The Unscrupulous Uncle, page 6
Peter’s sword severed Damon’s bonds, but Hermione threw herself into his arms and dragged his lips into a passionate kiss.
“You promissssed…”
Damon clawed his way into the air. Where was he? Heart pounding in terror, he peered through the gloom, finally identifying his room at Devlin Court. Dawn filtered through a crack in the draperies.
He sagged back onto the mattress and pulled the coverlet tightly around his shoulders, suppressing a shudder. That had been a bad one, though not his usual nightmare.
Frowning, he tried to recall the details, but he was too wide awake. They were already fading into oblivion. Hermione had been there. And Catherine. Were they fighting? But that made no sense. His obligations to Cat would not affect his relationship with Hermione. Unless they were fighting the Braxtons. There had been something about the Braxtons he was sure. But that made even less sense.
Perhaps the dream was a warning. If the Braxtons were desperate enough, they might pose a danger. Shaking his head, he rose to greet the day. Long experience had taught him that sleep was impossible after one of his dreams.
* * * *
Lady Braxton was alone in the morning room, so Catherine plunged in before she could lose her nerve.
“Aunt Eugenia, why did I never see the condolences that arrived after my parents died?”
“You did, dear. We read them together and then I left them for you to look at later. But when the doctor suggested we remove all traces of the past, I put them in one of the attics. You may have forgot.”
“You are right that I remember nothing of that time, though I went over the letters later. But that is not what I was asking. The packet was incomplete and I wondered where the others were put. Lord Devlin’s letters were missing, among others.”
“You are mistaken,” insisted her aunt coldly. “There was no word from his lordship. He was undoubtedly too caught up in the war to consider what was happening at home.”
“You forget yourself, madam,” stated Catherine just as coldly, shocking the woman into silence. “My father was Damon’s godfather. My brother was his closest friend. And his parents died in that same accident. Nothing was capable of distracting his attention at such a time. But I am not speculating. He wrote immediately after Peter’s death and again after receiving word of the accident. And he never got any of my condolences. He spoke with Uncle Henry in town two months later, sending me a message which I also never received. Why?”
“It is pointless to discuss ancient history,” declared Lady Braxton. “But what makes you believe such fustian?”
“I ran into Damon when I was out walking yesterday. He told me.”
“Then he lied to cover a lapse of manners. It was what he should have done, of course.”
No gentleman would behave thus. Catherine started to point that out but thought better of it. Even if her aunt knew of the letters, she was obviously unwilling to discuss them.
“Who lied?” demanded Hortense, appearing in the doorway with Drucilla.
Catherine cringed at the sight of her cousins. Both had modified their gowns to be more eye-catching. Dru’s neckline would be scandalous even in London ballrooms and seemed ludicrous on a country morning gown. Horty had embellished a walking dress with red and black ribbons placed to attract the eye to her less-than-abundant charms. They both wore a startling amount of makeup, looking like little more than Cyprians. Catherine felt ashamed to be related.
“Lord Devlin,” replied Aunt Eugenia.
“So you have been sneaking off to see his lordship!” exclaimed Drucilla, storming across the room to slap Catherine’s face. “How dare you try to cut me out?”
“Cut you out!” shrieked Hortense, poking Dru in the ribs. “There is nothing to cut. I am the eldest and the only one he is interested in. You are nought but a schoolroom infant making a cake of yourself by trying to act like a lady.”
“Ignorant fool!” shouted Drucilla, whirling to face her sister while Catherine put a hand to her ashen face. “No lord as well set up as Devlin would look twice at a flat-chested beanpole like you. You should have seen him grimace while you were plodding through your music!” She turned back to Catherine. “And don’t get your hopes up, Cat. All he could ever want from a penniless servant is dalliance. Or are you already his latest mistress?”
“Drucilla!” snapped her mother. “A lady does not speak of such things.”
