What a Lady Craves (6 page)

“We must notify the Company immediately.” Alexander ignored the pounding in his head and chest. The pain had redoubled since his ill-advised walk to the village, despite the fact that he’d returned to bed.

Resting. How he despised inactivity, even when his body required it.

“Yes,
sahib.
” Satya stood, immobile, at the foot of the carved four-poster, straight as any soldier on parade. “Shall I send for paper and ink?”

Alexander nodded. As long as he was stuck here, he might as well get the formalities out of the way and inform his superiors of the loss of a ship. And at some point, he’d have to work out what to do about lodging. He hadn’t intended to pay his aunt such an immediate visit upon his return to England, and certainly not in this manner. He must make arrangements, and not just for him.

“I’ll write a letter immediately,” he said. “And you shall post it from the village. At the same time you can inquire—”

Before he could say more, however, the door flew open and slammed against the wall.

“What is this nonsense?” His aunt burst into the room, leaning on a cane, but moving quite briskly for all that. “Out of bed and venturing down to the village? Unheard of.”

He attempted a smile but feared he’d only managed to make half his mouth cooperate. “Good afternoon, Aunt.”

“Well, there’s no need to pull such a face.” She advanced farther into the room. Her damnable cat trotted past her, jumped onto the pale green coverlet, and began licking one gray flank. “Whatever am I going to tell your mother when she gets here?”

“My mother? Coming here? She doesn’t even know I’ve returned.”

“I daresay, she’ll find out the moment she gets my letter. And you can wager your last tuppence she’ll be in her carriage within an hour of reading it.”

Alexander closed his eyes and prayed for patience. Knowing his aunt, she’d made the situation sound far more dire than strictly necessary. Granted, he had been shipwrecked, and yes, he might have come close to drowning, but that was no reason to alarm his mother. He could have told her the tale in his own way and in his own time and saved himself a load of fussing.

“No doubt she’ll have your sisters in tow, as well,” his aunt went on. “Good heavens, but I wasn’t prepared to receive all these guests. And where shall I house everyone?”

“If you’re concerned about room, I can be off as soon as I’m well enough. And what’s this about my sisters?” Last he’d heard, Cecelia had been engaged to some lord or other, despite her lack of a generous settlement, and Jane had wed two years ago.

His aunt stopped in the middle of a muttered tirade that involved moving everyone out of their current bedchambers and into new quarters. “That’s right, you’ll not have heard.”

He blinked. There was something quite menacing in that statement, even if his aunt was prone to dramatics. “What won’t I have heard?”

“Jane is increasing, but Cecelia … The scandal, my boy. Your sister was obliged to cry off her engagement, when …” His aunt waved a be-ringed hand, and the cat flinched. “Oh, it’s
simply unspeakable.”

Alexander had never been one for gossip. His aunt, on the other hand, was all too happy to invent half the juicy
on-dits
she passed along—or so he surmised, since he made it a habit never to listen to her. For her
not
to wish to repeat something was, well, unheard of. If he didn’t know better, he might suspect her current reluctance was one of the signs of the apocalypse.

“What is unspeakable?”

His aunt looked away for a moment. “You shall have to ask Cecelia for the details when she arrives. My heart cannot stand to repeat the tale, and Albemarle cannot abide gossip.”

“Albemarle cannot abide—”

“You may as well know, though,” she went on as if he had not spoken, “that she’s completely ruined her prospects. Your mother has retired to the country with Cecelia to live quietly.”

Bugger it all, what now? Although he could work out well enough the nature of the scandal his sister had found herself in, if she’d not only been obliged to break her engagement, but their mother was waiting for the news to die down in the country.

He opened his mouth to demand a clearer explanation, but she held up a hand. “I will not repeat it. If your sister is not overly ashamed, she shall have to be the one who tells you. Do not ask me again.”

Idly, he wondered if Henrietta paid much attention to gossip. She had, in the past, as much as any young miss, but he didn’t know her anymore, much less his own sister. If only he could prevail upon Henrietta to overlook this morning’s contentions, she might tell him what had happened to Cecelia.

