The Regency Season: Blackmailed Brides: The Scarlet Gown / Lady Beneath the Veil

Ralph raised his quizzing glass to look at her. He did not need it, and the gesture was more to cover his own confusion. He had entered the room in time to see her spin around, the skirts of her gown lifting away from a pair of extremely neat ankles and her honey-brown curls bouncing joyously about her head. Once again he had been surprised by the way she roused his desire.

She was no beauty, certainly not a diamond as his wife had been, but he had never seriously expected to find anyone to equal Helene. Yet there was a vivacity about Lucy Halbrook, and he found himself wondering if that liveliness would translate itself to passion if he was to take her in his arms.

Impossible. She was a lady, not a courtesan, and he had never dallied with gently bred ladies—not even Helene, although he had known from the start that he would marry her. Ruthlessly, he suppressed all improper thoughts and when he spoke his tone was at its most neutral.

‘My compliments, Miss Halbrook. You look very well tonight.’

‘Any tributes are due to Mrs Sutton and to my maid, sir, the one for providing the gown and the other for arranging my hair.’

She answered calmly enough and the becoming flush on her cheeks was dying away. He was relieved. It formed no part of his plan to become entangled with his employee. He helped himself to wine from the decanter on the side table and addressed his cousin.

‘I have had a letter from Caroline. She and Wetherell are coming on the nineteenth.’

‘Was there ever any doubt?’ Ariadne turned to Lucy to explain. ‘Lady Wetherell is Ralph’s sister and eight years older than he. She is very eager to meet you, Lucy, but I should warn you that Caroline can be a little forthright—’

‘She is damned interfering,’ he said brutally.

‘A family trait, perhaps,’ murmured Lucy.

His eyes narrowed. The minx was teasing him again, but he acknowledged the justice of her remark with the flicker of a smile while Ariadne continued, unheeding.

‘You may recall, Lucy, I told you that Ralph’s sister Margaret is also coming. She is only four years older than Ralph but equally...’

‘Interfering?’

Ralph laughed. ‘There you have it, Miss Halbrook. Perhaps now you see why I need a fiancée to protect me?’

‘Your sisters are concerned for the succession,’ put in Ariadne.

‘They need not be. I have an heir.’

‘Adam Cottingham? He is merely a cousin.’

‘He bears the family name. That is sufficient.’

‘But they would prefer to continue the direct line, Ralph—’

His cousin’s persistence hit a nerve. He had heard all these arguments before.

‘Enough,’ he said impatiently. ‘I have married once for the sake of an heir. I do not intend to do so again. I shall never take another wife.’ He rose quickly before anyone could respond. ‘Shall we go in to dinner?’

* * *

Lucy accompanied Lord Adversane into the dining room, her fingers resting lightly on his sleeve. She could feel the tense muscles, strong as steel beneath the expensive Bath coating. He was angry, and she had some sympathy with him. His wife had been dead for but two years and he was being nagged to marry again. He must have loved her very much.

In an effort to divert his mind she asked him about his trip. He told her that he had been in Leeds, discussing the prospect of a steam railway. She dragged from her memory whatever she had learned of steam power in order to ask questions that would not result in his dismissing her as a fool. She succeeded very well, and the conversation continued during dinner. Lucy included Ariadne where she could, but although Mrs Dean professed herself interested, she was content to allow the discussion to continue around her while she concentrated upon her meal.

* * *

‘Steam power has a lot to offer,’ concluded Lord Adversane, when the covers had been removed and they were sitting back in their chairs, choosing from the dishes of sweetmeats left on the table. ‘It has even more potential than the canals, I think, and we will be able to move huge quantities of goods to and from the new manufactories.’

‘And will it mean the demise of the horse?’ asked Lucy.

‘Good God, no. Or, at least, not for a long time.’ He pushed a dish of sugared almonds towards her. ‘Which reminds me. Did I see your new riding habit amongst all those new clothes delivered today?’

‘Why, yes, sir.’

The high-waisted style was very different from her old habit, and the soft dove-blue linen not nearly so hard-wearing as the olive-green velvet, but, she thought wryly, the future Lady Adversane did not need to worry about such practicalities.

