“Do you indeed, Miss Bossy-boots? Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”
“I can’t tell you … it’s something I have to show you.”
Olivia emerged from the drawing room. “Hello, Alexandra.” She looked from one to the other. “If you’re taking your sister driving, Rupert, I shall come too. A carriage ride is the very thing to start the baby coming.”
Alex looked aghast at Olivia’s expanded belly. “No, you cannot possibly go racketing about town in an open carriage in your condition. Come, Rupert!”
As he followed his sister through the front door, he said through his teeth, “You’re getting more like Dottie every day.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
A groom, standing with the carriage and matched pair, handed the leader’s reins to Rupert, and Alex climbed up without assistance.
As her brother released the brake, she directed, “St. Giles.”
“St. Giles?” Rupert shouted with disbelief. “I’m not driving my cattle into St. Giles! Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Then get out and I shall drive them myself.”
Rupert stared at her, and she gave him a level look back. “I wouldn’t ask you, Rupert, unless it were absolutely imperative.”
He saw the look in her eyes that told him he had no choice. “I can see that you are serious.”
“Never more so in my life.”
He took a corner carefully, and looked over at his sister. “I read your article in the Political Register about climbing boys.” He glanced at the road, then back to her. “It’s most admirable to champion a worthy cause, Alex, so long as you don’t fall into the habit of doing it on a regular basis.”
Alex held her tongue, not without difficulty.
Rupert turned the horses onto Oxford Street. “Look here, if this is one of your misguided missions to save some downtrodden wretch, I think you should know that charity begins at home.”
“Meaning?”
“I think it’s time you knew that Dottie is not the wealthy dowager you think her. You can’t go wasting her money on charity cases; she doesn’t have any.”
“I am well aware of our financial difficulties. Each of us must deal with it as we think best.”
“Are you condemning me because I married for money?”
“Oh, God, Rupert, of course not!” She reached over and touched his hand. “Before the year is out, I’ll be doing the same thing.”
“Damn it, Alex! Marrying Kit Hatton is not the same thing. You’ve known each other since you were children. It has always been understood that you would marry.”
“Turn down this street.”
“It’s too narrow. .. Good God, no wonder it stinks—this is the Rookery! Alex, it absolutely wasn’t necessary to show me; you could have simply told me.”
“Stop just along here.”
Rupert was driving slowly, and the horses stopped when he pulled back on the reins. He set the brake on the phaeton, then threw up his hands in resignation when Alex got down and expected him to follow her.
Alex went into the building and, without knocking on Maggie’s door, lifted the latch and walked in with no hesitation. She hurried over to the sofa and knelt before the coughing woman.
Her brother was right behind her. He looked down at the woman and tried to hide his distaste. “Who is this person?”
“She’s our mother, Rupert.”
Shocked silence filled the air for a full minute. Then he stepped back and murmured, “You are mistaken, Alex. Mother is in her forties; this woman must be in her sixties.”
“There is no mistake, Rupert. I shall get a blanket, then I want you to carry her out to the carriage. I’m taking her home.”
On the drive home, Alex sat in the back with her mother so she could not answer the questions that she knew Rupert must have. Maggie, or Margaret as Alex thought of her, didn’t seem to have the strength to protest being taken from where she lived, though between coughing bouts her face looked racked with worry. “Please don’t be distressed. I want you to get well. You can’t be alone anymore; you need someone to take care of you.”
When the carriage stopped in Berkeley Square, Alex alighted and spoke with Rupert. “I think you should carry her.”
“Alex!” Both his face and his voice were filled with alarm. “Does Dottie know about all this?”
“Not yet,” Alex temporized, refusing to let doubt sink its teeth into her.
“I’m not going in there! She’ll put the entire blame for this on me … she’ll savage me!”
“Dottie isn’t home; she’s away in the country.”
The relief on Rupert’s face would have been laughable if Alex had not shared her brother’s fear of their grandmother’s wrath.
