Lie With Me Read online

  “That is,” she continued, clearing her throat, “you don’t seem as susceptible as they are to the whims of fortune. The men you game with say they foretell their evening’s losses by counting the number of bodyguards who arrive with you. The more heavily guarded you are, the more they lose.”

  His heart thudded. He was slipping, becoming obvious. And if one deceit could be discerned, then so could another. He cut the thought short. The secret to walking on the edge of a precipice was to never look down. Next trip, he’d take all his bodyguards and lose.

  “My Lord?”

  He refocused. “Tell me. When the Duchess remarries what becomes of your living arrangements?”

  Maryam paled. “I see now how you succeed so well at cards. You rifle through your opponent’s hand first.”

  The corner of his mouth hitched. “It is not as simple as that. It is a process of deduction. You see, the mystery does not lie in what cards there are in a deck, but rather in how they are distributed. Let us use this example of your living arrangements. I know that your late husband’s estate was... modest... to begin with, then further reduced by Grenville’s rapacity. I know that you live at St. James—an address you cannot afford with your own resources, and I know that you moved in with the Duchess after your husband’s death. So I conclude the apartments belong to your friend.

  "This leaves the question of whether the Duchess will move in with the Duke, or vice-versa, when they marry. I am not convinced that it really matters what choice they make, as the outcome is the same for you in either event. If the Duchess leaves, you must go as well. If the Duke moves in, you will of course, be given the option of staying. But I think this arrangement would soon chafe, not only because you have three small children who might irritate an elder statesman, but also because you are a proud woman who would be loath to reveal her true financial state. Which brings me to the question of your options. Shall I work my way through those or will you save me the effort?”

  “I suppose that once you were aware of my penury I had nothing left with which to negotiate.”

  “On the contrary. You still own Skylark and I want it. Do not fold your hand yet.”

  “Very well then, as far as I can see I have two choices—sell Skylark at a figure which will provide my family with a decent annual stipend, or keep Skylark and become your neighbour, living on what remains of our funds until I can make the estate productive.”

  He pressed his lips together.

  “An unhappy prospect?”

  “My Lady, I can think of no neighbour I would like more.”

  “And yet—?”

  “You must see Skylark.”

  A shadow crossed her face.

  Fear. D’Avenant cringed inwardly. A woman seeking independence was not well-served by an honest face. “Well,” he said. “How would I have done with my hand? What does your friend plan?”

  “You did very well, but neither scenario pertains in the immediate future. The Duke and Duchess will be spending the Fall in Scotland. My cousin loves the Highlands, so I would not have to move out at once.”

  “Ah. You see why what I do is called gambling. I merely play probabilities.”

  “May I ask questions now?”

  He lifted a shoulder. He wouldn’t necessarily answer. But he was curious about what she wanted to know.

  “Is it true that your entire family died in France?”

  “Alas,” he said. “I am an orphan.”

  “If your entire family is dead—then who is this woman you call Maman?”

  His head rose sharply. “Madame, not Maman. You misheard.”

  “No, My Lord. I did not. You only did it once but I heard it distinctly.”

  “I won’t have her belittled.”

  “I gain no pleasure from belittling others, D’Avenant.”

  “No,” he said, accepting her implied rebuke. “Nor have you. I apologize.”

  “She is dear to you. That much is evident. I merely wondered—”

  “Maman saved my life,” he said.

  The stables at Edgemere were immaculate–stone flags swept, clean straw underfoot, fresh hay and water in each rack and pail.

  Lord D’Avenant arrived at the stables before Lady Maryam. Breakfast now completed, they were riding out to Skylark. Coming across the lawn to the building, he turned the corner and saw Elizabeth in the centre aisle, silhouetted against the bright sunlight from the paddock beyond her. She had an apple in her hand and was offering it to D’Avenant’s handsome Cleveland Bay gelding.

