Love's Price (Lord Trent Series) (26 page)

She needed to make plans, but for what? What reason was there to keep on?

Her despair was interrupted by the approach of a sporty yellow gig with red wheels. It was a garish vehicle, the kind owned by the most ostentatious dandies, and as the driver neared and slowed, she gaped as if he was an apparition.

“Cousin Nigel?”

“Helen? Why are you out here all by yourself?”

At their previous meeting—in Westwood’s parlor—she’d been cool and reserved, but now, with her life in tatters, she’d never witnessed a more welcome sight.

“Nigel! I’m so glad to see you.”

He tied off the reins and leapt down, and as he studied her, he scowled.

“My dear, what is it? You look absolutely devastated.”

“I’ve been having the worst time of it.”

“Is it that scoundrel Westwood? Since we last spoke, I’ve heard the most atrocious stories about him.”

The mention of Westwood brought a flood of tears that she couldn’t tamp down, and he sat and patted her hand, offering her a snowy white kerchief so she could dab at her eyes.

“I’ve been fired,” she confessed.

“The dirty swine!”

“And his ward has filed a terrible report about me with my placement agency. I don’t think I’ll ever find a job in London again.”

“Drat it all,” he commiserated. “I was afraid of this.”

“What are you talking about?”

He flushed, appearing chagrinned. “I could see it unfolding that day when I stopped by his house.”

“See what?”

“He seemed very
fond
of you.”

Gad! Was there anyone who wasn’t aware of her affair?

“He did?”

“Yes.” His flush deepened. “I’m not sure how to tell you this.”

“Just say it.”

“Helen, he has a habit of luring young ladies into his home—on the pretense of honest employment—but after they’re there...well...”

“He seduces the girls who work for him?”

“Yes. Miss Wilson has gone through three companions in the prior year alone. Her reputation is in shreds over it.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s all over the clubs,” Nigel insisted. “Westwood is a renowned cad; he has the morals of a tomcat.”

This news—on top of everything else she’d recently endured—was too humiliating. She stared at her lap, trying to take it all in.

“I can’t decide what to do next,” she murmured.

“Then let me decide for you.”

“What?” She shifted on the bench and gazed at him. “What should I do?”

“What you should have done a long time ago.” He stood and pulled her to her feet. “You’re coming to Brookhaven with me.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I should.”

“Yes, of course you should. I am the male head of your family, and I mean to look after you. We’ve failed you in the past, but we won’t in the future. Let’s get you out of London and away from these horrid people. Let’s get you home where you belong.”

Helen hesitated, pondering Miranda, Westwood, Mrs. Ford.

There was nothing for her in the city, and if she stayed, she’d be inundated by scandal, battered by rumors about Westwood’s grand wedding, and—most likely—living in poverty on the streets.

“I have to locate Harriet though,” she said. “I can’t leave without her.”

“I heard that she’s missing, that she’s in trouble. We’ll search for her together. But”—he was easing her toward his vehicle—“we’ll do it from Brookhaven.”

She thought about his suggestion and, had she been less distraught, she might have refused, but then, she remembered Westwood’s cruel letter of goodbye.

Was there really any choice?

She walked to the gig and climbed in on her own.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

James bounded into the house, glad to be home but irritated over his journey to Portsmouth. Bramwell’s message had simply been that there was no information to report.

He’d been gone for over a week, and it seemed like an eternity since he’d seen Helen. Throughout the trip, he’d been surprised by how much he missed her.

When he was in London, he was always so busy that he often went whole days without speaking to her and that situation had to change. In fact, their entire relationship had to change.

The clandestine nature of their affair was bothering him. He wanted it out in the open, wanted to be able to court her, to take her to the opera or the theater. He wanted to host a supper party and have her seated next to him at the table.

It would be a difficult feat to accomplish. There were many societal strictures in place, as well as Miranda’s reputation to consider, but he was determined to make it happen. Perhaps it was time for Miranda to return to the country so James could once again live however he pleased.

He entered the foyer and had just tossed his coat to the butler when Miranda strolled down the hall. She was tying the ribbon on her bonnet, dressed for her afternoon calls.

A chubby, dour woman walked behind her, looking overwhelmed and harassed.

“James!” Miranda gushed on seeing him. “How lovely to have you back. I was guessing it would be tomorrow.”

She came forward, her hands extended in welcome, and he clasped them and ducked down to give her the obligatory kiss on the cheek.

“How have you been?” he asked. “I trust all was well while I was away?”

“We were fine. Any news of Tristan? What did Captain Bramwell have to say?”

“Nothing.”

“How frustrating.”

“Yes, it was very frustrating.”

“I’ll be off visiting,” she explained, “but I’ll be back for tea, and you can tell me all about it. Let’s go, Miss Crump.”

Miranda started toward the door, the beleaguered woman waddling after her.

“Where is Miss Stewart?” he queried. “Why doesn’t she accompany you?”

“She quit!”

“When?”

“The morning you left for Portsmouth—practically the instant after you rode away. She marched right up to me, bold as brass, and said she’d had enough.”

He could barely hide his astonishment. She’d quit? She’d left without a goodbye? How could she do such a thing?

He’d thought she was happy. He’d thought she was growing as attached as he was, but apparently, she’d simply been waiting for the appropriate moment to slip away. How could he have been so mistaken about her?

“Did she say why?”

“She spewed some folderol about how we’d all been awful to her. I really didn’t listen to her complaints.”

“Did she say where she’d be?”

“No, and I didn’t inquire.”

“And who is this?” He frowned at Miss Crump.

“She’s taken Miss Stewart’s place.” She gestured to Miss Crump. “Make your hellos to my cousin, Miss Crump.”