Then another worry raised its ugly head. “Whatever will I do when the Hardings find out about this?” he muttered.
“You need not even discuss it with them. It is our business, and our business alone, Rupert.”
He carried the frail invalid upstairs and, as Alex directed, put her in the handsome bedchamber he had vacated when he married Olivia. He tried to ignore the gaping servants, but Hopkins followed him upstairs and handed him a note.
“A footman delivered this, my lord; you are needed at home.”
When Rupert read the note, a look of panic came into his face. “It’s Olivia … the baby … I must get back. You’ll have to excuse me, Alex.”
After Rupert left, Alex took Sara aside and explained that Maggie Field was her mother. The maid was astounded at such a revelation, but she was thankful that the woman who had made it possible for her to leave the Rookery had been rescued by her daughter. “What can I do to help? Perhaps I should bathe her?”
“The bath can wait, Sara. I think she needs something nourishing inside her. Would you go down and ask the cook to warm some broth and perhaps ready some bread and cheese? I’ll make up Rupert’s bed with some fresh linen. Later, I am going to find her a doctor.”
They heard a door slam downstairs and a raised voice. Dottie was home, and by the sound of it, she was in a temper. Alex went down to greet her with her heart in her mouth.
“Thank God I’m back to a sane environment! Lord Staines’s niece descended, and until I packed her off with a flea in her ear, it was barely controlled chaos!”
Hopkins took Dottie’s traveling bag and threw Alex an accusing look that clearly said, You are about to give your grandmother apoplexy!
“If there is one species I cannot abide, it is ingrates; parasites disguised as female relatives who descend like vultures at the rumor of a fatal illness. Makes one want to seek out their nest and crush their eggs!” Dottie started up the stairs.
Alex followed her. “How is Lord Staines?” she asked with genuine concern.
Dottie pierced her with a fierce glance. “He may have gone from rampant to stagnant in one fell swoop, but I assure you he is not ready to stick his spoon in the wall.” She spotted Sara, who had a guilty look on her face. “Why is everyone hovering about?” She lifted her head as she heard a wracking cough coming from Rupert’s bedroom. Dottie stalked into the chamber and stood stock-still, staring.
Alex wrung her hands. Her grandmother’s face looked as if it were carved from stone. Alex licked dry lips and opened her mouth.
“Leave us,” Dottie ordered; her tone brooked no disobedience.
Alone, the silence stretched between the two women for long, drawn-out minutes, then Margaret whispered, “Forgive me, Mother?”
A heartbeat later, Dottie, fighting back tears, gathered her daughter in her arms. “There is nothing to forgive, my dearest, other than the fact that you didn’t come to me sooner.”
Chapter Twenty-One
As the white cliffs of Dover came into view, Nicholas Hatton rejoiced. He stood at the ship’s rail, reflecting on the events of the past month. After the victory at Toulouse, that city, as well as Bordeaux, had welcomed the occupying army with open arms. Then they recei
ved the welcome news that Napoleon had abdicated at Fontainebleau, and he was quickly packed off to the Island of Elba under armed guard. Wellington was declared a conquering hero.
Though Nick had been offered his choice of policing duty in France or a transfer to the war in America, he chose neither. He’d had a bellyful of war, so he cashed out his captaincy. Nick was very certain of what he wanted to do. He would offer his twin the pay he had earned as an officer as a down payment on Hatton Grange. He would live at the Grange and breed horses. Nick gazed at the white cliffs. All I want is peace … a peaceful life … a life filled with peace.
Alexandra’s heart overflowed with joy when she learned that the war was over. Nick will be coming home! was her very first thought. Then another intruded, and cast a cloud over her joy. Olivia had been delivered of a baby girl. Everyone agreed that the baby had her mother’s lovely dark coloring, and Rupert seemed filled with fatherly pride when he announced that they were naming their daughter Amanda. But Alex could not forget the icy tone of her brother’s voice when he had accused Nick of being a coward and bolting with his tail between his legs. I hate you, Nick Hatton!