  Starburst was an immensely powerful horse with short legs in relation to his body size but still sixteen hands high. Hooves thunking against the half door on his box stall, he towered over the girl, straining to get his big yellow teeth around the delicacy in her hand.

  Tsk. Another brave-hearted Wyndham female with more courage than experience.

  “Elizabeth,” D’Avenant said calmly. Get your fingers out of the way.

  Starburst lunged, clattering against the stall.

  Elizabeth jumped back. The apple fell to the floor. Starburst strained against the stall trying to reach it. Elizabeth looked guiltily in D’Avenant’s direction.

  D’Avenant scooped up the apple. He held it out to her. “Never let the animal know he is bigger than you,” he said.

  “Right.” Clutching the apple tightly, she tilted her head up to the giant chestnut gelding.

  “And, Elizabeth. Palm flat. Keep your fingers out of the way of his teeth.”

  She nodded solemnly and stepped forward, apple held high.

  Starburst snatched it out of her hand and ground it between his powerful molars.

  “Oh, he's fabulous!” she proclaimed. “Can we give him more?”

  “Your mother and I are about to ride out to Skylark. Why don’t I introduce you to our groom, Estelle, and let her show you the other horses?”

  Elizabeth’s hazel eyes lit up with delight.

  A thick-armed woman with a ruddy face came through the door. “Are you ready to set out now? Which of the carriages should oi ‘itch for you and the lady?”

  “None, thank you, Estelle. We’ve decided to ride.”

  “Oi'll saddle up her Ladyship's mount, then. A mare, do y’ think?”

  "Well, er... I’m not sure.” D’Avenant turned to Elizabeth. “How well does your mother ride?”

  “And does she only ride sidesaddle, Miss?” Estelle interjected. “Because we ain’t got one.”

  The sound of riding boots struck the stones. It was Maryam, outfitted in a sensible blue riding dress. “I’ve often thought that riding astride a horse made more sense,” she answered. “This seems a good time to find out.”

  “Roight, then,” said Estelle. “Which ’orse should I saddle, Milord?”

  Starburst gave a loud snort and nosed D’Avenant backwards.

  “This one seems spirited enough,” Maryam said.

  D’Avenant grinned.

  “This one’s ’is Lordship’s mount, Milady. No one else is permitted to—”

  “I’ll take Pandora, Estelle.”

  Starburst bolted from the stables as if he had spent a fortnight in confinement and galloped toward the eastern gate of the estate. Maryam neither feared the horse nor attempted to force him into a stately gait. She had never ridden astride before and loved it. She felt at one with her mount, not some topsy ornament atop it, and loved the feel of his raw power.

  D’Avenant stayed close, looking a bit worried at first, but then relaxing as he saw she was a skilled rider.

  They rode hard until Starburst and Pandora themselves slackened their pace, expanding their barrel chests with great huffs of air.

  D’Avenant came alongside.

  Maryam’s cheeks glowed. “Are we going in the right direction?”

  “Starburst knows the way.”

  “Aha! You visit Skylark with regularity! Your horse betrays you!” She leaned forward, patting Starburst’
s neck. “An informant. Good boy.”

  They edged around a series of barley fields until Starburst drifted off the lane and into a forest path scarcely a rider’s width across.

  “Oh,” Maryam said, pulling in the reins. “This can’t be right.” She turned in her saddle to check with D’Avenant.

  He lifted a hand, palm up, signalling the path. “Trust the horse, My Lady.”

  Starburst clopped sedately along. Pandora fell in behind him. The forest absorbed them into its muted world. Starburst followed a sinuous route that disappeared into the undergrowth. The D’Avenants must have managed these woods for hundreds of years, Maryam thought. The trees were pollarded above grazing height, the hazel, sycamore, and chestnut coppiced. Generations of family members had used the timber they needed while still ensuring more for the future.

  Her mind wandered, lost in the magical green world, until she glimpsed bits of grey stone wall through the foliage. Starburst circumvented the spreading branches of an old beech tree and stepped out of the forest into the sunlight.

