Lord of Fire Page 25

  “By the by, we’ve kept the neighbors at bay,” Peg informed her. “Everyone thinks you’ve been sick in bed here all week with influenza.”

  “Oh! That’s a relief, but I am sorry you had to lie for me.”

  “We couldn’t tell them the truth. It would risk your reputation. Now, there’s something in here that should lift your spirits,” Peg said with oddly forced cheer as they walked up to the entrance of the house.

  “My lambkin?” Alice exclaimed.

  “No, dearie—look.” Peg held the door open for her.

  “What is it?” Alice walked into the brightly lit entrance hall and found it overflowing with six lavish bouquets of flowers. “Oh . . . how beautiful!” After the gray, dreary day, the vibrant colors and the sweet perfume lifted her spirits a bit. There were hothouse roses and orchids, irises, carnations, and delphiniums. “Where did they come from?”

  “Your young gentlemen sent them.” Peg closed the door, giving her a rueful wink. “You know how those three are always trying to outdo one another to impress you.”

  “Roger, Freddie, and Tom?” she asked as she took off her cloak.

  “Who else? I’ve been calling it the war of the roses,” Peg said with a chuckle. “It appears when they learned of your ‘influenza’ they were quite beside themselves. A few of your young lady friends also sent flowers—Miss Patterson and the Misses Sheldon from London.”

  “How kind.” Alice’s heart clenched at the abundant evidence that she was cared for and loved by so many people. She felt awful for lying to them—or rather, for Caro’s lying to them—but it was necessary in order to preserve her reputation and to hide the link between her and Lucien from this Frenchman he was stalking. Perhaps the excuse of illness was not so far from the truth, she thought, for Lucien Knight had infected her blood like a fever.

  Nellie took her cloak and hung it on the peg.

  “Thanks. It really is wonderful to be home. Nellie, would you mind making tea?”

  “Right away!”

  “Bring it upstairs when it’s ready?” Alice asked. “I’ll be either in my room or in the nursery with Harry.”

  “Oh, dear,” Nellie murmured, exchanging a worried look with Peg.

  Alice felt her heart stop. “What is it? Is he all right?”

  “He’s fine, dearie,” Peg said, then pursed her lips. “But he isn’t here.”

  Alice stared at her in shock.

  “Lady Glenwood has taken him to London.”

  “Is he all right? Did he need a Town doctor?”

  “Nothing like that,” Peg soothed, fidgeting with her apron as she always did when she was nervous.

  Alice realized she had been so wrapped up in her own heartbreak that she had failed to notice how out of sorts her servants were. “What’s happened here?” she cried.

  “I’m afraid Her Ladyship found country life, well . . . a trifle dull,” Peg said delicately. “It was all I could do to make her wait until he was past the contagion stage.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Alice pressed her hand to her forehead and stared at Peg incredulously. “Do you mean to say that she put that child with full-blown chicken pox through a four-hour carriage ride to London because she was bored?”

  “Just so, I’m afraid.”

  “Peg! Why didn’t you go with them?” she asked angrily.

  “Because she fired me, dearie.”

  Alice gasped in horror. “What?”

  “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been staying on here, waiting for you.”

  Alice gasped and stared agape at her, utterly appalled. “Fired you?” she sputtered.

  Peg nodded, her hurt and indignation eloquent in her serene nod.

  “But how? Why?”

  “Well, we butted heads for days over the care of the boy. I was able to avert any real disasters, but I’ll say it frankly—” she lifted her chin, “—that woman is a blunderer.”

  “Master Harry was running a fever, and the baroness spanked him for crying,” Nellie added. “She said the most awful thing, Miss Alice. She said she would not have Master Harry growing up to be a nancy-boy like his papa.

  Alice’s jaw dropped. “She said that about my brother?”

  “Indeed, she did, dearie,” Peg declared. “And when I heard her speaking ill of our poor, dear Master Phillip, I could not hold my tongue. I spoke right out and told them both that Lord Glenwood was a brave man and a hero who died for his country, and I’m afraid, well, then I told the baroness what I thought of her.”

  Nellie nodded in satisfaction at Peg’s words. “You surely did, Mrs. Tate.”

  “We had quite a row, Lady G and I. That’s when she dismissed me. She took Harry to London the next morning.”

