An Unsuitable Bride (42 page)

“Oh, there you are. How nice. I was anticipating a very dull morning,” she said, kissing Alexandra on the cheek. “ ’Tis such a miserable day, and you’re all wet. Come into the library. Could you dry Mistress Douglas’s cloak and bring coffee?” she asked the butler with a smile.

“At once, my lady.” The butler bowed before disappearing in stately fashion into the back regions with the visitor’s dripping cloak. Clarissa ushered Alexandra into the library.

“There,” she said with an arm flung wide towards the shelves. “See what you can unearth, my dear. I doubt some of them on the top shelves have been dusted in a decade.”

Alexandra laughed. “I’m accustomed to a little dust, and sometimes ’tis best if they’re valuable that they not be disturbed by rough hands.”

Clarissa smiled and sat down by the fire, taking up her sewing. “I shall sit and sew while you explore, and we can chat if you feel like it.”

“What are you sewing?” Alexandra moved a set of library steps up to the first bookcase.

Clarissa flushed a little and held up the tiny garment she was embroidering.

“Oh, a baby!” Alexandra cried. “You are with child, Clarissa?”

The other woman nodded. “But ’tis still a secret. I am fairly certain, but I wish to wait a little longer before I tell Jasper.”

“Oh, I can keep a secret,” Alexandra declared. “None better, believe me.”

“Oh, I do,” Clarissa assured her with another smile. “But I’m guessing you will be glad when there is no longer a need for those secrets?”

“With all my heart.” Alexandra stepped onto the ladder and reached up to the top shelf of books.

“If ’tis any comfort, my dear, both Serena and I had our secrets that we had to keep for others’ sakes,” Clarissa said, keeping her eyes on her sewing. “We both know how hard it is.”

“I am comforted,” Alex said sincerely. “And I thank you, Clarissa. The baby is wonderful news for you. I’m sure Lord Blackwater will be beside himself with joy.”

“To be honest, I suspect he will become a mother hen and drive me to distraction,” Clarissa said with a rueful chuckle. “He’ll be asking me how I am, watching what I eat, constantly telling me to rest. I just know it.”

“He doesn’t strike me as the fussy kind . . . ah, what have we here?” Alex slid a slender volume off the shelf, opening it delicately with the tip of a finger.

Clarissa watched her, making no response to Alex’s comment. Alex was suddenly gone from the room in all but her physical form as she stood on the ladder, lips pursed, gently turning the fragile pages, and Clarissa waited patiently for her to return in full to her surroundings.

The butler came in with a tray of coffee and little cakes, setting it down on a side table. “Will that be all, my lady?” He glanced curiously at the lady on the ladder as he spoke.

“Yes, thank you.” Clarissa poured coffee into two shallow cups. She helped herself to one of the little cakes and sat back in her chair, nibbling it, watching Alexandra. After a moment, she ventured to say, “Have you found something of interest?”

Alex seemed to have to shake herself to awareness. She looked up, blinking as if startled to discover that she was not alone. “Yes . . . yes, I believe so. If this is what I believe it to be, then ’tis certainly a treasure. I would be loath to part with it if I were Lord Blackwater.” She stepped off the ladder, carrying the book.

“What is it?” Clarissa was intrigued. It was impossible not to be touched by Alexandra’s awe.

Alex sat down on the sofa beside her and laid the book carefully on her lap. “I think it may be Francesco Petrarch’s
Canzoniere,
first published in Venice in the fourteenth century. There are very few copies left.” She turned the fine vellum with a fingertip. “I should really be wearing gloves.”

Clarissa looked at the vellum page lying open on Alexandra’s lap. “I wish I read Italian.”

“I would need to consult another bibliophile to be certain,” Alex said.

“Whom would you ask?”

The two women jumped, turning as one to the door, where Lord Blackwater stood in riding breeches and damp boots. “It seems you have found something of value, Alexandra?” He came into the library, closing the door behind him.

“I think so,” she said. “But I will consult with either Lord Dewforth or Mr. Murdock, depending on which of them wins the battle for my father’s library.” Her mouth took a wry twist. “I daresay, if I am correct and they corroborate my opinion, then you would have your buyer on the spot.”

Jasper nodded and went to the decanters on the sideboard. Clarissa hastily put her sewing away, exchanging a conspiratorial smile with Alex. “You’re back early from your riding, Jasper.”

“Carlton’s horse threw a shoe, and with this rain, we
called it a day before noon.” He poured a glass of claret and came back to the fire, standing in front of it, warming his backside. “Should I be encouraged by this find that there will be others, Alexandra, enough to return this family to full solvency?”

She shook her head. “It would be extraordinary to find more than one such treasure, sir. As far as I can see, there is nothing like this on the lower shelves, but I will look at the other top shelves. ’Tis always possible. Was one of your ancestors a bibliophile, do you know?”

Jasper gave a short laugh. “No, reprobates, the lot of ’em, as far as I know. Of course, they were all prudish and prim as nuns on the surface, married stiff-necked women who spent more time on their knees in church than they did in their husbands’ beds, and turned a blind eye to whatever their lords and masters were up to outside the family. But woe betide anyone who broke the rules publicly and threatened to bring the family name into disrepute.”

Alexandra would have laughed, except that she realized his lordship was in deadly earnest, his voice full of angry disgust. “That’s why your uncle wishes you to make these unusual marriages?”

“In a nutshell. His own early love was forbidden him, and unlike his brothers, ever afterwards he made no attempt to pretend that he was anything but a rakehell and a debaucher, as they all were underneath. ’Tis my opinion that this ridiculous will is designed
to avenge himself. That and his filthy memoir,” Jasper added with a grimace.

Alex nodded. “Perry said something of the kind but not quite so succinctly. I think I understand it better now.”

