Daring Deception Part 16

Two days before, when he had discovered that his new resources would make possible a more thorough search of the previous earl's business affairs, he had seen it as that much more proof of his dependency on the unknown Miss Chesterton's wealth. He had left that same office feeling inadequate, even ashamed.

A man should be able to conduct essential business dealings without relying on an unsuspecting chit's dowry, he told himself. It mattered little that his attorney hoped to find holdings that might make her money unnecessary to him. The betrothal was accomplished, and he had achieved it by less than honourable means. Odd that his conscience had not p.r.i.c.ked him so before! '

His conversation with Miss Cherrystone after Christabel's near accident on his return had gone a long way towards restoring his spirits. Though she had infuriated him more than once, there was something about Cherry that always left him feeling. slightly exhilarated.

Suddenly, he recalled what Mrs. Abbott had told him just that morning. He had left the checking of Miss Cherrystone's references to her as he did with any new servant he hired.

Normally he heard no more about it. This time, however, Mrs. Abbott had found discrepancies disturbing enough that she felt it necessary to inform him of them.

Most of Miss Cherrystone's supposed previous employers resided in the country, she had discovered. The only ones in Town were the Launtons, and the housekeeper there had never heard of her.

Mrs. Abbott had not gone so far as to suggest the nanny's immediate dismissal, admitting that the young woman had been of great use both to Christabel and herself.

Gavin was inclined to shrug the matter off. Cherry had shown herself more than competent at her post--she might even have saved Christabel's life! And it was patently obvious that she came from a genteel background. No doubt she had good reason to keep her past a secret, if that was what she was doing.

As he strolled along Bond Street, Gavin found himself hoping that she might be moved to confide in him about it. He enjoyed sparring with Cherry, and felt, after their last encounter, that something of a tenuous friendship had sprung up between them. He would not jeopardize it by questioning her.

Besides, he merited reproach far more than she, and she did not appear to condemn him.

Of course, if he were to tell her the complete story of his betrothal, he doubted that he would continue to enjoy the spirited nanny's approbation.

Drab she might be on the outside, but Cherry held very decided opinions and was not afraid to share them.

He smiled to himself, remembering again her outrage when she had thought he was attempting to hire her as a mistress instead of a nanny.

That thought led him to recall the bizarre scene with Ariel last night. He had gone to see her after her performance, prepared with apologies and a small gift to atone for missing their a.s.signation earlier in the day. Before he could so much as explain the matters of business that had kept him from her, she began to hurl accusations, as well as more substantial objects, at his head, angry out of all proportion to the cause. At first he had thought that she had somehow heard of his impending marriage, the announcement of which he had delayed putting into the papers until Sir Thomas returned to London with word from his sister.

However, her diatribe had included references to another actress, to his DAR/NO DI~-CEPT~ON.

DARING DECEFT[ON.

housekeeper and mice, of all things, but not a word of his fiancee.

He had not stayed to hear all of it. Growing perturbed in turn, for he had been exceptionally generous with her, he had told Ariel that he was withdrawing his patronage. "You may seek another, more patient, proteetot, or you may go to the devil, for all I care," he had said coolly as he left.

She had scarcely paused in her vitriolic recital of his shortcomings, and he had closed the door behind him barely in time to avoid a flying pow- derbox, which being made of heavy alabaster, might well have done him an injury.

From the theatre, he had gone to one of his more disreputable clubs to dampen with strong spirits his confusion over the vagaries of the female s.e.x.

That was the trouble in a.s.sociating with women of Ariel's stamp, he thought now.

However polished a veneer of elegance and breeding they managed to develop, a veneer it remained, allowing occasional glimpses of the coa.r.s.er stuff beneath.

Considering his upcoming marriage, it was probably high time he had done with mistresses altogether at least until he discovered how he and Miss Chesterton dealt together, he thought gloomily.

And now there was this other matter. Mr. Culpepper, his man of business, had just informed him that there was reason to suspect that Uncle Edmund had been diverting money out of the estate for some years, for purposes unknown.

What he could possibly do about it, or how it could even be proved, Gavin had no idea.

Nor did he see how the knowledge could benefit him. If the money was gone, it was gone, and it mattered little how his uncle had lost it. Shrugging, the earl turned back towards the corner where his groom was waiting for him.

