Intriguing Lady Read online

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Intriguing Lady

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Intriguing Lady

  By Leonora Blythe

  Copyright 2014 by Leonora Blythe

  Cover Copyright 2014 by Untreed Reads Publishing

  Cover Design by Ginny Glass

  The author is hereby established as the sole holder of the copyright. Either the publisher (Untreed Reads) or author may enforce copyrights to the fullest extent.

  Previously published in print, 1982.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher or author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, dialogue and events in this book are wholly fictional, and any resemblance to companies and actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Also by Leonora Blythe and Untreed Reads Publishing

  Carolina

  Felicia

  Helene

  Lady Tara

  Miranda

  Sally

  http://www.untreedreads.com

  For

  Nancy with the sparkling eyes

  and

  Louise, who was so generous with

  her time

  Intriguing Lady

  Leonora Blythe

  Chapter 1

  The old-fashioned traveling carriage which was carrying Miss Roberta Rushforth and her companion, Mrs. Ashley, on the final stage of their journey across France toward England moved at a fast pace. The speed was dictated by Roberta, who, after six months’ absence from her native land, was anxious to return.

  Williams, the coachman, a wiry old gent, clucked his disapproval of the pace every time he urged the horses on; yet, having known his mistress from the hour she entered the world some seven and twenty years ago, he suspected she would take over the reins if he ignored her orders.

  “It comes to summat that we’ve got to risk breaking our necks to get back in time to see the bloomin’ flowers,” he muttered in the northern brogue that he stubbornly retained even though he had lived most of his adult life in London. “I’ve never ’eard of such nonsense in me life.”

  His indignation was caused not only by the speed but by the fact that the party presented an undignified appearance as the horses dashed pell-mell along the bumpy, ill-kept roads. Moreover, since leaving Switzerland, he had not been treated with the respect he had come to regard as his right, and even taking into consideration the outmoded traveling conveyance, it was hard for him to conceive that no one in France had ever heard of the Rushforth family or was willing to pay homage to that old, illustrious name. From the moment they had left Switzerland, he had had a constant fight to get decent accommodations for his mistress, and on at least three occasions, he himself had been forced to sleep over the stables.

  “Not tonight, though,” he told himself grimly, “for no matter what ’er ladyship says, we’re going no farther than Le Cateau. Henri will be only too willing to see that we’re treated in the proper manner.” Henri Lamonte was his late wife’s cousin and had inherited Le Cheval Blanc, the only hostelry Le Cateau sported.

  The two occupants sat gazing at the passing scenery from their respective windows, oblivious to the coachman’s misery. Mrs. Ashley’s hands were busy with her tatting, while Roberta’s elegantly gloved ones were impatiently drumming on the faded upholstery.

  The dramatic scenery of Switzerland had long since been replaced by the dull, rolling countryside of France, and this didn’t suit Roberta’s mood at all. Their journey thus far had been uneventful, unless one were to count as exciting one of the horses going lame just outside Metz.

  Now, with nothing more to do than sit in the carriage, with only Mrs. Ashley for company, Roberta was bored.

  She was finally roused from her brown study when she realized that Williams was slowing the coach. “I wonder if there has been an accident,” she remarked, her melodious voice breaking the silence that had prevailed all morning. But the pause was only fleeting, and they soon resumed the earlier fast pace. “Poor Williams,” she continued, covering behind a determined smile her disappointment that there was to be no diversion. “He must be rueing the day he ever sought service with the Rushforths. I think these past two weeks have been a sore trial to his dignity.”

  “As they have been to mine, Roberta,” Mrs. Ashley rejoined as she tried, unsuccessfully, to resettle her large frame more comfortably. “But then, you were ever the one to set your own pace. And once you’ve got an idea fixed in your mind, there’s no stopping you. I just hope we reach London in one piece.”

  Mrs. Ashley spoke with the ease of an old retainer, which she was. For when Roberta had been orphaned at the age of five, Lord Bromley, Roberta’s uncle and guardian, had hired Mrs. Ashley with explicit instructions to provide Roberta with love and affection, which hadn’t proved the least bit difficult. The child had been an engaging little soul, even though she tended toward wildness at times.

  As Roberta had grown older, this wildness had turned into a savage independence. This, in Mrs. Ashley’s considered opinion, had ultimately cooled the ardor of her many suitors when she had made her debut seven years ago. Even so, it still was a puzzlement to Mrs. Ashley that, with her looks, breeding and fortune, Roberta hadn’t been snapped up by some worthy gentleman willing to overlook this flaw in her character. There had been one, but he had been altogether unsuitable, and Mrs. Ashley could only hope that Roberta had forgotten him.

  Now Mrs. Ashley wondered what the future held for her charge and worried lest, on their return, Roberta would be dubbed an old maid by the people who knew her best. She turned her gaze inward and studied her charge intently, looking for any overt signs of the miracle that had so recently occurred. There were none, despite the tedium of the journey. She still looked pale, which accentuated her brown-flecked hazel eyes. But the thinness of her figure was carefully disguised by an elegant and obviously expensive emerald gown, and her flaming red hair, cut in an unfashionably short bob, was hidden beneath a wide-brimmed bonnet.

