Alicia Read online

  She turned now to find her grandson, who had chosen some handkerchiefs under Mr. Allerton’s direction. Although her temper was even higher because she realized she had disappointed her granddaughter, she made no demur at the selection and had the parcel wrapped and given to the maid. Felicia had not returned with the bonnet, and Lady Stronbert quickly shepherded her party out the door as she promised to buy them a special tea. Miss Helen gave a last, lingering look toward the rear of the shop where Felicia had disappeared and followed in her grandmother’s wake.

  Mr. Dean sighed and Mr. Allerton wiped his brow. Alicia could not help but note these signs and asked, “Does Lady Stronbert always cause such a commotion when she shops?”

  “Yes, it is ever the same,” Mr. Dean remarked. “I would not have you think that it is only this shop she seems to hold in aversion. It is the same everywhere she goes. Poor Miss Helen. Your daughter is adept at decorating the bonnets, Lady Coombs. I myself have long passed the point where I can understand what is in fashion.”

  “Yes, Felicia has a certain knack and had already agreed to work on some of them for me. I had not intended...well, never mind. Shall we continue with the books?”

  Felicia arrived then with the finished bonnet and set it carefully on the shelf. An inspection of the other bonnets there showed a half dozen she felt could stand improvement, and she lifted them down. Each one was then taken to the ribbons and laces and she selected those items she would need for her work. Before she left the shop she poked her head into the doorway of the office to inform her mother that she would be at the inn. Her mother smiled her appreciation and returned to her work.

  An hour later Mr. Dean was obviously too fatigued to continue and she urged him to return to the cottage. As she could not continue the work without his assistance, she wandered into the shop and explored the smaller room while Mr. Allerton waited on some customers in the front. She was surprised to see Miss Helen enter again, this time accompanied by a man who looked vaguely familiar, perhaps because the girl resembled him somewhat. As Alicia approached them, the girl burst into speech, “We have come back to purchase the bonnet! Papa said over tea that it would be a shame if someone else were to have it, when it was fixed especially for me.” Her countenance glowed with her delight.

  “Lady Coombs?” The man spoke lazily and Alicia immediately recognized his voice. And that was why he had looked familiar; she had caught a hurried glimpse of him as she had slapped Mr. Parker. She felt a flush rise to her cheeks.

  “Yes. Lord Stronbert? I am pleased to meet you. Come, Miss Helen, you shall put on the bonnet for your father and see if he approves of it.” She led the girl to the shelf and lifted down the bonnet with steady hands, but inwardly she was quaking. The shame she had felt at her behavior at the fair had not left her. She arranged the bonnet on the brown curls and tied the ribbon in a bow under the girl’s chin.

  Miss Helen did a little dance step and smiled beguilingly up at her father, who had positioned himself a short distance away. “Well, Papa, shall I have it?” she asked mischievously.

  “Certainly, imp. It is enchanting.” His eyes sought Alicia. “I understand you added the ribbon.”

  “No, no, Papa. It was Lady Coombs’s daughter. Am I right, ma’am? She is your daughter, is she not?” Miss Helen asked anxiously.

  “Indeed she is.”

  Lord Stronbert regarded her with a puzzled frown. “You are perhaps purchasing the shop from Mr. Dean?”

  Alicia occupied herself untying the bonnet as she replied, “Yes. The purchase is almost completed, and Mr. Dean is teaching me the workings. He intends to leave shortly for Cornwall.”

  “Shall you live in his cottage?” Miss Helen asked curiously.

  “Yes, we have bought the cottage as well,” Alicia replied. She took the bonnet over to the counter and began to wrap it, then paused to ask, “Would you rather wear this one and have me wrap yours?”

  “Yes, please. You would not mind, would you, Papa?”

  “Certainly not.” His clear brown eyes watched Alicia as she made the exchange and continued the wrapping. Whatever could have induced this young woman to purchase a shop, he wondered. Surely Sir Frederick could not have left her that badly off. “You did not choose to stay at the Grange?” he asked abruptly.