‘Good,’ remarked her host. ‘Then perhaps you would like to ride out with me tomorrow. Greg tells me you have not been near the stables since that first ride.’

Lucy hoped her face did not show her embarrassment at the memory.

‘No, I did not like to presume.’

‘It is no presumption, madam. Brandy needs exercising and you may as well do that as the stable hands. You may order the mare to be saddled whenever you wish, and Greg will find someone to accompany you.’

‘Th-thank you, my lord.’

‘So? Are you free tomorrow? It will have to be after breakfast. Colne and I have business before that, but I should be free soon after ten.’

Mrs Dean gave a little cluck of admiration.

‘You are so industrious, Ralph, to be conducting your business so early.’

‘If I do not then the day is lost.’ He looked again at Lucy, who met his enquiring glance with a smile.

‘I shall be ready, my lord.’

* * *

Lucy was already in the stable yard and mounted upon the bay mare when Lord Adversane appeared the following morning.

‘I wanted to accustom myself to this new habit,’ she told him as she waited for him to mount up. ‘The skirts are much wider than my old dress. I hope Brandy will not take exception to them if they billow out.’

‘She is used to it, having carried my sisters often enough.’

They trotted out of the yard and as soon as they reached the park Lord Adversane suggested they should gallop the fidgets out of their mounts. The exercise did much to dispel any lingering constraint Lucy felt, and her companion also seemed more relaxed. When they left the park he took her through the little village of Adversane, where she noted with approval the general neatness. All the buildings were in good repair and it did not surprise her to learn that most of the property belonged to the estate. They met the parson on his way to the church, whose square tower was visible beyond a double row of cottages. They drew rein, introductions were performed and the reverend gentleman smiled up at Lucy.

‘So this is your second week here, Miss Halbrook.’

‘It is.’

Her eyes flickered towards Adversane, who said easily, ‘I was away last Sunday, Mr Hopkins, and Miss Halbrook was reluctant to attend church alone.’

Lucy cast him a grateful glance. It was almost true. Mrs Dean had cavilled at taking her into the church and, as she put it, continuing the pretence of the betrothal in such a holy place.

‘We will wait until Adversane is here to escort you,’ Ariadne had said. ‘The Lord’s wrath will come down upon his head then. Not that he will care much for that!’

Mr Hopkins was directing a sympathetic look towards Lucy and saying gently, ‘Ah, yes, quite understandable, in the circumstances. You were afraid everyone would be gawping at you, Miss Halbrook. And they would be, too, I’m afraid. Perhaps you would like to come and see the church now? It has some quite wonderful examples of Gothic architecture. And I doubt if there will be anyone there at present—’

‘Thank you, Mr Hopkins, but next Sunday will have to do for that. We must get on.’

‘Ah, of course, of course.’ The parson nodded and stepped back. ‘And there is plenty of time for all the arrangements, my lord. You need only to send word when you wish me to come to discuss everything with you.’

Lucy knew not what to say and left it to Adversane to mutter a few words before they rode off.

‘He meant the arrangements for the wedding, I suppose,’ she said, when they were safely out of earshot.

‘Of course.’ His hard gaze flickered over her. ‘Feeling guilty?’

‘Yes, a little,’ she admitted.

‘Don’t be. Our betrothal has given the locals something to talk about, and when it ends they will have even more to gossip over. A little harmless diversion, nothing more.’

‘I suppose you are right, my lord.’

‘I think it is time that we abandoned the formality, at least in public.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You cannot keep calling me “my lord”. I have a name, you know.’

Lucy felt the tell-tale colour rising up again.

‘I do know,’ she managed, ‘but—’

‘No buts, Lucy. There, I have used your name, now you must call me Ralph. Come, try it.’

She felt uncomfortably hot.

‘I—that is, surely we only need to do so when other people are near—’

‘And how unnatural do you think that would sound? We need to practise.’

‘Of course. R-Ralph.’

He grinned. ‘Very demure, my dear, but you look woefully conscious.’

‘That is because I am,’ she snapped.

‘Which proves my point,’ he replied in a voice of reason that made her grind her teeth.

Observing her frustration, he merely laughed and adjured her to keep up as he trotted out of the village.

