Wizard's Daughter (Sherbrooke Brides 10)

Lady Mountjoy grabbed Rosalind's hand and held on tight, making the grapes on her bonnet dance. "I don't want tea, you stupid girl, I want to tell you to call off this absurd wedding with Nicholas. I'm trying to save you even though you are as common as a weed and don't deserve to be saved." She lowered her voice to a hiss. "Your life is in dan­ger. Nicholas Vail is a scoundrel. When his father kicked him out, he didn't have a single sou—"

Ah, so she was finally getting to it. Rosalind said easily, "Well, how could he have a single sou when his father kicked him out? Wasn't he a little boy?"

"It is one and the same thing. My dear husband told me the old earl gave Nicholas quite a lot of money before he died, but I ask you, what happened to it? We heard Nicholas simply disappeared—I know he gambled the money away. He was sly and mean, a-good-for-nothing from the age of five. He had nothing when he left England."

"Do you know, I don't believe Nicholas gambles at all, but I shall ask him. I wonder too what happened to the money if his grandfather did indeed give him some. Was he robbed? Perhaps left for dead?"

"Control your mel

odrama. Nicholas was a wastrel when he was a boy, and I'm sure he's remained one. Whatever hap­pened, Nicholas lost the money his grandfather gave to him. All know he is still poor. He has a title and no money and thus he needs an heiress. So I am here to tell you the truth. He is only after the money the Sherbrookes will give you. He will get a boy child off you, then murder you in your bed. If you trust him you are more a fool than I believe you are."

"As in the fruit never falls far from the paternal or mater­nal tree?"

Rosalind believed for an instant that Lady Mountjoy would strike her. Her bosom heaved, she turned alarmingly red in the face, and her breath was as loud as a bellows. But she held herself still. Rosalind realized in that instant if the woman had hit her, she would have retaliated, knocked her flat, with great enjoyment. Chin up, shoulders squared, Lady Mountjoy said, "My sons are gentlemen, nurtured by the parental and maternal tree. They know what is what, they know how to behave. If possible, my husband would have declared Nicholas a bastard, but the boy had the gall to look the picture of him, curse the fates."

Rosalind managed to pull her hand free of Lady Mount-joy's surprisingly strong grip. She turned away from the woman to sit down on the sofa. She watched Lady Mountjoy pace in front of her. Her imposing bosom looked ready to topple her, but didn't, possibly because she was so tightly corseted. She had once been very pretty, Rosalind thought.

Rosalind said finally, "I met your sons Richard and Lancelot, at Drury Lane, to see Hamlet. I, myself, didn't care for Kean's performance all that much. Have you seen him as Hamlet?"

"You are trying to distract me and it won't work. Be quiet." She paused, eyed Rosalind up and down. "Besides, I know you are a fraud yourself."

"Ah, so I am no longer the victim. Like Nicholas, am I now a scoundrel too? If that is what you believe, then why are you concerned? We are both poor and we are both scoundrels. Like to like. Don't you think it fitting?"

Rosalind thought the woman would explode. That made her feel quite good. She was learning an excellent lesson: Hold on to your temper with both hands, and breathe. As for Lady Mountjoy, she hadn't learned this lesson. Her face was alarmingly flushed. "You mock me, you worthless excuse for a proper lady. The only reason society is forced to pay any attention to you at all is because of the Sherbrookes."

"Well, of course that's quite right. What is your point, ma'am? That I am not good enough to marry the Earl of Mountjoy, even though you believe he is poor and a scoundrel?"

A spasm of rage seamed Lady Mountjoy's mouth. She re­alized she was getting far afield and couldn't find the road. "You are certainly not good enough to marry the real Earl of Mountjoy! Nicholas, the earl? Bah, I say. Neither of you should carry that proud name! And your name—La Fontaine—the man wrote nothing but silly fables about rab­bits and turtles racing, of all things—ridiculous!—morality tales that have no bearing whatsoever on life."

"Well, to be honest yet again, I fear you are right. But don't you see, I somehow misplaced my own name and had to cast about for a new one. Since I love sly foxes and vain crows, you can imagine my delight when I learned that Jean de La Fontaine wrote such charming tales. La Fontaine—it floats rather nicely on the tongue, don't you think?"

Lady Mountjoy looked hath amazed and furious. In fact, she looked as though if she'd had a gun, Rosalind would be ly­ing dead at her feet. She shook a plump white fist, three large rings on her fingers, in Rosalind's face. "None of this is to the point, my girl. You will be quiet."

"Then why, ma'am, did you bring it up?"

Lady Mountjoy heaved and huffed and Rosalind feared for her stays. "The fact remains, you are not a real La Fontaine."

Rosalind said, "Well, naturally not. I already explained that to you. I must say, ma'am, you don't seem to have found out very much about me. Perhaps you don't have a very competent solicitor."

"Glendenning is an idiot. He even allowed Nicholas to claim my son's tide. It is my very special friend, Alfred Lem­ming, who is competent. Unfortunately he is in Cornwall at the moment, visiting his moldering estate in Penzance."

Lady Mountjoy had a lover? Rosalind said, "You mustn't blame poor Glendenning about losing the title. I believe the law of primogeniture prevents any other course of action. Nicholas was the firstborn, after all, and despite his father's machinations, he is the rightful Earl of Mountjoy."

"Primogeniture, what a ridiculous word, what an out­moded, outrageously unfair bit of law. It is ancient, not at all to the point in the modern world.

"Nicholas should never have come into the title and that's the truth of it. My precious Richard should be the earl.

"I have friends, missy, friends who know the Sher­brookes, friends who have told me about Ryder Sherbrooke and his collection of little beggars, one of which you have been for over ten years. Ah, I can see the shame in your eyes. What do you have to say to that?"

"I say thank you to God, every single night, that Ryder Sherbrooke found me and saved me life. Do you think I should do more? Oh, dear, all my money comes from him as well. I did knit him some socks one year for Christmas, and he did wear them, bless him."

Rosalind sincerely prayed Lady Mountjoy wouldn't fall over with apoplexy. Her powerful lungs looked ready to burst through her lavender bodice, her fists knotted at her sides. Perhaps Rosalind should stop laying it on with a trowel.

Miranda, Lady M o untjoy, was frustrated and baffled by this far too smart young lady with her glorious red hair, which even Richard had remarked favorably upon, unwill­ingly, of course. She wished the girl's hair were coarse and vulgar, what with all the thick riotous curls, but it wasn't. And those blue eyes—her own boys' father had had such blue eyes, beautiful eyes—but he was dead, that inconsider­ate lout who'd really been too old for her at the time she married him, but she'd insisted—and then he'd had the gall to croak after barely twenty years. She yelled at Rosalind , "You are not paying proper attention to me, missy!"

"Ah, it just occurred to me that once I am wed to Nicholas, I shall take precedence over you. You will call me Lady Mountjoy and curtsy. You will be the Dowager Lady Mountjoy."

Lady Mountjoy picked up what was close at hand—a lovely green brocade pillow—and hurled it at her. Rosalind plucked it out of the air, laughing. She was very relieved that Lady Mountjoy did not have a cane in her hand.