Unmasked by her Lover, page 6
Calvert swallowed that with barely a flicker. Indeed, an eager gleam lit his eyes. “Of course. I will ensure everyone knows you have been here for three days. You may easily play both yourself and Martha, greet our guests as their hostess, while I ride up to London and bring her back.”
“And if she isn’t there?” Meg demanded.
“Where else would she go?”
“More to the point, what if Lady Calvert is seen in London,” Harry interjected, “while your guests are supposedly being entertained by her here?”
“I have to hope she has the sense not to go out,” Calvert said grimly.
Meg and Harry both looked at him.
Calvert sighed. “I know. It is a faint hope. But I daresay His Grace retains some hold on her. Will you do it, Meg?”
“Just to save you from the scandal of a runaway wife?” Meg snapped.
“It seems we are both avoiding scandals of one kind or another.”
Meg jumped to her feet. “I can’t think, Selwyn. I don’t know. I’m going to Martha’s chamber. You’ll find accommodation for Harry, won’t you?”
She fled, needing to be away from Calvert’s fear and her own anger and guilt.
She had not looked out for Martha. Knowing her sister’s unhappiness, she had still allowed the distance to form between them, at first from the faulty belief that Martha was responsible for her broken heart. Of course, such silliness had not lasted, but in those first months of the marriage, the damage had been done between them and could not all be undone.
Unsure of the part she needed to play, she ignored the servants she passed on her way to Martha’s apartments.
These were much as she remembered them—frilly and feminine, in shades of delicate pink. The scent of Martha’s perfume assailed her as soon as she entered.
“Oh, my lady, thank God!” exclaimed Mathews, rushing through from the bedchamber beyond the boudoir. She halted in her tracks, frowning. “Lady Meg?” she asked uncertainly.
Mathews had begun by serving both twins when they were fifteen years old. Despite their tricks and their mischief, she had learned to tell them apart very quickly. It had been hard for her when Martha’s marriage had separated them, but she had not lost her skills of identifying one from the other.
Meg sighed. “Yes, it is I. Where is my sister, Mathews? You have to tell me.”
Mathews dropped the pile of linen she was carrying onto a chair. “I would tell you if I could, my lady, I swear it.”
“And is the reason you can’t because Martha told you not to?”
Tears started to Mathews’s eyes. She shook her head violently. “No, my lady, she told me nothing. Not a thing. She just vanished!”
“Taking what?” Meg asked. “Clothes? Tooth powder?”
“There’s just her best riding habit missing, and a traveling cloak.”
Which is why Calvert believes she has gone to London. She probably means to wear my clothes there, as I planned to wear hers here…
But that was too comfortable a belief. Martha could be anywhere, in any kind of danger. Meg stepped closer to the maid. “Mathews, was she upset last night? Unhappy?”
“No, my lady, not really. A bit…excited, perhaps.”
Meg nodded and walked into her sister’s bedchamber. For a while, she wandered around the room, touching various things of Martha’s that she remembered—a hairbrush, a perfume bottle, a dressing gown on the back of the door, a jewel box on her dressing table. Then she sank down on the bed, trying to unwind the knot of anxiety in her stomach.
Where are you, Martha?
She realized she already knew her sister wasn’t dead. That, she would have felt. But would she have felt any huge unhappiness that had driven her from her home at this precise moment? Had she not been so concerned with the trivial scandal at Connaught Place and seeing Harry again. She had been enjoying her journey while her sister suffered.
Or did she?
Martha was a flirt. Which was what had won her Calvert. Had she decided the prize of an unfaithful husband was not enough? Had she found someone else to flirt with? Or run away altogether? Now, there was a scandal to eclipse Meg’s.
Only, she couldn’t quite believe it of Martha. At least not out of the blue.
She might have been deluding herself, but she didn’t believe her sister was distressed. Wherever she had gone, she had done so deliberately and, rightly or wrongly, did not wish to be followed. Otherwise, she would have left clues, “breadcrumbs” for Calvert, or at least Mathews, to follow.