It was impossible to remain at odds. There was too much to see, too many questions to ask. The hours flew by and Lucy was almost disappointed when Adversane said they must turn for home.

‘We are on the far side of Ingleston,’ he told her. ‘It will take us an hour to ride back through the town, longer if we skirt around it. Which would you prefer?’

‘The longer route, if you please.’ Lucy recalled her meeting with the parson and had no wish to be stared at and pointed out as the future Lady Adversane.

They kept to the lanes and picked up the road again at the toll just west of Ingleston. Lucy recognised it as the road she had travelled when Mrs Dean had taken her to the town. She recalled there was a narrow, steep-sided valley ahead, where the highway ran alongside the river. It had felt very confined in the closed carriage, with nothing but the green hillside rising steep and stark on each side, and Lucy was looking forward to seeing it from horseback. She turned to her companion to tell him so and found that his attention was fixed upon something ahead, high up on the hills. Following his gaze, she saw the moors rising above the trees, culminating in a ragged edifice of stone on the skyline.

‘Is that Druids Rock, my lord?’

‘Yes.’

She stared up at the rocky outcrop. The sun had moved behind it, and the stone looked black and forbidding against the blue sky.

‘Your cousin told me that the old track to Adversane ran past there, before this carriageway was built.’

‘That is so.’

‘And can one still ride that way?’

‘Yes, but we will keep to the road.’

She said no more. His wife had died at Druids Rock and it must be very painful to have such a constant and visible reminder of the tragedy. She longed to offer him some comfort, at least to tell him she understood, but he had urged Jupiter into a fast trot, and quite clearly did not wish to discuss the matter any further.

By the time they arrived back at Adversane Hall Lucy felt that she had achieved a comfortable understanding with her host. Glancing up at the clock above the stable entrance, she wondered aloud if there would be time for her to bathe before dinner.

‘I have not ridden so far in a very long time,’ she explained.

‘You had probably forgotten, then, how dusty one can get.’

‘And sore,’ she added, laughing. ‘I have a lowering suspicion that this unaccustomed exercise will leave my joints aching most horribly!’

‘I shall tell Byrne to put dinner back an hour and have Mrs Green send up hot water for you.’ He helped her dismount and led her towards a small door at the back of the stable yard. ‘This is a quicker way,’ he explained. ‘A path leads directly from here to a side door of the house, which opens onto what we call the side hall, and from there we can ascend via a secondary staircase to the main bedchambers. It is much more convenient than appearing in all one’s dirt at the front door.’

‘I guessed there must be a way,’ she told him as she stepped into the house. ‘Only I had not yet found it. Does it lead to the guest wing, too?’

‘No. They have their own staircase, over there.’ He pointed across the side hall to a panelled corridor, where Lucy could see another flight of stairs rising at the far end. ‘My guests have perfect freedom to come and go as they wish.’

There was something in his tone that made her look up quickly, but his face was a stony mask. She began to make her way up the oak staircase, conscious of his heavy tread behind her.

‘How useful to have one’s own staircase,’ she remarked, to break the uneasy silence. ‘Was it perhaps the original way to the upper floor? Mrs Dean did say that the grand staircase was added when the house was remodelled in the last century.’

She knew her nerves were making her chatter, but when her companion did not reply she continued, glancing at the dark and rather obscure landscapes on the wall. ‘And of course it gives you somewhere to hang paintings that are not required elsewhere...’

Her words trailed away as they reached the top of the stairs, and her wandering gaze fixed upon the large portrait hanging directly in front of her. But it was not its gilded frame, gleaming in the sunlight, nor the fresh, vibrant colours that made her stop and stare. It was the subject. She was looking at a painting of herself in the scarlet gown.

Chapter Five

‘My wife.’

It did not need Adversane’s curt words to tell her that. Only for an instant had Lucy thought she was looking at herself. A second, longer glance showed that the woman in the picture had golden curls piled up on her head, and eyes that were a deep, vivid blue.

‘I had forgotten it was here.’

She dragged her eyes away from the painting to look at him.

‘Forgotten?’ she repeated, shocked. ‘How could you forget?’

His shoulders lifted, the faintest shrug.