  Alicia raised snapping eyes to his. “I had no choice, though it can certainly be of no interest to you.” She noticed that she had discomfited the girl by her sharp response and turned to her to say with a smile, “Felicia did not tell me who won the race.”

  “I did,” Miss Helen replied proudly, “though Matthew’s horse stumbled.”

  “Well, that is fair enough. I think he must be older than you are.”

  “He is twelve and I am but turned ten.”

  “So old,” Alicia laughed. “Do you have your own horse?”

  “Oh, yes, Papa gave her to me on my eighth birthday. I hope you can see her one day. She has the most perfect manners,” Miss Helen confided.

  “I hope I shall. And I hope you will be happy with your bonnet,” Alicia said by way of farewell.

  Lord Stronbert turned to his daughter and said, “Run along and catch up Miss Carson, imp. I shall be along in a moment.” He watched her as she obediently danced out of the shop, a tender expression on his face. His own countenance had adopted a certain gravity when he spoke to Alicia. “I wish to apologize, Lady Coombs. It was rude of me to question you on your private life.” A slow smile spread over his features. “And I should not like to suffer Parker’s fate at your hands.”

  “Your friend was insulting, Lord Stronbert. But I am ashamed that I should have acted so violently.” Alicia could not share his obvious amusement. “I had hoped that in leaving the Scarborough area we might start fresh, but I suppose there will always be those Parkers around to see that it is not possible.” She did not meet his eyes during this comment but played instead with the wedding ring on her finger.

  “I pray you will acquit me of friendship with Mr. Parker. I am no more than the merest acquaintance,” he replied lightly. “May I wish you success in your venture, Lady Coombs?”

  Alicia raised her face then, a firm smile imprinted on it. “Thank you, sir. I hope we may continue to serve you.”

  “I am sure of it,” he drawled. “Though my mother is difficult to please, even she has found no substitute for Mr. Dean’s. Good day, Lady Coombs.”

  “Good day, Lord Stronbert.” He bowed to her gravely and walked off with a careless grace. Alicia sighed and moved over to Mr. Allerton. “I think we should discuss your wages, Mr. Allerton. Much more will be required of you under my management, I fear, and I should like to compensate you proportionately.”

  “Mr. Dean makes me a very handsome wage, Lady Coombs,” he replied, embarrassed.

  “It may have been adequate for what you have been doing, but my inexperience will lay a burden on you which I intend to recompense. And, Mr. Allerton, I had thought to keep Felicia out of the shop as much as possible. She is not used to this kind of life and will have matters enough to handle, I cannot doubt.”

  Alicia was beginning to feel the strain of her first day in the shop. “I think I should like to leave now, Mr. Allerton. You will not mind finishing alone and locking up, will you?”

  “Not at all, Lady Coombs. I do it often,” he reassured her.

  As she wandered down the street to the inn, Alicia was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she did not notice the gentleman approaching her. A firm hand on her elbow stayed her and she looked up, startled. There was no one she less wanted to see than Francis Tackar with his arrogant, cold brown eyes, his carefully tended curly brown hair, and his determined jaw. Although not much above her own height, he was powerfully built and the sight of him made her shiver. She struck his hand from her elbow and eyed him frigidly.

  “The elusive Lady Coombs comes to light and in the guise of a shopkeeper, I hear at the inn,” he remarked insolently.

  “I have nothing to say to you, sir,” A
licia stated flatly and made to pass on.

  “But I have something to say to you, dear lady.” His eyes wandered insinuatingly over her body. “Coming out of mourning, I see. Tsk. Tsk. That hardly shows the proper respect for Sir Frederick.”

  Alicia had a maddening desire to slap his smugly handsome face but remembered yesterday’s occurrence too vividly. Instead she walked away from him toward the inn. He followed her and spoke confidently. “It had not occurred to me, I must admit, that you might not desire the arrangement I suggested in the neighborhood where you had friends. No matter. I can as well provide an arrangement for you here under the same terms.”

