Seduced by a Scoundrel - By Barbara Dawson Smith Page 0,94

sound on the plush carpeting. Lost in thought, she didn’t notice her mother’s door partly open until she was almost upon it.

Mrs. Philpot hovered in the doorway. The lamplight glinting off her silver hair, she made an urgent beckoning motion. “Thank heavens you’re here, Mrs. Wilder.”

Her heart jolting, Alicia hastened to her side. “What’s wrong? Has Mama run off somewhere?”

“Never fear, Lady Eleanor is well,” Mrs. Philpot whispered. “Though she has been terribly distraught this evening. Perhaps I ought to have administered her nightly posset, but I thought you might wish to speak to her first.”

She stepped back to allow Alicia into the bedchamber. Across the candlelit room, her mother sat curled up on a chaise, her favorite cape tucked around her shoulders as she stared out the darkened window. She appeared to be unaware of their presence.

“You were right to wait.” Not for the first time, Alicia appreciated Mrs. Philpot’s devotion to her mother. Her throat taut, she asked, “Has she been remembering Papa?”

“No, it is something else entirely. You see, while you and Mr. Wilder were gone this evening, Lord Hailstock paid her a visit.”

Alicia frowned. What could the marquess have said to Mama? Like many people, he loathed her illness and went out of his way to avoid her. Not only that, she couldn’t imagine why he would deign to set foot in Drake’s house. “Do you know what they spoke about?”

Mrs. Philpot shook her head, her lips pursed. “He ordered me out of the drawing room. But afterward, your dear mama was weeping, and she kept going on about some letters.”

Letters? Alicia’s heart clenched painfully. Mama never received mail anymore. When the madness had descended on her after Papa’s death, all of society had forsaken her.

Then a peculiar memory struck Alicia. Lord Hailstock in the study at Pemberton House, his hand in the drawer of the desk. He’d said he was looking for letters … letters he’d written to Papa.

“I am sorry,” Mrs. Philpot murmured. “I fear I should not have left them alone.”

“Don’t be troubled. You couldn’t have known.” Alicia patted the older woman’s hand. “Please give us a few minutes alone. I’ll put Mama to bed.”

“As you wish, my lady.” With one last concerned look at Lady Eleanor, Mrs. Philpot left the chamber, quietly shutting the door.

The yellow and white bedchamber had a cozy aura with a fire burning cheerily on the hearth. A fanciful painting of clouds and cherubs danced across the ceiling. On the four-poster bed, the snowy-white counterpane had been turned down to the soft linen sheets and feather pillows.

Alicia hurried to the chaise, where her mother huddled in cape and nightdress, her feet curled beneath her, a braid of silvering fair hair draped over her shoulders.

“Mama, it’s Alicia. I’ve come to visit.”

For a moment her mother continued to gaze blankly out into the night. Moisture matted her eyelashes, though no tears fell. Then slowly she turned her head. Her blue eyes blinked and focused, growing lucid with awareness. “My daughter. I haven’t seen you in ever so long.”

Clearly she didn’t remember that Alicia had taken tea with her that very afternoon. Mama had been dressed as a fairy princess in gauzy, flowing robes, insisting they use a child’s tiny tea set while sampling morsels of cake.

But thank heavens, now must be one of her moments of sanity.

Aching with bittersweet relief, Alicia perched on the edge of the chaise and took hold of her mother’s thin, cold hand. “Mama,” she whispered. “Oh, Mama, I heard you were sad, so I came to see what was wrong.”

“You’re a dear girl to worry about me.” Her gaze took in Alicia’s gown of muslin over a lavender slip, the gold silk spencer over her bare shoulders. “Are you going out for the evening? I mustn’t keep you.”

“Drake and I have just returned from Astley’s circus. Then I heard what happened and—”

“Is your husband here?” Her eyes bright, Lady Eleanor straightened up and looked toward the door. “I should so like to visit with him.”

Alicia shook her head. “I’m afraid he had to go back out.”

“Oh,” her mother said on a sigh of disappointment. “He is such a gallant gentleman. He sometimes stops by to see me, you know.” Frowning, she tapped her chin with her forefinger. “I have been trying to remember of whom he reminds me.…”

There was no one like Drake. A sweet softness curled in Alicia’s breast. Surely any man who could take the time to humor her befuddled mother had to