Intriguing Lady (2 page)

Henri shook his head unhappily. “Mademoiselle…” he began, and then, catching sight of Williams’s outraged face, continued in more accommodating tones, “I will see what can be arranged for your comfort. Please, this way.”

Roberta, her curiosity now fully roused, nodded and, without waiting for Mrs. Ashley, followed Henri through the front door. The hallway was gleaming. The flagstone floor, dotted with rush mats, looked as though it had only just been scrubbed, and the walls were covered with an assortment of horse brasses, pen-and-ink sketches and brass rubbings.

“Please…please excuse me,” Henri said. “I will go fetch my wife.” He bowed low and left the room hurriedly.

Roberta could hear voices raised in argument, although the actual conversation was indistinct. Finally, there was a silence, and then the door opened and a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman entered.

“Mademoiselle Rushforth, I’m Marie, Henri’s wife. I beg you to excuse his bad manners. You must, of course, have our best rooms, and I have sent the chambermaid up to prepare them for you. Perhaps, while you wait, you would care for something to drink?”

Roberta nodded. “You are too kind, Marie. I have no desire to cause your other guest offense, though. The rooms you have available will be perfectly all right, I’m sure.”

“Non, non, mademoiselle. They are over the taproom, and sometimes the noise can be quite horrendous. You know how men get when they have had a few brandies.”

Roberta had heard enough stories from her uncle about the raucous behavior of some of his bibulous friends to enable her now to nod and smile knowingly. “I can only hope the Englishman will not mind,” she said.

“Oh, I doubt he will be here tonight. He had business in another village and is not expected back until morning. So you see, it is quite a simple matter to rearrange things to accommodate you. But Henri, his mind is not so flexible.” She threw her hands in the air to express her exasperation and left Roberta, promising to bring in some refreshments immediately.

Roberta looked about her and liked what she saw. The ceiling was low and beamed, and the deep-set windows overlooked a rose garden. Floral curtains were held back by red braids, and the cushions on the country-style chairs and sofa were covered in a matching fabric.

“Charming,” she murmured as she moved to inspect the stone fireplace. “Absolutely charming.”

“Isn’t it just?” Mrs. Ashley concurred as she entered. “I’m so pleased Williams stopped here, for I can confess now that a break in our journey is what I need.”

“Why don’t we stop here for a few days, then?” Roberta suggested impulsively. “If the weather brightens, we might even explore the countryside.”

“An excellent idea, Roberta,” Mrs. Ashley said. “I think a little bit of peace and quiet is the best thing for us.”

“And maybe,” Roberta mused, “I can discover why Henri seemed so reluctant to let us stay here in the first place.” A mischievous smile lit her face. “If there is a mystery to be solved, it would certainly break the tedium we have suffered so far.”

“Now, now, Roberta, there is no need to be looking for trouble. Just content yourself with partaking of some walks and putting some color into your cheeks. I want you to look healthy when we arrive in England.”

“Yes, Ashley, of course,” Roberta responded meekly. “Why don’t you tell Henri of our change in plan, while I go and inspect the garden.”

She left the room before Mrs. Ashley could reply. She had seen a young boy bearing a striking resemblance to their host, just outside the windows, and she wanted to have a word with him before he disappeared. Perhaps he could provide a few of the answers she sought.

When she reentered the inn some fifteen minutes later, there was a satisfied expression on her face. Jacques, for that had been the lad’s name, had been most helpful. She had learned that the absent Englishman’s business involved a local beauty with whom he was passionately in love. She couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Chapter 2

The night was
well advanced when Roberta finally readied herself for bed. She had spent a pleasant evening with Mrs. Ashley in their private sitting room, making plans for her reemergence into Society. But alone now, memories she had thought long-suppressed came flooding back, keeping her awake.

The face of Stephen Davenport danced in front of her eyes. She cradled her head in her hands and wished, without any real hope, for a miracle that would dull the pain she felt every time she thought of him. Eighteen months had elapsed since she had sent Stephen away forever, yet she knew without a doubt she still loved him.

