A Secret Love

Chapter 9

"Well, miss, and what's got into you?"

Alathea snapped to attention. Reflected in the dressing table mirror before her, she saw Nellie shaking out her pillows and airing her bed.

Nellie caught her eye. "You've been staring at that mirror for the past five minutes, and seeing nothing is my guess."

Alathea gestured, brushing the query aside, praying she wouldn't blush, that her face showed no evidence of her thoughts. Heaven forbid.

"That meeting of yours last night must have been a long one-four o'clock again before you got in. Jacobs said you was in there for all those hours."

Alathea picked up her brush. "We had to discuss what we'd learned."

"So you've found something out about this wretched company-you and Mr. Rupert?"

"Indeed." Setting the brush to her hair, Alathea forced her mind to that aspect of the night. "We've learned enough to frame our case. All we need do now is assemble the right proofs, and we'll be free."

Easier said than done, no doubt, but she was convinced last night had set their feet on the road to success. Despite her careful words to Gabriel, she'd felt buoyed by their first real gain, the first scent of ultimate victory.

She'd been careful to hide her elation, aware he'd sense it and take advantage.

He'd taken advantage anyway.

So had she.

"Here, let me." Nellie lifted the brush from her slack grasp. "Good for nothing, this morning, you are."

Alathea blinked. "I was just… thinking."

Nellie shot her a shrewd look. "Well, I dare say there are lots of facts from this meeting you need chew on."

"Hmm." Facts. Sensations, emotions-revelations. She had a lot to think about.

Throughout the day, her mind wandered, considering, pondering, reliving the golden moments, carefully fixing each in her memory, storing them away against the cold years ahead. Again and again, she was jerked back to the present-by Charlie asking after one of their tenants, by Alice wanting her opinion on a particular shade of ribbon, by Jeremy frowning over a piece of arithmetic.

Finally, in the quiet of the afternoon when, after luncheon, all the females of the family repaired to the back parlor for a quiet hour before driving in the park or attending an afternoon tea, Augusta climbed into Alathea's lap, sitting astride her knees. Placing her soft hands on Alathea's cheeks, Augusta stared into her eyes. "You keep going away-far away."

Alathea looked into Augusta's large brown eyes.

Augusta searched hers. "Where is it you go?"

To another world, one of darkness, sensation, and indescribable wonder.

Alathea smiled. "Sorry, poppet, I've got lots on my mind just now." Rose had been dumped in her lap between them; Alathea lifted the doll and studied her. "How is Rose finding London?"

The distraction worked, not for her but for Augusta. Fifteen minutes later, when Augusta slipped from her lap and went to play with Rose in a splash of sunlight, Alathea exchanged a fond and, she hoped, undisturbingly mild glance with Serena, then quietly left the room.

She sought refuge in her office.

Standing arms crossed before the window, she forced herself to concentrate on the company's plans, all that Crowley had disclosed the previous evening. Despite her senses' preoccupation, there was nothing requiring thought in all the rest. It had happened-she'd seized and enjoyed the experience, but that was all there was to it. She wouldn't rescue her family from destitution by dwelling on such matters-on the substance of dreams. Her only major worry arising from her interlude with Gabriel was the difficulty she would experience in facing him as Alathea Morwellan. Knowing him in the biblical sense, and knowing he knew her in the same way but didn't know it was she, wasn't going to make her life any easier.

Despite her charade, she was not a naturally deceitful person; she'd never imagined having to deceive him in this way.

If he ever found out…

Dragging in a breath, she turned from the window. Sensibility was not her strong suit-whatever leanings she'd had in that direction had been eradicated eleven years ago. Determinedly, she focused on the company and Crowley. It took mere minutes to concede that she could not, no matter how much she wished it, proceed without Gabriel. Quite aside from the fact that dismissing him would probably be more difficult than summoning him in the first place, she could see no way forward without him.