  Barely able to absorb it all, Alice ran across the room and hugged her nurse. “Peg, I’m so sorry! This is all my fault! Oh, thank you for staying on until I got home to sort this out. I don’t know what I would have done if I had come home here and you were gone.”

  “I couldn’t leave,” Peg said with sudden tears rising in her eyes. “I am an old woman. I’ve nowhere else to go—”

  “Hush, dearest Nanny Peg.” Alice kissed her lined cheek. “You have been the pillar of my life. Glenwood Park is your home just as much as it is mine. You are most assuredly not fired, nor will you ever be. This will not stand.” She grasped Peg’s pillowlike shoulders gently and gazed at her in determination. “Tomorrow first thing we will go to London and I will personally have it out with Lady Glenwood for this terrible insult she has given you and for her thoughtless cruelty to Harry.”

  With that, she gave Peg another hug, shutting her eyes tightly against a suffocating wave of guilt. While she had been at Revell Court shamelessly indulging herself in wanton pleasures with Lucien Knight, her sister-in-law had stormed into the tranquil world of Glenwood Park and turned it upside down.

  Lucien had warned her of danger if she went to London, but fie on his orders! She was done being his marionette. Nobody else except for Caro even knew she had been at his house. This was a risk she was willing to take. In addition to getting Peg’s job back, every maternal instinct in her body cried out for her to go to Harry. The poor thing, she thought in desperation. He must be so frightened and alone there in the city without his Nanny Peg or his Aunt Alice to see him through his chicken pox, just strange Town doctors and the cold comfort of the unfeeling baroness. Spanking him for crying! she thought with a shudder.

  “She is a fool in her treatment of that boy, but who am I to tell her so?” Peg said with a sniffle.

  “Only someone who has been raising up children since before she was born, that’s who!” Alice answered, patting her hand. “Please say you will come with me to London tomorrow? I’m sure Harry is lost without you.”

  “Bless you for saying so, child,” Peg whispered, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her apron. “I should hate not to be needed anymore. Oh, bother!” She quickly sniffled and brushed her hands down her apron, as though sorting herself out. “Tea, then.”

  “I’ll get it,” Nellie chimed in.

  “Forget the tea. I say we all could do with a brandy,” Alice declared, marching over to the liquor cabinet. Somehow she was going to have to sneak away without McLeish and the guards knowing, she mused as she poured them each a small draught. Lucien’s men were under orders to keep her at Glenwood Park, but she would not be made a prisoner in her own home. “Here you are.”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t.”

  “Medicinal—I insist.”

  “Thank you, Miss Alice,” Nellie said shyly.

  Alice gave her a bolstering look and clinked her glass against hers. Servants or no, they were the only family she had. “We shall have to send out some supper to Lord Lucien’s servants. Do we have any ale for them?”

  “Not ale, but we have wine.”

  “Good,” Alice replied with a secretive little smile rather like Lucien’s. She knew just where the laudanum was kept in the household medicine box.

 
The braw McLeish and his fellows would have a very deep and restful night’s sleep.

  The thick London fog blurred the feeble glow of the street lamps, floating around Lucien in long, curling streamers as he rode his horse up Pall Mall at a tired walk. The black stallion’s shuffling hoofbeats echoed hollowly in the mist. Both man and beast were exhausted.

  He had parted ways with Marc and the other young rogues upon entering the city. They had retired to their bachelor lodgings. For his part, Lucien turned right onto St. James’s Street presently, bound for Knight House. The stately Palladian mansion on Green Park was the jewel in the family crown. It belonged officially to Robert, his eldest brother, the duke, but the rest of the Knight clan were always welcome there. Lucien and Damien had both been staying there since their return from the war a few months ago. The newlyweds, Robert and Belinda, were still in Vienna, so it wasn’t as though the twins were disturbing their connubial bliss. Lucien was most curious to meet Robert’s bride. There had been quite a scandal over the duke’s marriage, since Belinda had been Robert’s courtesan mistress before he asked her to become his duchess. By all accounts, she was a breathtaking beauty.