“And whores should not be allowed in our house!” Dru pointed out, glaring at her mother. “It is time to decide what to do with our cousin. Either make her live and eat with the other servants or send her to play fetch and carry for Great-aunt Alice out in Cornwall. She should not be allowed to interfere with my gentlemen friends.”
Catherine paled even further at the venom in Dru’s voice. “You mistake the situation. I merely ran into him while out for a walk. Of course he stopped to greet me. He was my brother’s best friend and was with him when he died.”
“It is improper for you to be conversing with any gentleman,” intoned Lady Braxton. “Drucilla is right. Your position might lead him to make improper advances.”
“Exactly,” agreed Hortense. “And it is not good for Lord Devlin’s attention to stray. It would interfere with concluding my marriage contract.”
Drucilla took umbrage.
“Enough, girls!” barked Lady Braxton when their squabbling degenerated to hair-pulling. "I do not wish to hear another word. Catherine will avoid Lord Devlin by remaining in the park. Leave the tenants to Peckland,” she ordered. “You will have plenty to do in the house. I had to turn off Mary this morning.”
Catherine wisely refrained from admitting that she had met Damon in the park, thrusting down distress at the thought of never seeing him again. It was better for her peace of mind to avoid him, for he was a bitter reminder of all that she had lost.
* * * *
Lord Braxton was glaring at the estate books when his wife entered the library.
“We must do something about Catherine,” she began without preamble. “The chit is doing her best to destroy our girls’ marriage chances.”
“What is this?”
“You know that I am well on the way to arranging an alliance with the Earl of Devlin.”
“Do you actually believe he can stomach either of them?” he scoffed, throwing his usual reticence aside. “He is a gentleman.”
“Of course. Which is why he will offer for Hortense. His honor demands it.”
He stared a moment. “I see. Up to your old tricks, aren’t you?”
She ignored the comment. “Catherine deliberately sought his lordship out yesterday to play on his sympathy. And she is painting us in a false light to turn him against Hortense. Why, she even accused me of stealing letters that he claimed to have sent her some years ago!”
Braxton paled. “What tale is this?”
“She insists that the earl sent her several notes shortly after her parents died and even sent a message by you that she never received. All false, of course. I put every letter aside and gave them to her.”
“Of course you did,” he concurred, frowning in thought. “As to the message, it is true that I met the earl in London some years ago. He sent general greetings to the family – you know how one does. If I did not mention it, I can only remind her that other things pressed heavily on me. I was still reeling from the knowledge that my accursed brother had squandered the family fortune.”
“But what are we to do with Catherine?” she wailed, again ignoring his words. “She has never liked us. I fear Sidney is right. She resents her reduced status and is only waiting for the chance to stab us in the back. Destroying this alliance would be a perfect revenge.”
“That is simple enough. I will send her to Braxton Manor for the summer. The household needs supervision. She can see that the place is being properly kept up. That should give you ample opportunity to snag the earl. The settlements may be just what we need to pay off some pressing debts.”
“What a suitable place for the girl!” exclaimed Lady Braxton. “Let her molder there forever.”
“Are you prepared to take over her chores?” he asked maliciously. “There is no money for a housekeeper.”
She sighed. “You are right, of course. But it is time she learned her place. When she returns, she must move into the housekeeper’s room.”
Chapter Five
Damon pulled his curricle to a halt in front of Ridgway House and frowned. His back was crawling the way it always did before a battle. Peter whispered warnings in his ear as he had so often done in Spain, but this time he could not distinguish the words.
Lord Braxton had invited him to join a dinner party after which the neighborhood gentlemen would consider the dairy herd problem, but he saw no other arrivals. Turning the ribbons over to Burt, he hesitantly plied the knocker.
“Good evening, my lord,” intoned Wiggins, motioning Ned to take Damon’s hat, driving coat, and gloves.
“Am I early?” murmured Damon.
“Not at all. You will be dining en famile tonight.”
