Dangerous Lover, page 19
“I’ll be good,” he promised. “I hope your employer is good to you. And respectful.”
For the first time, it struck her that he had taken the trouble to discover who her employer was. It mollified her a little, even warmed her. “How long have you been in England?” she asked.
“Oh, a few months,” he said vaguely.
She didn’t ask what he had been doing. She really didn’t want to know. But she did remember the times she had imagined someone was watching her and wondered if it had been him. In his own way, he did love her.
James opened the door, looking harassed, and blinked at the sight of the slightly rumpled gentleman beside her.
“Thank you, James,” she said cheerfully, stepping inside. “This is my cousin, who is passing through London. I shall take him into the reception room for half an hour.”
“Very good, Miss,” James replied. “Shall I have them bring tea? A glass of sherry?”
“Sherry would be most welcome,” her father said predictably.
“Thank you,” Alexandra murmured, leading her father into the uncomfortable room she had waited in when she first arrived.
“I must say, I’d hoped for something a bit better for you,” he said, looking about him with displeasure.
“Sir Nicholas has not long moved in,” she snapped. “And you may believe it is considerably better than my first post.”
“I did try to warn you about the Laceys.”
“There are not a lot of choices available to a lady whose father only escaped the gallows by supposedly dying of natural causes.” There was more to say, but she swallowed it back. It was not the sort of conversation she wanted to be overheard.
“I did foul things up a little,” he admitted, the master of understatement.
Footstep heralded James with a tray on which resided a decanter and two glasses. He placed it on the small, bare table beside her father and poured a glass, which he presented to the guest with a bow. “And for you, Miss?”
“No, thank you,” she said hastily. “I won’t trouble you further, James. I know you’re busy.”
James hurried off again.
“Why so busy?” her father asked when he had taken an appreciative sip of the sherry. “What are they flapping about?”
“Nothing, just a family dinner party.”
“Family?”
“Sir Nicholas’s brother, his wife, and children. Why do you care?”
“I don’t,” he assured her. “But I promise to stay well out of the way. This sherry is really very good.” He poured himself another.
After a few moments, she rose. “Wait there.” She walked into the hall, looking and listening. Most of the servants’ work would be in the kitchen, and things would be carried up via the separate servants’ staircase, but there was always the danger of being seen from the dining room or even the drawing room.
But all seemed quiet for the moment. She beckoned her father, who drained his glass and set it down reluctantly. Together they crept upstairs, Alexandra straining to hear any sounds. Abruptly, just as they reached the half-landing, Clara flew out of the dining room and hurried toward the drawing room.
Quick as lightening, Alexandra wrenched open the door of the walk-in cupboard and shoved her father inside. The maid turned just as she closed the door.
“Miss Battle? Is something wrong?” Clara asked anxiously.
“No, no, I just stupidly lost my footing and knocked into the cupboard,” she said cheerfully. “All is well.”
Clara carried on into the drawing room, leaving the door open, so she was forced to carry on upstairs without her father. Fortunately, Clara dashed out again, clutching a vase of drooping flowers, and with a quick smile, hurried past her toward the servants’ stairs.
Alexandra carried on another few paces, then flew back across the hallway and coughed. When her father emerged warily from the cupboard, she beckoned urgently, and he closed the door and followed, less speedily than she would have liked.
She opened her bedchamber door with relief but remembered to look around first to make sure Evelina wasn’t waiting for her there before she pulled her father inside and closed the door. She turned the key in the lock and leaned her back against the wood.
Her father grinned at her. “Confess, you have missed the old days.”
“In some ways,” she said tightly. “But I value my position here. I like these people, and I do not relish sneaking behind their backs.”
“Of course not,” her father soothed. He walked across to the window, checking the view, then drew the curtains. He sat down on the bed and regarded her. “So, what are your duties for the evening?”