  Alicia stopped and glared at him. “Mr. Tackar, it has obviously not occurred to you that I do not intend to accept your ‘arrangement’ at any time or place or on any terms. I detest you. You insult me by your very presence. Just stay away from me.”

  “Alicia, Alicia, you are overwrought! You cannot have thought of the advantages I can provide for you. Sir Frederick did not leave you very well off, I know. I was one of the few who knew how he had left matters in his will because he foolishly bragged of it in his cups one night.”

  “And so you killed him!” Alicia’s voice was rigid with contempt.

  “It was a duel,” he snapped, “and a fair fight.”

  “You killed him,” she repeated.

  “He was not so very handy with a pistol,” he rejoined smugly. “Why should you care? He did nothing but disgrace and impoverish you.”

  “I was not impoverished until his death.”

  “But I assure you that you need be no longer.”

  Alicia fled from him then, into the inn and straight up to her room. She found her daughter at the window. Felicia turned with a troubled frown and said, “Did Mr. Tackar upset you again, Mama? What does he want? Why has he followed us here?”

  Alicia dropped into a chair and tossed her hat on the bed. “Lord, child, if I could explain that. Mr. Tackar is a detestable man and I hope you will avoid him always.”

  “But he bought Katterly Grange for more than it was worth,” her daughter protested.

  “Nevertheless he did it only to make us beholden to him. I refuse to be so.” Alicia did not wish to pursue the subject and said more calmly, “You will be pleased to hear that Miss Helen returned to the shop, this time with her father, and purchased the bonnet.”

  “I am glad. Her grandmother is a harridan, is she not?”

  “Yes, rather,” Alicia said with a grin. “Show me what you have been doing.”

  Felicia brought over the two hats she had finished, and illustrated for her mother how she intended to liven up the others. “It will take no time at all, and I think they will be much more likely to sell when they are finished.”

  “There can be no doubt of it, love. I should not have set you to work this afternoon, and especially not in the shop.”

  “I enjoyed it enormously.”

  “I might have known you would,” Alicia said with a helpless shrug.

  Chapter Five

  When Lord Stronbert left the shop he assured himself that his daughter had been reunited with her governess, and waved them off on their way back to the Court, his mother and son having already departed. He had left his horse at the Feather and Flask but was not as yet ready to leave town. The carriage maker was located a short distance from the center of Tetterton and he walked there to consult on the progress of the carriage he had ordered. He was well known in the town and frequently stopped to speak with acquaintances as he made his unhurried way along the street.

  His task accomplished, he was returning to the Feather and Flask when he witnessed Lady Coombs accosted by Mr. Tackar. He was unable to see her expression but he saw her reject the man’s touch on her arm. He could not hear their words, but the tone of them drifted to him, hers contemptuous and his sneering. Lord Stronbert was tempted to intervene in the confrontation, but Lady Coombs had rushed into the inn by that point and there seemed no further need. Tackar shrugged elaborately to the empty air and went into the inn more slowly.

  Lord Stronbert went round to the stables and called for his horse. He passed the time of day with Hodges while he waited. “Is Mr. Tackar staying here?”

  “Yes, milord. Said it might be for a night or two, possibly more. Flashy sort of fellow, ain’t he?” Hodges asked companionably.

  “Yes,” Stronbert agreed with a frown. “I hope he does not stay long.” He mounted his horse then, waved to the ostler and rode to his home. A row of poplars led on either side from the entrance gate for half a mile before the carriage drive swung around to face the mansion.

  The Court was a fifteenth-century stone building with twin castellated towers and parapet. Including the gabled west wing there were close to a dozen imposing oak-paneled reception rooms, an extensive library, several offices, thirty bedrooms, a solarium, and various domestic areas and storerooms.

  Lord Stronbert, in addition to his immediate family of his mother and two children, housed within the ancient pile of stones half a dozen impecunious relatives, a governess, a tutor, scores of servants, and an army of cats and dogs. He had lost his wife, Marcia, two years before to consumption. She had been a distant relation of his mother’s and a saintly, meek woman. He had married her because she fell in love with him, and because she was kind to everyone and he respected her. The children had been greatly distressed by her death, but Lord Stronbert had half expected it, as her constitution had never been strong. He had left the Court very little during that first year after her death when the children were bewildered and frightened. Now he journeyed to London more frequently and visited friends in other parts of the country, but he was seldom away for more than a month at a time.

