"I don't see that-he'd have helped, why wouldn't he? It's not as if you two don't go back near to all your lives. He's known you since you was in your cradle. You played as babies and all through the years, right up until you was fifteen and ready to be a lady." Her tidying done, candle in hand, Nellie approached the big bed. "If you was just to go to him and explain it all, I'm sure he'd help."
"Believe me, Nellie, that wouldn't work. While he'll extend himself to help the mysterious countess, he would never do the same for me." Turning onto her side, Alathea closed her eyes and ignored Nellie's disbelieving sniff. "Good night."
After a moment, a soft, grumbling "Good night" reached her. The candlelight playing on her eyelids faded, then the door clicked as Nellie let herself out.
Alathea sighed, sinking deeper into the mattress, trying to relax the muscles that had tensed when he'd kissed her. That was the one development she hadn't foreseen but it was hardly serious, presumably the sort of sophisticated dalliance he practiced on all likely ladies. If she could start her charade again, she'd think twice about making herself a widow, one already out of mourning, but it was done-the masquerade had begun. And while she might not be able to fully explain it to Nellie, her charade was absolutely essential.
Rupert Melrose Cynster, her childhood playmate, was the one, perfectly armed knight she'd had to win to her side. She knew his true mettle-what he could accomplish, would accomplish, once he was fully committed to a cause. With him as her champion, they would have a real chance of triumphing over the Central East Africa Gold Company. Without his aid, that feat had appeared close to impossible.
Knowing him of old-so well, so thoroughly-she'd known that to secure his commitment, she would need to fully engage his ofttimes fickle interest. She needed him to focus on her problem, willingly bringing his considerable abilities to bear. So she'd invented the countess and, cloaked in beguiling mystery, had set about recruiting him, body and soul, to her cause.
She'd won her first battle-he was ready to fight beside her. For the first time since Figgs had placed the wretched promissory note before her, she allowed herself to believe in ultimate victory.
As far as the ton would see, the Morwellans were in town as expected to allow the younger daughters to make their curtsies to society and for Charlie to make his bow. She, the eldest daughter, now an ape-leader, would hug the shadows, assisting with her stepsisters' come-outs, in her spare moments donning cloak and veil to masquerade as the countess and remove the sword presently poised over her family's future.
She smiled at such melodramatic thoughts. They came easily to mind-she knew precisely what she was doing. She also knew precisely why Rupert wouldn't have helped her as he would the countess, although it wasn't something she was eager to explain, even to Nellie.
They disliked being in the same room, certainly not within ten feet of each other. Any closer proximity was like wearing a hair shirt. The peculiarity had afflicted them from the age of eleven and twelve; since then, it had been a constant in their lives. What caused it remained a mystery. As their younger selves, they'd tried to ignore it, pretend it wasn't there, but the relief they'd both felt when her impending ladyhood had spelled an end to their all but daily association had been too real to ignore.
Of course they'd never discussed it, but his reaction was there in the sharpening of his hazel gaze, the sudden tensing of his muscles, in the difficulty he had remaining near her for more than a few minutes. Uncomfortable wasn't an adequate description-the affliction was far worse than that.
She'd never been able to decide if she reacted to him as he did to her, or if her aggravation arose in response to his. Whatever the truth, their mutual affliction was something they'd learned to live with, learned to hide, and ultimately, learned to avoid. Neither would unnecessarily precipitate a prolonged encounter.
That was why, despite growing up as they had, despite their families being such close neighbors, he and she had never waltzed. They had danced-one country dance. Even that had left her breathless, waspish and thoroughly out of temper. Like him, she wasn't given to displays of temper-the only one able to provoke her, all but instantly, was he.
And that-all of that-explained why the countess had walked the porch of St. Georges. While she could not, absolutely, know his mind and thus be certain he would not have personally helped her, she imagined his instincts would have prompted him to help, but his reaction to her would have mitigated against it. Dealing with the company for her would mean seeing her frequently, often alone, which usually made the affliction worse. They'd met briefly only a few months ago-their affliction was stronger than ever. They'd reduced each other to quivering rage in under three minutes. She couldn't believe, if she asked for his help, that he'd break the habit of years and readily spend hours in her company-or, if he did, that it wouldn't drive them both demented.
More to the point, she hadn't been able to risk finding out. If she'd presented her problem to him as herself, only to have him send her to Montague, she couldn't then have appeared as the countess.
No choice.
He would never forgive her if he ever found out-ever learned she was the countess. He would probably do worse than that. But she'd had no choice-her conscience wasn't troubling her, not really. If there'd been any other sure way of getting him to help her without deceiving him, she would have taken it, but…
She was halfway asleep, drifting in the mists, her mind revisiting bits and pieces of their rendezvous, revolving more and more about that unnerving kiss, when she started awake. Blinking, eyes wide, she stared up at the canopy-and considered the fact that their decades-old mutual affliction had not reared its head that night.
Chapter 2
"Ala-the-aaa. Whoo-hoo! Allie! Can you pass the butter, please?"
Alathea focused-Alice was pointing across the luncheon table. Bemusedly glancing in that direction, her brain belatedly caught up with reality; lifting the butter dish, she passed it across.
"You're in a brown study today." Serena was sitting next to her, at the end of the table.
Alathea waved dismissively. "I didn't sleep all that well last night." She'd been so keyed up, primed to play the countess, desperate to secure Rupert's aid, that she'd rested not at all before her three o'clock appointment. And afterwards… after her success, after that kiss, after realizing… she shook aside the distraction. "I'm still not used to all the street sounds."
"Perhaps you should move to another room?"
Glancing at Serena's sweet face, brow furrowed with concern, Alathea clasped her stepmother's hand. "Don't worry. I'm perfectly happy with my room. It faces the back gardens as it is."
Serena's face eased. "Well… if you're sure. But now Alice has woken you up"-her eyes twinkled-"I wanted to check how much we can afford to spend on the girls' walking dresses."
Alathea gladly gave Serena her attention. Short, plump, and fashionably matronly, Serena was gentle and retiring, yet in the matter of her daughters' come-outs, she'd proved both shrewd and well up to snuff. With real relief, Alathea had consigned all the details of their social lives, including their wardrobes, to Serena, more than content to play a supporting role in that sphere. They'd been in town for just over a week and all was on track for a pleasant Season all around.
All she had to do was prove the Central East Africa Gold Company a fraud, and all would be well.