‘My cousin had it moved from the Long Gallery the day you arrived. She thought it would upset you. Personally I would not have done so. You were bound to see it at some time.’

She found her gaze drawn back to the painting.

‘She is wearing the gown I saw in Mrs Sutton’s sketch.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the diamonds.’ She swallowed. ‘My hair is a little darker but...there is a striking resemblance between us.’

‘Is there?’

Anger replaced her initial astonishment.

‘Come now, my lord. Please do not insult my intelligence by saying you have not noticed it.’ She had a sudden flash of memory: the open door in Mrs Killinghurst’s office, the gilded picture frame on the wall of the inner sanctum. ‘Did you deliberately set out to find someone who looked like your wife?’

‘Pray, madam, do not be making more of this than there is.’

He indicated that they should move on, but Lucy remained in front of the portrait. He had not denied the allegation, so she could only surmise that his reasons for hiring her were not quite as straightforward as he had said.

‘And your choice of gowns for me—are they all the same as those worn by your wife? Every one?’

‘If they are it need not concern you.’

‘My lord, it does concern me.’

‘Well, it should not.’ He frowned. ‘I have already explained what is required of you. I can assure you there is nothing improper in it.’

‘I am very glad to hear it!’

‘So, does it matter what you wear?’

‘No-o...’

‘Then pray do not concern yourself further. Instead, enjoy living in luxury for a few weeks!’ With that, he turned and strode off, leaving her to make her own way to her bedchamber.

* * *

Damn the woman, must she question everything?

Ralph stormed into his room, tearing off his neck cloth as he went. He had enjoyed their morning ride, much more than he had expected. Lucy Halbrook was spirited and intelligent and for a few hours he had put aside his cares and given himself up to pleasure. So successful had it been that he’d completely forgotten Ariadne had moved the painting and he’d been unprepared to see Helene staring down at him, large as life, from the top of the stairs. He had looked up and seen the portrait when he put his foot on the first tread, but by that time it was too late. Lucy was already before him, and all he could do was to try and think what on earth he would say to her when she saw the painting.

He was not surprised at her look of astonishment. Even Ariadne had questioned why he had hired someone who looked so much like Helene to play his fiancée. Lucy had seen the resemblance immediately and had turned to him, a question in her eyes. Green eyes, he recalled, and they changed with her moods. They looked like a stormy sea when she was angry and today, when she was exhilarated from the ride, they shone clear and bright as moss. Nothing like Helene’s blue eyes, which he had once thought so alluring.

He gave his head a little shake to dispel the unwelcome thoughts that came crowding in. Kibble’s voice intruded and Ralph looked up to see his valet coming out of the dressing room.

‘I have prepared a bath for your lordship.’

‘Thank you. Go down and tell Mrs Green to send up water to Miss Halbrook’s room, if you please.’ When Kibble hesitated he said curtly, ‘Damn it, man, I can undress myself, you know!’

Not visibly moved, Kibble gave a stately little bow and retired. Going into the dressing room, where scented steam was gently rising from a hip bath, Ralph threw off his clothes and lowered himself into the water.

Kibble knew him well enough not to be offended by his rough tone, but what of Lucy? He had spoken harshly to her on several occasions now. A slight smile tugged at his mouth. She appeared quite capable of standing up to him, but that last look she had given him nagged at his conscience. If he told her everything, would she understand?

He could not risk it. He had known the woman barely two weeks, it would not make sense to trust her with such a dangerous secret. Safer to keep his own counsel. Much more logical.

He heard a movement in the bedchamber, and Kibble appeared in the dressing room doorway.

‘A bath is even now being carried up to Miss Halbrook’s room, my lord.’

Ralph was immediately distracted by the image of Lucy undressing and stepping into the warm water. There was a golden sheen to the skin of her neck and shoulders. Did that extend, he wondered, to the rest of her body...?

Kibble spoke again, in a voice with just a hint of rebuke. ‘Mrs Green hopes there will be enough hot water, since she did not anticipate anyone other than your lordship requiring a bath today.’

Ralph sat up with an oath, not so much angry with his valet as with himself for not being able to dispel the thought of Lucy Halbrook.

