An Inconvenient Wife Page 3

  “A queer household, Miss Anne, and what’s to do with them young’ns I’d give a monkey to know. Never saw such a pair of mice in all my days and that keeper of theirs’ a sour old thing.”

  Anne smiled wanly at him. “I wish I knew, Bill. Something is seriously amiss there, but unless they tell me, there is nothing we can do.” She drew her brows together in question. “Did you see Monsieur Meraux this time?”

  “No, and I can’t say I regret it,” Maggie snapped as she stalked in to join them. “I didn’t take to the fellow no more than you did, and I’d warrant it’s him that’s got those children so scared.”

  Anne raised her hands and then dropped them in resignation. “I agree with you, but he is their stepfather. All we can do is to see them as often as possible and let them know we will help in any way we can.”

  Anne could tell from the stubborn expression on both Maggie’s and Bill’s faces her suggestion did not sit well with either of them. They exchanged a pointed look, but neither prolonged the argument, although it seemed Bill was not entirely willing to abandon the subject.

  “Talk to the Senhora, Miss Anne. Ask if she or the Senhor knows anything about them. Foreigners generally cause a mite of talk.” He picked up his hat, fingered the brim for an instant, and then clapped it on his head and walked out.

  After a lifetime Anne was accustomed to Bill’s abrupt manner. However, his idea had merit. The Lusitains were the Condessa’s caretakers and unlike the other servants, had stayed in Oporto to look after the house. They knew just about everyone in the area.

  She nodded at Maggie. “I will ask her first thing tomorrow.”

  “That’s all well and good, Miss Anne,” Maggie said, dropping into a chair, “and I want to help as much as anyone, but we have our own problems to resolve.” She laid her hand over Anne’s. “If you do not hear from England soon, child, you will have no choice but to ask the Consulate for help. It won’t matter anyway if he shows up here. At least we will have a chance to get a passage before that happens.”

  Anne turned her face aside and pressed her lips together until the threat of tears subsided. At times events seemed overwhelming, but Maggie was right. A decision needed to be made. She forced a smile and rose. “Give it a few more days, and then I will go to the Consulate.”

  “Well enough,” Maggie said after a long look at Anne, but if she intended to say more, thought better of it. Bonnie ambled over to sit at Maggie’s feet and her expression softened.

  “She’s a good little thing, no trouble at all. Which is more than you deserve, bringing her home like that. I doubt you will get off so easy with those children,” Maggie said with a sniff, leaning over to pick up the dog.

  Anne looked at the ball of fuzz nested in the crook of her companion’s arm. “I wish I did not think the same.” But she felt committed now and in any case, had to do something to help those youngsters.

  Chapter Four

  Hampshire, England

  Westcott straightened when St. Clair walked into the hotel bedchamber. The view of the docks below had palled some time ago and pacing in the small room almost impossible.

  “How does Lady Lynton?”

  Juliette had taken ill on the journey to Southampton and instead of embarking upon their arrival, they had found rooms in one of the many inns dotting the streets near the docks. Since St. Clair’s expression was more pleased than worried, her ailment must not be serious and some of the tension eased from Westcott’s shoulders. Perhaps they could make the morning tide after all.

  “Splendid. Not well.” St. Clair sputtered. He stared around as if surprised by his surroundings, grinned broadly, and slapped a hand on Westcott’s shoulder. “Gad, I sound an absolute nod cock. Look, there has been a change in plans. I need to talk to you and this is no place to hang about. Besides, I need a drink!”

  Westcott lifted an eyebrow. “You sound like an idiot. Is your wife well or not?”

  “No, no, not here.” St. Clair grinned again and strode from the room. “Come along.”

  “Devlin, if this is one of your mad starts…” Westcott’s words fell unheard into an empty chamber and resigned, he followed his friend downstairs.

  St. Clair called to the innkeeper for some brandy as they walked through the common area, grabbed the forthcoming bottle and a pair of glasses, and led Westcott into a private room.