“How do you do, milord?” Miss Crump bobbed a fleet curtsy.

“You already hired a new companion?”

“Yes. As you requested, I saw Mrs. Ford about the housekeeper, and when I told her Miss Stewart had fled, she recommended Miss Crump. She assures me that Miss Crump will be much more dependable.”

“Bloody hell,” he inappropriately muttered.

“Are you upset that I took the initiative?” Miranda smiled nervously. “I know how much you hate to have me going out alone. I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“No, I don’t mind,” he lied through clenched teeth.

His head was reeling. Helen was gone? This odd, homely person had taken her job without James’s consent?

“I gave her Miss Stewart’s old room,” Miranda added. “Since you’d put Miss Stewart there, I assumed—”

“You assumed wrong. Move her to the regular servants’ quarters.”

Turning, he stomped up the stairs and proceeded to Helen’s bedchamber, the one he’d specifically picked for her, the one where they’d made love so many times. He stormed in, unconcerned that it was now the repository of Miss Crump’s belongings.

He went directly to the wardrobe and yanked it open, stunned to find all of Helen’s new clothes still there, with Crump’s possessions neatly folded and pushed into the corner.

He ran his fingers over the pretty, sensual fabrics, remembering how he’d chosen each outfit just for her. In the dresser, the drawers were filled to the brim with Helen’s undergarments and stockings.

She hadn’t taken a single thing! She’d shunned it all, as if his gifts—that he’d selected with such care—meant nothing to her.

In a state of shock, he collapsed down on the bed, and as he tarried, he began to get angry.

He’d given her every material chattel a female could possibly desire. He’d showered her with affection and attention, and she’d thrown it all back in his face.

The ungrateful witch!

If another voice, a more rational voice, reminded him that he’d really given her nothing at all, that he’d blithely ruined her, never paid her her salary, and had refused to publicly acknowledge their connection, he conveniently ignored it.

She’d abandoned him—as his mother had abandoned his father all those years ago—and the realization was galling.

Was it too much to ask that a woman be faithful? Was it too much to ask that a woman be loyal?

He wondered where she was. She couldn’t have had any funds. Was she destitute? Would she rather live on the streets than with him? Had she accepted another position—right under his nose? Had she...had she...run off with a paramour as had his mother?

In light of how fickle Helen had proved herself to be, he wouldn’t put anything past her.

He dawdled for hours, too disturbed to leave. He kept expecting to hear her tread on the stairs as she rushed to be with him, smiling and glad to have him back.

When he happened to glance out the window, he was amazed to see that the afternoon had waned, that evening was quickly approaching. No doubt the tedious Miss Crump would arrive shortly, and it would be difficult to explain why he was sitting on her bed like an imbecile.

He marched to the wardrobe, scooped up Crump’s possessions, and tossed them into the hall. Then he slammed the door, spun the key in the lock, and went to get blind, stinking drunk.

Miranda watched James slip away from their supper party by sneaking out onto the verandah. She hurried after him.

For weeks, he’d been prowling about like a wounded bear. He’d tormented Miss Crump until she’d fled in tears, and the servants were in an uproar over his uncharacteristic bellowing and criticisms.

James had always been the most amenable of employers, and they were of the opinion that his foul mood was due to the fact that he’d actually been in love with Helen Stewart. There was talk of locating her, of begging her to return so James would be pacified. The prospect had Miranda panicked.

The servants had never liked Miranda, and they blamed her for Stewart’s abrupt departure. If James raged much longer, Miranda was terrified that one of them would tattle as to how Stewart had quit.

As he vanished down into the garden, she stepped outside. Eager to catch him alone, she raced down an opposite path, so it would look as if they’d met by accident. She slid onto a bench just moments before he rounded a corner and saw her.

“James,” she cheerily said, “I thought you were playing cards.”

“I was.”

She patted the spot next to her, inviting him to join her, but he didn’t, so she stood and sidled over to him. He was so tall, so masculine, and a little thrill shivered down her spine. What if she could get him to kiss her? What would it be like?

“Are you feeling all right?” she inquired. “Lately, you’ve seemed a tad... unhappy.”

“I’m fine.” He glared at her, and his gaze was worrisome. “What are you doing out here, Miranda?”

“Taking the night air. What would you suppose?”

“Really? You know, I heard the most interesting tidbit this morning.”

“What is that?”

“The butler told me that you quarreled with Miss Stewart—just before she walked out. He said you were in my bedchamber, and you spoke with her there.”

“The butler said that?” The nosy busybody! How dare he! “The man’s insane. Why would I be in your bedchamber? And why must I constantly be harangued about Miss Stewart? I never liked her, and I’m not sorry she’s gone. I haven’t a clue why you’re being such a beast about it. For heaven’s sake, she was a
servant
.”

“If I learned that you’d been cruel to her”—there was a hint of threat in his voice—“that you’d hurt her or lied to her, I’d be very, very angry.”

“You’re being absurd, and I have no idea why I listen to you when you’re in such a temper.”

“I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided you should go home.”

“But what about Tristan? What if there’s news?” She grabbed the lapels of his jacket. “You can’t send me away. Please tell me you won’t!”

Up on the verandah, several people had come out and more followed until the entire roster of guests appeared to be outside. They were behind James, so he couldn’t see them, but they milled about, then, as a group, they moved down the stairs and out into the garden, proceeding directly toward where Miranda and James were chatting.

Miranda tarried, letting them get closer and closer. As they passed the hedge and had a clear view, she flung herself into James’s arms, rose on tiptoe, and pressed her mouth to his.

There were many gasps and embarrassed mutterings, causing him to lurch away as if he’d been burned.