An Impossible Confession Page 12

  ‘Adieu,’ she whispered, closing her eyes with a shiver of pleasure as he kissed her again.

  Then he’d gone, walking quickly away in the direction of the royal apartments. She gazed after him, her emotions in conflict again. She’d come so much closer to him, but she hadn’t seized her chance to tell him who she really was. She’d foolishly and weakly put it off, and thus perpetuated the lies she’d started at the Cat and Fiddle. The longer she delayed, the worse it would become, but nothing could be as bad as actually losing him, and when it came to the point, that was all she could think of. She’d thought herself brave enough for the confession, but she’d proved utterly craven.

  Mary came to hesitantly touch her arm. ‘We should go, miss.’

  ‘Yes.’ Helen glanced at her. ‘I don’t know what to do, Mary, I just don’t know what to do.’

  ‘You have to tell him, miss. If you love him, and wish to be with him in spite of the bad feeling between him and Colonel and Mrs Bourne, then you have no choice but to let him know who you really are.’ The maid’s reply was blunt and uncompromising.

  ‘And if by confessing, I lose him?’

  Mary lowered her eyes. ‘Let’s go back to the landau, miss, it’s a little cold here.’

  With a heavy heart, Helen walked with her, back toward the lower ward and the town. From the height of joy, her spirits had plunged into the depths of uncertainty and apprehension. And all because she’d foolishly and misguidedly invented the widowed Mrs Brown; no, that wasn’t entirely true, for if she hadn’t invented Mrs Brown, she wouldn’t have progressed as far as she had. Adam would never have extended warmth to Helen Fairmead.

  Now her nerve had deserted her, and she didn’t know if it would return. Suddenly Mary’s suggestion of writing a letter began to seem the only sensible course, if more than a little unsatisfactory, but in her present timorous mood it offered at least a morsel of hope.

  Neither she nor Mary noticed a small, wiry man slipping stealthily along a little distance behind them, watching their every move, as he had since the moment they’d driven out of Bourne End. He followed them down to the waiting landau, and as it drove away, he crossed the road and entered the narrow side street where earlier Mary had quite rightly felt someone watching. He’d left his horse in a livery stable, and he collected it now, riding swiftly out of Windsor and passing the landau as he rode across the park in the direction of Ascot. His destination was Bourne End, where the person who’d engaged his services was waiting.

  CHAPTER 12

  As the landau turned in through the lodge gates at Bourne End a little later, the horseman was just leaving, urging his tired mount back toward Windsor. Helen hardly glanced at him, she was still taken up with her problems. She was forced to the wry private admission that she wasn’t unlike Ralph St John in one way, for if he’d plunged in too deep with his gambling debts, she’d plunged in equally as deeply with her fibs. She didn’t want to think about Ralph, but as the landau drew nearer to the house she realized that she wasn’t only going to have to think about him, she was going to have to speak to him again, for his dark blue barouche was at the door.

  He was the last person she wished to see, and for a moment she considered instructing Peter to drive away again, but she knew the landau would have been observed from the house. There was nothing for it but to grit her teeth and face him.

  Morris was waiting in the hall, his face as solemn as ever. ‘Welcome back, madam. I trust your expedition to Windsor was successful?’

  ‘Very successful, thank you, Morris. I see Mr St John has called.’

  ‘He has, madam. He wishes to speak to you, and is waiting out on the drawing room veranda.’

  Her heart sank. ‘To speak to me? He hasn’t called on Colonel or Mrs Bourne?’

  ‘No, madam, he’s called specifically to see you. Colonel Bourne has been engaged in the stableyard since breakfast, and Mrs Bourne is still resting in her rooms. I informed Mr St John that I didn’t know when you would return, but he insisted on waiting.’

  She sighed inwardly, for she knew the interview would be very embarrassing. She glanced at Mary, who was waiting discreetly with the two footmen who’d gone out to unload the packages from the landau. ‘Please take everything to my rooms, I’ll be up directly.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Fairmead.’

  Helen watched the little procession mount the staircase, and wished she was accompanying it. But Ralph St John was waiting, and so reluctantly she turned toward the drawing room.

