A Well Pleasured Lady

“Truly?” Hadden paused in his dousing.

  “Truly,” Ian said sullenly. Hadden let him go, and Ian stumbled back from the horse trough. “That was disgusting.” He coughed and spit in the muddy, hoof-marked stable yard. “Horses drink in there, you know.”

  “I know.” Hadden stood with his fists on his hips, watching his still badly hungover and bruised cousin. “Led them here myself on occasion.”

  “Well, you won’t have to do that anymore.” Ian wrung water from his hair, stripped off his soiled shirt, and twisted it until water splattered from it. “You’re the brother of the heiress.”

  “You’re not going to hold that against me, are you?”

  Hadden sounded polite, but Ian recognized sarcasm when he heard it, and he glared. “Why not? You’ve lied to me about your identity, got your hands on the money I coveted, punched me in the face—”

  “You deserved it all,” Hadden said.

  Ian couldn’t disagree.

  “Besides, who do you think carried you to that comfortable, straw-lined stall last night? Furthermore, I left you to sleep it off until I couldn’t wait anymore.” Hadden gestured toward the sun. “It’s nigh onto high noon, and the guests are starting to leave.”

  “Good riddance,” Ian said.

  “Aye, they’ve got such a tale to tell, they’re vying to see who can get to London first to tell it.”

  “Nosey parkers.”

  “But I have business with one of them, so we’ve got to move now.”

  Ian leered. “A woman?”

  “I’ve scarcely had time for that, have I, with my stable duties.”

  Ian still had trouble comprehending that this breaker of horses, this drinking partner, this Fairchild, held the accolade of legitimacy and the advantage of wealth. It wasn’t fair, but then, nothing in Ian’s life had ever been fair. He wished he could despise Hadden as he did the other legitimate Fairchilds. But he was Mary’s brother, and Ian didn’t despise her. Furthermore, he and Hadden had been companions. And finally, Ian was just too weary this morning to work up a rage. “What’s so important you have to drag me out of my stall—no doubt my permanent home now that I’ve lost your sister—and subject me to torture?”

  “This.” Hadden thrust a paper covered with scrawls toward Ian. Ian wiped his hands on his pants and took it. He read, then looked up at Hadden. “Who is a murderess?”

  Hadden just stared back, arms crossed over his chest, feet planted firmly on the earth.

  “You?” Ian guessed. “Or Mary?”

  Hadden didn’t respond by word or nod, but who else could it be? None too steady on his feet, Ian staggered as he tried to comprehend. He didn’t; this was beyond him now. But the Devil knew he wouldn’t allow a blackmailing serpent to destroy either of his cousins. “We’re going to take care of this.”

  Hadden’s mouth kicked up into a smile. “I thought you might want to.”

  Eager now, Ian asked, “Do you have a plan?”

  Hadden flung his arm around Ian’s shoulders. “I do.”

  Carriages lined the drive. Coachmen struggled to control the high-spirited horses. In the entry, society matrons waved their handkerchiefs to each other and lamented the time they would spend apart. On the terrace, gentlemen shifted their feet restlessly and compared horseflesh. And the crowd constantly thinned as more and more of the guests left to spread an exciting and inaccurate tale of the infamous Fairchild house party.

  The Fairchild family did their duty, standing in the entry and on the terrace to bid their visitors good-bye. But the strain of being pleasant for so long was telling on them. Their smiles were forced, their voices sharp.

  Sebastian stood protectively beside Mary as if to make sure the repeated congratulations were courteous, and as the crowd of guests thinned, he cocked his head, then nudged her closer to Leslie. “Listen,” he urged.

  Mary tried not to be obvious as she eavesdropped, but no such restriction occurred to her uncles.

  “You seem to have lost weight, Calvin,” Leslie snipped at his brother. “Are you pining for your lover?”

  Calvin’s woeful face crumpled, and in a tone of worshipful desire, he proclaimed, “Lady Valéry is wonderful.”

  With a curl of his lip, Leslie turned on Oswald. “A grown man, and sickening for want of a woman’s love. He has no pride.”

  “Pride?” Oswald left off glancing at the upper windows where Lady Valéry lodged. “What is pride when a man has been to heaven?”

