Dangerous Lover, page 3
“Perhaps I should speak to your father about an instrument of some kind,” she murmured, although her insides twisted up about approaching him on any subject whatsoever. Besides, it would take time to choose and purchase. Until then…there were friends who might lend her a guitar. “Hmm, I’ll tell you what, Evelina, if you work hard this morning, perhaps we could take a little picnic lunch and go for a walk this afternoon.”
Evelina jumped up with such excitement that Alexandra gathered outings were not common in her life since coming to England.
“Anna doesn’t know the way,” Evelina explained when asked about previous walks.
“Don’t you go out with your Papa, sometimes? To the park, perhaps?”
“Once,” she said. “But it was very early, and he couldn’t stay long because he had to go to work.”
“What does he do?” Alexandra asked, aware she was betraying unseemly curiosity, though children seldom noticed such things. In this case, it earned her nothing, for Evelina merely shrugged.
After breakfast, they pinned the dried paintings from yesterday onto the wall.
“Beautiful!” Alexandra pronounced. “Just what we need to brighten the room. And I hope you’ll add to them as we go on.”
“I could paint more today,” Evelina offered hopefully.
“Not today. This morning, I want you to practice some writing and some counting. And then, if the weather stays fine, we shall go out.”
While she spoke, Evelina watched her speculatively, not best pleased. It crossed Alexandra’s mind that she was in for the first tantrum, but whether or not the child was distracted by the later outing, she merely shrugged and agreed.
Accordingly, since the sun stayed out, they left the house together at midday, with a small picnic basket, and walked away from the river toward St. James’ Park. Evelina bounced along at her side, happy and excited, and took such simple pleasure in their picnic on the edges of the park that Alexandra was quite touched. The girl chattered away, sometimes in English, sometimes in Italian, asking questions, remarking on trees and dogs and people who passed by, recalling snippets of her life in Venice.
“Are we going home now?” she asked in disappointed tones as they began to pack up the meager remains of lunch.
“No, I thought we would walk a bit farther and see if a friend of mine is at home. She might be able to lend us a guitar or know someone who could.”
So they walked on from St, James’ Park to Green Park. At Piccadilly, Alexandra took Evelina’s hand firmly and managed to dodge traffic and cross to the other side, where they walked down the relative quiet of Half-Moon Street.
Although Mayfair was a far better address than Hungerford, Evelina was certainly not overwhelmed by her new surroundings. The girl brought up in a Venetian palace was hardly likely to be impressed by lesser Mayfair mansions.
About halfway down the street, Alexandra turned into a quiet lane that did not lead to the usual mews but to a gate and a garden path up to a smaller, more charming house than those nearby.
The same maid Alexandra remembered from the only other time she had been here opened the door.
“Is Lady Grizelda at home?” Alexandra inquired.
“Please step in while I inquire,” the maid replied, smiling at Evelina, who seemed surprised.
Lady Grizelda—whom Alexandra had always called Griz—already had company but was pleased to receive more.
Griz was a musical friend. When they had met and practiced music together, Alexandra had no idea the fun and talented young lady was a duke’s daughter. Neither did anyone else. The truth had emerged so gradually that, in the end, no one had been overawed, and she had remained simply Griz.
Lady Grizelda’s family, however, was another matter. Her other guests proved to be her sister, Viscountess Trench, and Lady Trench’s two children, who were, respectively, slightly older and slightly younger than Evelina.
“And is this your daughter?” Lady Trench inquired in a friendly manner. She was a rather dazzlingly beautiful woman dressed in the finest fashion.
“No, this is Miss Evelina Swan. I am merely her governess.”
Not by the flicker of an eyebrow did Lady Trench betray surprise or contempt.
“Alexandra plays music with us,” Griz explained, pouring tea. “Sit down, Alex, and the children will take care of themselves.”
“Actually, it was about music I came. Evelina’s family has only recently arrived in London, and there are no instruments in the house as yet. I was wondering if you had a guitar we could borrow for a few weeks?”