“I suppose I shall take my pupil downstairs to greet the guests and perhaps settle her in the schoolroom afterward, although she will have her nursemaid there and possibly her cousins’ nurse, too. Then I am expected to make up the numbers in the dining room.”
“Excellent.” He beamed and stretched out on the bed, kicking off his shoes. “See if you can’t smuggle your old dad up a bit of supper. But I think I’ll take a nap now.”
Sighing, she kicked his shoes under the bed and drew the curtains around it. At the last moment, she tossed in the hat he’d abandoned on the bedside table, and he grunted as it clearly landed on him.
“Please don’t snore,” she begged. “And when I leave, I shall lock you in.”
“Don’t trust me, little one?”
“I don’t want you frightening the children if they come looking for me!”
“Good point,” he agreed after a moment. “Very well.”
She didn’t need his permission, but his cooperation was usually helpful.
Trying to pretend he wasn’t there, she washed and changed for dinner, then brushed out her hair to pin it. Just for a moment, as she caught her gaze in the glass, she was tempted to brush her hair up into a softer, more becoming style. Nicholas liked her in this dress…
Sir Nicholas was being polite, she scolded herself, and tightened her hand on her hair once more. The usual, severe governess style would suffice.
In order to have somewhere to put the bedroom key, she dusted off an old reticule and dangled it from her wrist. It added a note of greater formality, she decided.
She glanced through the bed curtains at her father, who was clearly sound asleep. He had never used to snore. She hoped he hadn’t acquired the habit in the last few years. Pulling her shoulders back, she left the room, locked the door, and dropped the key into her reticule.
She went first to the schoolroom, where a vastly excited Evelina was clearly itching to be free of Anna, tying the last ribbon in her hair.
“Hold still!” Alexandra laughed. “Considering the trouble you went to choosing those ribbons, you might as well wear them!”
Evelina subsided while Alexandra glanced around the schoolroom. The table had been set with three chairs and a baby’s highchair.
When they finally proceeded downstairs, at last, Alexandra’s heart was bumping uncomfortably. While she reminded Evelina to be on her best behavior and to curtsey to her aunt and uncle, she was also reminding herself that she must not take offense at any slights cast her way by Mr. or Mrs. Swan, or be hurt by any slight change in attitude on Nicholas’s part. For she had told her father the truth. Whatever Nicholas had said, she was not his hostess. She was the governess and present only to even the numbers.
She had hoped to get there early and be safely ensconced before either Sir Nicholas or his guests appeared. But she could see Mrs. Swan at once, seated on a sofa with her husband standing at her side holding a glass of sherry. Beside him stood young Henry, holding the hand of his little sister.
The girl’s eyes lit up when she caught sight of Evelina, but beyond a smile, she gave no sign, even when Evelina waved to her.
“Miss Battle,” Nicholas acknowledged her from the table beside the door, where he had been pouring himself a drink. “Sherry?”
“Thank you,” Alexandra replied. In this company, she felt she needed it. She gave Evelina’s hand a little squeeze by way of reminder and released her.
Evelina immediately went to her aunt and uncle and curtseyed prettily. “Good evening, Aunt. Good evening, Uncle.”
Though their smiles might have remained a little fixed, they made no objection to this mode of address.
“How very nice to see you again, Evelina,” Ralph said with a trace of nervousness.
“How are you, child?” his wife managed.
“I am very well, thank you,” Evelina replied. “How are you?”
But her question remained unanswered, as both adults were, at that moment, distracted by the announcement of Mr. and Mrs. Tizsa.
Evelina relaxed enough to greet the newcomers cheerfully. “’Evening, Lady Griz! Mr. Tizsa!”
Dragan actually bowed to her, which made her giggle until she remembered to curtsey back, and Griz bade her good evening in a teasing kind of way.
Dragan was obviously acquainted with Ralph, but while Nicholas performed the other introductions, the children gravitated toward each other, and the girls were soon giggling together, while Henry tried to look superior.