“Does that mean that Catherine will join us?”
“She is no longer at Ridgway, my lord.” Despite the wooden face, Damon detected a warning tone. Wiggins had always had a soft spot for both himself and Peter, often extricating them from potential trouble.
His goose bumps doubled as every hair on his body stood to attention. Fragments of his morning nightmare returned, including an incongruous image of a pianoforte. Danger thickened the air, but he could not question Wiggins further, for they were no longer alone.
“How wonderful that you could join us, my lord,” gushed Lady Braxton, bustling across the great hall. Her evening gown was even fussier than her daytime wear, every square inch bedecked with ribbons, lace, and ruffles. Matching bows dotted a head covered in girlish ringlets. She simpered, multiplying her chins.
“My pleasure,” he replied dutifully, even as his mind was working out Wiggins’s warning. It increased his sense of urgency. Braxton’s lie added credence to the notion that they might actually try to compromise him. Never! he vowed, already plotting strategy.
Lady Braxton tried to maneuver Drucilla away while he spoke to Hortense, adding to his suspicions. But he had a powerful weapon in the rivalry between the sisters, a weapon he intended to use.
“That is a lovely gown, Miss Drucilla,” he said with a smile that kept the girl at his side. He allowed his gaze to rest on her abundant charms, making her blush and bringing a spark of malicious pleasure to her eyes. Her bosom swelled as her breathing accelerated. Would she pop out of that scandalous dress before the evening ended?
“Thank you, my lord.” She giggled, leaning closer to improve his view. “So pretty a compliment from one who must be London’s finest dresser will surely turn my head.” Her fan smacked the bruise on his arm and he nearly winced.
“Of course I must also commend your own elegant attire,” he said with patent untruth as he turned his eyes to Hortense. Her white gauze was so encumbered with bows that she resembled a ribbon counter in a linen draper’s shop. The only thing that might have increased her vulgarity was a king’s ransom in jewels. It was too bad that neither of these dim-witted chits could explain the loss of the Braxton fortune.
“Really?” she choked, batting her lashes and simpering foolishly, though her harsh voice destroyed the picture she was trying to present.
“Would I lie?” he asked outrageously. “I have not seen two such visions anywhere in London.” That, at least, was true, though hardly flattering.
They edged closer, jockeying for position until he feared that Hortense’s rapidly fluttering lashes might catch in his cravat. At least Drucilla could no longer put any power behind the shortened thrust of her fan.
He pushed credulity as far as he dared, flattering first one lady, then the other, until their tempers were near the explosion point. It would not do to actually have them tearing each other’s hair out – or his – but as long as each believed he might succumb to the charms of the other, he would be safe. Drucilla brushed her bosom against his arm while Hortense fanned his ear with her lashes. His skin crawled. War strategy was easier, both to design and to implement.
Dinner was tedious, with indifferent food and boring conversation. It was the first time in years that he had met the baron, and he wondered at the changes. Braxton was thinner, his gray hair and cadaverous face making him look twenty years older than when he had acceded. Unlike his family, Henry dressed conservatively, making few concessions to current fashion. Drucilla and Hortense continued to vie for Damon’s attention, their manners deteriorating as the meal progressed. Lady Braxton’s eyes raised new danger signals. He could almost hear her thoughts – should she pursue her original scheme, or might Drucilla make a more welcome spouse? He glanced at Wiggins and relaxed a trifle. At least he had one ally, not that he could count on much actual help from that quarter.
He breathed a sigh of relief when the ladies retired to the drawing room. Not giving Lord Braxton time to assume whatever role he had been assigned in this farce, he launched a discussion of the disease that was Braxton’s excuse for inviting him, soliciting the baron’s thoughts and hanging on his every word. Unfortunately, the man had not the slightest knowledge of the subject, his ridiculous assertions making it difficult to keep a straight face. Only Damon’s long absence on the Peninsula allowed him to credibly pretend to take the baron’s words to heart. He managed to stretch the conversation for over an hour despite Braxton’s growing irritation. But finally they had to join the ladies.