  “Take a drink with me, Nick.” St. Clair splashed the spirit into the tumblers, handed one to Westcott, and raised his high. “I’m going to be a father. Juliette is with child.”

  The man’s smile was so wide Westcott thought it might split his head and he grinned back and held up his glass. “Congratulations, Devlin! No wonder you are acting the fool.” He stepped closer to his life-long friend, gave him a brotherly punch on the arm, and touched his glass to the earl’s. “Santé, old fellow. It makes a man half-crazy, but it’s worth it. Now, tell me how the lady is, and what change in plans do you propose?”

  St. Clair finished his brandy, and looking somewhat more collected, though still with the besotted look which had become a fixture on his face, refilled their glasses.

  “Juliette is well enough, according to the physician, except for these bouts of sickness, which apparently we can look forward to for the next few months.”

  “Or more,” Westcott warned him with a laugh. “At the very least, it will seem that long.” He leaned against the sideboard and took another sip of his brandy. “Next you are going to tell me she will not be able to travel.”

  St. Clair’s smile faded and he set aside his glass. “No, we cannot continue, Nick. I want her back at Lynton Hall where she will have proper care if it becomes necessary. You will need to go on alone and manage as best you can. You know as much about the situation as I do.”

  “Do I?” Westcott retorted, unable to keep the anger from his voice. “What in hell am I to do with a young girl if it becomes necessary to bring her here?”

  “There is no reason to think it might come to that. In all likelihood, Danielle is content with her family and has no desire for any change.”

  “More likely that anything that can possibly go wrong will.” Westcott downed the remainder of his brandy and started for the door.

  “Nick, I’m counting on you. We both are. Juliette feels badly about foisting this entirely on you but she is very worried about the girl. She feels la Comtesse would never have told us of her brother’s illegitimate child if she had not been seriously concerned, and I must agree her letter conveyed a strong sense of urgency.”

  Westcott halted and looked back over his shoulder. “I gave you my word on it,” he said quietly, then smiled widely. “It is good news, Dev. I’m pleased for you. Take your lady home. I’ll do my best for you.”

  “That’s all I ask.” St. Clair picked up the bottle. “Wait, I’ll go with you to tell Carlisle. And Nick? Thank you.”

  Westcott laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t thank me yet, my friend. It may be I fail in finding the child. Time will tell.”

  Westcott maintained what he felt was an air of good humour during the brief celebratory drink with Carlisle and St. Clair. He well remembered the strangely contradictory feeling of joy and panic at learning of incipient parenthood and was sincerely delighted for St. Clair and his charming wife. To him, his irrational sense of betrayal and justifiable anger at this turn of events was not important, and no reason to spoil this moment for his friend. But the pretense faded the instant he took his leave with the excuse of last-minute preparations. Nothing good would come of this venture. He felt sure of it.

  ~* * *~

  Westcott stood on the deck, one shoulder braced against the bulkhead, and watched the smudge of gray on the horizon that was Portugal. Given the time of year, the voyage had not been unpleasant, and he had the satisfaction of surviving the entire trip without being ill. Not that he felt particularly well, but for the first time a sea trip had not banished him to a berth in misery.

  A hail announced a vi
sitor and he turned to see the Captain stride toward him with his usual enviable balance. “You could at least stumble now and again, Carlisle,” Westcott grumbled, half in jest.

  “You could fall off your horse now and again,” Carlisle threw back at him with a laugh, referring to Westcott’s equestrian skills and his own lesser proficiency in the saddle.

  “I could at that.” The viscount’s smile was as broad as his friend’s. He, St. Clair and Carlisle had been inseparable since their schooldays. They’d met on his first day at Eton, when Jasper, the smallest of them all, had jumped in, fists flying, to aid Westcott when some older boys had attempted to ‘break the bloody viscount in’. St. Clair had plunged in right behind.

