Chapter Five

Monday afternoon arrived, inevitably, but at apparently differing rates of speed depending upon one’s location. At Bridgeford House, it arrived extremely rapidly after a weekend full of activities and Lord Allenbridge felt as if he had been caught up in a whirlwind.

On Saturday, Penelope and Grace had met some friends from school and held an impromptu garden lunch (the weather cooperated beautifully), followed that evening by a visit to the theatre where one of their favourite Shakespearean comedies was being presented.

It seemed only moments after saying goodnight to Puck that his Lordship was saying good morning to the Very Reverend Dollington of St. George’s Church, the House of Worship most favoured by the Ton.

Pip had been rather surprised that people actually went to Sunday services there because hitherto, he had regarded it simply as the ‘Church Where Everyone Got Married’. An hour or so of religion was followed by a brisk drive through the Park after which all parties retired to their rooms to refresh themselves for the evening’s activities which were composed of a private poetry reading by a new author whose sister was an old school friend of the girls’.

This sort of gathering was one that Pip most dreaded—the idea of wasting several hours listening to some wet-behind-the-ears lad spout bad verse while trying to be intense—did not inspire enthusiasm in Pip’s breast.

It was with resignation that he allowed himself to be shepherded into an uncomfortable spot dead centre before the poet, always remembering that tomorrow was Monday and with it came salvation in the form of one Lady Falworth.

Said Lady Falworth, however, was watching the hours drag by unbearably slowly in Bayswater.

Although Sunday was supposed to include an afternoon to herself, it had slipped into being much as the other days of the week. Allegra had no one in London to visit and was reluctant to spend entire afternoons in her room, so Madame’s company, wearing on the nerves though it was, offered a barrier against the loneliness that so often threatened Allegra’s composure.

Luckily, this particular Sunday, Madame was entertaining, and the idea of sharing such a delightful tidbit as Allegra’s upcoming visit to Bridgeford House was very appealing. Consequently, Madame was almost civil to Allegra for a change, parading her in front of her guests (one elderly roué and two only slightly-younger spinsters who clearly had “hopes”), and losing no time in mentioning Bridgeford House and Lord Allenbridge.

Allegra managed to look suitably impressed, na?ve, and grateful, all at the same time, but this was a strain on her emotions, not to mention her face, and it was with relief that she shut the door behind all of them as they went off together to spend the rest of the day boring other people.

Despite a loud and quite improper invitation from Richelieu, she sped past the parlour and up the stairs to her room, where she hoped Alphonse had remembered to leave some buckets of hot water.

For once, he had honoured his word, and Allegra was able to enjoy a bath in front of the fire. The water was warm, and she could feel the tensions drain away as she lazed in the tub.

Naturally, thoughts of the morrow were uppermost in her mind.

What was Lord Allenbridge like? Would he be elderly and kind, or abrupt and demanding? Was he good to his nieces and would he treat her politely or expect her to fetch and carry for him too?

Allegra snorted slightly, guessing that Bridgeford House probably held enough servants to see to his every whim, and it was unlikely that he’d need her to take care of anything. No, she was going to be there for the girls, Grace, and Penelope.

She wondered how his guardianship had come about, and cursed the fact that she had no way of finding out. Madame’s library was minimal, to say the least, and certainly didn’t run to a copy of Debrett or Burke’s Peerage. She’d just have to wait, something she’d never been very good at.

Her lavender-scented soap restored her tranquillity as well as the shine to her hair, however, and she sat down cross-legged on the hearthrug with a little sigh of relief. One more day, she thought to herself, as she rubbed her head energetically with a towel. One more day, and then the chance of getting out of here.

As her hair slowly dried, Allegra gazed into the flames and tried to summon up some feelings of gratitude for Madame. It was not easy. Although it was not uncommon for ladies who had fallen on hard times to seek positions as companions, they were usually not asked to do the kinds of menial tasks she had had to perform.

Madame’s offer of a position, coming out of the blue as it had, certainly allowed her some peace of mind. At least she knew she had a place to live. A roof over her head, and food in her belly, both of which had been questionable for a while. She shuddered to think what would have happened had Madame not seen the notice in the paper and written to her.

She could remember being exhausted when she arrived at the Bayswater house. It had been a strenuous time sorting out the legal affairs after having received formal word of Charles’ death on his way to India. The sight of the Falworth ring and the expressions of sympathy from the Lord Lieutenant of the county—who, like most of her respectable neighbours, would never have set foot inside Falworth Manor had her husband still been alive—meant little to her other than she now had to think of her future. With the death of her father the year before, she was quite alone.