“ ’Tis good that you do,” Jasper stated. “This is not a family to enter into with your eyes half shut.”

“Jasper, there’s no need to sound so bitter,” Clarissa protested gently. “We and your brothers are our own family. Oh, ’tis necessary to pay court to the aunts and uncles on occasion, but ’tis not a very great trial, Alex. You mustn’t be put off by Jasper’s jaundiced view.”

“No, indeed, you must not,” Jasper agreed, shrugging off his momentary bitterness. “Clarissa is quite right. My brothers and I are creating our own branch of the family, with our own values.” An almost gleeful smile lightened his expression. “In fact, much as I hate to admit it, we have much more kinship with Uncle Bradley than we do with any of the rest of ’em.”

It was early afternoon when Alex left Upper Brook Street with Jasper in his curricle. She carried with her the
Canzoniere
carefully wrapped in silk. It was the only treasure she had found on her search through the shelves, but its worth should fill a considerable hole in the Blackwater coffers. Jasper drew rein outside the house in Berkeley Square and turned to his passenger.
“So, if we do not see you before, Alexandra, we will see you on your wedding morning. We look forward to it most eagerly.”

Once again, she felt caught up in this tide of inevitability. They were all so anxious for her to play her part, so ready and willing to accept her into their close-knit circle, but
she
wasn’t ready yet.

“As do I, my lord,” she said, stepping down to the street. He handed his tiger the reins and jumped down beside her.

“I’m certain you understand the importance of this, my dear,” he said as he banged the knocker. “There is a degree of urgency.”

“I understand that, my lord.” She curtsied briefly as Billings opened the door, and she stepped quickly into the hall, only breathing a sigh of relief when she heard it close behind her. “Any letters for me, Billings?” She drew off her gloves, aware that her hands were quivering a little.

“Aye, there’s two of ’em.” He gestured to the dingy salver on the table, where two wafer-sealed letters lay.

“Thank you.” She scooped up the letters. “I trust the fire’s well lit in the parlor?”

“I’ll send Archie in with a fresh scuttle of coals.” He shuffled off to his own lair, and Alexandra went into the parlor.

The fire was low, but it wouldn’t take long to bring it back to life. She kept her cloak on, however, as she examined her correspondence. Lord Dewforth’s seal
adorned one, Mr. Murdock’s the other. She slit the wafer of the first. It was short and to the point and gave the price his lordship was prepared to pay for Sir Arthur Douglas’s library.

Alex whistled soundlessly. It was even better than she had hoped. She slit the wafer of the second, and her eyes widened. Mr. Murdock’s offer pipped Lord Dewforth’s at the post. She sat down to write a letter of acceptance to Mr. Murdock and a polite rejection to his lordship, which she softened with the offer of the
Canzoniere
.

She sent the letters off with Archie and returned to the library, fighting back unexpected tears. The reality was now inescapable. The library had been a joyful part of her life ever since she could remember, and in the last months at Combe Abbey, she had realized what it must have meant to her father as she examined every detail of the collection. But it was over now.

In less than an hour, she received answers to both of her letters. Lord Dewforth’s was curt but accepting that he had been outbid. However, he expressed a desire to see the
Canzoniere
if it could be delivered to his house. Mr. Murdock’s was brisk and to the point. He would himself collect the library from Combe Abbey, but he required that Mistress Hathaway assure him that she would see to the crating personally. If, in addition, she had any knowledge of the missing Chaucer, he would be delighted to offer a separate price for it.

Alexandra wrote her replies. Halfway through her
letter to Murdock, she paused, holding her dripping quill over the inkwell. What should she say about the Chaucer? Could she just ignore his comment? But why not tell the truth? She resumed her letter, saying that as far as she was aware, Sir Arthur Douglas had left the Chaucer to his daughter. She knew nothing more. She told Lord Dewforth to send his secretary to collect the
Canzoniere
from Berkeley Square at his leisure and sent the always willing Archie off with the letters.

Only then did she sit back, close her eyes, and let the sense of accomplishment warm her. The collection would be in the hands of one who treasured it, valued it for what it was, not just its monetary worth. The volumes would no longer lie neglected and unvalued on the shelves in Stephen’s library. All she had to do was return to Combe Abbey, see the collection crated and on its way, and then devote all of her time to making money. As much as she safely could in the shortest time available.

With a sudden burst of determination, she got up and went in search of Billings. She found him dozing in front of the kitchen range. He jerked awake when she laid a hand on his shoulder. “Eh . . . eh, wass’ this, then?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Billings, but I need you to arrange a post chaise for me for dawn tomorrow. I am returning to Combe Abbey.” It was better this way, she told herself, even though the voice of conscience
told her that she was being cowardly. She owed Peregrine an explanation, and the thought of leaving him without a proper farewell tore at her, but she couldn’t be certain that she would hold to her determination if he really put his mind to stopping her. And with the support of his brothers . . . no, she knew she could not prevail against the Blackwater brothers in force. A letter would have to do, however cowardly.

Billings muttered something under his breath, but he dragged himself out of the chair. “The Bell at Cheapside will ’ave one. Dawn tomorrow, you say?”

She nodded, and he stomped out of the back door into the drizzly late afternoon.

They’d be glad to see the back of her, Alex reflected, going up to her chamber to put together her meager possessions. She returned her mother’s wardrobe to the trunks in the attic, smoothing each one into neat folds with a reminiscent smile. They had brought her so much pleasure. Then she went to her own chamber to pack up her own belongings. She couldn’t bring herself to leave behind her own dress, the one Sylvia had packed for her. She would conceal it with her boy’s disguise in the bottom of the portmanteau. As soon as she finally left Combe Abbey, her task completed, she would resume her own identity, in her own gown.