Lady of Fortune Read online

  “Marriage is the only proper goal for a young lady, but a dowerless girl is at a great disadvantage, particularly in London.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “Dowerless? But Papa was one of the richest men in France! I know much of the family property is forfeit, but he sent a considerable sum of money to Charles.”

  Lewis shook his head. “That may have been his intention, but it was never fulfilled. He may have delayed too long; or perhaps he tried, and his arrangements were never carried out because of the revolution and the war with England.”

  Christa stood suddenly, unable to sit still in the face of this news. “You are sure there is no account set up in my name? Papa had spoken of his intentions perhaps four years ago, and England did not declare war on France till more than a year later.”

  He shook his head again. “Quite sure. I assumed your father would have provided for you, but when I checked the bank records of the last six years, ever since the revolution began, there was no money transferred from France during that whole period.” The expression in his cool blue eyes was unreadable as he added, “I’m afraid you have nothing.”

  Christa paced over to the window and stared out at the bare dripping trees of the park while she struggled to absorb this information. Her hands were clenched as she said, “Do you mean that for this last year, all the clothes, the books, the pin money you gave me—everything was charity?”

  Lewis stood and followed her to the window. “Please, you must not think of it as that. You are Charles’s sister, and there will always be a home for you here.” He paused, then said, “But you know what the world is like. Even though you are a countess, a penniless young woman has almost no chance of contracting a suitable alliance. And you are a foreigner—that would count against you even if our countries were not at war.”

  She turned to face him, her eyes challenging the impenetrable face as a cool finger of alarm touched the back of her neck. There was something odd, very odd about the way he was emphasizing her unmarriageability. While he was under no obligation to provide for her, he could, if he chose, give her a dowry with the stroke of a pen and scarcely notice the cost. Charles would certainly have done so.

  Her voice was dry as she said, “It is true that you English are an insular lot, in every sense of the word. But if I wish for a husband, I am not wholly without assets for finding one.” Ever since she had reached her fifteenth year she had been showered with sonnets, flowers, marriage proposals, and scores of less-honorable propositions.

  She was confident that not all had been due to her father’s wealth.

  A flare of emotion sparked the pale eyes as he stared down at her, and for the first time she was uneasily aware how close he was standing. The earl said softly, “You are a very lovely girl. In fact, I have a solution that will benefit both of us.”

  She swished around him to her leather chair, but he came and sat next to her rather than returning to his desk. Uncomfortable with his proximity, she leaned back and stared in silence, daring him to continue. Lewis said awkwardly, “It was never necessary that I marry in the past, but as earl I owe it to my name to provide an heir. You are in need of a husband, and I am in need of a wife.” His voice faltered under her steel-gray gaze; then he continued more strongly, “Marie-Christine, I would be very honored if you would consent to marry me.”

  “But you are my uncle!” Though she had sensed some strange mood in him, she had trouble believing the words he spoke.

  The earl smiled, more sure of himself. “Uncle by courtesy only. You know there is no blood relationship between us. I am perhaps a little old for you, but I am in good health. I am sure we could have many years together.”

  Christa almost spat at him. “Always you have been Uncle Lewis to me. Though we may not be truly related, to me it feels like incest.”

  He winced at her plain speaking. “I realize it will take time for you to accustom yourself to the idea, but I am sure you will see the advantages when you think on it. As the Countess of Radcliffe you will once more have the position and luxury you are accustomed to. You can stay here where you are known, and not have to go among strangers.”

  She stood so suddenly that the heavy chair skidded away behind her. Glaring down at him, she said tightly, “It is most kind of you to sacrifice yourself to help a poor relation. After all, as the Earl of Radcliffe you may look as high as you choose. But if I refuse your so-generous offer, what then? The poorhouse, mon oncle? Or will you throw me out to sell myself on the streets of London?”

  He stood also, frowning as if she were a willful child. “This has been a shock and you are overwrought. We will speak again when you have had time to consider.”

  Taking her right hand, Lewis continued more earnestly than she had ever heard him. “I have spoken badly. Marrying you would be no duty, but a very great pleasure.” He pressed a kiss onto her hand and she stared at the bent blond head with dawning horror. The earl’s lips burned as intensely as his eyes had when he stared into hers, and she wondered how she could have ever thought he lacked passion. Mon Dieu, but he wanted her indeed! Christa felt a shadow of pity at the desperation in his touch, but it was swept away in a flood of revulsion. Jerking her hand free, she fled the room.

  Lord Radcliffe made no attempt to stop her, merely watching with his face once more expressionless. He had expected Christa to be surprised, even shocked, at the news of her poverty and at his proposal; but she should come around soon. After all, what other choice did the girl have?

  Even an hour’s walking on the raw March day could not cool Christa’s outrage. She had paused only to grab a cloak and change her indoor slippers to half boots before storming outside. Her path took her through the home wood and looped back till she stood now on the edge of the ornamental lake. The spot was one where she and Charles would come to skip stones as children. Since flat shale was not common in the area, her brother had used his lordly powers to order that a supply of the stones be perpetually kept on the site. Prompted by the memory, she poked around in the bushes until, to her delight, she found a pile of shale perfect for skipping. She gathered a handful and moved to the edge of the water. Picking up the first piece of stone, she tossed it in her hand to get the heft, then hurled it across the lake. It crashed into the gray waters without a single skip.