So, what am I supposed to do, Martha?
What they had always done for each other. Cover for her.
“Mathews,” she called. “Will you help me to dress as Lady Calvert?”
*
When the household gathered for tea, Harry had to look twice to assure himself Martha had not come home in the last hour. Their likeness in appearance was still profound, but the change was in the mannerisms, which Meg adopted as her own. The drama of her gestures, the fashionable languor of speech that Martha had affected even before her coming-out, the way she flirted with her eyes and her fan.
She drifted into the room in a cloud of exotic perfume and palest blue gauze. “Why, Harry, my hero, how wonderful to see you!” she greeted him, extending her hand. She fluttered her eyelashes as he bowed over it, and he couldn’t help the twitch of his lips. “Thank you for being so kind to my sister.” She turned and smiled at Aline Garrow with no recognition whatsoever.
“Ah, my love, this is Mrs. Garrow,” Calvert said smoothly.
“Of course,” Meg exclaimed. “How wonderful to meet you at last. I have heard so much about your husband.” She glanced around the room as though surprised. “But where is Captain Garrow?”
“He was a trifle indisposed on the journey,” Aline explained. Not by the faintest crease in her brow or hesitation in her smile did she betray a hint of suspicion that this was not her hostess but the lady who had traveled in her carriage. “So, I thought it best to leave him comfortably at the inn. My son is not a peaceful traveler, and he would have driven his stepfather to an apoplexy on top of everything else. I hope you do not mind when you and I have not the pleasure of acquaintance?”
“How could I mind? You are most welcome, as is your son. In fact, Calvert’s old nurse still lives in the house, so she will be glad to help look after him.”
“How kind,” Aline purred.
“And your poor husband! I hope nothing serious ails him?”
Amused, Harry debated with himself who was the better actress. In this particular role, he rather thought it was Meg, for he caught Aline watching her once or twice, as though to reassure herself that this really was Lady Calvert.
As he accepted his cup of tea from Meg, he murmured, “My compliments. I could almost imagine we were children again.”
“I feel alarmingly grown-up,” she confided. Raising her voice, she said, “Perhaps we can take a turn in the garden after tea. I’m sure your son would like to join us, Mrs. Garrow.”
“He would love to if he is not in the way.”
Harry, too, was glad of the fresh air and the opportunity to stretch his legs. Despite the crazy jaunt through the woods after highwaymen, the Garrows’ coach had been considerably more comfortable than Robert’s poor curricle. He felt none of the pain of yesterday. As a result, he was quite happy to lope ahead with Basil and play hide and seek, while Aline made herself agreeable to Calvert.
“So, what do you think?” he murmured as Meg caught up with him, and they pretended to look in all the wrong places for the audibly chortling child. “Is Martha safe?”
“I believe so,” she said with a worrying trace of anxiety. “But I don’t know for sure. Her maid has no clue where she is. But I think for some reason Martha wants it that way, though I don’t know why or whether I’m right to go along with this masquerade.”
“If you ask me,” Harry said carefully, for he was wary of speaking against the man she had once loved and perhaps still did, “Calvert knows more than he’s letting on. Not necessarily where Martha is, but why she left. I don’t like that he hasn’t told you.”
She gave a faint shrug, not irritated as he had half-expected, but as though it was unimportant. “It will reflect badly on him,” she opined.
He blinked, and she cast him a wry smile. “What? Did you think I was blind as well as silly?” She lunged past him and caught Basil behind the tree. He smiled at the child’s delighted laughter, but his attention lingered on Meg.
They returned to the house in due course but sat out on the terrace to enjoy the last of the afternoon sun. Meg disappeared into the kitchen garden for a few moments and came back with a basket of kittens for Basil to play with. Not long afterward, she went inside with Calvert.
Resisting the urge to follow her, Harry raised his eyes from the cavorting kittens to Aline’s face.
“Garrow seems an odd friend for Calvert,” he observed.
