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“Have you been inside the maze yet?”
Her cup and saucer rattled. Did he know? But how could he? She and her lover had been alone, lost in ecstasy, or so she’d thought. In truth she’d been so caught up in the moment, the Coldstream Guards could have marched through the maze and she wouldn’t have noticed.
“I—I believe it is difficult to find your way out again.” She tried to brazen it out.
“Well, yes, so it is. You need a guide, Miss Dupre.”
“Can you recommend someone?” she asked sweetly.
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. The name in his mouth was the one she wanted to hear, and she knew it as positively as she knew her own name.
The identity of the highwayman.
Chapter 21
Gingerly, Lord Appleby took hold of the single sheet of paper by one corner. The writing was blotted and smudged and so poor as to be barely legible, but it was surprising how many of his customers had poor literacy skills. Some of the wealthiest men in the land could barely pen two sentences.
He began to read.
At first he couldn’t accept what he was seeing, so he read it again, slowly and carefully. The letter was from a servant at Wexmoor Manor, and she declined to give her name. She was a woman wronged, according to her own description. Her lover had fallen in love with Antoinette Dupre. She begged His Lordship to remove his mistress and to punish her for her immoral behavior. Wasn’t she supposed to be true to only him?
The question was rhetorical, it seemed, because when he turned the page over, to see if he could find an answer, he couldn’t.
His face darkened and the paper crackled as he tightened his fist. He sat staring at nothing, reliving the moment when Antoinette refused his offer. She’d been polite about it, trying to disguise her shock and disgust, but he’d seen how she really felt. He knew it was that insult as much as her fortune that was now driving him into an enforced marriage. How dare she act as if she was better than he!
She’d taken a lover.
It made his blood boil.
She’d refused him, and now she’d given herself to a nobody. Hardly the actions of a lady, and yet that was what he’d believed her to be. His visits to her home in Surrey, the way she conducted herself there, her affection for her sister…Appleby had been impressed and hopeful that a happy marriage with such a woman might be possible.
Her uncle had certainly thought her a remarkable specimen of womanhood. Appleby remembered Jerome raving on endlessly one afternoon at their club in London. It was Jerome’s description of the Dupre fortune that first caught his attention and caused him to begin circling the two sisters. At that time he had other possibilities in mind, but his need for money was becoming critical, and the other heiresses he’d chosen were either surrounded by too many watchful relatives, or were too well known. Orphaned and living quietly, the Dupre girls seemed perfect for his purposes.
He couldn’t change his mind now; it was too late. Appleby knew he had no option but to go ahead with his plan. But could he still marry Antoinette if she had taken a lover? Could he stomach soiled goods?
He looked down at the letter, crumpled in his fist, and began to straighten out the thick paper. He worked methodically, patiently, as he did everything, and as he worked he knew he could still wed Antoinette. In fact her bad behavior made it seem as if he was doing her a good turn by marrying her and scotching any scandal. And if she didn’t like it, if she kicked up a fuss, people would think her ungrateful. Of course if she had developed a taste for low-class men…no, he couldn’t tolerate that. He’d wait until he had her fortune in his grasp, and then he’d deal with her.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t dealt with an inconvenient wife before.
His mind made up, Lord Appleby rang for his secretary. He’d leave tonight to go and fetch Antoinette back to London and he would do it personally. If he took the train and then hired a coach, he could be at Wexmoor Manor by morning. It was time they were married. When Appleby had broached the subject today with the prince consort, he had more or less given his approval. If it seemed overhasty, then people would believe Appleby had fallen in love—autumn and spring; it was not unknown. They might laugh behind his back and call him an old fool for hitching himself to Antoinette, but they wouldn’t dare do so to his face. And it would amuse him to know the truth, that in reality he was far from foolish.
And if she refused…?
But no, her wish to save her sister from a similar fate would ensure her cooperation, no matter how unwillingly. She would marry him and probably think to pay him back by making his life a misery. Appleby smiled grimly. Well, let her. She’d only have herself to blame in the end.
He let himself imagine the moment when Antoinette realized how clever he was. Would she fall to her knees, begging for a second chance? He hoped so, he really did. Revenge could be very sweet.
But in the meantime, he believed he’d done his best to prepare for all eventualities. He slid the wrinkled letter into a drawer and rose to his feet, as his secretary knocked and entered the room. Out in the hall, a very pretty young woman with fair curls and sparkling blue eyes was removing her gloves while servants carried in her luggage.
“Cecilia, my dear!” he declared with real pleasure.
Cecilia Dupre, beautiful and innocent and far easier to deal with than her sister. He’d invited her to London as soon as Antoinette left for Devon, and he was very much looking forward to getting to know her better.
Lord Appleby rubbed his
hands together. Oh yes, he was prepared for all eventualities.
“Sally, you are the best cook in the country,” Wonicot said with a sigh, patting his belly as he settled back in his chair.