  She stopped. There was Skylark. A grey stone structure two storeys high, engulfed by ivy, overgrown with weeds and scrub brush, the doors and windows gone. Looking into the interior, she could see daylight shining through great holes in the roof.

  D’Avenant nudged Pandora forward. “This way,” he said, indicating the path.

  Starburst plodded around the house to the front entrance. There, he halted, pulled some slack into his reins, and put his head down to eat grass.

  D’Avenant dismounted and dropped Pandora’s reins, ground-tying her.

  He came around Starburst and offered Maryam a steadying hand. She dismounted.

  “Is the house just as bad inside?” she asked, her voice thin in her own ears.

  “The stonework is sound, but everything made of wood has rotted and needs to be rebuilt.”

  D’Avenant steadied her elbow as she stepped through the tangled vines choking the entryway. They entered the house, glass crunching underfoot. The interior was hollow. Bare walls rose two storeys around them to the sky, the upstairs floors gone, and the roof just the skeletal remains of a timber frame.

  They walked from room to room. She grew quieter, more subdued, her throat constricting with the stark reality before her. Her hope of financial freedom was literally in ruins. She stood in the centre of it, her heart as fallen-in as the roof above her head.

  D’Avenant leaned against an empty window-frame, plucked an ivy leaf off the vine on the windowsill and twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. “Were you ever here before?”

  “Edward—the Earl of Wyndham—came as a child once or twice, but we never visited together. It’s a long journey and really, this is D’Avenant country. The Wyndhams had no connections here. This property was...”

  “Booty,” D’Avenant supplied.

  Maryam nodded.

  “Wyndham, was he kind to you?”

  “What a curious question.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “You’re a lovely woman. I would like to think he valued you.”

  She hesitated, a bit flustered. The question was unexpected but he had asked it sincerely. “We were like any married couple. Sometimes we hurt each other’s feelings without meaning to. But, yes, he was kind. Good with the children.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Our families knew each other. We enjoyed each other’s company. It was a good match.”

  “He was older than you, was he not?”

  By twenty years. Enough to leave her passion unsatisfied. “It’s moldy in here–” she said, avoiding his question. “Would you mind if we went outside?”

  Once outdoors she walked around the house in the long shadows and sweet scent of the afternoon, reflecting on her options. However solid its stonework, renovating Skylark would require a much deeper purse than she possessed. She had to sell. She turned to D’Avenant, walking silently at her side. “How much are you willing to pay for Skylark?”

  “You are asking me to reveal my hand?”

  “I am asking you to tell me the fair value of this property.”

  He hesitated fractionally. “Four thousand pounds.”

  She walked ahead, turning the figure over in her mind. Four thousand pounds. Not what Grenville had told her the property would bring—back when she believed he had kept it up. D’Avenant hadn’t lied about Skylark’s condition. He had brought her to the countryside at his own expense so she could see Grenville’s deceit for herself. But what if he was using her to settle his feud with Grenville? How could she be certain she wasn’t trusting one scoundrel in place of another? She wanted to get a fair price for Skylark—her children’s future depended on it. But how could she impartially determine the actual value of the property? Without knowing that, how could she be sure she had negotiated a fair price?

  She stopped abruptly. Appraisals.

  The Abercrombies were grumbling about appraisals when she left their offices. On other occasions she had heard her cousin, the Duke of Kent, advising financiers to obtain such evaluations before committing their funds. Compare the cost of purchasing a property to the income it can generate, Ernest told them. Determine how long it will take to recover the investment. D’Avenant might have an emotional tie to Skylark, but he was nothing if not astute. If anyone had a realistic figure it would be him.

  “Lord D’Avenant,” she said, waiting for him to close the distance between them. “You said you had Skylark appraised, did you not?”

  “I did.”

  “And you say the property is valued at four thousand pounds, correct?”

