Counterfeit Lady (James River Trilogy 1)

An hour later, Wes reluctantly left the quiet orderliness of Nicole’s little house to go to Arundel Hall. He hadn’t wanted to leave, yet he was looking forward to meeting Bianca. If Nicole was Clay’s second choice, then his first must be truly an angel.

“What did you think of her?” Clay asked as he greeted Wes at the end of the garden.

“I’m thinking of sending some kidnappers to England. If I do half as well as you, I’ll die happy.”

“You haven’t seen Bianca yet. She’s waiting inside and is anxious to meet you.”

Wes’s first look at Bianca was one of shock. It was like seeing James’s wife Beth again. He was instantly taken back to the days when the house had been full of love and laughter. Beth had a talent for making everyone welcome. Her loud laugh could be heard throughout the house. There wasn’t an itinerant peddler within miles who wasn’t welcome at her table.

Beth was a large woman, tall and strong. Her energy affected everyone. She could work on the plantation all morning, ride in a hunt with James and Clay all afternoon, and Wes suspected from James’s constant smile that she could make love all night. She used to gather children to her bosom and hug them exuberantly. She could bake cookies with one hand and hug three children with the other.

For a moment, Wes felt his eyes blur with tears. Beth had been so alive that it was almost possible to believe she’d come back to earth.

“Mr. Stanford,” Bianca said quietly. “Won’t you come in?”

Wes felt like a fool and knew he must look like one. He blinked a few times to clear his eyes, then looked at Clay. He knew and understood the turmoil inside Wes.

“We have so few visitors here,” Bianca was saying as she led the men into the dining room. “Clayton promises me that quite soon we will be able to have visitors again. That is, as soon as all of this unfortunate situation is put to rights and I am truly mistress here. Won’t you have a seat?”

Wes was still mesmerized by her, by the resemblance to Beth; but the voice was different, the movements were different, and there was a dimple in her left cheek that Beth didn’t have. He took a chair across from hers with Clay between them. “How do you like our country? Is it a great deal different from England?”

“Oh, yes,” Bianca said as she ladled a thick pile of sauce over three slices of ham. She handed the silver gravy boat to Wes. “America is so much more crude than England. There are no towns, no places to shop. And the lack of society—decent society, that is—is appalling.”

Wes paused with his hand on the gravy ladle. She had just insulted his country and his countrymen, but she didn’t seem at all aware of her rudeness. Her head was bent over her plate. Wes dipped some of the gravy onto his plate and then tasted it. “Good God, Clay! Since when has Maggie been serving bowls of sugar with her ham?”

Clay shrugged disinterestedly. He watched Bianca as he ate.

Wes was beginning to be suspicious of the whole relationship. “Tell me, Mrs. Armstrong,” he began, then stopped. “I beg your pardon, but you’re not Mrs. Armstrong—yet.”

“No, I’m not!” Bianca said, casting a malevolent look at Clay. “My maid thrust herself at the men who were to take me to Clay. Then, while she was on board the ship, she persuaded the captain that she was Bianca Maleson and managed to get herself married to my fiancé.”

Wes was beginning not to like the woman. It had taken a few minutes to get past her resemblance to Beth, but even now that was starting to fade. She was soft and fat where Beth had always been strong and firm with large bones. “Your maid, you say? Wasn’t she an escapee from the French Revolution? I thought only the aris

tocracy had to flee the country.”

Bianca waved her fork. “That is what Nicole tells everyone. She says her grandfather was the Duc de Levroux, or at least her cousin told me that.”

“But you know better, don’t you?”

“Of course. She did work for me for some months, and I should know. It is my guess that she was a cook somewhere, or a seamstress. But please, Mr. Stanford,” she said and smiled, “do you really want to talk about my maid?”

“Of course not,” Wes smiled back. “Let’s talk about you. It’s rare that I am in such charming company. Tell me about your family and more about your ideas of America.”

Wes ate slowly as he listened to Bianca. It wasn’t easy to keep eating and still listen. She told him of the pedigree of her own family, of the house her father once owned. Of course, everything in America was dreadfully inferior to what was in England, especially the people. She itemized the faults of all of Clay’s servants, told how they mistreated her, refused to obey her. Wes made little sounds of sympathy, all the while amazed at the quantity of food she was eating.

Once in a while he stole looks at Clay. Clay remained passive, as if he didn’t hear or understand Bianca’s words. Once in a while, he looked at Bianca with a glazed expression as if he didn’t really see her.

The dinner seemed to go on forever. Wes was amazed at Bianca’s sense of security. She never seemed to doubt that she and Clay would be married quite soon and that she would own Arundel Hall. It was when she started talking of tearing the east wall out of the house and adding an ornate wing, “not so plain as this house,” that Wes wanted to hear no more.

He turned to Clay. “Why are the twins staying across the river?”

Clay frowned at Wes. “Nicole could give them an education, and they wanted to go,” he said flatly. “Would you care to join us in the library, my dear?”

“Heavens, no,” Bianca said sweetly. “I wouldn’t think of intruding on you gentlemen. If you would excuse me, I think I will retire. It’s been an exhausting day.”

“Of course,” Clay said.

Wes muttered goodnight to her, then turned and left the room. When he was in the library, he poured himself a stiff shot of whiskey and downed it in one gulp. He was pouring a second one when Clay entered the room.