“We can try,” agreed Elaine. “But it will be frustrating. Animals are very difficult at first.”
“Have you petted him?” Helen asked. “His neck feels just like the satin gown Nana showed me once. My Mama wore it when she was in London.”
They turned their attention to work while Bridgeport retired to the house.
* * * *
Mark could not get Elaine’s artistic talent out of his mind. Where had a girl with her wretched background learned to sketch like an angel? It didn’t make sense. In fact, nothing about her made sense. The change over eight years was too great to comprehend. Nor could he understand how his mother had chosen her.
How indeed? Her father’s estate was nowhere near Bridgeport Abbey. Her mother was dead, though it was possible she might have known his own.
A memory he had long forgotten suddenly returned – his mother’s voice muttering to herself as he left the room. “We’ll see what that wretched Agatha says now that she can no longer snatch up Miss Thompson for that odious Harold.”
Mark had paid little attention at the time, but now he wondered if Lady Bridgeport had settled on Miss Thompson because his Aunt Agatha, Harold’s mother, had expressed the desire to snare the chit for Harold.
But Harold had never intended to wed for aught but money, which Elaine did not have – picking a bride with no dowry was another way Lady Bridgeport had schemed to retain her own power. Had Aunt Agatha wanted to tie Mark to a religious fanatic who knew nothing of society?
There was much ill will between his mother and aunt, though no one had ever explained why. And there was no way to learn. All parties were long since dead, but that did not stop Mark from pondering the questions. He was still trying to find the answers when Burgess summoned him to the hall.
The guests had arrived.
“Sorry, old chap,” murmured Carrington, striding forward to greet Mark before the others were aware of his presence. “I tried to deflect the idea, but it had already taken on a life of its own.”
“We will survive. With luck, the dearth of activities will soon send them elsewhere. To say nothing of the lack of amenities.”
Richard raised a questioning brow.
“We can talk in the library as soon as everyone is dispersed to their rooms.”
“Dearest Mark,” purred Mrs. Woodleigh, placing a possessive hand on his arm and effectively ending the conversation. “London is a dead bore without you. How naughty of you to abandon us so precipitously!” She reached up to straighten his cravat. “You have missed the most diverting happenings. Lord Oaksford cut Miss Severton after their mutual embarrassment, but barely a week later he was caught kissing Miss Dunston in an empty chamber – by Lady Jersey, no less. They will marry, of course, though half of London thinks she trapped him. And that same day Mr. Mannering –“
“Welcome to Treselyan Manor, ma’am,” he interrupted coldly, moving just enough that her hands fell free. It was time she understood that he had no intention of resuming this particular liaison. He deliberately turned to the next guest. “Lord Means. And Lady Means. I trust the journey was not too difficult.”
Lady Means simpered, her eyes gleaming over Mark’s snub of Mrs. Woodleigh even as she launched a detailed explanation of their dreadful journey. “But seeing you again has made it all worthwhile,” she concluded, putting a wealth of meaning into the words. Then she pulled an unexpectedly beautiful girl forward. “And this is my niece, Miss Lucinda Throckmorton. While not making her official bows until next Season, she is now of an age to mingle with society.”
The girl batted long lashes, and Mark stifled a groan. He had been wrong. Maude was going to foist her niece on him in hopes that he would make the girl his second wife. Why would she think he might be interested? He must be twice her age, and the chit’s looks could not mask a vacuous mind that was already the talk of the town.
But he knew the answer. Miss Lucinda was precisely the sort of girl he had offered for in the past – four times. That he no longer considered any of them acceptable did not, for the moment, occur to him. He was too busy cursing fate. Lord Means was probably not dodging duns after all, despite his straitened circumstances. Instead, he was hunting a suitor to avoid the cost of a Season. Since all of Bridgeport’s betrothals had been arranged in the country, Mark was an obvious pigeon.
Mark smiled thinly at Miss Throckmorton before turning to the most surprising member of the company. “Mr. Hardwicke, welcome.”
“Bridgeport.” Peter nodded coolly, his eyes glittering like slates in the sun that streamed through the open door. Mark had been right about this guest. If anything, Hardwicke’s sense of grievance had grown since they had last met.