London went wild with the news of the British victory, and the defeat of the madman Napoleon. Celebration parties were planned by every hostess, and London’s pleasure gardens announced festive entertainments to commemorate England’s glory. The Prince of Wales would preside over the most fashionable celebration at Vauxhall. It would last for three nights in succession with victory parades around the Rotunda, culminating in a magnificent fireworks display, the likes of which had never before been seen.
Alexandra accepted invitations from both Hart Cavendish and Christopher Hatton, persuading each to take her on subsequent nights. Both men were disappointed that she refused to go on the final evening, which would of course be the most spectacular. Alex knew she must perform at Champagne Charlie’s on Saturday because the money was needed more than ever now that her mother had been found. She shared the nursing duties with Dottie and Sara but could not avoid the expense of a doctor. Alex was determined to pay off an entire year’s interest on the Coutts Bank loan before they returned to Longford Manor.
“I have it all worked out, darling.” Dottie told her granddaughter. “I shall strip the two wings of the manor of every piece of furnishing that is left and close them up tightly. We shall have one luxuriously appointed reception room where we can receive guests, and none will be the wiser. Not Annabelle and Olivia, the twin spirits of mirth and harmony, and most assuredly not Christopher Hatton when he pays court to you. If I’m not mistaken, and I never am, Lord Hatton seems rather keen these days.”
In actual fact, Lord Hatton was becoming desperate. In a futile attempt to restore some of his money, he and Rupert had spent every night of the last two weeks at White’s. His reckless gambling had not paid off, however, leaving him deeper in debt. He handed out markers with feigned casualness, knowing he must keep his financial difficulties from his friend. Marriage to Rupert’s sister was his last hope, when all else failed.
To make matters worse, Nick would be coming home now that the war was over. Kit knew he didn’t have a chance in hell of keeping his shocking financial situation from his twin. Nick was far too shrewd. His only hope was to rehearse a plausible explanation for his reckless spending and have a solution ready. Each night after Rupert left him in Curzon Street, Kit drowned his sorrows with whiskey and soothed his nerves with opium.
Nicholas Hatton stabled his horse in the cobbled coach house behind Charlie’s in Pall Mall and grinned into the darkness. It seemed only fitting that the first place he visited upon arrival in London was where he spent his last night almost a year ago.
He walked into the gilded reception room, and though his hair was long and he sported a black beard, Charlotte King knew immediately that the man in the well-worn uniform was Nick.
“Hazard Hatton, as I live and breathe! The conquering hero returns. By God, it’s good to see you.”
“Hello, Charlie. You are a sight for sore eyes—still the most elegant woman in London. No, don’t touch me; I need a bath and a shave.”
“I bet that’s not all you need!”
“Where the devil is everyone? Don’t tell me business has fallen off?”
“Saturdays have never been better. The clientele is all in there watching Caprice.” She indicated a closed door. “Take a gander and tell me what you think.”
Bemused, he opened the door, found the room in semidarkness, and stood at the back. The silence struck him as his eyes adjusted to the diffused light emanating from the stage. The sound of men breathing but making no other noise seemed unnatural. And then he saw her. The female was ethereal. The gauze curtains combined with the gaslight gave her a golden glow. Everything about her excited him, her elegance, her youth, her innocence, and her luminous beauty. Her delicate loveliness was the sort that evoked instant yearning in a male.
Nick gave her his rapt attention as she sat and lifted one slim leg. Slowly, she removed a garter, then she posed again with the other leg elevated. His mouth went dry. Surely, she had the longest legs he’d ever seen in his life. When she held her leg motionless in the air and slowly inched a striped stocking along its length, Nick’s cock went so hard he could have cracked walnuts with it. It’s because I haven’t had a woman in a long time. It’s the illusion she’s creating, revealing all, while remaining untouchable. He looked at the men seated in the semidarkness. It’s not just me; they are just as mesmerized as I am. She holds them in thrall. He was amazed at the intense desire she had aroused in him by merely pretending to be in her private chamber.
