If the ton learned she had been trying to pass off a girl like that as a true-born lady . . .
For Alice, the consequence would be social disgrace—even without Bamber’s releasing those letters. The consequences for Lucy? Social disgrace in a society that she didn’t much care about. But she’d be on her own again.
The more Alice came to know her, the more she liked Lucy. There was a kind of reckless courage about her—she supposed it came of having to manage for herself for most her life. Lucy thought that Lord Tarrant’s daughters had had a strange life, but from Alice’s point of view, Lucy had had just as strange an upbringing. No permanent home, five schools, two foreign ladies and a father she couldn’t even contact? And who knew what else?
Yet despite it all, Lucy was a kind girl. The minute she’d learned about her father blackmailing Alice—and even though this masquerade was the last thing Lucy wanted—she’d accepted Alice’s position and tried to make the best of it.
The servants liked her, too, despite her initial truculence and bad behavior. Servants were usually excellent judges of character.
If only Lucy hadn’t run into Gerald on the Brighton road.
He was as stubborn as his father. He was also quite protective of Alice. What to do? Tell him the truth, or try to stick to the story they’d concocted? Or take him into her confidence and enlist his help in trying to trace Bamber and get the letters back?
Oh, the indecision.
* * *
* * *
James’s carriage drew away from Bellaire Gardens. “What the devil was up with you tonight?” he said to Thornton. “I don’t know what all that goose girl nonsense was about, but—”
“It’s not nonsense,” Thornton insisted. “And it confirms the uneasy feeling I’ve had about my aunt and that girl since the beginning. I did meet her on the Brighton road in some small, obscure village. I talked to her, face-to-face, as close as you and I are now. She was shabbily dressed and carrying a goose. So why is a girl like that living in my aunt’s house, being introduced to the ton?”
“I’m not sure what I think of Miss Lucy Bamber,” James said. “She’s a minx, that one. But I can’t believe your aunt would be party to such a—”
“Didn’t you notice Aunt Alice’s reaction? She was worried, on edge, but she wasn’t surprised. She knew that girl was a goose girl. Oh, she tried to pretend she didn’t know what I was talking about, but she’s a hopeless liar, always has been. And I can always tell.”
James said nothing. He had noticed Alice’s reaction. There was guilt there, as well as anxiety.
Thornton hurried on. “When I was ten, I broke my leg—fell off my horse—and was laid up for weeks. I was bored to death, but Aunt Alice read to me by the hour and played endless games of cards and other games. I can always tell when she’s bluffing or trying to trick me. Always.” He met James’s eyes. “Something fishy is going on. I’m sure of it.”
“I see.” James nodded. It was an outrageous claim, that a titled lady would take in a goose girl and try to pass her off as a lady—for what purpose?—but Thornton had always been levelheaded. “Have you asked her directly about it?”
“No, but until I worked out where I’d seen that girl before, all I had to go on was nebulous suspicion. I’m going to speak to her about it first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Just be sure of your facts then, because as things stand, it’s your word against that of Miss Bamber. And frankly, hers is more believable. A goose called Ghislaine?”
They drove through the London streets in silence. Several times Thornton glanced at James, opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glanced out the window, shifted uncomfortably, opened his mouth but again said nothing. Clearly, he had more on his mind.
The carriage pulled up in front of Thornton’s lodgings. He opened the door, jumped down, then turned back and said in a rush, “Tarrant, I need to ask you something.”
“Yes?” James had a fair idea of what it was.
“I’m very fond of Aunt Alice, so I must ask, what are your intentions?”
“To fetch my daughters and bring them back to London,” James said smoothly. “ ’Night, Thornton.” He rapped on the roof of the carriage, and it moved off.
James knew perfectly well what Thornton was asking him, but he was damned if he’d answer to her nephew. Alice was a grown woman, a widow in her middle thirties. James only needed to explain his intentions to her.
* * *
* * *
She was going to have to confess. Alice had decided. The idea of trying to continue the bluff with Gerald was impossible. She’d never been a good liar and to attempt it would strain her nerves horribly.
Once she’d made that decision, a weight lifted off her shoulders.
Gerald arrived at ten, still faintly smoldering and obviously prepared for an argument. She greeted him calmly and served him coffee and gingernuts—his favorites.
“Aunt Alice, that girl—” he began.
“I know what you’re going to say, Gerald,” she interrupted.
“No, you don’t. I really did meet her on the Brighton road where—”
“She and a goose called Ghislaine caused you to lose your race.”
“I know it sounds ridic—” He broke off. “How did you know?”
“Lucy told me all about it.”
He stared at her. “So you did know all along. I knew it!”
“Yes. Now drink your coffee, Gerald, and I’ll explain the whole thing. And I hope I can trust you to keep a confidence.”
He didn’t like that, she saw, but the appeal to his gentlemanly instincts did its job. He gave a curt nod. “Of course.”
Alice explained the situation: the unexpected appearance of Octavius Bamber, the blackmail, Bamber’s requirement that Alice sponsor Lucy’s come-out, the baptism—everything. It was quite a relief to get it all out in the open, even if it was to a disapproving nephew.
When she’d finished, he said, “These letters, Aunt Alice, are they, er . . . ?”
“Deeply embarrassing. You don’t need to know any more.”
“No, no, of course not,” he said, reddening. No doubt his imagination was working overtime, but she couldn’t help that. She had no intention of explaining their contents to anyone.
“Well, the solution to that is obvious. I’ll confront that swine Bamber and force him to give the letters up, and then you can be rid of that girl and—”