  She entered quietly, so much so that he didn’t hear her from out on the veranda, where he sat at the white-painted wrought iron table, lounging back with his black patent leather shoes resting on the table itself. Today there was much more of the dandy about him, from his lilac coat and silver satin waistcoat to his extremely full Cossack trousers, made of charcoal-gray wool and gathered at the waist and ankles. His muslin neckcloth was unstarched and voluminous, and there were no fewer than three jeweled pins nestling in its folds. His top hat, gloves, and cane lay on the table, and he remained totally unaware of her presence, for he was absorbed in studying a little gold-framed miniature in his hand.

  He was so completely preoccupied that Helen’s curiosity was aroused. She paused by the open French window a few feet away from him, one hand resting on Gregory’s telescope, which still stood pointing toward the park. A light breeze stirred through the net curtains, obscuring her view, and she moved to hold them slightly aside in order to see the miniature more clearly.

  It was of a young woman in the clothes of the previous century, her long chestnut hair curled and frizzed in a cloud of curls around her head and shoulders. Her long-waisted gown appeared to be made of magenta satin of peculiar brilliance, and there was a black velvet ribbon around her throat, with an oval gold locket suspended from it. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and from the way Ralph gazed at her, Helen knew he was in the habit of often looking at her, whoever she was.

  Helen’s brows drew together thoughtfully, for somehow the woman seemed familiar, although no name came to mind.

  The moments passed, and Helen knew she’d have to indicate her presence. She cleared her throat and stepped out onto the veranda. ‘Good afternoon, Mr St John, I understand you wish to speak to me.’

  Her voice startled him so much that he dropped the miniature. It fell with a clatter on to the stone-tiled floor, and Helen darted forward with a gasp to retrieve it, thinking that it must be damaged, but to her relief it was unharmed.

  Ralph had risen hurriedly to his feet, and now immediately held out his hand for the little likeness. There was something oddly hasty about his manner, something of which she could only be very aware as she slowly handed the miniature back to him. ‘She’s very lovely,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ he replied, pushing the miniature quickly into his pocket and avoiding her eyes.

  ‘Who is she? She looks a little familiar.’

  ‘I really have no idea who she is. I saw her in a Windsor shop this morning and purchased her.’

  The answer took Helen aback. She was sure he wasn’t telling the truth, and that not only did he know the lady’s name, but he’d also possessed the miniature for much longer than a day.

  He drew out one of the chairs. ‘Please sit down, Miss Fairmead.’

  She obeyed, sitting rather stiffly with her hands clasped in her lap, and then he sat down too, toying with his cane on the table for a moment. ‘Miss Fairmead, about last night….’

  ‘The matter is forgotten as far as I’m concerned.’

  ‘But not as far as I’m concerned. I’ve been guilty of a gross error of judgment, for I was vain enough to imagine you were bound to agree to a match with me.’ He gave her a disarming smile.

  Whatever she’d been expecting, it hadn’t been this, and the smile might have taken her in had she not seen and heard the real Ralph St John beside Eleanor’s Lake. For whatever devious reason, he was evidently still intent upon her as a bride, and today’s smiles and apologetic wo
rds were intended to smooth her ruffled feathers and bring her around to what he wanted. He was about to be disappointed. ‘I assure you that the incident is entirely forgotten, sir, and I trust that all is now perfectly clear between us.’

  ‘On the contrary, things aren’t clear at all, for you are under a severe misapprehension about me.’

  ‘I am?’

  ‘Yes, the foolish faux pas I made just before dinner last night was an isolated departure from my usual rule. I was guilty of putting my thoughts into hasty words, words which led me into broaching a subject I had no right to broach. I ask you to forgive me, and allow me to set such a false start aside and begin again.’

  ‘I forgive you, Mr St John,’ she fibbed, for she’d never forgive him, ‘but there is little point in attempting to start anything again, for you and I are like oil and water, and a match between us would be an absolute disaster.’

  ‘I realize you don’t like me, Miss Fairmead,’ he persisted, ‘but I’m sure it’s because I’ve approached everything badly. I can really be very amiable indeed, and would appreciate the chance to prove it.’ He gave another disarming smile.