  “That is so typical of this day! First that … that cochon, that pig! tells me I am a pauper.” Christa had always enjoyed talking aloud to herself; usually, though by no means always, she indulged in it when she was alone. She frowned now, and said slowly as she picked up another stone, “It was not like Papa to forget something as important as providing for the future. To be sure, he was a philosopher, but he was also French and a practical man. So, do I believe in my father? Or this pig of an uncle?” She nodded in satisfaction as the stone managed two skips before sinking.

  “But the money … that is less important than what he tries to do to me. That he should try to compel me to marry him … me! My ancestors fought with Charles the Hammer at Poitiers a thousand years ago! I am a d’Estelle, a countess of France!”

  This sounded so unbearably pompous even to herself that Christa laughed out loud when she flung another stone. As always, laughter returned her sense of perspective. She said regretfully, “I am no credit to your teaching, Papa. You, who always taught that all were equal in the eyes of God, and should be in the eyes of men. As soon as I lose my temper I forget I am a democrat. And I am not even a true countess, since the Assembly abolished all noble titles five years ago.”

  The old skills were definitely returning; she couldn’t be quite sure because of the rain spattering the lake, but she thought the latest stone skipped five times. Staring at the pockmarked water, she added, “How could I possibly marry a man who calls me ‘Marie-Christine’? Even Maman only called me that when she was very disappointed in me.”

  She had acquired her nickname from Charles, the imperious five-year-old who declared “Marie-Christine” far too long for such a small scr
ap of baby. “Christa” had stuck and was used by almost everyone who knew her well; it was typical of Lord Radcliffe’s stuffiness that he used her formal name.

  She shivered suddenly, feeling the damp cold for the first time. It was easy to mock the stiff man whom she had known all her life, but his intensity today made him seem a different person, one who frightened her a little. She was uncomfortably aware how much she was in his power—alone in the world, and the man who should have been her protector was a threat.

  Christa wrapped her cloak tightly around her and sat on a stone bench near the water’s edge for some serious thinking. Only her intimates knew that under the bubbling vivacity of her personality ran a vein of pure, dispassionate logic. She started to tick off points on her fingers as she mused aloud.

  “Item the first: Could the honest Lord Radcliffe be lying about the money? Charles always said he was incorruptible. But men are not rational beings; since he appears to have conceived a foolish passion for me, that could change his behavior. Maman once said that middle-aged men can be quite hopeless about young women.” Christa paused for a moment to consider with satisfaction the superior mental powers of women before continuing.

  “Item the second: Whether he is telling the truth or lying like Reynard the Fox, there is nothing I can do. Absolutely nothing. After all, he is an earl while I have neither money nor influence nor evidence of wrongdoing. And who knows? He might even be telling the truth.

  “Item the third: I cannot refuse him and stay at Radcliffe Hall, with him … lusting after me. It would not be right to live on his charity under those conditions. Besides, he might wear down my resolve.” She felt once more those hot, demanding lips on her hand and unconsciously wiped her palm on her cloak. He was not unattractive for a middle-aged man, but he was old enough to be her father, quite apart from the fact that she really did regard him in the light of a blood relative.

  Her mind reached a logical corollary and halted in shock. Might he consider forcing her to the altar, with threats or drugs or violence? Christa would not have dreamed it possible in England, but now she had no idea what Lord Radcliffe might be capable of. Aloud she said acidly, “I suppose I should be grateful it is marriage he wants. As long as I am in his power, only his own conscience controls him. Therefore, I must leave here quickly, and in secret. My bones tell me his gracious lordship will not want to let me go.

  “Item the fourth: Where can I go? Even if I knew another man who wished to marry me, it would be a marriage of convenience only, and if I wished that, I might stay here. No, unless I meet a man who is the equal of Charles and Papa, I will never marry. Where else might I go?” She mentally reviewed her acquaintance in England, but quickly realized that apart from a handful of émigré families as poor as herself, there was no one she knew really well. “Neither Lewis’ cousin Clarissa nor any other Radleigh would wish to have me with the head of the family disapproving—especially now that I am penniless. I am scarcely acquainted with the neighbors here. There is no one else.”

  With a quickening of her pulse that was more excitement than alarm, she said slowly, “There is only one possible conclusion: if I cannot stay here, and have no one to go to, I must find work. Is my logic not faultless, Papa?”

  Christa stood and shook loose the sodden folds of her cloak while she reached down for one last piece of shale. Hurling it flat away with all the strength of her arm, she watched as it skipped seven times, then nodded approvingly. “A sign of good luck, no?” Then she turned away from the little lake and headed back to the house to plan her strategy.

  * * *

  Christa sent a message down that she was indisposed and unable to dine with Lord Radcliffe. He would probably think she was sulking but she didn’t care as long as he left her alone. She was packing her portmanteau when Annie entered with a tray.

  “I thought you might like some nice soup and cold meat, Lady Christa. You need to keep your strength up if you’re sickening. Oh!” Annie gasped, her eyes widening.

