Alexandra champed at the bit, waiting for the coast to clear. Downstairs her father was taking an inordinate amount of time preparing to leave for his club, or so it seemed. Would the man never leave the house?
As she tied the ribbons of her cloak, she muttered, “Almost there, Grandmama. I’m nearly free, thanks to you.”
After Mama had left home, Grandmama had come to live with them for a time. But Papa had “driven her silly,” so she said, and after two years under their roof she had returned to her own home at Lowestoft. At first Alexandra had missed her almost as much as she’d missed Mama, but then Grandmama invited them to stay at Lowestoft as often as Papa would allow, and those were happy days. When she was fifteen Grandmama had taken her aside and said, “Alexandra, I know you will care for your sister always. You are a responsible girl.”
Alexandra had nodded. Yes, of course. Hadn’t she always looked after Emmaline?
“I am going to leave you a nest egg. When you come of age, remember me and spend your inheritance wisely.”
At the time Alexandra had had no idea what Grandmama meant, but when three years ago Grandmama had died and the terms of her will were read out, Papa had been furious. “That was to be mine, mine! To leave it all to a witless girl who will fritter it away; it doesn’t bear thinking of.”
However Mr. Blount had assured Papa that the terms of the will were correct and clear, and that nothing could be done to overturn it.
Another reason for Papa to dislike her, Alexandra thought as she collected her pattens from the cupboard. As if being the spitting image of Mama were not enough. At least she would not have to worry about that much longer.
She opened her bedroom door and prowled along the hallway to the top of the stairs so she could hear more clearly.
She had already spent a half-hour persuading Emmaline that she did not wish to go for a walk in the park. In the end she’d had to pretend she was not feeling well. So of course Emmaline decided to stay home and read to her. That took another half-hour of arguing until Emmaline had left in a huff, taking Ginny, the downstairs maid with her.
“Yes, sir.” Mrs. White’s voice accompanied the shutting of the front door.
At last! Alexandra grabbed her reticule off the bed and hurried downstairs. The weather was inclement but that did not matter.
When she reached the corner of Great Jermyn Street, she wondered which way to turn. Well, there were only two choices. She turned left and walked slowly along the street avoiding the horse dung, her pattens clattering on the cobblestones. Every now and then she paused, looking at the townhouses.
It was a quiet street. At the far end a coal-heaver’s cart turned the corner to drive along the mews behind the townhouses, and a governess escorted a boy with a hoop along the road towards the park. Apart from that—nothing. Nobody.
Her heart heavy, she reached the end of the street and turned to retrace her steps. What had she expected, anyway? Did she expect Mr. Crombie to come rushing out of his front door to clasp her in his arms? Did she expect Mama to call out “Lexie, here I am”?
She was an idiot. Somehow she must discover the Crombie address and—”
“Miss Tallis, is that you?”
Thank heavens! Murdoch stood in front of her, holding a large brown paper parcel. “I was about to deliver this to you. ’Tis a birthday present from your Mama. Mrs. White told us that as you were about to become of age, she’d felt it was time to disclose your Mama’s circumstances to you.”
A few spatters of rain interrupted him. Alexandra unfurled her parasol. Holding it tilted behind her head, she looked Murdoch in the eye and said, “How is he? How is Mr. Crombie?”
Murdoch’s smooth features creased into wrinkles and lines. “Mr. Theo Crombie?”
“I think so. He wrote me a letter and signed it T. Crombie.”
“Yes.” Murdoch gazed at her with an unreadable expression. But he didn’t answer her question.
An anxious fluttering began in the pit of her stomach. “He’s ill, isn’t he?”
Murdoch stepped forward. “No, miss. Don’t worry. But I’m in a bit of a quandary. I know Mr. Crombie wants very much to see you again. But your Mama…” He shook his head. “Well, she doesn’t want you to come near her.”
Alexandra felt her jaw drop. Mama did not want to see her? Then why did Mrs. White say that Mama had looked as if she’d cut off her hand on the night she’d run away?
“Will I ever be able to visit her, Murdoch?”
He shook his head, his face drooping in sorrow. “I’m sorry, Miss Tallis, but your Mama has her reasons. Mr. Crombie does not agree with her, but—” he shrugged “—it is her prerogative.”
Bitter anguish gnawed at her stomach. All these years she had carried hope in her heart without realising it; hope that one day she would recognise Mama across a street and run up to her and Mama would fold her arms around her and—well, what a pipedream that had been.
Then she recollected what Murdoch had said. “You say that Mr. Crombie would like me to visit?”