  Carlisle’s searching gaze swept the decks and the foam-topped waters below before he joined Westcott in his sheltered corner. “What are you doing out here, Nick? It’s damn cold.”

  Westcott shrugged, his eyes returning to the horizon. “The air helps, and since I’ve managed not to disgrace myself this trip…” He shrugged again. “How long before we reach Oporto?”

  Carlisle looked sideways at him. “Tomorrow, if the weather holds and I expect it will. Anxious to get on with it?”

  “Anxious to get it finished,” Westcott replied, “and get home to Sarah.”

  “I’ll bet a monkey Sarah is thoroughly enjoying herself and will even more when St. Clair and his lady get back to cosset her, along with your mother and every servant in the place. Don’t worry about Sarah.”

  “I know that!” Westcott heard the sour note in his voice and grimaced. “We haven’t been apart since the accident,” he said. “She was so pleased about going.”

  Carlisle looked at him levelly. “You can’t keep her sequestered forever, no matter how much you want to protect her.” He glanced around again, and apparently deeming all was well, gripped Westcott’s arm. “I’ve had enough of this wind. Come below. A shot of whiskey will keep you shipshape.”

  “So you say,” Westcott groused, but made no objection. Truth was, the wind did have a bite to it, and settled a few minutes later in the Captain’s snug cabin, glass of spirit in his hand, Westcott did feel more the thing. Maybe he was developing some sea legs, at least when the water was calm.

  “Tell me again about this French girl you are going to see.” Carlisle topped up their glasses. “I couldn’t get much sense from St. Clair. Who would imagine that hey-go-mad being bowled over by a baby?”

  They exchanged an amused look and Westcott sipped at the brandy, savoring the fiery heat as it warmed his chest and belly. “The girl is la Comtesse’s niece. The child was adopted but both parents have since died and she is in the care of her adoptive mother’s second husband. For some reason, the man has taken her to Portugal.” One corner of his mouth curled back and he lifted a brow. “This did not sit well with la Comtesse. She is…was concerned for Miss Durant’s well-being and her dying wish was for St. Clair and Juliette to ensure she is in good hands.” He swirled the liquid in his glass around and smiled cynically. “The girl is an heiress of sorts and is not aware of her true parentage. It may be she is being taken advantage of.”

  Carlisle whistled. “What in hell are you going to do if she does need rescuing? You could be walking into a mess, my friend.”

  “You think I don’t know it?” Westcott answered with some bitterness. “I counted on having Juliette along—to take charge of the chit if necessary. Now….” He pushed his glass across the table for a refill.

  Carlisle divided the remainder of the bottle between them. “Let’s hope it will not be necessary. Could be the girl is happy where she is and you can return home with a good report.”

  Westcott snorted, held up his hands in a resigned gesture, and returned his friend’s skeptical look with one of his own.

  “That may be, but my gut tells me otherwise and I’ve learned to trust it.” Expect trouble ahead, Westcott, and you won’t be disappointed.

  ~* * *~

  Portugal

  It appeared to be a daily routine.

  The gentleman Westcott had been told was Claude Meraux set out each mid-day, and soon after an older couple appeared to collect two children and a maid. The trio stayed out for two hours, returning well before Monsieur Meraux reappeared. The children were a puzzle, unusually quiet and serious, and he was glad he had not approached the odd family the minute he learned of their whereabouts. Today he planned to follow them. He had already determined that Meraux spent the afternoons in a coffeehouse, indulging in an occasional game of cards. Often he appeared to conduct some sort of business with other members of the small French community residing in Oporto, and not the most respectable members.

  I’d like to know what that business is. None of the traders I spoke to know anything about him, so where is he getting the funds to finance his leisurely pursuits and this so-called business?

  Westcott trailed the children at a safe distance. Although finding Meraux had not been difficult, he had no idea how to approach this girl who was purported to be la Comtesse’s niece. And what of the boy? Was he Meraux’s son? Westcott had been in Oporto for several days and had little more information now than when he arrived.