As he climbed to the driver's seat of his new high perch phaeton, he was a.s.sailed by another attack of conscience at the thought of where the money to purchase it had come from. He suddenly wondered if he would feel better if he were to confess the whole to Cherry and submit to her judgement of his actions. The mere thought made him feel better, though of course he could do no such thing.

Chuckling to himself at the absurd idea, he whipped up his pair and headed for home.

CHRIST ABEL WAS already awake upon her return to the nursery, so Frederica had perforce to delay further thought on the possibility of somehow proving her charge's legitimacy. As she had most of the morning, Christabel wanted to do nothing but play with the mice Cherry had brought her yesterday. It warmed Frederica's heart to see the child so happy and involved with them, and she was glad she had thought to bring them for her.

"What are their names again, Cherry?" Christabel asked as she reached into the cage to stroke each lightly on the back with one finger as Frederiea had shown her. She was proving herself remarkably gentle for a child of her age.

"The white ones are Pinky and d.i.n.ky," anawered Frederica, pointing at them in turn. "d.i.n.ky is the smaller.

The grey one is Graham, after my housekeeper at home, and the brown one is Chestnut. "

"What about the spotted ones?"

"The one with the bigger spots is Patches, and the one mostly white is Freckles."

"Oh, because it looks as though he has freckles!" said Christabel delightedly.

"Just as you do, Cherry, though yours are not so dark. I'll remember now!"

Frederica resisted the urge to go to her mirror at once to examine her false freckles. She had touched them up upon arising, as she did every morning, but she always worried that she would forget, or that she would accidentally rub them off during the course of the day. Wearing a disguise all the time, so exciting at first, was becoming a bit of a trial. The gla.s.ses chafed her nose and her scalp frequently itched under the heavy wig.

"Would you like to take one of them out of the cage?" she asked Christabel.

"Which is your favourite?"

"Freckles," she answered impishly, wrinkling her nose.

"I wish I had some, too."

They played with the mice until suppertime, when Frederica firmly insisted on having them back in their cage in the corner before Lucy appeared.

"Some people aren't as fond of mice as you and I," she explained to Christabel, suppressing a smile as she recalled Miss Sheehan's reaction to them yesterday. She was burning with curiosity to know what had happened between her and the earl later, but doubted that she would ever find out.

After supper where, as had become customary, Molly Dolly received a cake of her own (which always disappeared mysteriously when Frederica turned her back), they tidied the nursery together and Frederica put Christabel to bed.

At long last she was able to retire to her room to give some thought to her latest plan. Even if a marriage had taken place between Christabel's parents, it might be difficult to prove at this late date, Frederica realized. She had very LITTLE to go on--only Amity's apparent belief that she had been Peter Browning's legal wife, a belief that Lord Sea brooke did not share. Suddenly Frederica remembered the bundle of letters she had secreted in her bottom drawer, when she had believed them to be written by the earl. Might they have been from Captain Browning instead? Eagerly, she went to retrieve them.

Frederica hesitated a moment before untying the riband that held the stack of letters together.

Should she perhaps ask Lord Sea brooke's permission before reading them? It was not as though she had any real right to the information they might contain.

Carrying the bundle closer to the candle, she looked carefully at the folded sheet on top. With a surge of disappointment, she realized that the handwriting was in fact the earl's, which she now recognized after her search through his desk that afternoon. This lett erat least, would tell her nothing.

Carefully, still not untying the riband, she went through the rest of the stack. No, some of those farther down were addressed in a different hand--they were not all from Lord Sea brooke!

She stood, irresolute, then came to a sudden decision. This matter concerned the earl far more than it did her. It was only fair that he should be involved.

Besides, it would be extremely difficult to explain to him why she had taken it upon herself to read the letters, even if she discovered what she hoped to. Pausing to check her reflection in the mirror, she satisfied herself that her disguise was as effective as ever before turning to go downstairs.

As she reached the first floor, Frederica saw Coombes emerging from the dining-room with a bottle of wine on a tray. He spied her at the same moment and came towards her with a suggestive smile.

"Is his lordship dining at home tonight?" she asked before the butler could ask whatever impudent question he was forming.

"He's just finished," Coombes replied.