Marina paled.
Lord Luce smiled nastily as he continued, ‘Remember, Miss Beaumont, that it is I, not my mother, who pay you. And that it is to me you will answer, if you fail in your appointed task. That is all I wish to say to you. You may go.’
There was nothing more to be said. Marina automatically dipped a brief curtsy and left the room. Her heart was pounding madly. She understood at last why Lady Blaine had written that short, cold letter to Mama. At the time, Marina had wondered why her haughty relation should suddenly offer to recommend her to a comfortable position, after decades of estrangement. But since pride was a luxury that the Beaumonts could not afford, Marina had had to accept the crumbs from the rich man’s table. Now, too late, she could see that the crumbs were laced with poison.
She was trapped. And she was alone in London. She could turn to no one for advice. If she was loyal to Lady Luce, the Earl would dismiss her. If she acted as the Earl’s instrument, Lady Luce would soon suspect and send her packing. After all the money that had been spent on her passage to London, it seemed she would soon become a burden to Mama all over again. She would have squandered her only chance to help her family.
She shook her head defiantly. No. She must do her duty. Somehow, she must find a way to satisfy both the Earl and his mother, and to earn the money to send home to Yorkshire to keep Mama from penury.
She must.
She would.
Chapter Three
‘Good gad! I thought you said you had an evening gown. Is that the best you can do?’
Face flaming, Marina stood rigid as the Dowager’s sharp little eyes travelled over every detail of her drab appearance. She was wearing the best of her meagre Yorkshire wardrobe, a dove-grey gown made high to the neck, but relieved with a tiny ruff of precious lace. It was plain, and not in the least fashionable, but it was clean and neat. And, unlike most of Marina’s other gowns, it bore no visible evidence of mending.
Lady Luce’s distaste was manifest in the narrowing of her eyes and the slight thinning of her lips. She rose from her chair, shaking out her wide silken skirts. The fall of fine lace at her bosom quivered indignantly. ‘I suppose that is your evening gown?’ she said in withering tones.
‘You are correct, ma’am,’ replied Marina, refusing to drop her gaze. She would not be made to feel ashamed of her appearance. Her dress was perfectly adequate for a near-servant. ‘This is quite my best gown,’ she added daringly, remembering the lesson she had learnt when she first arrived. The Dowager relished a sharp opponent.
Lady Luce gave a snort which might have been suppressed laughter. With a tiny shake of her powdered head, she said, ‘We shall see to your wardrobe tomorrow, as I promised. Don’t suppose it will matter much tonight. Shouldn’t be taking you to Méchante’s in the first place, of course, not a gel like you.’ She turned for the door, talking all the while. ‘Too prim and proper by half. Just what I’d expect from William.’
‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ began Marina, daring at last to interrupt her ladyship’s meanderings, ‘but who is Méchante and why—?’
‘Why should you not go there?’ Lady Luce spun round to face Marina. She seemed remarkably nimble for her years. Her eyes were full of wicked laughter. ‘My dear, Méchante—Lady Marchant—is not a proper person for a lady to know. She is the daughter of a Cit, and her history is…ah…more than a little colourful, besides. Most of the company at her card party tonight will be male. As to the ladies you may meet there…’ She chuckled. ‘Suffice it to say that you would do best to pretend never to have set eyes on them. You would be wise to make yourself as unobtrusive as possible. Try to blend into the background.’ She looked Marina up and down once more. ‘In that gown, it should not be difficult.’
Marina stared, but Lady Luce was already making for the door which opened, as if by magic, just as she reached it. The butler stood in the hall, waiting. No doubt he had been listening to every single word. Before morning, Marina’s plight would be the talk of the servants’ hall. She could feel herself flushing yet again as she followed Lady Luce to the door, head held high and eyes fixed on the Dowager’s ramrod-straight back. The servants might mock in private, but they would never detect the slightest sign of weakness in Marina’s outward behaviour.
Throughout the short journey through the still-bustling streets, Marina worried at the information about the dubious Lady Marchant and her card party. Méchante— Marina knew it meant naughty, or wicked, in French. If the lady’s past was as colourful as the Dowager had hinted, she probably deserved her nickname.
Marina quailed inwardly at the thought of this first test. Why did it have to come quite so soon? She began to rack her brains for ideas to stop the Dowager’s gambling but came up with nothing practicable. If she claimed she was ill, the Dowager would simply send her home. If she tried to intervene in the game itself, the Dowager might well dismiss her on the spot. And if she betrayed the Earl’s instructions, the Dowager would probably stake every penny she had, and more, just to spite him, for she had made no secret of the fact that she despised him. Marina chewed at her bottom lip. It did not help.
‘Pull yourself together, child,’ said the Dowager sharply. ‘Méchante won’t eat you, you know. You might even enjoy yourself…get rid of that Friday face. You do play cards, I take it?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied Marina quickly. As a companion, she might be lacking in many ways, but she could certainly hold her own at the card table. Her father had delighted in teaching her how to play cards, and she had been an apt pupil, but she had never yet had an opportunity to discover whether she had inherited his appalling luck. Nor did she wish to. Captain Beaumont’s gambling losses had been the major cause of his family’s poverty. ‘However, I never gamble. I believe that—’
‘What you believe is of no importance. You will soon discover that everyone gambles, whether they can afford it or not.’ She stared hard at Marina for a second. ‘I collect that you have no money?’
‘I believe that gambling is wrong, whether one has money or not,’ said Marina stoutly. ‘It ruins too many lives.’
The Dowager continued to stare, narrowing her eyes assessingly, but she said nothing until they had reached their destination and were preparing to alight. ‘Do not share your puritanical opinions with the guests tonight, Marina,’ she said. ‘It would do no good. And it could do you a great deal of harm.’
Marina nodded dumbly and followed Lady Luce into the brightly lit entrance hall of Lady Marchant’s extravagant London house.
‘Why, Lady Luce, is it not? Good evening, ma’am.’
The Dowager stopped so suddenly that Marina almost collided with her. As it was, she stepped on the hem of her ladyship’s train and had to extricate herself carefully from the fine material. By the time Marina looked up once more, Lady Luce was staring coldly in the direction of the handsomest man Marina had ever seen. He had stationed himself between Lady Luce and the staircase and his presence seemed to fill the marble hallway. He was extremely tall and dark, with beautiful features that would not have looked out of place on a statue in a Greek temple. His exquisitely cut clothes seemed to have been moulded to his form, yet he wore them with an air of nonchalance.
‘Such a pleasure to meet you again, ma’am.’ The gentleman’s drawl had an unpleasant edge to it, Marina noticed, and his finely shaped mouth curled in disdain as he looked down at the tiny lady whose path he was blocking. ‘It must be…what?…all of five years? I look forward to making your acquaintance again. You do still play, I take it?’
‘Oh, I play, Mr Stratton, you may be sure of that.’ Lady Luce’s voice was acid. ‘I had not thought Méchante was quite so short of guests, however, as to need to invite just anyone to make up her numbers. I see that I shall have to take more care in deciding which invitations a lady should accept.’ With that, she marched forward, forcing her tormentor to make way for her. He did so with easy grace, Marina noticed, and he continued to watch with narrowed eyes as