To this day, Allegra was astounded that one man could fritter away so much money. Falworth’s man of affairs, a greasy little oddity from Lincoln Fields, had at least been relatively honest in his presentation of her situation.

“The Manor is entailed, Ma’am.” She could recall his nasal voice quite clearly, even now. “And we will be notifying the new Lord Falworth who is presently out of the country. The period of time allowable for you to settle up would therefore be in the neighbourhood of six months—unless you was wishful to stay on here and meet the new Lord?”

Allegra vividly recalled his leering expression and a blush of anger rose to her cheeks.

“No. I shall be leaving Falworth Manor now that my husband has formally been declared deceased,” she had replied firmly. It was detestable to think that Charles reputation was spilling over onto her, and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Well then, here’s an accounting of the current situation....” He had spread ledger sheets over the desk and begun reciting numbers until Allegra wanted to scream.

So much money gone—and so much owed. Gambling debts, tailor’s bills, receipts from Tattersall’s for horses he’d probably lost the next night at the gaming tables.

Then there were overdue demands from establishments she’d never heard of, some of which made their business pretty obvious. A two-hundred-pound balance from ‘Mrs. Atherley’s Angels’ required little interpretation.

She had tried to suggest that perhaps the debts should be held against the estate, and the Manor sold for profit—let the new Lord Falworth share some of this burden.

But the nasty little man had cheerfully explained that what was left of the estate was entailed upon the male line—no creditors could place liens upon entailed property or assets. And there were no assets, anyway. The new Lord Falworth was going to have to use some of his own money if he wanted to keep the pile of draughty rubble from falling down around his ears, and seeing as he was from a quite distant branch of the family, he was unlikely to look kindly upon the personal debts incurred by his predecessor.

No, explained the lawyer, it was pretty much up to her to settle up unless she was willing to declare bankruptcy? She could do that, of course, but that would leave her completely penniless and at the mercy of a court system that was overburdened and inequitable. It was not really an option at all. The lawyer knew it and had made sure Falworth’s creditors knew it, too.

Allegra realised that it would take all of her remaining inheritance from her father to settle some of these debts. Even that would probably not be enough. It had taken the full six months to come to a final agreement with Charles’ creditors, and it had taken all her pride and self-respect to humble herself before these men whose greed was evident in their gleaming eyes.

She had steeled herself to do what was necessary, but it had not been easy parting with her jewellery. Most had been small pieces of no great value, but there had been one set of amethysts that had belonged to her mother...

Charles never knew of them, and she was not about to wear them for the delectation of him or his friends.

She sighed when she remembered the gentle fire of the stones. The necklace was fashioned into flowers with hearts of amethyst and small diamond petals. The earrings and bracelet followed the design, but the truly distinctive piece was the aigrette. Here the jeweller had created a bouquet of tiny flowers that had nestled in her mother’s hair like starlight.

It was about the only thing she could remember about her mother even though a miniature kept the memory alive in Allegra’s mind and told her that she shared that chestnut brown hair. It had only partially helped to know that the sale of these jewels completed her closing of the Falworth estate, left her clear of debt—and penniless.

However, it was no use reliving the past.

Madame had provided a roof over her head and a place to sleep when it was needed, for which Allegra would try to be grateful. Giving a particularly hard tug to a tangle of drying hair, she turned away from the fire, and placed the last of her day’s ration of coals on the embers to bank it down for the night.

She stood and gazed thoughtfully into the mirror over the mantelpiece, noting how the wavy image that looked back at her seemed ethereal in the dying firelight. There was no way she could tell that her eyes had turned a deep contemplative green with golden brown flecks nor that the worn cotton night rail clung lovingly to a delicately female form.

Her unbound hair fell nearly to her waist and reddish strands glistened within the warm brown waves as she moved her head. Would she be acceptable as a chaperone? She had no idea.

But if hopes and prayers accomplished anything, she’d be out of the dust of Bayswater soon.

It turned out to be less the dust of Bayswater than the mud of Bayswater that Allegra found herself shaking off her feet on Monday afternoon. Nature had seen fit to present London with a truly spectacular spring cloudburst—so it was a rather damp young woman who lifted her hand to the grandiose knocker on the front door of Bridgeford House.

After only one knock, the heavy oak doors were violently swung open.

“...And if this is more of them, Vivian, I’ll call you out, so help me...” sputtered the exceedingly elegant gentleman who had answered Allegra’s knock.

“Lady Falworth to see Lord Allenbridge...” Allegra’s voice trailed off as she took a good look at the man before her.

Tall and imposing, Lord Allenbridge was frowning down at her under lowered brows. Above average height herself, Allegra was unused to having men loom over her, especially men whose luminous blue eyes were doing strange things to her insides.