“Although now that we’ve broached the topic of scandal …” His aunt let that sentence trail off ominously.

Oh, good Lord. No doubt she was about to take advantage of his bedridden state and fill him in on the unsavory doings of the entire
ton
throughout the time he’d been in India. “I’d really prefer not to know.”

“How can you not want to know when it involves you?”

“How could it possibly involve me when no one knows I’ve returned to England? What can you imagine I’ve done?” That second question was probably more to the point, but his aunt could not have heard of his specific circumstances in India. Not that she didn’t possess a vivid imagination.

She blinked at him as if he were the simplest boy in an entire school devoted to idiots.
“You broke your engagement to Miss Upperton.”

“I’m afraid I had little choice in the matter.”

“Little choice? You broke your word.” She leaned in and lowered her voice, doubtless so Albemarle’s sensibilities to gossip would remain unruffled. “Miss Upperton had no recourse at the time, but if she takes it into her head to sue you for breach of promise … Can you imagine the talk? Can you?”

“Miss Upperton would never do anything like that.” He could state that much with confidence. The young lady he’d been engaged to possessed impeccable morals.

“How do you know? Perhaps she’s in need of the funds. She wouldn’t have to remain in my employ if she came by a windfall.” She clutched at her bodice. “She was all too happy to secure this position, you know.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Curse these damned injuries that kept him a captive audience to this conversation.

“No one else would have her.” She pronounced this last in a whisper, as if Henrietta herself lurked in the room and might overhear. “I was obliged, don’t you see? Someone in the family had to make up for your shortcomings. And now, here she is on hand, the moment you return. She could drag the family’s name through the mire if she chose to. But you can prevent it from happening.”

She paused expectantly, but he refused to take the bait. He could wait. He’d nothing better to do while his cracked ribs mended.

“Oh, good heavens, do I have to spell it out?” his aunt exclaimed at last. “Make up for your past mistakes. Offer for the girl. Then she has no case.”

“As if she’d accept me after everything else that’s happened.”

“My dear boy.” She cackled. “I’m certain you can convince her. All you need to do is expend a little effort. Court the girl. You’ll bring her around. Honor demands you make restitution.”

He watched in shock as his aunt sailed from the room. The cat leapt from the bed with a heavy
thunk
and followed. Court Henrietta. Good Lord. If he wanted proof his aunt was fit for Bedlam, he had it there. Offer for Henrietta, indeed. He couldn’t envision any sort of courtship that would make up for his transgressions.

To approach her would mean once more facing what he’d done in leaving—to both of them. But as his aunt so aptly observed, honor demanded he act.

On entering the morning room, Henrietta stopped short. With Alexander laid up in his chamber, it had been easy enough over the past five days to pretend he hadn’t returned. But today would tell a different tale. He sat at the table, his plate heaped with kippers, eggs, and toast. The tanned jut of his cheekbones had lost its translucency that revealed the chalkiness beneath; in fact, he looked nearly his old self. Handsome enough, in other words, to set her treacherous heart to beating faster. And if his appetite was any indication, he was well on the way to recovering his vitality, his energy.

His virility.

As she considered turning and ordering a tray in her room, he looked up. Lady Epperley peered at her through her lorgnette. Her papery lips trembled, but Henrietta couldn’t tell whether the tic was due to age or a suppressed titter.

“Come and have something to eat.” Lady Epperley indicated a seat across from her nephew. “You look positively sickly.”

Lovely. Worse than her mother, the dowager was, and Henrietta would have to take whatever remark her employer served up without saying a word.

“Yes, my lady.” She kept her head down in hopes Lady Epperley would return her attention to her stewed prunes and leave the rest of them in peace. Albemarle sat in her usual spot at the head of the table, lapping at a porcelain soup plate full of cream.

But the harridan’s mouth continued its twitch. “I’d introduce you to my nephew, but I am clearly too late in that regard.”

Henrietta’s cheeks heated. When she was hired, no mention was made of her broken engagement, even though the inveterate gossip must have been aware of the circumstances. Now Henrietta understood why. Stealth tactics were so much more diverting—at least for Lady Epperley.