  Leslie harrumphed indignantly. “Nonsense. That ugly old hag couldn’t take a man to heaven.”

  Oswald chortled. “You wouldn’t know. She won’t have you.”

  Leslie shot a hostile glance at Sebastian. “I don’t want her. She’s old. She’s ugly. She’s—”

  “My true love, and if you say another word, I shall kill you.” Oswald advanced on Leslie, fist clenched.

  Leslie clamped his mouth shut until Oswald had turned away. Then he asked sharply, “Where’s Burgess? He should be here.”

  Calvin sighed deeply.

  Oswald kicked at the marble steps.

  Leslie swore and strode inside.

  “It’s always the same,” Sebastian said in Mary’s ear. “She enslaves them.”

  An irreverent smile touched Mary’s lips. “Good for her.”

  “You would say so.” Sebastian nodded at Bubb, who scrutinized the drive with forlorn care. “He’s looking for Nora.”

  “Yes.” Mary watched Bubb trudge back inside to do his duty by the guests who were still too foxed to yet leave. The rest of the Fairchilds followed. “I don’t understand where she could have disappeared.”

  “Most peculiar,” Sebastian agreed. “I do not know what it portends.”

  Inevitably Mary’s mind went to the empty safe. Had Nora’s disappearance anything to do with the diary?

  “I wish I knew where that diary was.” Sebastian echoed her thought. “It’s the only thing keeping us here.”

  They hadn’t spoken of the diary since their shock in the study in the night before. They had almost not spoken at all. Not that they were angry with each other—no, Sebastian had held her tightly all through the night—but there was a constraint. Had this entire journey been a fool’s quest? “I think Daisy has it,” Mary said.

  “Why?”

  Because she still watches you hungrily. “Because she’s willing to do anything to get what she wants.”

  “That assessment fits every one of the Fairchilds. I think it’s Leslie.” His mouth puckered, as if his bread pudding had soured.

  “Why?”

  “Because Leslie knows about the diary,” he said.

  Mary stared. “He does? And how do you know that?”

  “He mentioned it to me.” His grim mouth twitched. “When he was mocking me.”

  “When he told you I had it,” she guessed.

  “I believe in you now.”

  She wished she could give credence to that without any doubt.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I have to seek that life-altering, damned, and still elusive diary.” He cupped Mary’s cheek in an affectionate gesture and left.

  And Mary understood more of Sebastian’s deceptive fury that day in her bedchamber. She had her uncle Leslie to thank for this marriage, and she wondered—should she thank him indeed, or should she call on the gods to curse him?

  Regardless, she was still wed, and nothing could change that.

  A housekeeper always faced reality. Mary always faced reality. And Mary needed one hundred pounds to pay her extortionist. She thought briefly of going to Lady Valéry, but that would involve explanations she didn’t want to give. And what had happened to her blackmailer? He had promised to get in contact with her, yet no more anonymous notes had been slipped to her. Had he perhaps left with his master?

  A fine carriage rocked up the drive. A returnee, she supposed, someone who had forgotten his or her best gloves or yappy dog. She started to turn away, for she wanted to speak no more about her rise to fortune
and her abrupt marriage, when she saw the crest on the side.

  This was the Fairchild carriage.

  She watched curiously as the coachman pulled up to the manor, as the footman set the steps and opened the door, and she stared openly as Nora popped out. “Mary,” Nora called. “Mary Fairchild. Or is it Mary Durant now?”

  “Durant.” Mary faltered over the name. “Lady Whitfield.”

  “So I suspected after that scene in your bedchamber.” Nora looked bone-weary as she climbed the stairs. The feather on her hat drooped, and her shawl hung limply. A small bag dangled from her arm, and it bumped her leg with each step. When she stood beside Mary, she said, “That is why I left so abruptly. Come, my dear.” She put her hand on Mary’s arm and together they entered the manor. “I went to London to get your wedding gift.”

  “You went to London for a gift? All the way to London?” Incredulous, Mary could scarcely keep from calling Nora a liar. “You missed my wedding to collect a gift?”

  “It’s a very important gift.”

  Seeing Mrs. Baggott hurrying toward them, Mary ordered, “Tea for Lady Fairchild at once.”