“I said that young Mr. Crombie wants to see you. But not at his house.”
Alexandra’s spirits drooped. Why did he want the daughter when he already had the mother? Truly, what a despicable pair Mr. Crombie and Mama were.
She turned on her heel and caught the pattens in a crack in the cobbles. Tugging her foot free, she hissed, “You must tell Mr. Theo Crombie that the farouche Miss Alexandra Tallis has no desire to become part of a—of a whatever you call it—ménage à trois.”
Choking on her grief, she hurried down the street. It was as she had suspected. But never had she been less exalted to be proved right. Somehow she had hoped that Mrs. White had made a mistake about the name, or that there were two Mr. Crombies and that her Mr. T. Crombie was not the man Mama had run away with.
She tried to raise her chin and the rain dripped off her wilting parasol down the back of her neck. “Drat!” She swiped the water away. As soon as Mr. Blount and Mr. Sutherland had found her a satisfactory property, she would—
Her steps slowed. If Emmaline came with her, Papa would hunt them down and take Emmaline—
“Miss Tallis!” A hand grabbed her arm.
She gasped and spun around. This time her patten caught the edge of a cobblestone and down she went, her arms flinging wide to break her fall. Her gloved hands connected with something solid, something secure. “I’ve got you, Miss Tallis. You’re safe.”
Mr. T. Crombie. Safe? She didn’t think so.
“Unhand me, sir,” she demanded. She did not sound very convincing, because she was trying to peep up at him from beneath the brim of her bonnet. He looked well, his skin and eyes clear. He had recovered fast from the wound inflicted by Davy.
They stood in the middle of the street, he holding fast to her hands, ignoring her attempts to tug free.
“I have been wracking my brains about how to meet you again and for once Fate played right into my hands.”
Fate had very little to do with it. Alexandra had not been sure what she would do when she met him again, but she had been determined to search for him and find out…find out—things.
“Walk with me?” It was a suggestion, not an order, so of course she could not be so unobliging as to refuse such a reasonable request. He prowled alongside her as she clattered over the pavement. He glanced down. “Those pattens are deuced noisy.”
“Yes, but I cannot afford—” Yes she could. She could afford as many pairs of half boots and slippers as she liked now! She knew she was grinning smugly when he asked, “What is it?”
Lord, if he could see past the parasol and the brim of her bonnet, her smile must be as wide as the English Channel. Of course, he was peering at her face most intently. “Oh, it’s not important,” she extemporised. “I’ve had some good news; that is all.”
“Dash this rain!” he exclaimed. “I cannot converse properly with you in such circumstances.”
“You wish to converse with me?”
“Not just talk with you,” he growled. “There are many things I should like to do with you, Miss Tallis.”
It was not possible to mistake his meaning. A rosy flush heated her face.
Then common sense asserted itself like a cold shower of water. This man was her mother’s lover. Her mother’s unfaithful lover.
She looked away so she could not see those chiselled cheekbones and determined jaw. “I came to see my mother,” she said, “but Murdoch tells me she does not wish to see me.”
“Murdoch? Whatever has Murdoch to do with your mother?”
“Well, I must suppose she asked him to convey the message to me.”
He walked on for a moment as if chewing over what she’d said. “I still fail to see what Murdoch has to do with it. I didn’t realise you had a mother. I thought she must have died,” he said at last.
“Died?” A hideous thought struck Alexandra. “Are you—are you saying Mama has died? Was she ill?”
“My dear, please don’t distress yourself. But I don’t understand.” He took her hand again and clasped it firmly.
There was something very wrong here. Mrs. White and Murdoch knew where Mama was, but Mr. Crombie behaved as if he didn’t even know Mama.
“I had best take you to my aunt. We cannot stand out here in the rain like this. And we will ask Murdoch what he is talking about. This is our house here.” He led Alexandra towards a lovely townhouse on the corner of the street. Unlike many others it was set well back from the pavement with a pretty paved pathway leading to the portico.
Murdoch stood waiting for them. “You should not have brought her here, sir,” he said.
Alexandra glanced at Mr. Crombie who was staring at Murdoch as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “You are over-reaching yourself, Murdoch. My aunt and uncle are at home, so there is no impropriety.”
“Your aunt asked me to greet the young lady and fetch her a carriage to convey her home, sir. She must not enter this house.”
“I don’t need a carriage. What have I done?” Alexandra burst out.
There was the sound of running footsteps and a woman rushed down the hallway and brushed past Murdoch. “Oh my darling girl. You have done nothing wrong. It is I who am at fault here.”
“Mama!”