that he was the one in danger of losing his temper. He scrutinised the flawlessly perfect face before him, but Alicia was looking completely unmoved. James was suddenly determined to break through the polite triviality of the conversation. If she would not respond to his veiled comments on the past, he would try a different provocation.

‘Lady Carberry, will you explain something to me?’ He was looking at his most satirical, Alicia thought, with misgiving. Where was this line of questioning going?

‘When I was at Ottery Manor it became apparent to me that Mrs Henley’s guests were all aware of my ill-considered proposal to you, and your still more reckless refusal. Whatever possessed you to make them free of such information?’

Alicia felt the humiliating colour flame into her face. Her green eyes
widened with a mixture of mortification and anger. She could feel her façade of bland courtesy wavering and it suffered another blow when she looked at James and saw that he had recognised her discomfiture. With all her strength she struggled to regain her composure, wipe all expression from her face and achieve an appropriate level of civility.

‘I am very sorry that you should have been exposed to such speculation,’ she commented, with constraint. ‘I spoke to Mrs Henley in private and cannot believe that she would break a confidence. I can only assume that our conversation was overheard. I must offer you my apologies,’ she finished stiffly.

James was appalled at the violence of the frustration that shot through him. When they had met at Ottery, Alicia had been at a severe disadvantage, hurt and distressed, unable to deploy her defences as she was doing now. But how much more attractive had been that more brittle, accessible Alicia—even at the height of their conflict he had preferred the real flesh-and-blood woman to this infuriating cipher.

‘Pray do not apologise, Lady Carberry,’ James said, a little grimly. ‘All that I believe you owe me is an explanation for your wilful courting of Society’s disapproval! To have become stranded with me was folly enough, but to let it be known that I had offered the protection of my name only to be rejected was madness!’ His voice took on a reflective quality. ‘I find a strange contradiction here. Over the past couple of days, more than one person has commented to me that you behave as a pattern-card of conformity. How is it, then, that in your dealings with me you appear to feel a compulsion to challenge the rules all the time?’

This was coming uncomfortably close to the mark, and he was pushing her very hard, far harder than good manners allowed. Alicia knew it, but could not imagine what was prompting his behaviour. She was not to know that it was James’s sole intention to provoke her into losing her temper, for paradoxically he knew that he could get far closer to her if she dropped her guard. Their explosive encounter at Ottery had proved as much.

But not this time. Alicia stood up, a faint, wintry smile on her lips, indicating that their meeting was at an end.

‘I do not believe that I have anything further to explain to you, sir,’ she said sweetly. ‘Do not let me keep you from your other engagements! I thank you for your consideration in calling on me. Please convey my best wishes to Caroline and Marcus. Good day to you!’

James gave her a long, level look, which she met with nothing but
an impervious blankness in return. He got to his feet slowly. After a moment’s hesitation he took her hand and bowed over it.

Alicia felt the tension uncurl within her a little. At last he was going to go away and leave her alone! She should have been more careful, knowing his complete unpredictability; it was only a momentary lack of vigilance on her part, but it was enough. With great deliberation, James turned her hand over and kissed the palm, watching with amusement as she snatched her hand away and took several hasty steps back. She knew that for a long moment her expressive face gave her confusion away, then, as movement returned to muscles which appeared temporarily frozen, she turned hastily aside to pull the bell for the butler, addressing him in arctic tones as the door opened. ‘Cheffings, be so good as to escort the Marquis of Mullineaux out. He is leaving now.’

Despite the coldness of his dismissal, James was smiling as he sauntered down the steps and out into the crisp morning air.

‘Well, miss, you must have windmills in your head if you think that I’m going to accept this latest piece of nonsense!’

The Dowager Countess of Stansfield descended from her ancient carriage onto the gravel in front of Chartley Chase and addressed her granddaughter in her usual pugnacious terms. Alicia repressed a smile.

‘How lovely to see you again, Grandmama! But what can you mean?’

‘Humph!’ Lady Stansfield made a noise reminiscent of a camel snorting and looked Alicia over critically. The bright green eyes, exactly like her granddaughter’s, were still as shrewd and sharp as ever. She was attired in vivid red, her favourite colour, and a hat adorned with many and varied feathers sat atop her white curls. She fixed Alicia with her ferocious gaze.

‘This tale going the rounds concerning a secret rendezvous between yourself and the Marquis of Mullineaux! Barely is the man back in this country and you are running off to meet him alone in some country inn! What do you have to say for yourself, miss?’

Alicia remained calm beneath the interested gaze of the coachman, several footmen, her own butler, her grandmother and Christopher Westwood, who had assisted Lady Stansfield from the carriage and now stood on one side still waiting to greet her. This, it seemed, was only the start of the onslaught. Still, there was no point in retaliating with Lady Stansfield, who could give as good as she got anyway. Alicia gave her grandmother an unconcerned smile.