  He sighed, his breath misting in the cold. He had been so eager to show Alice off to his family. Now it would have to wait, but by God, he would get her back. If she will take you back. His head hurt too badly to consider the possibility that she might not. A short distance down the fashionable avenue, he turned left onto St. James’s Court, where Knight House stood in all its haughty grandeur behind its tall, wrought-iron fence. Lord, he needed a bed. No doubt his wound required fresh dressing, as well. He fully expected to find his bandages soaked through with blood. His side felt like it was on fire. The impact of the stallion’s every galloping stride over the day-long ride had strained his twenty stitches, but Lucien had pressed both himself and his horse to the limit; time was of the essence. Unable to eat because of his distress over Alice’s fury at him, and having drunk nearly a bottle of whisky over the course of the day to dull the pain of his injury, he was rewarded now with a massive headache. His eyes burned, his heart ached, and his whole body was a bit sore from being in the saddle all day.

  Lucien dismounted stiffly and let himself in at the gates, annoyed to find them unlocked. Bloody Alec, he thought. His youngest brother was a careless, fashionable rake with a passion for high-stakes gambling. He scowled at the house, seeing the light streaming through the first-floor windows. Already he could hear the noise of some rowdy party in progress. Straitlaced Robert would be most perturbed, he thought as he locked the gate behind him with his copy of the key.

  The creaking of the iron gates drew a groom from inside the stable. Lucien handed over the reins to the man and gave his equally exhausted steed a grateful pat on the neck, then dragged himself wearily up the front steps and went in, holding his side in pain under his damp greatcoat. He narrowed his eyes against the sudden brightness of the chandelier as he stepped into the gleaming white marble entrance hall, with its magnificent curved staircase that seemed to float on thin air.

  “Good evening, Lord Lucien,” Mr. Walsh, the supremely capable butler of Knight House, greeted him, but his polite smile promptly turned into a frown. He passed a worried look over him. “Is there something you require, sir?”

  Lucien realized he must look like hell. He dragged his hand wearily through his hair. “Supper, headache powder, hot water for a bath, bandages, and any ointment for cuts that Mrs. Laverty may have stowed away in the medicine box. I have a bit of a scratch.”

  “I am sorry to hear it, sir. Right away.”

  “Is that Alec and his friends playing cards?” he asked with a nod toward the dining room as he handed over his greatcoat. In his dull spirits, he could have admittedly used a bit of his little brother’s wicked wit and deviltry to cheer him up.

  “No, sir, it is Lord Damien and a few officers from the Guards’ Club.”

  “Ah, the heroes of Badajoz,” he muttered ironically under his breath. “I’ll be in my room.”

  As he climbed the stairs, each raucous burst of laughter from the dining room made him feel more alone. He went into his room and walked over to the bed without bothering to light a candle. He sat down and rested his throbbing head in his hands. Strange, the past week with Alice had made him forget how empty it made one feel to be alone in the world. Damien’s rough-and-tumble camaraderie with his fellow officers brought back Lucien’s isolation to him with a cutting edge. He looked at the bed and wondered how he was supposed to sleep in it without Alice in his arms. Though his emotions were in chaos, hunger had sharpened his mind. Throughout the day’s long ride, he had mulled over his plans for how he would go about catching Bardou. There was much to be done, but the hour was late. It would start in the morning.

  He lay back in exhaustion and waited in the darkness for the servants to bring his food and the other things he had asked for, and he wondered if right now, somewhere in Hampshire, Alice was hurting as badly as he was.

  “Why, Miss Montague!” Mr. Hattersley exclaimed, welcoming her and Peg into the Montague family’s elegant London townhouse in Upper Brooke Street the next day. It was early Sunday afternoon. “Oh, bless you, do come in!” The kind-faced butler was a neat little man with a balding head and twinkling blue eyes. “Praise heaven, you are recovered. We were all so worried.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Hattersley. It’s good to see you, too,” Alice said warmly.

  This morning at dawn, she, Peg, and Nellie had set out for Town, with Mitchell driving the coach—and Lucien’s hulking guards sleeping dreamlessly, drugged with laudanum.

  “Mrs. Tate,” the butler greeted Peg. The two faithful old servants exchanged a look that spoke volumes of mutual commiseration.

  “I have come to straighten out all of this nonsense,” Alice told him in a lower tone. “Is Her Ladyship at home?”

  “Indeed, miss. In the morning room.”

  “And how is our little patient?”

  He smiled. “I am relieved to say Master Harry’s spots have begun clearing up.”