She couldn't break in, or even organize to have someone else break in, to Douglas's mansion. She'd had Jacobs drive her around Egerton Gardens; Folwell had chatted to a street sweeper and discovered which of the large, new houses belonged to Douglas, but breaking in was too risky. Although they might find some of the proofs they needed, the chances of Crowley or Swales realizing their records had been searched and, as Charlie would phrase it, getting the wind up, was high. Then they'd call in the promissory notes and she'd be too busy beating off creditors to press any claim in court.

And she didn't like Crowley. The thought of meeting him at night alone and cut off from help was the substance of nightmares. He was evil. She'd sensed it very clearly, watching him as he'd watched Gerrard Debbington, seeing the cruel gleam in his eyes. Gabriel had said Crowley liked to gloat over his potential victims, but it was more than that. He viewed people as prey. There was viciousness and real cruelty beneath his semicivilized veneer.

She wanted him as far away from her family as possible.

All things considered-and she did mean all-the only sensible way forward was to find the needed proofs without delay. Then Crowley would no longer be a threat, and the countess could fade into the mists.

"Fangak. Lodwar. What was the other one?" Sitting at her desk, she drew a sheet of paper onto the blotter and reached for a pen. "Kafia-that was it."

She wrote the names down, then settled to list all the names and locations she could recall Crowley mentioning.

"Mary? Alice?" Alathea peeked into Mary's bedchamber, where her elder stepsisters often repaired when they were supposed to be resting. Sure enough, both were lolling on the bed wearing identical expressions of disgusted boredom. They both lifted their heads to look at her.

Alathea grinned. "I'm going to Hatchard's. Serena said you could come if you wished."

Mary sat bolt upright. "They have a lending library, don't they?"

Alice was already rolling from the bed. "I'll come."

Alathea watched them scramble into shoes, struggle into spencers, grab bonnets, casting only the most perfunctory of glances at their reflections. "There is a lending library, but before you go looking for Mrs. Radcliffe's latest, I want you to help me find some books."

"On what?" Alice asked as she joined her at the door.

"On Africa."

"That was boring." On a long-drawn yawn, Jeremy sank deeper into the seat of the hackney and leaned against Alathea's shoulder. "I thought they would have known about digging up gold. All they wanted to talk about was melting it."

"Hmm." Alathea grimaced. She'd thought the gentlemen at the Metallurgical Institute would have known about mining, too. Unfortunately, the academy, whose sign she'd glimpsed when walking with Mary and Alice, had proved to focus solely on refining metals and the subsequent workings. The good gentlemen had known less than she about gold mining in Central East Africa. Despite reading late into the night, she knew virtually nothing about the subject.

Alathea glanced at Augusta, snuggled on her other side with Rose propped on her lap. At least Augusta was happy, unconcerned with mining gold. "How's Rose?"

"Rose is good." Augusta looked at Rose's face, then turned her once more to the window. "She's seeing more of the city-it's crowded and noisy, but she feels safe in here with me and you."

Alathea smiled, closing her hand around the small fingers snuggled trustingly into hers. 'That's good. Rose is growing up-she'll be a big girl soon."

"But not yet." Augusta looked into her face. "Do you think Miss Helm will be all better when we get back?"

Miss Helm had developed the sniffles, which was why Alathea had Augusta with her. "I'm sure Miss Helm will be recovered by tomorrow, but you and Rose must be very good with her this evening."

"Oh, we will." Augusta turned Rose's face to hers. "We'll be specially good. We won't even say she has to read to us before bed."

"I'll come and read to you, poppet."

"But you have to go to the ball."

Alathea stroked Augusta's hair. "I'll come and read to you first-I can go on later in the other carriage."

"I say!" Jeremy jerked upright, staring out of the window. "Look at that!"

Alathea did-it took a moment before she realized what she was looking at. "It's a pedestrian curricle-at least, I suppose that's what it is."

She'd heard of the contraptions. Both she and Jeremy leaned close to the window, with Augusta pressing between; they all watched the gentleman in a natty checkered coat balanced precariously above the large wheel weave in and out of the traffic until he disappeared from view.