“Yes, my lady.” If Henrietta concentrated on buttering her toast, perhaps they’d leave her in peace. Or perhaps she’d scrape that butter clean through the bread.

“Albemarle thinks it’s quite a rousing coincidence that both of you turn up here at this particular time.”

“Does he?” Henrietta carefully ignored the cat’s true gender in favor of avoiding a lecture. She was long since used to the old lady speaking for the cat, as well as believing the
creature to be male. But good Lord, would she not let the subject drop? “I wouldn’t call it a coincidence.”

Lady Epperley speared a prune with her fork, but instead of putting it in her mouth, she waved it about. “Why, of course it is. What else would you call it?”

“I was already here,” Henrietta pointed out. And if she’d known Alexander would arrive at his aunt’s out of the blue, she’d never have accepted this position. So much for hindsight.

“Well, yes, but not even Albemarle, clever as he is, could have predicted a shipwreck, just here, and after all these years.” She turned a narrow gaze on her nephew. “And clearly, Alexander, you never expected to find Miss Upperton here, did you?”

Alexander had been applying himself diligently to his plate. Possibly more diligently than necessary—but then, if he kept his mouth full, he wouldn’t be obliged to take part in the conversation. Except his aunt was studying him through her lorgnette with an air of expectation. Even Albemarle left off her lapping and blinked her large, amber eyes.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed his forkful. “No, I can’t say that I did.”

“Ha!” Lady Epperley slapped her palm on the table, causing the cutlery and the cat to jump. “It’s fate, I tell you. Fate. And Alexander lacking a wife, no less.”

Henrietta suppressed the urge to slink down in her seat. Such a posture was hardly ladylike, but she’d rather disappear. She wanted to crawl under the table, lift the edge of the Aubusson carpeting, and cover herself. Let the servants walk over her. It was better than allowing Lady Epperley to do so.

Alexander laid aside his fork. “Now, really.”

“Well, aren’t you? A man in the prime of his age, and well settled. Even Albemarle knows that such a man, if unattached, must be in want of a wife.” In another moment, she’d be spouting off about universally acknowledged truths.

His cheeks took on a ruddier tone. “Don’t you think I ought to observe an appropriate mourning period before I go looking to remarry?”

Heat prickled at the back of Henrietta’s neck. If he was concerned about proper mourning periods, he must have held his wife in high esteem, indeed. Yes, and that was a strip of black cloth tied about his upper arm.

That carpet was looking more and more tempting. Oh, tomorrow, she would definitely call for a tray in her room. Tomorrow and every successive day until Alexander was well enough to leave. To hell with running away. Judging by his coloring, he might not even remain an entire fortnight. She crossed her fingers, screwed her eyes closed, and prayed for his rapid recovery.

“Nonsense. From what Albemarle told me, the lady in question had no connections to speak of. No one in society would expect you to hide yourself away for a year.”

Worse and worse. No matter what connections his wife might have possessed, Henrietta could hardly boast about her own. Any titles in her family were generations removed—along with any great wealth. So why was Lady Epperley championing her as a potential match for Alexander, if, indeed, that was what the old harridan was about? Or was it the cat? Not that either was above amusing herself by intentionally embarrassing others.

Alexander pushed his plate aside and stood. “I could not care less for society’s opinion. It is a question of respect for one recently departed, her connections be damned.”

Henrietta gasped. The Alexander she had known would never use such language in mixed company, and most certainly not in front of his aunt.

But Lady Epperley only cackled. “Do you think those words offend me? I’ve heard far worse in my day. Just keep in mind the circumstances we discussed, no matter what you think of society’s opinion. Although I thought you valued your honor more.”

Alexander firmed his jaw. “I do, but honor also demands I pay proper respect.” With a nod, he turned and stalked toward the door. But on the threshold, he stopped and regarded Henrietta. “Do you think I might have a word?”

She held herself rigid in her seat. What more could he possibly have to say? “I beg your pardon?”

“A word, immediately.”

Lady Epperley eased herself out of her chair. “Go on with you.” She flicked her hands in a shooing motion that somehow made her appear girlish. “The young man wants a word. Why not use the library?”