His face was strong and firm, and his lips were just a shade fuller than they should have been. Allegra found herself believing that they were made for kissing and nibbling, and her stomach knotted in strange places.

Her palms started to sweat, and she wanted to reach out and smooth the frown from between his brows. What on earth was she thinking?

For his part, Pip found himself staring into the most amazing face he’d ever seen.

Not that she was a stunning beauty, but Allegra Falworth had to have the eyes of a goddess. Neither green, nor brown, but a striking combination of both, framed by incredibly long gold-tipped lashes.

Pip suddenly felt that her eyes held the answers to questions long ago forgotten and wondered what colour they would become when she was in the throes of passion. He also wondered what the hell had got into him. He was instantly aroused and bewildered by his reaction to this woman, who was looking at him like he was some kind of god himself.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Pip, are there any more?”

Vivian’s voice broke the spell, giving Lady Falworth the chance to observe the incredible scene behind him.

At this moment, the foyer of Bridgeford House overflowed with pink roses. They seemed to be covering every inch of floor space, and maids and footmen were putting every available container to use. There were bouquets in an umbrella stand, two enormous ornamental planters, and even several cooking pots.

“My Lord...” muttered Allegra, gazing at the flowers.

Deducing that her comment was addressed to a higher authority, Lord Allenbridge bit back a grin at the picture they must present.

“Lady Falworth—my apologies, do come in—this is indeed Bridgeford House, not Covent Garden Market—no matter what it looks like...” his gaze swept over the sea of pink.

Allegra, apparently stunned by the vision and the intense fragrance, stood for a moment on the threshold, and then suddenly sneezed.

“God bless you,” said His Lordship, politely.

“Thank you...” answered Lady Falworth from the depths of the handkerchief she’d pulled from her reticule.

“Permit me to introduce myself. I am Phillip Allenbridge.” He bowed correctly as Allegra acknowledged him with another small sneeze and a curtsey.

“And this...God bless you...this gentleman, is Sir Vivian Kerrick, the root of all the...chaos. Vivian, Lady Falworth is here.” He waved his hand expansively over the massed floral display, indicating a gentleman whose face clearly indicated embarrassment.

“Your servant, Lady Falworth, but I must protest. I was just trying to explain to His Lordship here that it really isn’t my fault.”

Allegra turned a questioning eye to Sir Vivian. “You mean you didn’t actually want all these roses?” she asked in an incredulous tone.

“Good Lord no. I only asked for two bouquets, but the shop was rather busy, and I met a chum there, you know Nobby Clarke, eh Pip?”

Pip nodded, senses still hopelessly befuddled by the woman at his side.

“Well, Nobby and I got onto the subject of the Prince and the latest on dit, and somehow that fool of a shopkeeper must have heard the word ‘gross’ and used it out of context because the next thing I know is that a large carter pulls up here and unloads this lot...and if you think I’m ever going to live this down, then you don’t know His Lordship here,” finished Vivian glumly.

“Which she doesn’t...” observed Pip.

He was unaccountably anxious to take Allegra away somewhere where he could have her all to himself, perhaps for days. “And I suggest we allow Lady Falworth the chance to rectify that situation by offering tea and cakes in an attempt to redeem ourselves in her eyes,” he finished.

A speaking glance was flashed at Vivian, who had completely forgotten about the twins, chaperones, and everything else in the midst of his floral disaster.

“Excellent idea, Pip, old fellow. Lady Falworth, you must not be thinking the worst. Bridgeford House is usually a pillar of the Ton, quiet and tasteful, quite relaxing, really. Here, would you care for some flowers?” He held a large bouquet towards Allegra.

Allegra’s laughter rang out richly across the room. The infectious sound delivered answering smiles to her companions and brought a rather surprised expression to her own face. Pip wondered how long it had been since she’d laughed like that.

He moved towards the small Salon, nobly restraining the urge to toss this delightful woman over his shoulder and gallop up the stairs to his chamber with her.

“Vivian, please feel free to join us for tea when the girls arrive. In the meantime, you can occupy yourself by finding ways of distributing this...this...abundance elsewhere...”

Pip firmly pulled the door closed behind Allegra and led her to one of a pair of matching chairs near the fire.

“Well. Lady Falworth.” Pip was slightly unsure of himself for once and struggled to restore his body to its normal tranquil state.

“Well, Lord Allenbridge.”

“This is absurd,” muttered Pip, taking the chair opposite Allegra. “Vivian’s foolishness may have given you a dislike of us, but I hope you will reserve your judgement at least until you see Grace and Penelope.” Please. I want to know you better.

