Chapter 19
Diana listened to Jessie’s whispered message and felt ready to give up. Brand Malloren had found the dower house! The servants had done their best, but surely he must have recognized it. And after she’d tried so hard to keep him away.
Perhaps she should have stayed to keep an eye on him, but she’d needed to speak to Rosa in person. She was trusting nothing in writing, particularly with Edward Overton in the vicinity.
Edward was claiming to have twisted his knee, limping and bemoaning the fact that he couldn’t ride, and couldn’t leave Wenscote. A likely tale. Sir Digby had the coach here at Arradale, but Diana had suggested that it be called back to take Edward on his way.
Rosamunde had decided not. “He cuts up my peace, but as long as Digby’s not here to be fretted, I don’t mind.
Trying so hard to get rid of him might look suspicious.
And anyway,” she’d added with a grim smile, “it’s rather pleasant to watch him smirking over ‘his’ estate, and imagine how put out he’s going to be when he discovers he’s no longer the heir. ”
Diana had left Wenscote, thinking that they had matters under control, but she’d returned to find Jessie waiting with this disastrous message.
She sent the girl back to the dower house with praise for the way everyone had handled the problem, then sought the only true peace in the crowded house, her bedroom. She tossed her tricorn on the floor, and flopped back on the bed to think.
She could see no further maneuvers. They were sunk. So, could she still manage matters to keep danger away from Rosa?
What would Lord Brand do now?
Presumably ask for permission to inspect the dower house. How the devil was she going to get around that?
Once he knew the truth, what would he think? What would he do?
Could she convince him that the house had been used without Arradale’s knowledge? She could accuse the servants of setting it up, and reward them handsomely for the slur. That would leave Lord Brand little further forward except that his lover was presumably from this part of Yorkshire.
What if he involved his formidable brother in the mystery? Diana shuddered. The Marquess of Rothgar set on finding out the truth, and presented with such a clear clue, was not something she wished to think about.
She pushed upright, reminding herself that, like Good Queen Bess, though she had “but the body of a weak and feeble woman, she had the heart and stomach of a king.” Of the ruler of an earldom at least. The blood of the mighty Ironhand ran in her veins and she would not give up.
If the Mallorens knew about the dower house, perhaps she could coax them out of revenge.
Coax the diabolical marquess?
Suppressing a shiver, she slid off the bed and rang for her maid.
Coaxing the Mallorens, she decided as she worked her way out of her habit, was probably best done as the weak and feeble woman.
They would surely hesitate to hurt a lady.
So, she would act with complete innocence, be the young Lady of Arradale that everyone expected.
With her maid’s help, she changed into her frilliest, most girlish dress, one embroidered with pink roses and trimmed with cotton lace.
As Lucie redressed her hair in a soft style, Diana fretted over whether to tell Rosa about this new development.
She decided against it. There was nothing Rosa could do, and in her condition, she shouldn’t be worried more than necessary.
There was still no means by which the Mallorens could find out who the lady at the dower house had been.
Chilly with vague images of torture—she wouldn’t put it past the marquess—Diana added pearls and a touch of pale powder, then ventured out.
Perplexingly, however, Lord Brand was keeping to his room, and the marquess was attending to paperwork.
After hours of polite conversation with her guests, Diana began to pray for them to emerge, for battle to begin.
By the time she had to change for dinner and the subsequent ball, she felt as if she sat under the sword of Damocles, listening to the string fray in a sequence of audible snaps.
Brand was about to go down to dinner when his brother entered his room, glorious in black satin, wondrously embroidered. The stitchery was in gold thread, the buttons rubies.
“Impressing the locals?” he asked with raised brows.
“A hint of the weapons available.”
“Weapons? I wasn’t aware we were at war.”
“Conflict lurks in astonishing places.” Bey surveyed Brand’s perfectly adequate blue velvet suit. “Is that the best you can do to uphold the family’s glory?”
“I generally try to fit in, not blind.”
“And you look at me and think of the new plows you could buy with the cost of my gold thread alone.”
Despite his mood. Brand had to laugh. “Sometimes.”
“Investments, my dear. Investments.” He strolled over and took Brand’s chin. “Not a hint of powder on the skin? Not a patch? Faith, child, you look like a country bumpkin.”
Though Bey wore no patches, he was prepared as if for court—hair and skin powdered. Heaven forbid that a nobleman look as if he ever went out-of-doors.