She sighed in defeat as she sat in front of her dresser, enveloped in a brooding silence. She realized that, for tonight, at least, it was a useless fight to keep her memories of Stephen at bay. Stephen was the man she was to have married, despite the disapproval shown by her guardian, Lord Bromley, and by Mrs. Ashley. She had ignored their advice not to encourage his suit, for her love of him had been overwhelming, and she hadn’t been able to envisage life without him.

He was not overly tall, yet in his presence she felt dwarfed. His physique was truly masculine: broad shoulders, narrow waist and slender hips. His style was unmistakably Corinthian, whether he was dressed in his finest velvets and satins or the buckskin pantaloons and tailored jackets made for him by Weston.

They had met at Lady Chandler’s rout two years ago, and been drawn to each other instantly. After she had stood up with him three times that first evening, all the matrons had nodded knowingly. His background was hazy, though, and this had been the cause of Lord Bromley’s disapproval. Many of Roberta’s acquaintances had tried to convince her that he was no more than a fortune hunter, but privately he had told her he had great expectations of inheriting his maternal uncle’s large estate in Scotland. He never pretended to be anything more than the youngest son of an impoverished earl, and she saw no reason to press him for additional information. Mrs. Ashley thought him evasive about the source of his income, but Roberta retorted that it was not her business to pry.

When he proposed, she had accepted instantly, although at her urging they kept the engagement secret. She had hoped to persuade Lord Bromley to accept Stephen before any public announcement was made, for she was extremely fond of her uncle and wanted to avoid angering him.

It was at this point that she succumbed to the ailment. At first she had refused to believe it was a serious condition, but by the time she had consulted four different specialists, she was convinced she was suffering from something worse than mere inflammation of the lungs. And immediately upon learning that her chances of making a full recovery were almost nonexistent, she decided to free Stephen from the engagement. She thought she understood him well enough to know he would, in the long run, resent being shackled to a semi-invalid.

She used her uncle’s disapproval as the reason for sending him away. He refused to believe her at first, but when she insisted, and he could see she would not change her mind, he left her, vowing he would marry the first woman he met. And he did—Lady Anita Edwards, a widow of independent means.

Unfortunately, this event only served to convince her uncle that his original summation of Stephen’s character had been correct, and his castigation of Stephen had been lengthy and virulent. However, as Roberta was convinced she had acted in Stephen’s best interests, she remained silent, even though she knew she was serving him a shabby trick by letting her uncle and Mrs. Ashley believe the worst of him. Her great fear that Stephen would insist on standing by her if he should ever discover the truth hadn’t diminished until he had married his widow. And by then, she reasoned, to reveal the truth wouldn’t serve any useful purpose.

“If only I had heard of Dr. Steinway and his cure earlier, all this misery would have been averted!” She sighed unhappily, picked up her brush and idly began to brush her hair. “What good does it do me to dwell on what has passed?” she asked her image. “Am I to spend the rest of my life in regret?” She shook her head firmly. “No! Marriage without love is something I do not seek, but I am certainly of an age whereby I can enjoy myself.” Suddenly filled with determination to live to the full, she climbed into bed and blew out the candles. Within minutes she drifted off to sleep.

When a noise interrupted her restless dreaming, she immediately thought it came from the taproom. She sat up in bed, annoyed that she had been awakened, and as she did so she heard a thud, this time near at hand. Peering into the darkness, she thought she saw something move by the windows, but then chided herself for letting her imagination run wild. She was sure she had closed the shutters.

By now, she was fully awake, and she decided to investigate just in case one of the cats had found its way into her room. As she reached over to relight the candles, a barely audible moan broke the silence.

“Who’s there?” she asked sharply. “Don’t come any nearer, for I’m holding a loaded pistol.”

There was no answer.

Alarmed now, she inched her way out of bed and grasped the brass candlestick firmly in her right hand. If anyone attacked her, she was certainly going to put up a fight.