  Alice glanced down the hallway and saw a little blond head peeping around the corner at her. Her eyes lit up. “Harry?” she asked, taking off her wide-brimmed hat.

  He sidled into the doorway, sucking his finger. To her surprise, he was dressed in little boy’s clothes rather than the loose, simple gowns in which children of both sexes were customarily dressed until the age of about four years old. He wore miniature trousers, a tiny waistcoat, even a little starched cravat. She had never seen anything so adorable in her life; still, he really was too young for such confining clothes. He hung back.

  “Oh, my goodness! Who is that handsome young gentleman?” Alice exclaimed. “That cannot be my wee lambkin. Harry, come and hug me. Have you forgotten me? It’s me, Auntie Alice, and look who else is here—your Nanny Peg.”

  He ran to them. Alice knelt down swiftly and caught him in her arms, hugging him with a lump in her throat. She kissed him gently between two healing red spots on his rose-petal cheek. “I missed you so much,” she whispered.

  “We were both sick,” he told her, making Alice wince inwardly to realize that she was even lying to Harry. She did not know how Lucien could stand it, going around up to his throat in lies, even for the sake of his country.

  Harry gave her a sloppy, puppy-dog kiss on her cheek, proudly showed her a few of his scabbed-over chicken pox, then rushed over to hug Peg. “Nana!”

  “Good day, Master Harry,” Peg greeted him matter-of-factly, as though everything were back to normal. Alice admired the woman’s self-possession. When he stretched out his arms, pleading to be picked up, Peg chuckled and lifted him. He clung on around her neck like he would never be pried off. “Now, then, have you been having a nice Town holiday?” she asked him.

  As Harry began to chatter about the stray cats that lived in the garden, Peg met Alice’s gaze meaningfully. Alice nodded, readier than ever to do battle. She caressed Harry’s downy-fine hair.


  “I’m going to tell your mama we are here.”

  The child shot her a strange look at her mention of Lady Glenwood.

  “What is it, lambkin?”

  He laid his head on Peg’s shoulder. “She’s a mean lady.”

  Alice’s eyes widened, but she found herself at a loss for how to answer. She glanced at Peg. “Perhaps you and Nellie should take Harry up to the nursery.”

  Peg nodded shrewdly. The shouting that was soon to come might upset the boy.

  “Mrs. Tate, allow me! You cannot carry His Lordship to the third floor,” the butler protested.

  “Oh, I’m as strong as an old plow horse, Mr. Hattersley,” Peg said, stoutly, shooing him away.

  “Dear heavens, you shall strain your back!”

  Nellie followed them to unpack Alice’s things for her stay.

  Alice watched them fondly from the bottom of the stairs until they had disappeared from view, then braced herself and walked slowly down the hallway to the morning room. She paused, allowing her simmering rancor to bolster her resolve. She glowered inwardly at the memory of Caro at the Grotto—drunk, disheveled, throwing herself at Lucien. The woman had attacked her, screamed at her, then abandoned her to her fate at Revell Court.

  It would be difficult to keep a cool head when Caro had so thoroughly wronged her and those she loved, but whatever happened, Alice reminded herself, her main objective was to make Caro rehire Peg. That was all. Not only for Peg’s sake, but for Harry’s. Without bothering to knock, she strode into the morning room, seizing the advantage of surprise.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Glenwood.”

  Reclining on the scroll divan, Caro looked up from her newspaper and quickly masked her shock, narrowing her eyes with a catlike smile. “Well, right on schedule, I see! One week—just as our mutual friend specified.” She cast her newspaper aside.

  Keeping a firm rein on her temper, Alice turned around and closed the door.

  Caro looked quite different, she thought, on her guard. The baroness had abandoned her doll-like curls and instead wore her hair in a sleek, smooth chignon. Her visiting gown exuded modesty and restraint. It was made of mahogany-brown velvet with black piping and a small ruff of ivory-colored lace peeping out from under the long, tight sleeves and around the high neck. Finally, she had begun to act her age, Alice thought; then she realized what the gown signified. Caro had put off her black crape for half mourning. By custom, a widow was to wear black and black only for two full years, but Phillip had only been dead for a little over one year. To Alice, it was the final insult to her brother; Caro could not even pretend to mourn him for the appropriate period.