  Christa straightened from her packing and caught the maid’s eye with her own. “I am leaving tonight. Will you betray me?”

  “Oh, Lady Christa! You’re never leaving!” The two were much of an age and had become good friends; the past year had begun with Annie nursing her and ended with the two sewing and laughing together. Christa had even taught her to read and write.

  Her mistress sighed. “I must. It is very simple: Lord Radcliffe wishes to marry me, I do not wish to oblige. Under the circumstances, it is best I depart quickly. Will you help me?”

  Annie lifted her chin. “Need you ask? Just tell me what I must do.”

  Christa came around the bed and gave her a quick hug. “Just don’t let my uncle know I am leaving. When he finds out tomorrow, say that I ordered you not to disturb me in the morning. With luck, he might not miss me for a full day.”

  “Is that all?” Annie looked disappointed; she was a secret romantic and had always believed a suitable crisis would prove she had the stuff of heroines.

  Christa shook her head. “I cannot involve you more. You live here; I daren’t give his lordship grounds to punish you.”

  “Why not take me? You will need a companion to protect your reputation.” Annie’s eyes were pleading, but Christa stood firm.

  “I could not afford a maid, even if you would leave your William. Indeed, I do not know how I will be keeping myself.” She paused as a thought struck her, then said slowly, “There is another way you could help me. Can you find the names of some London registry offices—the sorts of places that might find employment for governesses?”

  “You’re never going to look for a job, miss!” Annie’s round eyes could not have shown more horror if Christa had proclaimed an ambition to walk naked through the Court of St. James. “Why, you’re a lady!”

  Christa gave an irrepressible chuckle.

  “Even ladies must eat, ma petite. Work is the lot of most of womankind, and I think I am capable of it.” Since Annie appeared too flustered to respond, she patted the maid’s arm and said soothingly, “Indeed, I rather look forward to it. I have always found inactivity très ennuyante. Very boring.”

  Annie still looked dubious but said, “I shall ask Mrs. Harris, the housekeeper. She came to us from London and should know some agencies. Can I help you pack?”

  Christa shook her head. “I am almost finished. It is time I began taking care of myself.”

  “Is that all you are taking? You’re never leaving all your lovely clothes behind!” Poor Annie found this the saddest idea of all. The portmanteau was scarcely large enough for half a dozen garments.

  “Well, a pretty fool I should be to try to carry more,” Christa said patiently. “Get you downstairs now to talk to Mrs. Harris. I am relying on you!” She escorted Annie to the door and firmly ushered her out, then leaned against the carved door for a moment, her shoulders sagging.

  For all her show of confidence, Christa was worried about leaving this secure existence to brave the world. Although she was more capable and self-reliant than most women of her station, she was going forth into a foreign country as well as a new and demanding way of life. She had spent perhaps thirty months of her life in England, almost entirely in the pampered isolation of Radcliffe Hall. Christa could only guess at what life was like among the common people.

  She turned to look in the mirror, saying sternly, “Eh, Countess, enough of the self-pity! You speak English fluently and you have over a hundred pounds of pin money that you haven’t spent—that is a fortune for a working person. Enough to support you for many months if you are careful.”

  Her step had lightened when she returned to her packing. The sterile luxury of Radcliffe Hall had been smothering her even before Lewis made his unwelcome advances. An independent future might hold difficulties undreamed-of, but it was a direction that promised new life. After all, Christa was young and strong, and embarking on a great adventure!

  She chose her plainest and most durable clothes and shoes; the
y were really too fashionable for a governess but she had no choice. Her only jewelry was the antique picture locket that held miniatures of her family.

  Christa hesitated before packing the boy’s clothes she had worn on her escape. She was unlikely to need them, but they were a tangible link with her past. Last, she went to her chest and took out a small leather pouch containing Charles’s gold watch. The provincial assembly in Normandy had trumpeted proudly about the English spies they had killed, proof of the wicked British plots against the revolution. Lewis had pulled some diplomatic strings and eventually a packet of personal effects crossed the Channel to Radcliffe Hall. It contained Charles’s identification papers, the watch, and a signet ring with the Radcliffe arms. At sight of them, Christa’s last faint hope that he and her mother might have survived had flickered and died. Lord Radcliffe had taken the ring and given her the watch. She had been grateful for his generosity; the watch had belonged to Charles’s father and she would not have blamed Lewis for keeping it.

  She slipped the watch and most of her money into a belted pouch that could be tied under her dress; no one was stealing either while she had breath in her body! Then she snapped the case shut and lifted it experimentally. It was a little heavy but Christa could carry it the five miles to the main coaching route. With her preparations complete, she attacked Annie’s tray of food with gusto.

  The last of the apple tart had just disappeared when the maid returned. “I’ve got five names and addresses for you, Lady Christa,” she said proudly. “And here’s a packet of bread, meat, and fruit for your journey.”

  Christa accepted the offerings gratefully. “You are a splendid help, Annie. Merci.”

  Annie blushed. “It’s my pleasure, I’m sure, miss.” She hesitated, then said shyly, “Is there any place I could get in touch with you? If … if anything should change here.”