The others crowding into the hallway were mere irritants compared to the potential plagues he had already welcomed. Reggie Taylor hardly looked old enough to be out of school, a month on the town coating him with little bronze. He appeared besotted by Miss Throckmorton’s beauty. Poor Margaret Westmont seemed even more abject than usual after several days on the road, effacing herself in a corner while the important members of the party made inane comments about the Manor. But now she bustled forward to accept a sharp rebuke from her employer.
Bridgeport cringed. His own snub was responsible for Caroline’s sudden irritation. Perhaps Miss Westmont would find congenial company in Miss Thompson and Miss Becklin. She was not stupid.
He conducted the guests to their rooms, then thankfully retired to the library with Richard.
Mark poured two brandies and settled into a chair. “What happened?”
Richard grimaced. “I’m not exactly sure. We were all gathered around the punch bowl at the Wharburton masquerade – it was atrociously hot that night – when someone, I think Mrs. Woodleigh, commented on your absence. Before I had time to think, they had all decided to pay you a visit. The most I could do was join them to give you at least one friend in the crowd.”
“Ah well. I cannot imagine they will stay long. There is nothing to do and they will find me far too busy to cater to their whims. I expect their servants are already threatening to quit. You won’t lose Kesterton over this, I trust.”
“What are you talking about?”
Mark explained.
“Oh, Lord!”
“Willy and Ted are willing to assist you, of course,” said the earl. “But I don’t wish to be too obvious about it. Have you discovered anything more about that rumor campaign?”
“Very little. Lady Wainright returned to town the day you left, fueling speculation about the duel by refusing to go into mourning.”
“She will find herself ostracized if she keeps that up.”
“It’s possible that she has no choice,” mused Richard with a frown. “The fleecing story might have more basis than we credited. Wainright was rolled up when he died, leaving his wife virtually nothing. Her ill-concealed liaisons have alienated her own family. She needs a new husband immediately if she is to remain afloat. But that is not your affair,” he added as guilt twisted Mark’s face. “One new rumor popped up the day you left.”
“What now?” His weary voice cracked.
“You were the challenger in that duel. It may have sprung from speculation over the choice of weapons, for everyone knows your respective abilities. Whatever started it, it suffered a quick death, for no one could supply a motive for such a challenge. The interesting thing is that after you left town, the rumors dried up – except for stories about you fleecing several gentlemen, including Hardwicke and Wainright.”
“But all tales of murder, duels, and poison ceased?”
“Precisely. The others have been around long enough to have taken on a life of their own. I have been unable to trace any of them to a source, which is frustrating. Lord A heard it from Lady B who got it from Mrs. C who claims her source as Lord A. Not quite that clean, but that is what it amounts to. I am sorry.”
“Don’t be. I believe I may have discovered the source myself.”
“Here?”
“You sound shocked. Several days before I arrived – I dawdled through some side trips along the way – a number of vicious rumors began circulating locally. Oddly enough, the content differed from those making the rounds in town. Elaine claims that they were probably started by Cousin Harold, who arrived in Bodmin at precisely that time. I had not really believed her, but now that I know the stories stopped in London, it is probable.”
Richard frowned. “But why would he wish to discredit you?”
“I am not sure, but I have been thinking about our hypothesis of a man who was fleecing gentleman in my name. I never considered Harold in that guise, but Elaine related a number of tales of his youth that lead me to believe that he might be capable of such a scheme. If he fears exposure, perhaps he thinks discrediting me will prevent people from accepting my protests when the truth emerges.”
“Is he that dipped?”
“Frankly, I cannot say – yet. I just mailed a request for Cramer to look into his affairs. I would have thought the inheritance he received from my uncle was sufficient, and his mother brought even more into the family, but he may have lost it at the tables. He has always been a gamester.”
“Let us hope that Cramer can learn the truth,” said Richard, draining his glass. “You cannot allow the man to blacken your name.”
“I know. With luck, I will have an answer within the week. In the meantime, I will keep an eye on Harold myself. He is here.”