“I’ve endured hair powdering,” Brand said. “That will have to suffice.” He rose. “Is it time to go down?”
“Time for a discussion.” With a gesture, Rothgar dismissed Kenyon.
Brand warily settled back on the bench before the dressing table. With knowledge of the dower house churning inside him, the last thing he wanted was an inquisition.
“Could Lady Arradale be your mistress?” Bey asked.
Brand’s heart pounded a warning. “In the future? I suppose she could.”
Bey looked at him. “Could she have been the lady who brought you to grief?”
Having stolen a moment to think, Brand decided to give a cautious answer. “It’s possible. She’s the right height and build. But highly unlikely, wouldn’t you say?”
“Voice?”
“Similar. But so are many ladies’ voices.” He was going to have to lie. “We didn’t talk much.”
Bey was watching him far too closely. “So I am to take it that you feel no sense of familiarity, no recognition, when you are with the countess.”
“None.” He could say that with confidence, and only realized a moment later that it had been unwise to change tone.
Plague take it. He was in no condition for a duel of wits with his brother.
“Why would you even think it?” he asked.
“Would such a haughty lady risk her reputation in a clandestine affair?”
“You find her haughty?”
“In your eyes, she’s doubtless a quivering mass of insecurity.”
Bey’s lips twitched. “Hardly that. She has, however, chosen a difficult path. Since she wishes to rule her earldom, she has a natural disinclination to marry. Unlike an earl, however, obvious sexual conveniences are denied her. To take lovers and conceal her identity might appeal.”
“Drugging them to be sure of it?” One of Brand’s greatest torments was that his lady might not have rescued him, but arranged his drugging in the first place. Before the dower house he’d not believed it, but now … ?
“She has the will for it,” Bey said. “And she wears many rings.”
Ah. So Bey had noticed that, too. Of course. Suddenly protective, Brand said, “So do many ladies.”
“But few can afford such excess of brilliance.”
“I’ve noticed that most of Lady Arradale’s are not of great value.”
“Chosen for their glitter. A strange quirk. However, in Thirsk, Lady Richardson wore one magnificent ruby. Did your lady drink any of the potion?”
Brand considered for a heartbeat and then told the truth. “Yes.”
“Lady Richardson was unwell. It could have been the same cause.”
“We are agreed that Lady Richardson could have been my persecutor, but I never set eyes on her. You did. Could she have been Lady Arradale?”
“She was certainly much younger than she appeared. So yes, she could have been. I doubt it, however.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think she could steal your heart.”
“My heart is unaffected,” Brand snapped.
“As you will.”
“So, Lady Richardson is not Lady Arradale. We are no further forward.” Aware of a ridiculous relief, Brand stood, pulling his waistcoat into line.
Besotted fool though he was, angry though he was, he didn’t want his lady at Bey’s untender mercies.
“Why are you tormenting this?” he demanded.
“I asked you to put it aside. It was unpleasant, and I wish the harpy in hell, but I want nothing more to do with her. I’ve decided to leave here tomorrow.
This sort of gathering stifles me, and there’s plenty of work to do. ”
Bey rose, too, unperturbed. “I thought you planned a visit to Sir Digby’s estate.”
“I might still do that.” Brand adjusted his cravat, aware that he was fiddling, feeling like a fish trying to wriggle off a hook. “Judging from the man, it might be an unpretentious kind of place.”
“Are you calling Arradale pretentious? What must you think of Rothgar Abbey?”
Brand gave his brother a rude gesture. After a moment, they shared a smile. Bout over.
“Leave if you will,” Bey said. “But it will suit me to have you visit Wenscote, it being in danger of Cotterization. Report anything unusual you find there.” He led the way to the door.
To uphold the family dignity, Brand slipped on one sapphire ring in addition to his signet. “And you’ll drop your speculations about my affairs?”
“Not if they amuse me. And I must confess, the countess amuses me.”
“As a trout amuses the angler.”
Bey smiled as he opened the door. “Perhaps. But since you wish it, I will keep anything I discover to myself.”
Two other guests were passing in the corridor, so Brand stifled his protest. Bey was right. He didn’t want to know.
If Lady Arradale was his lady, however, did he want Bey on her trail? But when she came forward to greet them, almost rivaling Bey in magnificence, nothing stirred. Not memory, desire, or hate.
It could not be she. His lady was still safe.
“My lord!” she declared giving Bey’s magnificence a rather amused survey. “You light up this benighted part of Yorkshire.”