  “That would be pleasant.” Nora led the way into the study. She discarded her hat and shawl, sank into a chair beside the fire, and placed her bag at her feet. “It’s a wretched road to London. If I never had to travel it again, that would be too soon for me.”

  Mary’s curiosity intensified. Something very odd was transpiring.

  “That’s something else we have in common,” Nora continued. “We don’t travel well, we have both worked as servants—”

  Mary made a muffled protest.

  Nora raised her brows. “Mrs. Baggott told me. Did you think she wouldn’t?”

  So much for Mary’s clever investigation. “If she told you, I suppose everyone knows,” Mary said bitterly.

  “Not at all. She is loyal to me, although inclined to gossip when the right kind of flattery is applied. But I told her if word of your tenure as housekeeper got out, she would be turned out without a reference, and I would make it a personal vendetta to make sure she never found another position. I think she believed me, don’t you?” Nora was revealing herself, or perhaps Mary was simply looking more closely. This woman before her wielded power deliberately. The authority was there in her level gaze, in the cool, overly civil expression, in the unsmiling mouth.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Mrs. Baggott brought in the tea tray. Silence reigned as she fixed them both cups of the steaming liquid and set out a variety of cakes, and Mary barely kept the scalding words of reproach from her lips.

  But a lady doesn’t scold her hostess’s servants.

  As the door closed behind the housekeeper, Mary said, “I don’t understand. Why are you telling me you know of my past? Why did you go to London when you believed Sebastian and I would marry? What is happening?”

  “It’s very easy, my dear. I never meant you should suffer in any way. You are one of the chosen few. You are a Fairchild.”

  Indignant, Mary said, “I am my own woman.”

  “As all Fairchilds are their own person,” Nora agreed.

  Mary wanted to protest this obvious untruth, but courtesy kept her silent.

  “I have few passions, but the ones I have are strong.” Nora picked up her tea, then put it down untouched. As she took off her gloves, she said, “You have no doubt heard I was a governess when Bubb and I were wed. But have you ever heard the details of our nuptials?”

  Mary was glad she could honestly deny any knowledge.

  “I was just fifteen when I became a governess at a neighboring manor, quite ignorant of the ways of the world, although I assure you, I don’t consider that an excuse.”

  Mary winced and shook her head.

  “Bubb discovered me crying one day because I missed my mother, and the children had been difficult, and—oh, I don’t remember the details. I cried a lot in those days. He was kind…Well, you know. He’s always kind, and when he came to visit again, he sneaked away from the girl he was supposed to be courting to give me some sweets.” A smile hovered on Nora’s lips as she straightened the gloves in her lap, then straightened them again. “It was the beginning of a lovely time for me. I looked forward to his visits. They were the only light in a very dreary existence, and before long…the governess Nora was increasing.”

  Mary murmured, “A common tale.” Too common. Too much like her own for comfort, and she hung on Nora’s next words like a carp on a hook.

  “I didn’t even realize…Well, I didn’t know anything about it. But my mistress recognized the symptoms and threw me out. Bubb found me”—Nora had her hand over her heart now—“and we went to Gretna Green, and he married me.”

  Mary released her pent-up breath. This story didn’t end like hers. There was no hidden murder here, only misplaced passion and unexpected integrity. “Good for Bubb!”

  “He is more of a lord than any man I ever met.” Nora’s eyes shone with the soft glints of a woman in love. “With his prospects and his good looks, he could have had any woman. But he picked me. La! He could still have any woman, but he cleaves to me. He’s a good man, Mary. A good man. But to hear his father tell it, he was nothing but an idiot who had ruined the family. What was his heir doing, marrying a governess, a nobody? Until I heard his father shouting, I hadn’t comprehended the magnitude of Bubb’s sacrifice, and at that moment I swore to be worthy of the honor done to me.”

  With an effort, Mary remained civil. “Quite an honor.” Quite the opposite.

  “Yes, and I must tell you, everything I’ve done, I’ve done to advance the Fairchild circumstances.”

  A chill ran up Mary’s spine at the fervor in Nora’s tone. She sounded like a zealot, too intense and almost frightening. “I should have you speak to Sebastian,” she tried to joke. “He seems unaware of the honor I’ve done him.”