Mrs. Swan turned to Alexandra. “Feel free to take them to the nursery whenever you wish, Miss…um. Our nursemaid is already there with the baby.”
“Oh, Evelina can take them,” Nicholas said carelessly, handing Alexandra a glass with a flicker of one eyelid that looked very like a wink before he turned back to face his brother. “It’s good to see Henry looking so well.” He glanced after the children’s fast-retreating backs. “I hope he is as unhurt by his experience as he seems.”
“So far as we can tell,” Ralph replied with a quick look at his wife. “There is no physical injury. Certainly, he was more than ready to come home, but he seemed surprised that we hadn’t known where he was. Those villains told him—and the other boys—that it was all a game arranged by their parents to see how brave they were away from home.”
“I don’t think I would ever have believed such a tale,” Nicholas remarked.
“No, well,” Ralph said ruefully, “our father wasn’t really much of a man for games. Not with children, at any rate.”
It was a rare, momentary connection between the brothers, who exchanged smiles that were more of a reflected grimace. Then, into the short silence, Ralph said awkwardly, “I have not thanked you, Nicholas, for the part you played in Henry’s rescue. And that of the other boys. Mr. Tizsa, of course, knows he has our undying gratitude. But so do you.”
Nicholas betrayed neither gratification nor annoyance, merely smiled. “Miss Battle and Lady Grizelda did at least as much.”
Ralph blinked in surprise at this shocking revelation. His wife, however, had fixed on the name.
“Lady Grizelda?” she repeated. “Mrs. Tizsa is Lady Grizelda? The Duke of Kelburn’s daughter?”
“If he has not yet disowned me,” Griz said lightly, sitting on the sofa beside Alexandra.
“I think he is secretly proud of you,” Dragan remarked and accepted his glass from Nicholas.
“To the children,” Nicholas said, raising his glass.
Everyone repeated the toast, and they all drank.
“You won’t know, of course,” Mrs. Swan said, “but before all this wretched upheaval, we had actually been planning a ball in Brook Street for the day after tomorrow. And now that Henry is home, we do not need to cancel it. I would be so glad if you could all come. It is all we can do to prove our gratitude.”
Though interestingly enough, Alexandra thought cynically, she had not issued the invitation until she had realized Griz was a duke’s daughter, and she could not invite Griz and her handsome husband, even at the last minute, without inviting Ralph’s brother, too. After all, Nicholas was, presumably, paying for it.
“Thank you,” Griz replied, without looking at Dragan. “We would be delighted.”
“Lovely! Nicholas, you will be there, will you not?”
“If Miss Battle wishes to go, I shall be happy to escort her.”
Alexandra’s startled gaze flew up to meet his. “What?”
“Of course, Miss Battle is as welcome as the rest of the heroic warriors,” Ralph said jovially. “I think my wife is merely concerned she might feel a little overwhelmed.”
“Never underestimate a governess,” Nicholas drawled. “Ours has danced in Venetian palaces and waltzed before the Emperor at the Hofburg in Vienna. I don’t believe the Brook Street ballroom will frighten her.”
Alexandra was appalled. In fact, she had done those things, though she had no idea how Nicholas knew of them. Nor did she wish either to be thought above her profession or to inflict herself on an unwilling host. To say nothing of that universal female problem of not having anything to wear.
“Why then, of course, you are invited, my dear,” Mrs. Swan said kindly, although her eyes were not warm. “Because, naturally, our gratitude includes you.”
“I can be your chaperone,” Griz said with a dancing grin. “One of the more unexpected benefits of marriage!”
Dinner was announced then, which came as something of a relief to Alexandra. Fortunately, Nicholas seemed to have decided he had put enough cats among the pigeons for one day and became the perfect, genial host. Since they were a small party, he introduced topics of conversation that included everyone. His remarks were witty, his questions light-hearted, and under his subtle leadership, everyone began to relax into good humor and enjoyment.