“Why?” Aline sounded amused. “There’s nothing wrong with Garrow’s birth. Is this your polite way of saying I am not a fit friend for the family?”
“It depends why you pursue the friendship—to the extent of being the first guest here.”
“Joint first with yourself, Captain,” she pointed out. “And surely it is quite obvious that the friendship of the Calverts provides me with excellent standing.”
“You wish to live down the taint of the blacksmith’s forge.”
She paused with her hand halfway to the curl blowing across her eye. “I told you that? I must have drunk too much wine. Or lied.”
“For myself, I don’t consider the blacksmith parent—”
“Grandparent,” she objected gently. “My mother was the blacksmith’s daughter, my father, a nobleman of the highest birth and lowest morals.”
“Does Garrow know?”
“Why should he?” She met his gaze. “Is your discretion included in our agreement?”
“In so far as doesn’t hurt my friends.”
She smiled. “Are you warning me off, Captain?”
“Yes,” he said bluntly, and she laughed, leaning forward to touch his hand.
“Calm yourself, my hero. I have no interest in your friends.”
It was conceivable she was tired of adventuring, was here only to indulge in a little social climbing for her own and her husband’s comfort. But Harry was not convinced.
Those well-groomed highwaymen had appeared very pat after their meeting at the inn. He did not believe in coincidence. However, she betrayed no connection to them, and he decided not to make his suspicions known. He wanted to see how they played out.
As a result, when Calvert invited him to stay longer than the one night he had originally intended, he agreed. Calvert had caught him just before dinner, beckoning him into a rather masculine room that smelled faintly of brandy and tobacco. It contained leather armchairs, a display of dueling pistols, and a broken fowling-piece waiting to be cleaned.
“I don’t want to inconvenience you, old fellow,” Calvert said, waving him to a seat and pouring two glasses of sherry, “but I would count it a great favor if you would stay on here, at least until I return from London. Just to keep an eye out for Meg.”
Harry accepted the glass with raised brows. “Are you worried?”
“I’m asking a lot of her, and she can be a scatterbrained little chit.”
“Scatterbrained?” Harry said, unreasonably irritated by the description. “Even at seventeen, I’ve seen her juggle several wayward balls and bring them all safely back to earth.”
“Perhaps,” Calvert said doubtfully. “But I would be happy with another gentleman in the house playing host in my absence, which should only be for one night. Meg trusts you. So does Martha.”
“I’m honored,” Harry said skeptically, “and of course, I shall remain until Lady Calvert’s return. But won’t people find it a bit odd, my staying here when you are absent?”
“Oh, the friendship between your families is famous. The world knows you are as siblings. Look after her like a brother, de Vere, and I shall be in your debt.”
“It was always my intention,” Harry said without strict regard for the truth. It was a long time since his feelings for Meg had been brotherly, but he would, at least, look after her. He took a sip of sherry and regarded his host over the rim. “Tell me, is your concern based on the imminent arrival of Captain Garrow? When he recovers from his indisposition.”
Calvert’s smile was crooked. “Partly,” he admitted. “I’m sure the fellow will toe the line when his wife is present, but I had not planned to be from home.”
“If you trust him so little, why the devil did you invite him?” Harry demanded.
“Good question. I believe he amused me at White’s, and I asked Martha to send them a card. At least his wife can be company for Meg.”
“Difficult company when Mrs. Garrow already knows her, and you are asking Meg to play both sisters.”
“She does it very well,” Calvert said comfortably. “So does Martha.”
“I know,” Harry said. “They always did.” He set down his empty glass. “If you’ll excuse me, I should at least brush myself down before dinner.”
Chapter Seven
Meg woke to the knowledge that there was someone in her bedchamber. Martha’s bedchamber. Mathews, presumably, which was familiar enough to be comforting, so for a few moments, she lay, feeling the warmth of the early morning sun and enjoying the happy song of the birds.
Until the mattress sank under someone’s weight, and she knew without a doubt that Mathews would never commit such a sin. Her eyes flew open to see Lord Calvert, fully dressed, and sitting on the edge of her bed. Well, Martha’s bed.