  So, he could be amiable, could he? No doubt he could, if it suited his purposes, but he could also be utterly base. Blackmail was a weapon he didn’t shrink from employing, nor did he think it amiss to willfully and despicably manufacture evidence against a friend. If Adam had done something vile, then maybe there could be a modicum of justification for Ralph’s actions, but Adam had no idea in what way he’d offended. She gazed at Ralph, her face expressionless as these thoughts followed one after another through her mind.

  ‘Miss Fairmead?’

  She looked away from him. ‘Will you satisfy my curiosity, sir?’ she inquired.

  ‘Your curiosity?’

  ‘Yes. Will you tell me why it is that you think me a suitable bride?’ Her green eyes swung toward him again, cool and opaque.

  ‘Perhaps I’m more than a little smitten with you,’ he replied easily.

  ‘Really? Then you became so before you even met me. Be honest with me, sir, for your reasons are very important, are they not? No man contemplates marriage without first giving the matter deep and full consideration. I’m not an heiress, so marrying me will not solve your immediate financial problems, which only leaves my family connection. I cannot believe you’d want to marry me simply to become closely related to Gregory and Margaret, and as you are already very much associated with Bourne End, that doesn’t seem to offer an answer either. So why are you set on me, Mr St John?’

  His brown eyes were veiled, and a faint smile played about his sensuous lips. ‘I did not need to meet you, Miss Fairmead, for I’d heard all about you before you left Cheltenham, and as to your not being an heiress, et cetera, et cetera, well I think you underestimate your beauty and many sovereign qualities.’

  ‘And you, sir, underestimate my intelligence,’ she replied astutely.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that I don’t believe a word.’

  He lounged back in his chair, his eyes giving nothing away. ‘Miss Fairmead, do I understand that you think I’m acting with foul ulterior motive?’

  ‘With ulterior motive, certainly, but as to the degree of foulness, well, I can only hazard a guess.’

  ‘And given your low opinion of me, I would imagine your guess would credit said motive with a great deal of foulness.’

  She remained eloquently silent.

  ‘Very well, Miss Fairmead, I admit to having an ulterior motive, but it isn’t foul at all, so would it be at all possible for us to begin again?’

  ‘You may have an ulterior motive for wishing to continue, sir, but I don’t have any motive at all for wishing to marry you. On the other hand, I have my reasons for not wishing to marry you, so I’m afraid my answer has to be a very definite no.’

  For a long moment he said nothing, but his eyes ceased to be veiled and became cold with dislike. ‘Then you leave me no choice but to take off the kid gloves. You are a very difficult young woman, Miss Fairmead, given to unbecoming displays of spirit and standing stubbornly between me and what I want. I’m not about to let that continue, my dear. You’re going to do my bidding.’

  Her breath caught in disbelieving anger, and she began to rise from her chair to leave, but he leaned across to seize her hand, forcing her to remain where she was.

  ‘I don’t like you any more than you like me,’ he breathed, ‘but circumstances have forced me into a corner from which I’m finding it damnably difficult to wriggle free. Your willful intransigence isn’t going to hold me down!’

  ‘Let me go, sirrah!’

  ‘When I’m ready, madam. I’m fully aware of why you’ve formed this aversion for me. It’s because of Drummond, isn’t it?’

  She stared at him. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t play games, my dear. I was informed all about your meeting with him on the way from Cheltenham, so it doesn’t take a genius to realize that he’s regaled you with his whining claims that I’m the villain of the piece, nor does it take great insight to perceive that much more went on at that meeting than you’ve admitted to your sister.’

  For a dreadful moment she thought he’d somehow found out about Mrs Brown, but then she knew he hadn’t, he was just surmising. She tried unsuccessfully to wrench her hand away, but he held her too tightly.

  ‘Let me go!’ she cried. ‘I overheard everything you said by the lake yesterday, that’s why I despise you, and why I know you for the louse you are. Now, please let me go, or I’ll scream for help!’