Finding his master’s wrathful eye turned towards him, Kibble unbent sufficiently to add, ‘With so few guests in the house, Monsieur deemed it wasteful to light the new range in the kitchen and has been cooking on the old open range—it has a much smaller water cistern, my lord.’

‘I know precisely what the difference is,’ barked Ralph. ‘You may tell Monsieur that since I pay him an extortionate wage to run my kitchens, I can afford to use that new range whatever the number of guests in residence, do you understand?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Very well.’ Ralph nodded towards the pail of hot water standing on the hearthstone. ‘Miss Halbrook can have that to top up her supply.’

‘Won’t you be needing it, my lord?’

‘No, I won’t.’ The vision of Lucy bathing was still tantalising Ralph. Great heavens, what was wrong with him? ‘In fact, you had best pour in the rest of the cold water before you go.’

* * *

Lucy rubbed herself dry, her skin and spirits glowing. To be able to call up a bath at a moment’s notice was luxury indeed and she could forgive her employer a great deal for that.

She could not forgive him everything, however, and the idea that she had been brought here to imitate his dead wife made her decidedly uneasy.

She left the chaos of the bath, buckets and towels in the dressing room and went into her bedchamber, where Ruthie had laid out a selection of gowns upon the bed. They were all new, and had all arrived that day. Lucy was tempted to wear the French cambric that she had brought with her, but she knew enough of her employer by now to be sure that if she did so, he would order her back upstairs to change.

In the end she chose a simple round gown of green silk over a white chemise. Ruthie dressed her hair in loose curls, caught up in a bandeau of matching ribbon, along with a pair of satin slippers dyed the same colour as her gown.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Lucy wondered if Helene had worn a gown like this, but of course she already knew the answer to that. Lucy derived some small, very small, satisfaction from the fact that however well the gown might have looked with guinea-gold curls, it could not have enhanced cornflower-blue eyes as it did green ones. Dismissing the thought as unworthy, Lucy placed a fine Norwich shawl about her shoulders and set off for the drawing room.

As she descended the main stairs she heard voices in the hall. One, which she recognised as Lord Adversane’s, came floating up to her.

‘Adam. What the devil brings you here?’

Adam. Lucy searched her mind and remembered that Adam Cottingham was Adversane’s cousin and heir. A cheerful male voice now made itself heard.

‘Don’t sound so surprised, Cos. I came to take pot luck with you, as I have done often and often.’

‘Aye, but not since the accident.’ She heard Ralph hesitate over the last word. ‘I thought you had vowed not to come here again.’

‘No, well...the past is over and done. Time to let it rest, eh? We should not allow it to cause a rift in the family.’

‘I was not aware that it had done so.’

‘Well, there you are, then. And here I am. I take it you can spare a dinner for me, Cousin?’

Lucy continued to descend, smiling a little at Adversane’s rather guarded response.

‘Of course, it will be a pleasure to have you stay.’

‘Thank you. So, Ralph, you old devil. What is this I have heard about a betrothal? Judith tells me you wrote to say you have installed your fiancée— Good God!’

This last exclamation was occasioned by Lucy’s appearance in the Great Hall. She found herself being stared at by a fair-haired stranger. He picked up his eyeglass the better to study her and said sharply, ‘Ralph, what the devil—?’

Lucy was tempted to run away from such astonished scrutiny, but Lord Adversane was already approaching and holding out his hand to her.

‘My dear, this boorish fellow is my cousin. He has come to join us for dinner.’ He pulled her fingers onto his sleeve, giving them a little squeeze as he performed the introduction.

Mr Cottingham dropped his eyeglass and made her an elegant bow.

‘Delighted, Miss Halbrook.’

Lucy’s throat dried as she responded. Suddenly, she felt very ill prepared. Now that she had met one of Adversane’s relatives in the flesh she was very nervous at the thought of being caught out. When Ralph smiled and patted her fingers she realised that she was clutching his arm rather tightly.

‘Let us go to the drawing room,’ he suggested. ‘I expect Mrs Dean is waiting there for us.’

The short walk across the hall gave Lucy time to collect herself, and once Ariadne had greeted their guest, expressed her surprise at his arrival and assured him that there was plenty of time for him to change before dinner, she was able to sit down and join in the conversation with reasonable calm.