“Calvert, go away!” she uttered and pushed him so hard with her feet that he was forced to stand back up. He looked comically surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I always visit Martha in the mornings. Everyone would be surprised if I did not. Besides, I am off to London and wanted to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye,” she said, glaring at him.
He cast her a rueful smile and turned away, murmuring, “I should be back tomorrow evening with Martha, and we shall all be clear of this nonsense.”
Meg struggled into a sitting position and dragged the covers up to her chin. “Selwyn?”
He turned back.
“I don’t think she wants anyone to go after her. I don’t think she is in London.”
Frowning, he searched her face. “I hope you’re wrong. But either way, I have to look.”
“I know.”
The door clicked shut behind him, and Meg sighed, staring blindly after him. Why had Martha just vanished at this time? To punish her husband? Theirs was not, Meg knew, the happiest of marriages, but after her initial disillusion, Martha had seemed to accept her lot. What had changed?
After a few moments, Mathews came in with coffee on a tray and a brisk “good morning” on her lips.
“Good morning,” Meg returned, receiving the coffee with gratitude. “Mathews, I think I had better be Meg this morning since I imagine Martha still doesn’t rise much before midday.”
“That is true.”
“Also, I have to ask you this,” Meg said abruptly. “How has my sister been recently? Has she quarreled with his lordship?”
“Well, she’s a lady of spirit,” Mathews said excusingly. “The odd quarrel is inevitable. But it seemed to me she was more content.”
“She had…reached a better understanding with his lordship?” Meg said with delicacy.
“Or he with her,” Mathews said.
Meaning he had stopped straying? “But they quarreled before she left,” Meg pointed out.
“That is true.” Mathews sighed. “Perhaps that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
“Perhaps,” Meg agreed. “Although I don’t think her back was breaking.” She waved that aside with a rueful laugh. “Drat it, how did my sister become a camel? Is there an old walking dress there, Mathews, that no one will associate with Martha?”
There was, indeed. For ease, Mathews had also moved a few things through from the chamber Meg usually used, including an evening gown and two day dresses that she had left behind from previous visits.
Meg rather liked her sister’s rejected walking dress and riding habit. It was of a darker shade of green than Martha typically favored. Meg, who rarely paid much attention to her dress, paused only to be sure she looked like herself again and to smooth all of Martha out of her expression and gestures.
It was a relief to slip outside into the sunshine and walk unaccompanied through the gardens to the woods and fields beyond. She walked a little farther than she meant to and was quite glad to discover the road that ran directly between Calvert Court and the village. However, here she also met the vicar of the local church, Mr. Sanhurst, riding on a tired-looking nag toward the village.
“My lady!” he said in some delight, bowing respectfully from the saddle.
“Not Lady Calvert,” she said at once. “Merely her sister, Meg, but very glad to meet you again, sir.”
“Ah, Lady Meg, how charming!” the vicar beamed. “Have you come on a long visit to your sister?”
“Until she tires of me,” Meg said lightly. “I arrived a few days ago,” she added, remembering her scandalous position, “and will probably stay for the ball, at least.”
“How delightful. I believe we shall have the further pleasure of your company at tea this afternoon.”
“Really? Martha never tells me anything. Are we coming to the vicarage?”
The vicar looked alarmed. “Why, no, Lady Calvert invited us to the Court.”
“To be honest, that is much better, for my sister already has guests,” Meg said hurriedly. Another movement caught her eye as a horseman emerged through the trees. Harry, in civilian riding dress. She waved to him, and he raised his hand in immediate response, urging his mount into a trot toward them.
“Ah, this will be one of her ladyship’s guests?” Mr. Sanhurst guessed.
“Indeed. Harry, this is Mr. Sanhurst, vicar of Calvert Church. Sir, Captain Lord Harry de Vere. We have known him forever,” she added. “Our land marches with Lord Staunton’s, and we all used to play together as children.”