“To teach Evelina? Why yes, I still have the small one I used as a child. It would be perfect for her.”
“Thank you,” Alexandra said gratefully, accepting the tea and watching uneasily as Evelina stood awkwardly facing the overtures of the other two children.
“Swan,” Lady Trench said thoughtfully. “Would that be Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Swan in Brook Street?”
“No, my lady, Sir Nicholas Swan.”
“Ah, the older brother! Do you know,” she added, lowering her voice slightly, “we thought he was probably dead before my husband ran into him in the city only last week!”
“Dead?” Alexandra repeated, startled. “Because he was abroad?”
To her relief, the little girl was tugging a willing Evelina into the corner, where the boy was holding his aunt’s little dog. It sprang free, though instead of running for cover, it jumped into Evelina’s lap and licked her face. It didn’t seem to care for adults, but it clearly loved children. Evelina laughed, and the boy began to show her the dog’s party tricks.
“Well,” Lady Trench said, considering, “I think more because his brother moved into the Brook Street house almost as soon as their father died. He didn’t assume the title, of course, which should have stopped the silly gossip at once. I suppose no one could recall seeing Sir Nicholas, as he is now, since he was eighteen years old. He was at school with my husband, you know.”
“Then you are friends,” Alexandra said, covering her unease. Last night’s encounter lurked too close to the surface of her mind, and she wasn’t sure she would still be employed by the time she got home, which made her angry. She shouldn’t have been there, of course, but it was he who had leered. She had done nothing wrong.
“Friends?” Lady Trench said with a shrug. “I would not go so far. Sir Nicholas does not seem to go out in society a great deal.”
He wasn’t at home a great deal either, according to the household, so where did he spend his time?
Lady Trench stood. “I must go, Griz.” Unexpectedly, she held out her hand to Alexandra. “A pleasure to meet you. We’re going down to the country tomorrow, but I wish you all success in your new post with the Swans.”
“Thank you,” Alexandra said, shaking the friendly, aristocratic hand.
“Come, children,” Lady Trench commanded. “Say goodbye to your new friend!”
They were laughing with Evelina while the dog ran rings around them at fantastic speed. With reluctance, the Trench children extracted themselves, grinned at Evelina, and accompanied their mother from the room.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Griz said, leaving with her sister. The dog ran after them all, then was sent back into the room, and the door closed, much to Evelina’s delight. And the dog, easily distracted, bounded back up to her and rolled on its back.
Evelina laughed but looked at Alexandra for guidance.
“I think she wants her tummy tickled,” Alexandra said gravely.
Griz came back in then with a guitar in either hand. The dog, without moving from its comfortable position, wagged its tail while Evelina scratched its belly.
“Emmie’s gone to dig out the cases,” Griz said.
“Yes, but I can’t take two from you!”
“It’s more fun when you both have one. You can bring it back when we next meet for some music. Do you have a day off?”
“No one has mentioned it,” Alexandra said in surprise. “I shall inquire.”
“Well, send me a note, and we can work around it. I heard Matthew played excellently at the Braithwaites’ soiree the other week.”
For the rest of the short visit, they talked about music and their musical friends while Evelina played with the dog. The maid brought in two cases for the guitars, which were then packed away, and Evelina was summoned for departure.
“Do you think you could carry this one home?” Alexandra asked her, holding out the smaller case.
“Is it far?” Griz asked.
“It’s a good walk, almost to Hungerford Bridge.”
Griz blinked but made no comment on the odd location. “You need a hackney,” she said. “I’ll send the lad to fetch one.”
“Griz, I can’t,” Alexandra said awkwardly.
Griz nudged her. “Of course you can. Dragan has been earning pots recently.”
Only Griz would have said anything so outrageous, and Alexandra would have laughed, except the drawing room door opened again and, as though conjured up by his wife’s words, her husband, Dragan Tizsa, strolled in, his gazed fixed on some pamphlet.