  The butler, Williams, greeted his arrival quietly as he took coat and gloves from his employer. “The dowager marchioness asked that you wait on her in the minor parlor, milord.”

  “Thank you, Williams, I will go to her now.”

  He found his mother still dressed in the puce gown with its hideous orange stripes, although the dinner hour was approaching. She was sitting, straight backed, on a Windsor chair, and she was scowling.

  “You sent for me, Mother?” Stronbert asked, as he bent to place a salute on her cheek.

  “Nigel, you spoil that child,” she declared emphatically.

  “Which one?”

  “Both of them! But I am speaking of Helen. You should not have taken her back to purchase that bonnet.”

  “Why not?” he asked with a quizzing look at her under his sleepy eyelids.

  “You will spoil her.”

  “But, Mother, it was my understanding when you left the house today that you had promised to purchase a bonnet for her.”

  “And so I did. But not that bonnet.”

  “Oh?” He raised his eyebrows slightly and swung one leg over the other. “I thought it enchanting.”

  “But I had refused to purchase it,” she retorted querulously.

  “So I understand. Why was that, Mother?”

  “Because that little chit just threw it together,” she pronounced, her temper starting to flare again.

  “Well, I have not met the little chit yet, but if she can throw together a bonnet like that, I shall look forward to doing so.”

  “Was she not there when you made the purchase?”

  “No, her mother finalized the transaction.”

  “The girl is a beauty,” his mother sniffed. “Has no right to be waiting on one in a shop.”

  “If their circumstances warrant the action, Mother, I can only find it admirable that they have the spunk to do it.”

  “I shall shop there no longer,” she pronounced flatly.

  The note of steel entered Stronbert’s voice. “Yes, you shall, Mother. And you will do so with a better grace than is your wont.”

  The dowager marchioness toyed with a fan in her lap. “It cannot be any concern of yours.”

  “If you refuse to patronize Lady Coombs’s shop, others in the neig
hborhood will take their cue from you. I will not have the woman ruined for a passing fancy of yours. She is like to have hard work of it as it is. Do you agree?”

  “You think me a crotchety old woman,” she declaimed plaintively.

  Stronbert’s mouth twisted in a rueful smile. “And so you are at times, my dear. I will have your promise.”

  “Oh, very well,” she grumbled. “Agatha is in bed with the migraine and will not be down to dinner. And the general has ridden over to his friend in Dastor.”

  “You remind me that I should be changing. Until dinner, Mother.”

  * * * *

  Alicia and her daughter were seated before an array of veal cutlets, pigeons, asparagus, lamb, salad, apple pie, and tarts when Mr. Tackar entered the dining parlor. She had been enjoying the warmth of the fire near the table, and the spotless table linen and good plated cutlery, as well as the delicious food. But all this was changed when he entered; her appetite was on the moment destroyed and she wished nothing more than to be in her room above. Felicia glanced up as Tackar seated himself at the table without asking leave. Tackar murmured to Alicia, “You would not wish to make a scene, Lady Coombs,” as he watched her eyes flare.

  “You are wrong, Mr. Tackar. If you do not reseat yourself elsewhere I shall be more than happy to make a scene. Or leave. You have destroyed my appetite.”

  His suggestive eyes traveled slowly over her body and he replied, “And you have whetted mine.”

  “Are you going to leave our table?”

  “No.”

  Alicia rose and Felicia rose with her. Without a backward glance they left the room. Alicia stopped in the hall to speak with the landlord. “Is Mr. Tackar staying at the inn?”

  “Yes, my lady. Perhaps for a night, perhaps longer. He could not be more specific, he said.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Alicia and Felicia reached their room the older woman closed the door and barred it. Felicia’s puckered face showed her confusion and fear. “What does he want, Mama?”