He cursed beneath his breath. Her price would be high; she was obviously the specialty of the house. There was no way he would waste his hard-earned officer’s pay on a whore, no matter how delectable. Nick laughed at himself. A sexual male animal, fully potent, such as himself, was a bloody fool to even watch her. He turned, eased the rough material that stretched taut over his erection, and quit the room.
Charlie sauntered over to him. “What do you think?
“Quite a drawing card you’ve got there.”
“Caprice is more than that. She makes the men who watch her so randy that some of them order two girls at a time.”
He shrugged. “A fool and his money …”
She took a step closer and looked up into his dark face. “Go on up to my private suite; I’ll order you a bath.”
The moment the lamps were snuffed, Alex gathered up her clothes. She had become efficient at making a quick exit through the door and up the stairs. Charlie allowed her to dress in her rooms, then Alex departed still cloaked and masked. As she emerged from the stairs, she dropped a slipper and bent to retrieve it. When she straightened, she saw that she was not alone. The tall figure of a man came down the hall toward her, and she noticed he was wearing some sort of faded uniform. His hair was long, his face covered by a black curly beard.
In a flash of recognition, Alex knew it was Nick. She felt the walls move in to meet her, and she almost fainted. She drew in a steadying breath and focused on one thought: Under no circumstances must he learn my identity!
His mouth curved in a slow smile. “Caprice.” He spoke her stage name as if he were testing its texture and flavor. “May I say you are one long-legged filly?”
“Non!” She put up a forbidding hand. “I do not speak weeth customers!” She desperately hoped that the heavy accent would disguise her voice.
His amusement increased. “No intercourse at all?”
You are a devil, Nick Hatton! Your wicked play on words is meant to fluster me. “Let me pass, m’sieur.”
He took a step closer and towered above her like a raptor closing in on its prey. His nostrils flared as her fragrance stole to him. Breast-high scent. The hunting term came to him in all its sensuality. He fought his desire before it got the better of him. I have captured so many French, they no longer interest me. He bowed and allowed her to escape.
To her cons
ternation, he opened the door to Champagne Charlie’s private suite and disappeared inside. Alex moved down the hall and opened the first door that presented itself, hoping fervently the room was unoccupied. Her hands were trembling as she donned her clothes with the utmost speed. You dissolute rakehell! How could I ever have imagined I was in love with you?
The next morning when Nick arrived in Curzon Street, he was bathed, shaved, and his hair, cropped to a fashionable length, was brushed back in its usual style. He stabled his horse behind the town house and examined the shiny perch-phaeton and the pair of chestnut carriage horses. The servants were overjoyed to see him and welcomed him back with genuine affection. He took the stairs two at a time, eager to shed the shabby uniform and put on his riding clothes. He quietly opened Kit’s chamber door a crack, expecting him to be still abed, for he was ever a late riser. Nick’s lips curved fondly when he saw the dark head of his sleeping brother. He closed the door softly so he wouldn’t disturb him and went into his own room.
When Nick emerged, he was clad in gray buckskin riding breeches and a dark green hacking jacket. When he donned the buckskins he found them loose about the waist but tight around the thighs, and he realized that his thigh muscles bulged from so many hours in the saddle. As he collected his mount from the stable, he ran his hand along the mare’s glossy coat and marveled. This was the horse he’d found on the battlefield. He’d been amazed that the animal was a mare rather than a gelding. She’d been bred for stamina and strength rather than beauty, but once he had washed the blood and dust from her, her coat shone like black satin.
He rode in Hyde Park, delighted at how lushly green everything was from the turf to the treetops. There were swans on the Serpentine and larks rising in the morning sky. Nick had never appreciated an English spring as much as he did at this moment. He nodded cordially to the gentlemen who rode past and doffed his hat to the ladies in their carriages. Most probably mistook him for his twin, but that was inconsequential, he realized happily. He was home, and nothing could diminish the joy he felt in his heart.