  “I said I would pay you four thousand pounds, My Lady.”

  “Very well, then. I shall sell you Skylark for four thousand pounds on two conditions. One, I can have the letters of appraisal verified, and two, that the letters say Skylark is worth no more than four thousand pounds.”

  “Well, er…” he stammered. “It would be irregular but… Yes. Certainly. I’m sure I can do something.”

  He was lying. Her heart sank. She hated being lied to.

  “I’d like to get back now,” she said, and turned away abruptly. She was tired. She’d had a difficult day. Skylark was in shambles. She was nearly destitute and she had no way of determining the value of her property, except by the word of a man who had clearly just lied to her. She just wanted to go hold her children and soak up the solace in their sweet hugs.

  On the ride home she and D’Avenant both remained silent.

  After returning the horses to the stables, she ascended the terrace steps ahead of him. At the top, she stopped, turned, and looked him in the eye. “You lied, didn’t you?”

  He flicked his glance at the horizon and said nothing.

  “How much is it really worth?”

  He met her gaze. “Accept the offer, My Lady.”

  “May I see the letters of appraisal?”

  “No, you may not.”

  Maryam turned on her heel and walked into the house.

  At nearly midnight, Maman was in bed, still awake, waiting for Julianne to appear. She would come. She was dressed as D’Avenant and needed to be released. Dinner had been quiet. Julianne did not join them. Lady Maryam had been polite, but subdued. Something had happened at Skylark between them. Maman suggested tea together after dinner, hoping to draw Maryam out. But she had declined, saying she wanted to put her children to bed herself.

  Maman could guess where Julianne was. Alone somewhere, drinking. There were times the ground slipped away beneath her and she could not endure the way it felt. Maman did not blame her, nor judge her for it. For more than a decade now, Julianne had been carrying a heavy load. Edgemere was an unending responsibility. And she lived under constant threat of being discovered. Every trip to the village, every trip to London was a ruse, a danger. All it took was one secret revealed, and everything would come tumbling down.

  The most problematic thing, though, was her loss of perso
nal identity. Living in disguise, hiding in plain view, she had never had a chance to integrate the past with the present, never had the opportunity to build an honest woman from the ashes of her youth. All she knew—all that protected her—was deceit. What Julianne needed more than ever, was honesty. The acknowledgement of a true self.

  But to get that she had to give up everything else.

  There was a tap at Maman’s door, then it swung open slowly. Julianne came in, slightly unsteady, clutching the long neck of a nearly-empty bottle of cognac.

  “We missed you at dinner, chère.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Maman. I’ve kept you waiting. You must be tired.”

  Julianne sat on the edge of Maman’s bed and set the bottle on the nightstand.

  “Sophie left you a food tray in the kitchen.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said, unbuttoning her waistcoat. “I just need to get out of this.”

  Maman sat up beside her. She cupped Julianne's forehead with one hand, and rubbed her neck with the other, comforting her as she used to when Julianne was little.

  “Where do you get the comfort in those fingers, Maman?”

  “I keep a little pot in my heart, petit. Just for you. Alright,” Maman said, finishing the small massage. “Lean forward. Let’s get the corset off.”

  Julianne helped her to pull the shirt out of the waistband.

  “Lady Maryam seemed quiet when she came down to dinner,” Maman said. “What was her reaction when she saw Skylark?”

  “She was devastated,” Julianne said. “Didn’t say so, of course.”

  “She is very proud. Very dignified.”

  “Pride and dignity are indulgences for the rich. She declined my offer.”

  “Combien?" Maman asked, pulling the corset free. How much.

  “Four thousand pounds.”

  Maman grunted softly. “You said you would go to 3,000 at very most.”

  “She has three young children,” Julianne said defensively. “They can live off the interest on 4,000.”

  “Have I ever scolded you for your generosity, chère? I’m just thinking that means you have to earn it. You are already overworked.”