“Will you be staying at Devlin, my lord?” the baron asked with patent disinterest as they approached the door.
“Eventually,” admitted Damon. “This trip was in response to the Connors fire, but I will be returning to London in another day or two.”
“So soon?”
“I must be there when my betrothal is announced. My fiancée would be upset if I missed the ball.”
Braxton nearly choked. “I had not heard that you were betrothed.”
“Naturally not. The public announcement will be made on Friday and will appear in Saturday’s papers.”
Lord Braxton dropped the subject, unable to miss the steel that underlay Damon’s statement.
He had not meant to declare his intentions so openly, though it was nought but the truth. But claiming the betrothal as fact might depress the pretensions of this very vulgar family. Poor Peter would turn in his grave if he could see how low the barony had sunk.
“Lord Devlin is betrothed to a London miss,” stated Lord Braxton when they entered the drawing room.
“What?” Lady Braxton paled alarmingly.
“Who is she?” demanded Hortense.
“Why did you not mention her earlier?” asked Drucilla with a pout.
Damon spent several minutes fending off questions. “You will learn all when we make the announcement public,” he repeated for at least the tenth time, anger clear in his voice. He recovered his address and continued. “But I know that you will like her. Such charming ladies cannot help but become her closest friends. I count on you to introduce her around the neighborhood.”
Though pique lingered in all eyes, the girls replied with unexpected grace and Lady Braxton offered congratulations. Damon breathed a sigh of relief. His words were blatantly false, of course, for he could not imagine Hermione in the same room with these two, but with such a scheming mother they would not remain problems for long. It was only a matter of time before Lady Braxton settled on a new victim.
He kept a pleasant expression pasted on his face through the purgatory of another musical evening, wishing he could dispense with manners long enough to leave. But at least he had successfully diverted whatever plot Lady Braxton had devised.
While these congratulatory thoughts occupied one corner of his mind, the remainder was pondering Catherine’s absence. Wiggins was always very precise in his choice of words. She is no longer at Ridgway could only mean that she had been packed off elsewhere. Why? If Lady Braxton feared competition for her daughters, Cat would have left years ago. Likewise, if she feared Cat might interfere with a plot to compromise him, why would the lady wait for a week after he arrived before sending her away? It was only after their meeting that anything had happened despite his asking after her during both visits. The Braxtons must fear that she might reveal a secret – something beyond their apparent poverty. What were they hiding? It must be serious if it justified the expense of banishing her.
The insidious idea grew, seeming impossible at first but refusing to go away. Suppose Lord Braxton wished to harm Catherine. It appeared ludicrous on the surface, but there were too many oddities to ignore the possibility. The first was Braxton’s lie that Catherine was betrothed. She had denied the story, though the baron had sworn that her father had approved it. When sorting conflicting statements, Damon would believe Catherine over her uncle any day. She had a sense of honor worthy of a gentleman.
Then there was the poverty at Ridgway House. Everyone agreed that they lived in straitened circumstances. Yet the estate had always been productive. Peter’s father had been a devotee of Coke’s agricultural experiments, hiring an innovative steward and working with him to increase yields. Peter had a generous allowance, and plans had already been underway for Cat’s come-out in London. Peter had heard of no reverses. Lord Braxton had frequently scorned those who let greed tempt them into disastrous investments, stating that he was satisfied with the limited but guaranteed returns he received from Consols. He had never been a man to take risks, so why was his fortune suddenly gone? Surely his successor had not recklessly gamed it away!
The excruciating music finally ended and Lady Braxton suggested they adjourn to the conservatory to admire a rare tropical plant that had bloomed just that morning. Hortense grabbed his proffered arm, but Drucilla could not take the other. She had to listen to her mother praise her mutilation of a Bach prelude. The two women fell into step just behind him.