"Well!" Eyes alight, Jeremy sank back.

Alathea looked at his face. "No."

Her tone was absolute; Jeremy's face fell. "But, Allie-just think-"

"I am-I'm thinking of your mother."

"I wouldn't fall off-I'd be extra specially careful."

Alathea met his eye. "Just like you were extra specially careful when I allowed you to drive the gig?"

"I only got tipped in the river-and anyway, that was old Dobbins's fault."

Alathea held her tongue. The hackney rolled on, taking them back into the fashionable district. As they turned into Mount Street, she glanced again at Jeremy's face. He was still dreaming of the dangerous contraption; she knew he wouldn't let go of his dream until he'd experienced it, or something worse. He was adventurous, the sort who simply had to try things out. It was a compulsion she understood.

"Pedestrian curricles have been around for some years." Her musing comment had Jeremy turning, his eyes lighting. She met his bright gaze. "I'll ask your mama. Perhaps Folwell can find one-"

"Whoopee!"

"On one condition."

Jeremy stopped bouncing on the seat, but his eyes still glowed. "What condition?"

"That you promise not to use it in town at all, but only once we're back at Morwellan Park." Where the lawns were thick and cushioning.

Jeremy considered for only a moment. "All right. I promise."

Alathea nodded as the carriage rocked to a stop before Morwellan House. "Very well. I'll speak with your mama."

Propping up the wall at yet another ball, Alathea stifled a yawn. She blinked her eyes wide, struggling to keep them open; she'd spent the past two nights reading into the small hours after the rest of the household was abed. It was the only time she had to herself to wade through the tomes she'd found on Africa.

Central East Africa, however, continued to elude her. What little she could find on the region was largely speculative, and exceedingly scant on detail.

A familiar head of burnished chestnut hove into sight above the masses. The most peculiar thrill shot through her; she immediately looked for cover. There was not a palm or shadowy alcove anywhere near. Besides, that might not be wise. Getting trapped with him in the shadows was likely to scramble her wits.

Beneath her skirts, she bent her knees and sank just enough so that she was no longer so readily detected by her height. Through gaps in the horrendous crush, she caught glimpses of Gabriel as he prowled the room.

For some peculiar reason, at least viewing him from a distance, he seemed like a different man. She could see, appreciate, aspects of him she hadn't truly noticed before, like the perfection of his restrained elegance, and the subtle aura of leashed power that cloaked his tall frame. And his reserve, that distance, apparently unbreachable, that he maintained between himself and the world.

He was bored-truly bored. She could see why Celia and the ladies of the ton despaired. They were right in thinking he didn't see them at all; from the way his face was set, the steadiness of his gaze, she would have wagered Morwellan Park that he was thinking more of Central East Africa than of a glittering ballroom in Mayfair.

One lady braved his detachment and put her hand on his sleeve. He smiled, urbanely charming; gracefully, he lifted her hand and bowed over it. Straightening, he exchanged a light word, some quip to set the lady laughing, hoping… only to be disappointed as with no more than that superficiality, he smoothly moved on.

He was a master at sliding through a crowd, refusing to be anchored, ineffably polite, arrogantly assured, and utterly impossible.

"Alathea! Good gracious, my dear-what peculiar fetish do you have with walls?"

Abruptly straightening, Alathea looked around-into Celia Cynster's startled eyes. "I was… just easing my legs."

Celia gave her a hard, inherently maternal stare, but was distracted by a glimpse of her firstborn through the crowd. "There he is! I made him promise to attend-he's been to hardly any balls this entire Season-well, only family affairs. How on earth does he expect to find a wife?"

"I don't think securing a wife is uppermost in his mind."

Celia nearly pouted. "Well, he had better get started on the matter-he's not getting any younger."

Alathea kept her lips sealed.

"Lady Hendricks has been dropping hints that her daughter Emily might suit."