Although jaw-droppingly handsome, he seemed endearingly unaware of the fact, and, having met him before, Alexandra no longer felt the urge to stare.
“Griz, you should read this,” he began enthusiastically before he realized he had visitors and broke off to smile distractedly and bow.
“I was about to send for a hackney,” Griz remarked.
“I’ll send the boy,” Mr. Tizsa said, dropping the pamphlet on the table and striding out again.
Idly, Griz picked up the pamphlet and glanced through it. “Goodness,” she remarked. “Revolutionary stuff!”
“Then Mr. Tizsa adheres to his old views?” Alexandra said lightly. He was a refugee from the late revolution in Hungary, which had been so brutally put down after holding out against Imperial forces for so long.
“Well, yes,” Griz said, frowning, “but he has just come from a meeting with my brother.”
Alexandra could not quite grasp the connection, and seeing it, Griz cast her a quick smile. “My brother Horace is a civil servant in a department that keeps track of sedition and anti-government opinions. Dragan told him at the outset of their arrangement that he would not pursue people for their opinions.”
A frown had formed on her brow as though the possibility bothered her. Then it cleared. “My brother is an arch-manipulator, but I would still wager on Dragan!”
Chapter Three
Duly conveyed home by hackney, they carried their borrowed guitars up the path and into the house, which appeared to be busier than Alexandra had seen it.
Mrs. Dart was saying, “Goodbye, Doctor, and thank you!” to a middle-aged man with a spectacular moustache and beard. Behind them, a maid scurried toward the kitchen, and a manservant strode up the main staircase, where two maids and the footman were dementedly cleaning.
“Oh dear,” Alexandra murmured to Mrs. Dart. “Is someone ill?”
“Lady Nora had one of her turns,” Mrs. Dart said distractedly. “Evelina, your father is home and eager to talk to you. He’s in his library.”
With a shriek of joy, Evelina dropped her guitar case and flew across the hall to the stairs. Since it was a summons from her father, Alexandra could hardly stop her. She didn’t even want to, except for the unease churning through her, and that was more about the parent than the child.
Was he about to ask Evelina if she would mind losing her new governess? In all honesty, since she had only arrived yesterday, Alexandra could not imagine that she would mind in the least.
And who the devil was Lady Nora?
Mrs. Dart had bustled off again, so there was no one to ask. Alexandra bent and picked up the smaller guitar case, then made her way up to the schoolroom. On the first-floor landing, she heard gales of laughter coming from the half-open library door. She couldn’t see either of the occupants, but she heard his voice, light, low, and teasing, and quite different from the voice he had used to her last night.
She was glad that Evelina did not sound in awe of her father, let alone frightened of him. But still, the very joy with which she’d hurled herself upstairs to get at him spoke of a loneliness that was all the more heartbreaking for being easily remedied.
Alexandra went on upstairs and along the passage to the schoolroom, where she left the guitars in their cases, propped up against the wall. There was no note dismissing her on her desk or anywhere else.
As she took off her hat and wrap, Anna came through from the bedchamber.
“Sir Nicholas is home,” she said in her careful English. She sounded a trifle smug.
“I know. Evelina is with him.”
There was no doubting the triumph in Anna’s smile as she swept from the room, though Alexandra could not account for it.
She went to her own room to wash her hands, although this was largely an excuse to be sure no letter of dismissal awaited her there. She would not put it past Sir Nicholas to be so contemptuous of her. But no message awaited her there, and the maid who brought her a cup of tea to the schoolroom, along with a scone and a slice of cake, conveyed none either.
Alexandra would have breathed more freely had it not occurred to her that Sir Nicholas would join them in the dining room that evening. Especially when she glanced out of the window and saw Evelina playing ball in the overgrown garden with her father. Evelina caught sight of her and waved, causing Alexandra to wave back and move hastily out of the way as Sir Nicholas began to look up.