“My Lord, I hope I am sensible enough to recognise an innocent mistake when I see one, and I would judge Sir Vivian to be a very pleasant young man. If one were to form opinions based on unfortunate incidents, like your...your...War of the Roses....” a surprised chuckle erupted from Pip, “...one would be guilty of truly judging a book by its cover which I hope I am not.”

Both were smiling by the end of this little speech, and when Allegra grinned and added “Besides, they made your foyer very fragrant,” it proved the last straw.

Both gave in to a hearty laugh, from which they emerged, breathless, a few moments later, feeling more at ease with each other.

“But now, seriously, my Lord, tell me of your nieces?”

Allegra tried to marshal what scattered wits she had left and hoped this subject would calm the turmoil that had left her aching inside.

Lord Allenbridge rose to stand near the fireplace and began a short history of the Allenbridge/Sullivan alliance that had resulted in his guardianship.

As he talked, Allegra took stock of him.

Undeniably handsome, Lord Phillip was more than enough to set any woman’s heart, and other parts, pounding. Is his hair as soft as it looks?

Tall, elegantly dressed, and with those truly magnificent blue eyes, he was the embodiment of the male of the species. She couldn’t help but wonder at his lack of a wife, but as she watched him speak, she noticed an air surrounding him, almost a wall, which kept one at one’s distance.

Had they not met under such unusual circumstances, she might never have glimpsed that incredibly attractive side of his personality, nor seen the warmth glowing from those clear blue eyes as he laughed with her.

Now, as he spoke, he was all aristocrat—cool, eloquent, and as impersonal as a marble statue. He glossed over the death of his sister, which must have affected him a lot, thought Allegra. He presented his arguments as if he were in the House of Lords arguing a political question, and announced his results with a finality that would brook no discussion.

She heard him out quietly with her hands folded in her lap. Her hazel eyes seldom strayed from the imposing figure before her, but at the end of his soliloquy, she lowered her gaze to her lap and sighed.

Lord Allenbridge returned to his chair and sat down, awaiting her response.

All was quiet for a few moments, and Allegra became very aware of the crackling of the logs in the hearth and the gentle hiss of the rain against the windows. She could swear she heard the rustle of his silk shirt against his chest as he breathed.

“My Lord, you have been very honest with me, for which I am deeply grateful. I must now match your honesty with some of my own.” Allegra looked away briefly and drew a breath. “I am well aware that you must have been hard pressed to even consider allowing your nieces to make their come-out under the aegis of one bearing the Falworth name... No, don’t protest...” she said as Pip opened his mouth to speak.

“I have learned what it is to be a Falworth, but I would first like to reassure you that I was one in name only. My marriage was arranged by my father when I was barely seventeen, and apart from several months at Falworth Manor immediately after the wedding, the marriage was one in name only, as well.”

Pip remained where he was, blue eyes watchful, as Allegra considered her next words.

“I must also confess that I have practically no experience of the London scene or of the Ton; my tenure here has been that of a companion, actually little better than an indentured servant, but that’s neither here nor there...”

Lord Allenbridge snorted quietly. His gaze strayed to her hands, and Allegra clasped the roughened fingers tightly in her lap. He saw too much with those magnificent blue eyes of his.

“However...” continued Allegra, “If you feel yourself able to overcome these obvious drawbacks in my abilities, and can live with my carrying the name of Falworth, then I would be very pleased to accept your offer to be chaperone to the girls—always supposing they like me, of course.” Her brow wrinkled as she realised that much might depend upon the twins’ opinion of her.

Pip looked as if the world had suddenly been lifted off his shoulders and gave Allegra a quite blindingly brilliant smile.

She blinked. He’s too handsome. He should be outlawed.

“Lady Falworth, please be assured that the concerns you have raised are very minimal compared to the enormous service you will be doing for myself and the girls.”

His eyes held hers, and something deep inside her stirred to life. She shivered a little as strange feelings roiled inside her body.

“Although the world has formed an opinion of the reputation of the Falworths, it’s now been some five years or so, I believe, since they made any kind of stir, and Society has a very short memory. As to your lack of exposure to the Ton, I consider that to be an advantage in several ways. You have not been influenced at all by much of the social nonsense that is apparently part of the Season.”

His disdain for much of what passed as acceptable social behaviour betrayed itself by a slight curl of his sensual lips. “...And I know the girls will have no hesitation in welcoming you. After all you are related, in fact it would be appropriate to introduce you as Cousin? If that is acceptable, of course?”

“Cousin it is then,” smiled Allegra in response.

“Good. An excellent notion, I believe.”

Both turned, relieved to put their tensions aside for the moment as a bustle outside the door heralded the arrival of the twins, the tea tray, and Sir Vivian Kerrick, not necessarily in that order.