An image of the lovely Miss Hendricks popped into Alathea's mind. The young lady was sweet, modest, and excessively quiet. "Don't you think she's a little too timid?"

"Of course she's too timid! Rupert wouldn't know what to do with her-and she certainly wouldn't know what to do with him."

Alathea hid a smile. "Are you really entertaining any hope that some lady will be able to influence Rupert? He's the least easy to influence person I know."

Celia sighed. "Believe me, my dear, the right lady could do a great deal with Rupert, because, you see, he'd let her."

"Lady Alathea!"

Blinking, Alathea refocused on Mary and Alice, strolling with Heather and Eliza ahead of her on the lawns. It was clearly not they who had called. Looking around, she discovered two blond beauties rushing to catch her up. Both held on to elegant bonnets, ribbons streaming in the breeze; profusions of golden ringlets danced on their shoulders.

Recognizing the twins, Alathea halted. She'd been introduced to them at a ball, but they hadn't had a chance for any lengthy chat.

Gaining her side, the twins waved at their cousins, then turned beaming smiles upon her as they flanked her. Alathea got the distinct impression she'd been captured.

"We wondered if we might speak with you," one began.

Alathea smiled, a shrewd suspicion of what was to come dawning in her mind. "You'll have to take pity on me-I can't remember which of you is which."

"I'm Amelia," the one who'd spoken testified.

"And I'm Amanda," the other said, making it sound like a confession. "We wondered if you'd mind giving us your opinion."

"On what subject?"

"Well, you've known Gabriel and Lucifer since they were young. We've decided that the only way we'll be able to escape them and find our own husbands is for them to get married, so we wanted to ask if you could give us any pointers."

"Any hints as to who might be suitable-

"Or characteristics to avoid, like being hen-brained."

"Although that does narrow the candidates."

Alathea looked from one bright face to the other-they were earnest, eager, and totally serious. She stifled a gurgle of laughter. "You want to marry them off so they'll no longer be in your way?"

"So they'll no longer guard us like the crown jewels!"

"We've heard," Amelia said darkly, "that some gentlemen won't even come near us, simply because of the ructions that might ensue."

"They actually cross us off their lists, right from the first, all because of those two!" Amanda all but shook her fist at her absent cousins. "How on earth can we reasonably assess all the possibilities-"

"And make sure they've assessed us properly, too-"

"If our watchdogs are forever snarling-"

"And they always snarl loudest at the most interesting gentlemen!"

"Well," Amanda went on, "you know what gentlemen are like. If there's the least hurdle, then they simply won't bother exerting themselves."

"Well, they don't need to, do they? There's always so many other ladies about for whom they need exert themselves not at all."

"So you see, when it comes to eligibility, we're laboring under an unfair disadvantage."

"Oh, dear." Alathea fought to straighten her lips. "You know, I really don't think Gabriel and Lucifer would like you to think of them as an 'unfair disadvantage'." She suspected they'd be hurt, their male egos bruised.

Amanda kicked at the grass. "Well, we don't plan on telling them, but that doesn't excuse the fact. They are a disadvantage."

"And they are unfair, too."

Alathea didn't argue-she thought the same. They were being pigheadedly unfair, refusing to see that Amanda and Amelia had any modicum of sense and, regardless of all else, had every right to choose their own husbands. The way Gabriel and Lucifer had always treated her-as an equal companion-stood in stark contrast to how they treated the twins. Although they'd always interposed themselves between her and any threat, they hadn't tried to stop her from encountering those threats.

Looking up, she checked her charges ambling ahead; all four girls were engrossed in some avid discussion. Alathea glanced at the twins-at Amanda, scowling at the grass as she walked, then at Amelia, softer of face but with the same determined set to her chin. "Why do you think their marrying will help?"

Amanda looked up. "Well, it has with all the others. They're no longer a problem."

"All you have to do is look, and you'll see it. Why, Devil was the worst, but he's so much easier now."