Ralph turned out to be not quite so stiff, and his wife not quite so worldly. Only Griz and Dragan seemed exactly as they always were—fun, clever, and knowledgeable. They happily answered questions about how Dragan came to England and how they met but also asked many questions of their own of Ralph and Nicholas.
Alexandra, who talked least, stored up little pieces of information about her employer that she learned that evening. About the pet dog he had loved as a boy, about the job he took on a cargo ship sailing from France to Italy, and a host of funny stories poking fun at himself as he learned new languages and made mistakes in building his business. He seemed so open, so charming. And yet he was hiding something, probably in the cellars, that he didn’t want anyone, least of all the police, to know about. Something to do with the kidnapped children? She could not believe so, and yet Inspector Harris, who was by no means a stupid man, had accused him. And one could never tell what Dragan was thinking.
As she ate and thought and listened, she forgot the oddity of her position. The servants, surprisingly well-trained, did not need to be told when to clear a course away and bring in the next.
But when everyone had finished with the pastries and the cheese, she rose quite naturally from the table, saying, “Ladies, shall we withdraw?”
Only when she caught a look of irritation from Mrs. Swan did she realize she was behaving like the hostess Nicholas had asked her to be. A position that probably belonged more rightly to his sister-in-law than his daughter’s governess.
Mrs. Swan inquired rather stiffly for a cloakroom to refresh herself. Having directed her, Alexandra walked into the drawing room with Griz.
“The perfect hostess,” Griz remarked admiringly.
Alexandra grimaced. “I am in an impossible position. But Sir Nicholas, not Mrs. Swan, pays my salary.”
“He likes you,” Griz observed, sounding a key on the piano at random. “This is a lovely instrument.”
Glad of the change of subject, Alexandra agreed. “It is.”
“Tell me,” Griz said, pulling something from what must have been a large, hidden pocket in her gown, “have you ever seen anything like this before?”
Alexandra took a slightly crumpled pamphlet from her and smoothed it out. She scanned it quickly. “It’s quite like the one your husband had the day I visited you with Evelina. Political, radical. Aimed, I’d say from the language, at the educated classes. Where did you get it? From your brother again?”
Griz shook her head. “No, in the secret hiding place of the man we think is behind the kidnappings. It was in among the banknotes.”
“The cloaked man?” Alexandra said eagerly. “I didn’t think Inspector Harris believed me about him.”
“We didn’t find a cloak. But one of the women certainly gave the police the name and address of the man she claims gave the orders and took the bulk of the ransom.”
“But that is excellent news! Do they have this man?”
“No, but they are watching his rooms. He left his money hidden there, so he’s likely to come back.”
“Won’t he see them watching and stay away? After all, he managed to avoid all of us before.”
“Maybe.” Griz sat on the piano stool, with her back to the instrument.
Alexandra handed her back the pamphlet. “Why do you suppose he kept this? Is he some revolutionary type who believes it’s acceptable to ransom rich people’s children?”
“It’s possible, I suppose, but it isn’t much of a defense before the law.”
“Or anyone else.” Alexandra sat on the stool beside her but facing the piano. “Griz, have the police told Ralph Swan their suspicions of Sir Nicholas?”
It was clear at once Griz knew what she meant. “I don’t know. But I rather think it was Ralph that put the idea in their heads—at the beginning when he was angry and upset at his son being taken. In my judgment, Ralph has dropped such a belief.”
“But the police have not.” Alexandra frowned. “I wonder why?”
Chapter Nineteen
In the dining room, while Nicholas pushed the port toward him, Tizsa bent to pick up something that had fallen out of his pocket. He tossed it on the table while he poured himself some port and passed the decanter back.
“What have you there?” Ralph asked. As Nicholas was fairly sure he was meant to.
“Just a pamphlet. Your brother is kindly publishing it for me.”
“They should be ready for distribution tomorrow,” Nicholas said mildly.