“If you want my jewels,” she continued in a steady voice, “I’m afraid I don’t have them with me, and—and my money is hidden in my coach.”

Another moan greeted this piece of information. It sounded as though it came from near the dresser. Whoever was in her room had managed to crawl almost to the door.

“If you think to harm me, it would be a mistake,” she said quickly, “for I only have to shout and my maid will be here in a trice.” She found the continuing silence unnerving, and her earlier bravado evaporated. She made her way slowly over to the dresser, feeling her way carefully in the darkness. She had almost reached it when she heard a noise to her left. She whirled around, but before she could move, a hand caught her right ankle in a viselike grip. She let out a strangled scream and tried to kick free.

“My dear lady,” a man said, “what I would like to know is what you are doing in my room.”

Her fears evaporated, for to her ear the voice was not only English but extremely cultured. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that a fellow countryman would cause her harm. She was about to inquire who he was, when he moaned again. His grip went slack, and suddenly her ankle was free.

“Are you all right?” she asked in alarm, fearful lest he had suffered a fatal injury. No matter what his reasons for being in her room, she certainly didn’t wish that fate for him.

She fumbled on the dresser until her fingers located the flint, and quickly lit the candles. Holding the light aloft, she looked down.

“Good heavens above!” she gasped. The man, quite obviously of the first stare, lay at her feet. His dull copper hair was swept back off his face in a style Roberta didn’t recognize, and his harsh features were accentuated by his pallor. His mouth was firm, and his chin jutted out arrogantly. His age was difficult to determine in the flickering light, but if she had to hazard a guess, she would have said that he had seen his thirtieth birthday a few years back.

She knelt down and looked at him more closely. He appeared to be in a dead faint, and blood was seeping from a wound in his arm, an ever-widening stain coating his pale-gold satin jacket. His breathing was shallow but regular.

“I wonder what this is all about?” she murmured as she arose. “I had better fetch Henri immediately.”

She placed the candlestick on the dresser and hurried over to her silken negligee. Pulling it on with trembling hands, she tied the ribbons with difficulty. Then, gathering up her cotton petticoats, she ran to the door, opened it and stepped into the corridor. She glanced up and down, hoping to see someone who could help. Nobody was about. Without hesitation, she rapped on Mrs. Ashley’s door and called out urgently.

“Ashley, Ashley! Quickly! Come to my room immediately!”

She flew back to her room and, seeing that the gentleman was still prone, knelt down beside him again and began to rip up her petticoats. She had just finished fashioning a tourniquet when Mrs. Ashley appeared. Without looking up, Roberta commanded her to fetch Henri.

“And leave you alone with a man?” Mrs. Ashley asked in strangled tones. She was truly shocked by the sight that confronted her, yet all she could whisper was,
“Have…
have you killed him?”

“Lordy me, no, Ashley! Please just do as I ask. Fetch Henri immediately, and for goodness’ sake don’t make a fuss.” She continued to apply the makeshift bandage to the gentleman’s arm as she spoke.

“This—this is an absolute outrage,” Mrs. Ashley said, stubbornly refusing to leave. “Who is he? How did he get into your room? I’ll have a word with Williams in the morning and tell him exactly what I think of his cousin’s inn.”

“Please, Ashley,” Roberta interrupted, knowing that if she allowed the woman to continue, there would be no stopping her. “There isn’t time for you to enact a full-length Cheltenham tragedy. Fetch Henri and tell him there is an injured man here.”

Mrs. Ashley turned and left, only to reappear a few minutes later with Henri in tow. “I met him on the stairs,” she informed Roberta in frigid tones. “Now, Roberta, would you mind leaving the—the man and coming with me? I—I don’t know what your uncle would say if he should ever hear of this.”

Roberta stood up, satisfied that she had stemmed the flow of blood, and ignored Mrs. Ashley. She turned to Henri.

“I take it this is the English lord you were speaking of earlier?”

“Roberta!” Mrs. Ashley interjected. “Come to my room immediately.”