Page 46 of Lord of Mistrust

“There’s no need for her to gallivant about London.” Uncle Matthew wore a warning frown. “As to her being marriageable, a match has already been found.”

Chloe winced, and her mother looked astonished.

“You told me naught of this in any of your letters, Philippa. How could you have been so remiss? Unless you knew I’d not approve. Tell me, who is it? And have you sent for any refreshment yet? I’m parched.”

Uncle Matthew set off in search of a servant, leaving the field to Dela. “So, who is this most fortunate of men?” she demanded.

Philippa lifted her chin. “Lord Brooke of Malton Lodge.”

Dela’s face clouded. Chloe assumed it was because she’d never heard that dreaded name. Whatever the reason, Dela fired a further volley of questions at Philippa about Lord Brooke, but none of the answers satisfied her. She made it abundantly clear Lord Brooke would be a most unsuitable husband.

“Has Chloe’s father been approached about this?” Dela accepted a horn beaker of elderberry cordial from the serving boy, William. “I know you have his name now,” she added, narrowing her eyes at Chloe. “I kept all his letters, you see, from when we were young and besotted with each other. One of them mysteriously disappeared, not long after your visit.”

Feeling everyone’s eyes upon her, Chloe flushed.

“Oddly enough, I thought some of Dela’s letters to me had been tampered with.” Aunt Philippa leaned forward accusingly. “Shortly after that chimney fire, which had us in chaos for a while.”

It felt as if all Chloe’s schemes were collapsing around her, and her hopes with them. She’d been underhand and dishonest and had, thus far, naught to show for the experience but a broken heart. Her lips trembled.

Suddenly, Dela sat back and clapped her hands, dispelling the accusatory mood. “What a head she has on those shoulders! Who’d have thought Mortimer Fowler’s child would have turned out so clever? You did find out who your father was, didn’t you?” she added, looking self-conscious.

Chloe’s guardians were gazing at their ward with deep interest.

“You never said aught of this.” Uncle Matthew’s fingers drummed the carved arm of his chair. “I hope you haven’t been poking around in my correspondence, too.”

What an accusation! This was too much—why should she feel guilty? Chloe leaped from her seat.

“You’re hypocrites, all of you! I had a right to know who I was, even if it did mean revealing I was born on the wrong side of the blanket. You should have told me long since who had sired me. Had you been open and honest, I wouldn’t have needed to break your trust. And I’ll have you know that I’ll never marry Lord Brooke. I’d rather die.”

She could feel hot tears welling up again. Standing straight and stiff, she lifted her chin and stalked from the room with as much dignity as she could muster. There was a sudden babble of voices behind her, but she didn’t linger to hear what was said. She hovered in the passageway, wondering if she should walk around outside until she felt better, or lock herself in her chamber and give vent to the threatening tears.

The latter option won. She scampered up the stairs, but then heard someone ascending behind her. A brief glance showed her it was Dela. She paused. Surely, someone who had lived so scandalous a life as Dela Riviere would not be chasing after her in order to preach?

She turned at the top of the stairs. “I’m going to lie down awhile. Pray, excuse me.”

“I’m coming with you. You’ll not turn me away when I’ve only just arrived, will you?”

Chloe noticed for the first time since her mother’s arrival how soberly dressed she was. There was no plunging neckline, there were no fine silks or fancy ruff. Instead, she wore a modest russet bodice with matching kirtle, and a long-sleeved wool jacket with wide skirts. There was no makeup on her face, her hair was mostly concealed, and she looked every inch the respectable gentlewoman.

These efforts would be appreciated. Uncle and Aunt were very particular about their visitors and sensitive to the opinions of their neighbors.

Chloe’s shoulders sagged. “Come up, then. But I am not much inclined to chatter, I fear.”

“I’ve no intention of chattering.” Dela’s face was solemn as Chloe opened the door to her chamber and indicated a chest where she might sit. Chloe settled on the edge of the bed.

But Dela had other ideas. She stood over Chloe and unpinned her coif, letting down her hair. “Where’s your comb? Ah, here. I’ve often found that having my hair combed soothes my troubled mind. I’m hoping it might help you. You needn’t speak to me if you don’t wish to.”

Chloe shifted to a more comfortable position. She had no objection to her mother pulling the bone comb through her thick, chestnut locks. There were bound to be snags and tangles—it would be good to be rid of them.

“Let me say, first of all, that if you don’t wish to wed this Lord Brooke, then you shall not do so. He has visited my establishment and various others—and the word is that he has a cruel streak. I’ve heard something else besides that makes me warn you off him, though I cannot recall exactly what. But be of good cheer—I shall come up with a scheme to rid you of him. But you must be patient and continue as normal. Let your aunt and uncle think you have relented. Then they will lower their guard. Now, I want to know about this other fellow, the one who brought you home after you were waylaid by footpads. Tell me all. He sounds a far more interesting prospect.”

So, though she’d never expected to unburden her heart to anyone save the keeper of it, Robert Mallory, Chloe found herself spilling out the whole sorry tale to her mother.

When she’d finished, Dela began gently pinning up her hair. “Knowing what I do of men and their ways, I would say this Robert Mallory is as eligible as any you might meet. I recall him visiting my establishment on several occasions, but only to drink and play at dice. If he’s the fellow I think he is, no man that handsome need ever pay for a lady’s favors. Ah! I see you blush. You know exactly what I mean. Selling favors for coin is my profession, and I’ll not pretend otherwise.”

“But Robert forbade me to come near him, and literally cast me at Lord Brooke like a hambone thrown to a dog. He can no longer be interested in me.”

“Let us leave aside his reasons for this apparent change of heart. I tell you now you will win him back, and I only hope he proves worthy of you, and that you still want him at the end. I’m as great a schemer as Francis Walsingham himself, and any one of those fawning courtiers surrounding Queen Bess. At the end of the day, you will have your man.”