Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,10
about Gerald’s debt. Mr. Wilder will be demanding repayment.”
Something stormy flashed into Hailstock’s eyes, and his grip tightened on her. “That rabble! Your brother cannot be blamed for the weakness he inherited from his father. But I condemn Wilder for exploiting such a flaw.”
“I pray Gerald has learned his lesson.” She thought of him, selling his prized mare in order to help repay the note, and a bittersweet pain clenched her breast. “I know he wouldn’t deliberately do anything to harm Mama and me.”
“Nevertheless, the damage is done. And a fine lady like you cannot live like this.” Hailstock gestured at the empty chamber.
“What else am I to do?” she murmured.
“We can do what we discussed two days ago, when you came to me, asking for my help.” He touched her cheek and gazed deeply into her eyes. “Marry me, darling. Much as I dislike giving tuppence to that Wilder wretch, I would do it for you, if you were my wife. I came here today hoping you had reconsidered my offer.”
How wonderful it would be to transfer her worries to him, to let him take care of her, to once again live the uncomplicated life of a lady. Alicia forced herself to ask, “Have you changed your mind in regard to Mama, then? Will you allow her to live with us?”
His mouth thinned. “You must see how impossible that is. Please, don’t turn away.” His cool fingertips drew her face back toward him. “You must see that Lady Brockway belongs where she can be properly cared for by people experienced in these matters.”
“I care for her properly,” Alicia flared. “I don’t know how you can forsake her. She and Papa were your friends once. I remember watching from the top of the stairs, seeing all of you laughing together at dinner parties and fancy balls. It made me happy to see Mama smile so gaily. She was the loveliest lady there.” She stopped, her throat taut.
“All that is gone now,” the marquess said urgently. “’Tis regrettable, but time marches on and people do change. Wishing will not bring back the mother you once admired.”
“I still admire her,” Alicia said fiercely. “That is where you and I differ. To me, she is no bit of rubbish to be tossed aside simply because you consider her an embarrassment.”
His expression rigid, Hailstock sat back on the chaise. “Think, my dear. If you spurn my offer, there will be no one else willing to pay so much for your hand. Your brother will go to prison while you and your mother end up in the workhouse. Is that a better fate than what I propose?”
Alicia shivered, for beneath the heat of her anger lay a cold kernel of fear. “If I must starve first, I will never, ever give Mama over to strangers. And to such a horrible place as you propose—”
“M’lady!” Running footsteps thudded in the corridor, and Mrs. Molesworth burst into the drawing room, her round face flushed, her mobcap askew. “M’lady, you must come, and quickly!”
Alicia sprang up from the chaise. Her insides knotting, she seized the cook’s broad shoulders. “Is it Mama?”
“Aye. She was gatherin’ flowers in the garden, singin’ to ’erself while I pulled weeds. I nipped inside for a minute, just to stir the soup, and when I come back…” She paused, quivering, her plump hand pressed to her mouth.
“Tell me.”
“She’s gone, m’lady. She’s nowhere to be found!”
Chapter Three
The flower-seller perched on the park bench, yellow daffodils and purple crocuses spilling from the basket in her lap. Her sweetly earnest face looked as delicate as a cameo beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat with its cloud of pink tulle. A tattered moleskin cape with a blue satin lining hung from her thin shoulders down to a much-mended black skirt. Near her small bare feet, a fat pigeon pecked at the dirt between the stone flags of the path.
“Flowers fer sale,” the woman trilled, holding up a posy. “Please, buy me lovely flowers.”
The pedestrians strolling the park made a wide berth around the bench. A nursemaid pushing a perambulator slowed and stared. A haughty gentleman curled his upper lip in distaste. A pair of fashionably dressed merchants’ wives scuttled past, their mouths flapping in horrified whispers, their gait swift as if they feared venturing too near.
“Quite mad,” muttered the tall, pinch-mouthed matron.
“An outrage,” squealed her plump friend. “Not fit to be seen by decent folk—”
“Then it is a blessing there are no decent folk here,” Alicia broke in.