  “I do wish Dr. Steinway hadn’t insisted on cutting your hair so short,” Mrs. Ashley said, shaking her head in regret. “It will take forever to grow back to its original length.”

  Roberta laughed at Mrs. Ashley’s melancholy expression and reached over to squeeze her hand. “I thought to keep it like this,” she teased, “for I find it prodigiously easy to take care of.”

  “Roberta!” Mrs. Ashley exclaimed in shocked tones. “Don’t even jest about such a thing. I cannot think that you will enjoy being seen abroad, sporting such an unfashionable frizz. Why, people will think you an eccentric.” She shuddered at the thought. “No, no, my dear. Now that you are
cured, there is no need at all to worry that growing it long will sap your strength. No need at all.”

  Roberta appeared to consider this for a while and then relented as she saw the look of worry in Mrs. Ashley’s eyes.

  “Well,” she said, “if it makes you feel easier, I will agree to do as you wish. Anyway, it’s fashionable for a female of my advanced years to hide her burnished glory beneath a cap.”

  Mrs. Ashley smiled her acceptance of this compromise but ignored the last piece of bamming.

  “I hope you are not concerned that your condition will recur, Roberta,” she remarked. “Dr. Steinway was most emphatic that your lungs are completely clear.”

  “That is the least of my worries.” Roberta laughed. “Having just spent the last six months undergoing what I can only consider to be the most grueling of treatments, I have no intention of ever being sick again in my life. Oh, Ashley!” she continued, her boredom forgotten for the moment, “it’s a wonderfully exhilarating thought to know that I have been cured. Do you remember when we thought I’d never breathe properly again? And the time I was convinced I’d never see another English spring? You spent the best part of a week persuading me otherwise. What nonsense I must have spoken, yet never once did you withdraw your support.”

  She broke off as the carriage came to a halt. Looking out the window, she noticed they were standing in the middle of a cobblestoned courtyard. “What is it, Williams?” she asked as she opened the window.

  Williams clambered down from his perch and made his way slowly around the carriage. He opened the door and lowered the steps with a flourish. “Nothing’s amiss,” he muttered. “I just thought as ’ow you might like to spend a night in a comfortable bed, for a change, and partake of the excellent food for which this inn is renowned.”

  “We’re not stopping!” Roberta exclaimed. She could now see the inn. It was a pretty, white-stoned, gabled building covered in a flowering creeper. She felt instinctively it would be a pleasant place to spend the night. Yet she continued perversely, “Why, there must still be two hours of daylight left.”

  “If you will pardon me for saying so, Miss Roberta, I’ve ’ad about as much as I can take for one day. This dampness ’as gotten into my joints summat awful, and I can ’ardly move my right ’and.”

  “Oh, Williams, you poor man!” Impetuously, Roberta jumped to the ground and took the aging servant by the arm. “I insist that we stay here until you feel better, even if it means a delay of a week.”

  Her concern was genuine, until the landlord appeared from a side door. As he hurried over, he greeted Williams as a long-lost friend. Roberta drew back and in severe tones ordered Williams to her side. “Is this some ploy you’ve thought up to spend some time dallying with an old acquaintance?” she demanded. “Where are we?”

  Williams shuffled from one foot to the other and resolutely refused to look up at Roberta’s severe countenance. “We’re but two days from Calais, Miss Roberta,” he wheedled, “and I thought to myself as ’ow you wouldn’t mind putting up at ’Enri’s inn.”

  Henri began to shake his head. “Mon dieu, but it is impossible. I have rooms, yes, but not one available that is suitable for a lady. It…it is impossible. Impossible.”

  Roberta eyed the rotund little Frenchman for a moment. He threw his hands in the air in a gesture of finality. There was something in his manner that aroused her curiosity. She gave him a haughty stare and then turned to Williams. “You may tell him, Williams, that I am too tired to travel farther today, and that I will take whatever rooms he has.”

  “C’est tres difficile,” Henri muttered without waiting for the message to be relayed. “The English lord has bespoke my best rooms and…and…non, mademoiselle, I think it not a good thing for you to inconvenience yourself by staying here.”

  “I don’t know what’s gotten into ’im, Miss Roberta,” Williams declared angrily. “And we’re supposed to be related. Now, look ’ere, Henri,” he continued, “you ’eard what Miss Rushforth said. We’ll take whatever rooms you ’ave, and be done with it. It’s just not dignified for you to behave in such a fashion, and ’ere’s me thinking as ’ow you’d be pleased to see me after all these years.”

  Henri hastened to apologize, but Williams, his pride wounded, refused to listen. Instead, he turned back to the carriage and inquired of Mrs. Ashley whether she was ready to descend.