  “But with what I have to give you, he will comprehend.” Leaning down, Nora dug around in the bag at her feet and brought forth a black, leather-bound book. Calmly she handed it to Mary. “There you have it.”

  Stupidly Mary stared at it. “Have what?”

  “Lady Valéry’s diary, child.” Nora chuckled. “You look dumbfounded. Who did you think had the diary?”

  “I had begun to think it was a myth,” Mary blurted, “conjectured to lure me here.”

  “Not at all. Instead, it was, so I hoped, the salvation of the family.”

  “My lady?” Mary shouldn’t have been bewildered.

  “Since the Fairchild fortune passed to you, I don’t need to tell you we have been in dire straits, so I have been taking some of the…valuables…to sell. That fool of a pawnbroker wanted to peddle Lady Valéry’s jewelry case with the contents intact, but I realized the value of the diary far exceeded the case. I got the diary for a pittance.”

  Nora had appeared to be an unimaginative, dutiful wife. Now Mary discovered Nora was the driving force behind the Fairchilds’ survival.

  “Many careers could be ruined by this little book. I sent word to Lady Valéry first, suggesting she pay for its return. I got a haughty response, so I contacted the men I thought would be interested in publishing it for profit, and arranged this house party to hold the bidding…” Nora looked mildly interested. “Has Aggass left?”

  “Yes,” Mary said faintly.

  “I had Bubb tell him—tell them all—I’d be turning the diary over to you.”

  Mary took a hard breath. “But why? Why now?”

  “Certainly I cared nothing about Lady Valéry and her reputation. But now she’s family by extension.” Nora smiled faintly. “Through Sebastian, and a family friend through both Calvin and Oswald, I suspect.”

  Mary lifted her hand.

  “Burgess, too?” Nora asked.

  “I suspect.” An unexpected compassion touched Mary. “Without the diary…what will the Fairchilds do?”

  The teacup quivered in Nora’s hand. “I will visit the pawnshops with more regularity.”
r />   Mary stroked the diary. “Perhaps Sebastian—”

  Mouth puckered, Nora shook her head. “I don’t expect the sense of family which moves me to return the diary will also move Lord Whitfield to forgive the unforgivable.”

  Such implacability offended Mary’s sense of order, and besides…Sebastian had sworn the mysterious feud didn’t matter. “I still don’t know what happened.”

  “If your husband wishes to tell you, well and good. Otherwise”—Nora shrugged—“let it go.”

  Perhaps the uncles deserved poverty. Perhaps the daughters deserved sorrow. But Bubb seemed almost innocent, a victim of his upbringing. Ian, whatever his crimes toward her, deserved more than scorn. And Nora shouldn’t have to bear the burden of the Fairchilds’ survival. “I have a thought,” Mary said. “Would you perhaps accept a portion of the Fairchild fortune as a gift?”

  Nora sat forward eagerly. Then wariness stopped her. “Why?”

  “I would like to express my gratitude for returning the diary.”

  Nora’s mouth thinned. “It is a gift.”

  “Yes, of course. But at least let me express my gratitude for…handling my debut.” Mary could see Nora was still offended, so she said, “Let us speak plainly. I don’t scorn money. More than anyone in the Fairchild family, I understand the power and the despair a lack thereof creates. But my grandfather’s money is tainted. It was given to me, not as reparation for past wrongs, but with the intent I would make the Fairchilds suffer.”

  “How do you know that?” Nora asked.

  “I know.” Mary pushed a tendril of hair off her forehead and sighed. “I know, because I have been tempted to use it for just that reason.”

  Nora’s eyes widened.

  “On that afternoon over ten years ago when I came to beg for help, only Ian offered assistance. Nothing else was forthcoming, and I hated the Fairchilds. I hated all of you.” This confession bared the evil place where the heart of a Fairchild flourished, but Mary spoke steadily, for she had won out over the demon revenge. “So I would now release two thirds of this fortune to you. The remaining third I will settle on Hadden.”

  Nora stared incredulously. “You mean you’d do that…allow even my daughters access to the fortune? And the uncles?”