"Once they marry, it's as if all their attention is focused on the lady they wed."

"And their families."

Alathea pondered that.

"We think we should concentrate on Gabriel first."

"Simply because he's the elder." Amelia glanced at Alathea. "Do you think that's the right tack?"

Alathea considered the picture of Gabriel trying to maintain his repressive watch over the twins while simultaneously fending off ladies the twins themselves introduced. He wouldn't have time to cause her any problems. "I think… that your aunt Celia could give you some names."

Amanda brightened. "That's a thought."

"There would be no need," Alathea mused, elaborating on the picture in her mind, "to be overly subtle. The ladies won't care as long as they gain some time by his side, and he'll know what you're up to from the first, so there's no need to be careful on that count."

Amelia stopped dead. "He'll be trapped." She swung to face Alathea and Amanda, her eyes alight. "He won't be able to escape-

"Except"-Amanda concluded with great relish-"by leaving us alone."

Hookhams Lending Library in Bond Street was Alathea's port of call the next morning. Unfortunately, their section on Africa was almost nonexistent. Nevertheless, she borrowed all four books; old and rather tattered, they held out little promise. Juggling them under her arm, she stepped down to the pavement. The biggest book slipped-her shoe skidded off the last step-

"Careful!"

Hard hands gripped her arms and righted her. Jerking her head up, Alathea stared-into Lucifer's face. She swallowed her sigh of relief, and struggled to calm her thudding heart. For one moment, with the sun behind him, she'd thought him his brother. "Ah…"

"Here-give me those."

He didn't, of course, give her any choice. "Oh-yes!" Alathea drew in a quick breath. "Have you been riding this morning?"

He looked at her. "In the park? No. Why?"

She shrugged. "I just wondered… I'd love to go for a ride, but it's so impossible here-only being allowed to amble in the park."

"If you want to ride"-he tucked her books under one arm and fell in beside her-"you'll need to organize an excursion to the country."

Alathea grimaced. "I may as well wait until we return home." Her only hope was to keep him talking, to hold his attention so he didn't glance at the books. Africa was an unusual topic, certainly an odd one for her to be studying in depth. Given that Lucifer shared Gabriel's house, and she knew how they tossed tidbits and observations back and forth… she drew in a breath. "But the Season's still got weeks and weeks to go."

"Indeed, and those weeks are crammed with more balls than ever." Lucifer frowned at the pavement. "And now here's Gabriel threatening to eschew all but compulsory family events."

"Oh? Why?"

"The damned twins have gone on the offensive."

"Offensive? What do you mean?"

"Last night, they swarmed up to Gabriel on three separate occasions with a different lady each time, and cornered him."

Alathea wished she'd seen it. "Couldn't he get away?"

"Not easy with one of the twins hanging on his arm and refusing to let go."

"Oh, dear."

"Oh, dear, indeed. You know what will happen, don't you?"

She looked at him questioningly.

"He'll wash his hands of the hussies."

"Leaving you in the firing line."

Lucifer stopped dead. "Good God."

She managed to keep him grumbling about the twins all the way to where her carriage waited. Deftly dropping a kiss on his cheek, she snagged her books from under his arm.

He frowned at her. "What was that for?"

"Just for being you." Safe in the carriage, the books on the seat beside her, she smiled gloriously.

He humphed, shut the carriage door, and waved her away.

She was still smiling when she crossed the threshold of Morwellan House; she nodded brightly to Crisp as he held the door. Stacking her books on the table beneath the mirror, she reached up to remove her bonnet.

"There you are, dear."

Serena stood in the drawing room doorway. Placing her hat on top of the books, Alathea crossed the hall. "Do we have guests?" she whispered.

"No, no. I just wanted to speak with you." Serena stepped back into the drawing room. "It's about your father."

"Oh." Following her and shutting the door, Alathea raised her brows.

"He's in one of his states." Serena raised her hands helplessly. "You know-under the weather but not ill."