  ‘Do that and I shall have no option but to tell Margaret and Gregory all about your romantic and intimate meeting with Drummond today at Windsor Castle. Oh, yes, my dear, I know all about it.’ His eyes were ice-bright, and a confident smile curled his full lips.

  Shaken, she could only stare at him.

  ‘Ah, I see that we are both a little taken aback to realize how our secrets are found out. I should have known you were somewhere nearby yesterday, you couldn’t have vanished like that. And you, my dear, shouldn’t have been so indiscreet today, for then my man wouldn’t have had anything to see when he followed you, would he?’ He pretended to sigh regretfully. ‘Forgive me for having stooped to such vulgar levels, but I was curious about the virulence of your dislike for me, and when Margaret mentioned that you’d encountered Drummond, well, I thought it would be worth while seeing if there was more to it than met the eye. My man was so certain I’d be interested in what he’d witnessed – right in front of the royal apartments, too – that he hastened here to tell me straightaway, rather than wait until I returned to the Golden Key and dear papa tonight. He was right, for I was very interested indeed. You aren’t the sweet Miss Chastity you’re supposed to be, are you, my dear? I wonder what poor Margaret would say if she was regaled with such shocking facts about her little sister?’

  From somewhere she found the steel to look him steadily in the eyes. ‘If you knew all this, sirrah, I’m more surprised than ever that you persisted, right up to a minute or so ago, in promoting a match between us.’

  ‘Because I needed you to serve a purpose, my dear; indeed, I still need you to serve that purpose. I want your agreement that you will at least consent to a temporary betrothal, one which can be discarded in the very near future.’

  Her lips parted in amazement. ‘You can’t really think I’ll agree. I would as soon drink poison.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid I must resort to threats. To refuse this quite reasonable request of mine will lead not only to the exposure of your sordid little affair with Drummond, but also to the ruin of his sister. Oh, yes, my dear, I’ll play any trump it pleases me to. And if I blow the gaff on Lady Bowes-Fenton, I’ll make damned sure he knows it’s your fault. There’ll be no more cozy little hugs and kisses then, will there?’ Slowly he got up, reaching for his top hat, gloves, and cane. ‘All you have to do is be agreeable for a short while, pretend to consent to our marriage
, and you have my word that soon there will be no further need for the betrothal.’

  She was numb. He had her in a corner and she knew it. He was relying on her love for Adam, and her desire to at all costs protect the welfare of Adam’s sister. ‘Why – why should I believe in your word, Mr St John?’ she whispered.

  He smiled a little. ‘Oh, my dear, you may be certain that in this particular instance, my word is indeed my bond. I now realize that you are the last woman on earth I really want as my bride, but circumstances have trapped me into needing you, and only you. You’ll never be Mrs St John, but it is imperative to me that for the moment society believes that you are going to be. Now then, I’ve done with this conversation; do you agree to my request, or must I take myself off to Gregory and begin my wearisome task of scandalmongering?’

  ‘I hate you,’ she breathed.

  ‘No doubt, but will you temporarily agree to marry me?’ he pressed.

  ‘Do I have any choice?’

  ‘Not really, if you want to keep Drummond’s – er – love. You do want to keep it, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Which delightful little word will serve as your consent, I fancy,’ he observed smoothly. ‘We’ll commence our tiresome little charade in public next week, when I escort you to the Farrish House ball, but in the meantime I expect you to let it be discreetly known that you now welcome the match.’

  She nodded, trembling so much she couldn’t speak, but as he tapped his top hat on and prepared to leave, she turned suddenly to face him. ‘Why did you do it to Adam? What had he done to warrant it?’

  ‘Oh, a great deal, believe me.’

  ‘He doesn’t know what it is.’

  ‘But I know, and that’s what matters.’

  ‘And what of Gregory?’ she went on, realizing he wasn’t going to be forthcoming about Adam. ‘He and Margaret are your friends, they mistakenly believe you to be perfect, and yet you deliberately brought Gregory’s integrity into question as far as the Jockey Club is concerned. Racing is his life, he’d have been heartbroken if he’d been banned, but you didn’t care at all, did you?’