“What? You must have lost all your wits, Mark. Suspecting that he is plotting against you, how can you invited the man into your home?”
Mark shrugged. “I needed him to balance the numbers. And isn’t it better to watch him than to leave him free to spread his poison where and when he will?”
“Perhaps, but your counting is off. If anything, you already had too many men.”
“I know, which is why I asked Elaine to join us. But she would not come without Miss Becklin. I had no objection, of course. Indeed, it was easier, for Miss Becklin was helping Helen. But that overbalanced the numbers again. Hence Harold.”
“My head is whirling. Helen? Miss Becklin? And Elaine?”
Mark grinned. He had finally piqued Richard’s curiosity enough to force the questions. “Helen is my daughter.”
Richard choked on his wine. “I thought she was in Yorkshire,” he said when he had stopped coughing and wiped the spots from his coat.
“She usually is, but the manor needed a new roof, so she and her nurse came here for the summer. But the nurse broke a hip last week. Until the governess arrives, Miss Becklin is caring for her.”
“The lady sounds intimidating. I suppose she is an elderly spinster or the vicar’s sister or some such. Is Elaine her companion?”
“Wrong on all counts, Richard. Miss Becklin is about our age. At one time she was a governess, but she now has a legacy that leaves her independent. She agreed to temporarily take on Helen as a favor. Elaine is one of her former students, who has resided with her for some years, though I am not privy to their financial arrangements. In fact, now that I think of it, there must be something I do not know. Elaine is not the sort to accept charity, but I cannot imagine where she would acquire any income of her own. She swore her father disowned her.”
“You aren’t enamored of the chit, are you?” asked Richard suspiciously.
“Far from it. Her full name is the honorable Miss Mary Elaine Thompson.”
Richard stared. “Not—”
“Exactly. Viscount Grimfield’s only daughter, who has lived here since precipitously leaving London eight years ago. She goes by Elaine now. You will see her again at dinner.”
* * * *
Dressed in the same green silk she had worn to the squire’s, Elaine was one of the last to come down that evening. The first person she saw was the Marquess of Carrington. Her eyes blinked as he identified her, though she kept her face in a pleasant smile. Bridgeport must have warned him, for he betrayed no surprise at finding her there.
“It has been a long time, Miss Thompson,” he said politely.
“Quite,” she agreed. “I trust your journey has not tired you.”
“We took as much time as I could manage on the road. I thought Mark deserved a little warning,” he added in a lighter tone, as he noted the twinkle in her eye.
“Smart man.” She smiled. “You would have found no servants at all otherwise.”
“None?” His brow shot up.
“Well, the Burgesses were here.”
“Mark claims you solved a riddle for him.”
“Oh?” It was her turn to raise a questioning brow.
“About the author of the rumor campaign.”
“Ah. Scurrilous things, rumors, and even more so when deliberately planted.”
“Unlike the one you started?” he challenged her.
“You are a good friend to him, I see. That did not unfold the way I planned, for which I accept full blame. His humiliation must have been appalling. I only hope he can someday forgive me.”
“Has he not done so?” Carrington asked.
“Surely you know him better than that!”
“Decidedly,” he agreed with perfect understanding as he offered her an arm. “Have you met the others?”
“Not that I recall.”
Carrington led her around the room, introducing her to the rest of the guests. Bridgeport had previously done the same with Anne and now remained by the window, talking with her and Miss Westmont.
Elaine hid her amusement at her reception. Carrington had dropped his antagonism, but remained aloof, as if he had not yet decided what to think of the girl who had publicly jilted his best friend. The others did not connect Elaine Thompson with that long-ago scandal, so their thoughts were easier to read. All judged her a country dowd. There also seemed to be some confusion over her role in the house party.
Mrs. Woodleigh and Lady Means examined her as if they were all competitors for some prize. Both were dressed to the nines in the latest style, but it was Mrs. Woodleigh who commanded the most attention. Despite being several years older than Elaine, she retained the freshness of youth and the beauty of an Incomparable. Blonde hair and blue eyes glowed above a matching blue gown that displayed her voluptuous figure to perfection. Elaine had no doubt what the rakish earl’s relationship was with the widow.