  Meanwhile, Roberta, sorry that she had caused a rift between the two men, hastened to put Henri at ease. “Williams will come about, for he seldom takes offense and never holds a grudge,” she said in reassuring tones. “So please do not dwell on what he just said. Perhaps your wife could show me to my rooms?”

  Henri shook his head unhappily. “Mademoiselle…” he began, and then, catching sight of Williams’s outraged face, continued in more accommodating tones, “I will see what can be arranged for your comfort. Please, this way.”

  Roberta, her curiosity now fully roused, nodded and, without waiting for Mrs. Ashley, followed Henri through the front door. The hallway was gleaming. The flagstone floor, dotted with rush mats, looked as though it had only just been scrubbed, and the walls were covered with an assortment of horse brasses, pen-and-ink sketches and brass rubbings.

  “Please…please excuse me,” Henri said. “I will go fetch my wife.” He bowed low and left the room hurriedly.

  Roberta could hear voices raised in argument, although the actual conversation was indistinct. Finally, there was a silence, and then the door opened and a pleasant-faced, middle-aged woman entered.

  “Mademoiselle Rushforth, I’m Marie, Henri’s wife. I beg you to excuse his bad manners. You must, of course, have our best rooms, and I have sent the chambermaid up to prepare them for you. Perhaps, while you wait, you would care for something to drink?”

  Roberta nodded. “You are too kind, Marie. I have no desire to cause your other guest offense, though. The rooms you have available will be perfectly all right, I’m sure.”

  “Non, non, mademoiselle. They are over the taproom, and sometimes the noise can be quite horrendous. You know how men get when they have had a few brandies.”

  Roberta had heard enough stories from her uncle about the raucous behavior of some of his bibulous friends to enable her now to nod and smile knowingly. “I can only hope the Englishman will not mind,” she said.

  “Oh, I doubt he will be here tonight. He had business in another village and is not expected back until morning. So you see, it is quite a simple matter to rearrange things to accommodate you. But Henri, his mind is not so flexible.” She threw her hands in the air to express her exasperation and left Roberta, promising to bring in some refreshments immediately.

  Roberta looked about her and liked what she saw. The ceiling was low and beamed, and the deep-set windows overlooked a rose garden. Floral curtains were held back by red braids, and the cushions on the country-style chairs and sofa were covered in a matching fabric.

  “Charming,” she murmured as she moved to inspect the stone fireplace. “Absolutely charming.”

  “Isn’t it just?” Mrs. Ashley concurred as she entered. “I’m so pleased Williams stopped here, for I can confess now that a break in our journey is what I need.”

  “Why don’t we stop here for a few days, then?” Roberta suggested impulsively. “If the weather brightens, we might even explore the countryside.”

  “An excellent idea, Roberta,” Mrs. Ashley said. “I think a little bit of peace and quiet is the best thing for us.”

  “And maybe,” Roberta mused, “I can discover why Henri seemed so reluctant to let us stay here in the first place.” A mischievous smile lit her face. “If there is a mystery to be solved, it would certainly break the tedium we have suffered so far.”

  “Now, now, Roberta, there is no need to be looking for trouble. Just content yourself with partaking of some walks and putting some color into your cheeks. I want you to look healthy when we arrive in England.”

  “Yes, Ashley, of course,” Roberta r
esponded meekly. “Why don’t you tell Henri of our change in plan, while I go and inspect the garden.”

  She left the room before Mrs. Ashley could reply. She had seen a young boy bearing a striking resemblance to their host, just outside the windows, and she wanted to have a word with him before he disappeared. Perhaps he could provide a few of the answers she sought.

  When she reentered the inn some fifteen minutes later, there was a satisfied expression on her face. Jacques, for that had been the lad’s name, had been most helpful. She had learned that the absent Englishman’s business involved a local beauty with whom he was passionately in love. She couldn’t help but be intrigued.

  Chapter 2

  The night was well advanced when Roberta finally readied herself for bed. She had spent a pleasant evening with Mrs. Ashley in their private sitting room, making plans for her reemergence into Society. But alone now, memories she had thought long-suppressed came flooding back, keeping her awake.

  The face of Stephen Davenport danced in front of her eyes. She cradled her head in her hands and wished, without any real hope, for a miracle that would dull the pain she felt every time she thought of him. Eighteen months had elapsed since she had sent Stephen away forever, yet she knew without a doubt she still loved him.

  She sighed in defeat as she sat in front of her dresser, enveloped in a brooding silence. She realized that, for tonight, at least, it was a useless fight to keep her memories of Stephen at bay. Stephen was the man she was to have married, despite the disapproval shown by her guardian, Lord Bromley, and by Mrs. Ashley. She had ignored their advice not to encourage his suit, for her love of him had been overwhelming, and she hadn’t been able to envisage life without him.

  He was not overly tall, yet in his presence she felt dwarfed. His physique was truly masculine: broad shoulders, narrow waist and slender hips. His style was unmistakably Corinthian, whether he was dressed in his finest velvets and satins or the buckskin pantaloons and tailored jackets made for him by Weston.