  His quarry turned into a quiet street lined with the high, stone walls that hid the villas of the wealthier residents of Oporto and he halted at the corner to watch them. They stopped at a small door beside the high double gates guarding one of the villas, the girl spoke briefly to the maid, and then followed the boy and the couple through the doorway. The maid, Westcott was interested to see, did not join them, but walked on alone.

  He went in the opposite direction, searching for an alehouse. If the youngsters kept to their normal routine, he had an hour or more to wait; and a drink with the local residents was a good way to obtain some information about the occupants of that villa.

  The common room was cool and dark and Westcott paused inside the entrance until his eyes adjusted. At this time of day, few tables were occupied. He walked over, leaned against the ancient counter and ordered cerveja, well aware every eye in the room marked him as a stranger. But he spoke the language well, and after spinning a short tale to explain his presence, encouraged the loquacious barman to talk about the area and its residents. In any case, the beer was good.

  Westcott wandered out sometime later, the better for the drink, but uncertain how accurate the information volunteered by the barman was. An English lady and her servants stayed in the gatehouse of the Villa de Campo des Flores, guests of the Condessa, who was away in the country. No one knew the children who visited every day, but sometimes the ‘foreign’ lady was known to play music while they were there. Could it possibly be as simple as that? The children were having a music lesson? Why so far from their home, and why not a French teacher?

  Westcott took up a watchful post near the villa. If they held true to form, they would leave soon to return home. No need to follow today. It might be more productive to investigate the English woman.

  He did not have long to wait. The children emerged first and the boy held the leash of a small dog that frisked around their feet. The man and woman followed, along with the children’s maid, and then another woman. She said something to the boy, who slowed his pace, and then taking the girl’s hand, walked along with them.

  Westcott moved back into a shadowy doorway on the opposite side of the street, but no one paid any attention to him. He had never seen her with the children before and the woman’s headscarf made it hard to determine her features or age, although she appeared to be much younger than her adult companions.

  He kept well back, but since he knew their destination, had no need to keep them in sight. He did want to know more about the Englishwoman. What was special about today that she chose to accompany them? Perhaps it was due to the dog, for she picked up the animal when they arrived at Meraux’s house and touched each of the children lightly on the shoulder.

  She waited until they disappeared inside before turning to retrace her steps. Feeling like an
idiot—what the devil was he doing following these people around?—Westcott trailed behind them, not giving up the chase until they turned into the open-air market. However much he wanted to simply knock on the door of the villa and ask what they had to do with those children, he doubted it would be well received. Better to make some inquiries first. Although most of his holdings were in Lisbon, he kept a small house here and knew where to go for information. Reluctant to give up entirely, he sauntered into the market, hoping for one more look at the lady who so roused his curiosity. It should be safe enough, since they had no idea who he was or of his interest, but to his disappointment, she was lost in the crowds.

  Chapter Five

  Far from being lost in the crowd, Anne stood in the shadowy protection of an awning-covered fruit stall. Bill had noticed the stranger several days ago. Both curious and apprehensive, she had come along today to see for herself. Why would someone be following the children? Or was it someone the Major had sent to spy on them? If so, the man was not very accomplished in skulking around and avoiding attention.

  Anne had deliberately stayed away from Meraux’s house in fear of disturbing the tenuous agreement she had reached with the Frenchman. After the period he initially decreed had ended, she had been successful in persuading him to allow the children to come each day, care for the dog, and receive music lessons.

  She shrank back as the stranger drew nearer and turned enough to the side that her face was obscured, but she could still see him. Eyes, deep set in a strong-featured face, brown hair overlong, and a supple form that slipped easily through the throng. A hard man, she sensed for some reason, and wished she had been able to determine the colour of his eyes.

  Anne waited until she was sure he was gone before searching out Maggie, who loitered a short distance away. Bill planned to turn the tables and follow the stranger.