"Has anything happened?"

"Not today. He was a little quiet when he came in yesterday, but he didn't say anything. You know he would normally be at White's by now, but instead he's sitting in the library."

They looked at each other, concern mirrored in their faces. Then Alathea nodded. "I'll go and speak with him."

Serena smiled. "Thank you-he always listens to you."

Alathea hugged her stepmother. "He always listens to you, too, but we talk about different things."

Her smile strengthening, Serena returned the hug. "Have you learned anything more about this promissory note?"

Alathea nodded. "I think we've found a way-a legal way-to have the note declared invalid, but I don't want to get anyone's hopes up yet."

"That's probably wise. Just tell us when we're free."

They exchanged quick smiles, then Alathea headed for the library.

The door opened noiselessly; she slipped in, noting that the curtains were open, the room bright, not shrouded in gloom. A good sign. While her father did not make a habit of succumbing to the blue devils, he had, she knew, been inwardly berating himself over the wretched promissory note. He'd put on a brave face for her sake and Serena's, but he would feel the sense of failure, of self-reproach, deeply.

Sitting in his favorite armchair, the earl was looking out over the back lawn. Mary and Alice were cutting roses, each girl as delicately beautiful as the blooms they laid in their baskets. Beyond them, Charlie was teaching Jeremy the rudiments of cricket while Augusta and Miss Helm were seated on a rug in the sunshine, reading a book. The garden was enclosed by stone walls, visible here and there between trees and thick bushes. The scene could have been a painting depicting fashionable family life, but it wasn't a figment of anyone's imagination-it was real, and it was theirs.

Empowering certainty filling her, Alathea touched her father's shoulder. "Papa?"

So engrossed had he been, he hadn't known she was there. He looked up, then his lips curved ruefully. "Good morning, my dear."

Catching her hand, he squeezed it; he continued to hold it as she sat on the arm of his chair. Alathea leaned her shoulder against his, comforted by the solidity beneath his coat. "What is it?"

He sighed, the sound deep and defeated. "I really hoped you'd be wrong about that company-that the Central East Africa Gold Company would ultimately turn out to be legitimate. That I hadn't made yet another mistake."

He paused; Alathea held his hand firmly and waited.

"But you and Wiggs were right. It was all a hum. Chappie I met at White's yesterday told me so. He was from those parts-Central East Africa. He knew the company. Condemned it as a racket set up to gull simpletons into parting with their brass." He grimaced. "I could hardly disagree."

"You couldn't have known…" Alathea blinked. 'This man, who was he?"

"Sailor fellow-a Captain something. Didn't catch his last name."

"What did he look like?"

At the sudden tension in her voice, the earl turned to meet her gaze. "He was of middle height, rather portly. Had great grizzled whiskers down both cheeks. His domes marked him as a seaman, senior rank-there's always a nautical air to such men." He searched Alathea's face. "Why? Is he important?"

Alathea reined in her excitement. "He could be. Wiggs and I think there's a legal way of overturning the promissory note, but we need to learn more about the company's business. A man like this captain could be very helpful." She gripped her father's hand. "Was he with anyone you knew?"

Her father shook his head. "No. But if it's important, I can ask around."

"Do, Papa-it could be very important. And if you should stumble across him again, promise me you'll bring him home."

Her father's brows quirked, but he nodded. "Right, then. I suppose I'd better get on to White's and see if I can track him down."

"Oh, yes!" Alathea bounced to her feet as he rose. "This could help us enormously, Papa. Thank you!" She swooped at him and kissed him on the cheek.

Catching her within one arm, he hugged her. "Thank you, my dear." He looked into her face, then placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Don't ever think I don't appreciate all you've done-I don't know what I did right to deserve you. I can only be glad you're mine."

Alathea blinked rapidly. "Oh, Papa!" She hugged him quickly, then broke away, glancing through the window. "I must get Jeremy off to his lessons or he'll play cricket all day."

Still blinking, she hurried out.