Forcing herself, she sat down at her desk and planned out some lessons for the rest of the week. When she heard Evelina and Anna’s voices from the bedchamber beyond the schoolroom, she realized it was time to change for the early dinner prescribed for her and her charge.
Accordingly, she changed from her grey work gown into her dark green evening gown. There was little difference in terms of age or fashion, but at least he could have no possible cause to accuse her of trying to seduce him.
Her face burned. Was that truly what he had thought last night? Why would she—why would anyone?—seduce a stranger? To gain material favor with her employer.
I will not think of that. If he harbors such mean suspicions, they are his problems, not mine.
Unless he dismissed her.
She straightened her shoulders and left her chamber, walking briskly to collect Evelina from the schoolroom.
The child was all smiles as she skipped beside her along the passage and downstairs to the dining room, chattering of her game with Papa mixed in with odd references to Lady Trench’s children and Lady Grizelda’s dog. By the time they reached the dining room, Alexandra’s heart was drumming painfully.
But the table was set for two, and there was no sign of Sir Nicholas.
Alexandra did not know whether to be relieved or indignant. No wonder the child was lonely. But then, had she not been told at the outset that Sir Nicholas dined elsewhere? That she and Evelina would dine alone?
And where on earth did Lady Nora dine? In fact…
“Who is Lady Nora?” she asked Evelina when Clara had cleared the table of their main course.
“She’s sick. She wants to die in England, so Papa brought her home with us.”
Was this yet another of Sir Nicholas’s mistresses? Was it not appallingly bad taste to have her living in the same house as his daughter? Perhaps not, since he hadn’t been married to Evelina’s mother either. Such niceties were beyond Alexandra, and none of her business in any case. But she was not sure she cared to be part of quite so unrespectable a household.
“Is she some relation, perhaps?” Alexandra suggested hopefully.
“No, I don’t think so. Just an old friend. She’s kind to me when she’s awake.”
“I should hope she is.”
Dessert was brought in then, and Alexandra reminded herself that gossiping with her charge about other members of the household was beneath her dignity.
As before, Anna came to collect Eveline from the dining room. When they had gone, Alexandra was conscious of the urge to flee to the safety of her bedchamber, but she forced herself to sit for a few minutes in case he came to dismiss her face to face.
She was not even surprised when Clara came back to clear the last of the plates and presented her with a note. “From Sir Nicholas,” she said cheerfully.
“Thank you,” Alexandra managed and unfolded it.
N. Swan presents his compliments to Miss Alexandra Battle. It has come to his attention that Miss Battle removed her charge from the premises without permission, taking her into the houses of friends who are not known to her father. Miss Battle should know that this is unacceptable and must not be repeated.
Speechless, Alexandra forced herself to refold the note rather than crumple it and hurl it across the room.
“Thank you,” she murmured to the maid and stalked from the room. She did not so much as glance in the direction of the library. The man had probably gone out again in any case, but Alexandra’s reply to his ridiculous message would not wait.
Damn the man, how dare he write such an impersonal missive when she was under his wretched roof?
Hurling herself onto the chair at the desk beneath her window, she turned up the lamp and seized up her pen and paper.
Alexandra Battle returns Sir Nicholas’s compliments and begs him to understand that had she been aware of his aversion to fresh air or company for his daughter, she would, of course, have immured them both in the schoolroom for as long as instructed. If Sir Nicholas requires the name of the lady called upon and those others encountered at this address, Miss Battle is happy to supply them.
Since she was still furious, she pulled the bell, then folded the letter and inscribed Sir Nicholas’s name on the surface. “Please see that this is given to Sir Nicholas upon his return,” she told Clara, who appeared breathlessly at the door.
The girl snatched it and ran off again.
Alexandra collapsed onto the bed, breathing deeply. As she calmed, a suspicion of her own unwisdom began to twist through her and cling.
“Oh, the devil,” she whispered ruefully. She rose again and went in search of Clara, whom she found polishing the dining table. “Clara, would you give me back that message I asked you to deliver? I think I might have made a mistake.”
