Counterfeit Lady Read online

  “I hope she doesn’t expect us to eat all that,” Nicole smiled.

  “I think she’s trying to let me know that if you’re here the food will improve. It would have to improve over what it’s been.”

  “Did the sloop arrive yet?” She saw the frown cross his face before he shook his head.

  They had just sat down at the table when one of the plantation workers burst into the room. “Mr. Clay! I didn’t know what to do,” he said in an explosion of words. He held his hat in his hands and threatened to destroy it any minute. He was very nervous. “She said she’d come all this way to see you and that you’d string me up if I didn’t bring her.”

  “Calm down, Roger. What are you talking about, and who are you talking about?” He threw his napkin onto his clean plate.

  “I wasn’t sure I believed her. I thought she might just be some English scum tryin’ to pull the wool over my eyes. But then I got a good look at her, and she looked so much like Miss Beth I thought it was her.”

  Neither Nicole nor Clay heard the man, for standing just behind him was Bianca. Her dark blonde hair was limp and straight about her round face. Her little mouth was pursed into a pretty little pout. Nicole felt as if she’d forgotten what Bianca was really like. Her life had changed so drastically in the last few months that the time in England seemed as if it had never happened. Now she vividly remembered the way Bianca liked to control people.

  Nicole turned to Clay and was astonished by his expression. He looked as if he were seeing a ghost. There was a look of incredulousness as well as rapture on his face. Suddenly, it seemed that her whole body was turning to water. She knew then that deep within her she’d always hoped that when he saw Bianca again he would know he no longer loved her. As sharp tears stung the corners of her eyes, Nicole knew she’d lost, that he’d never looked at her as he was now staring at Bianca.

  Nicole drew her breath in slowly and deeply, then stood and walked across the room to Bianca. She held out her hand. “May I bid you welcome to Arundel Hall?”

  Bianca gave Nicole a look of hate and ignored the hand offered to her. “You act as if you own the place,” she said under her breath, then smiled demurely at Clay. “Aren’t you glad to see me?” she said teasingly, the dimple appearing in her left cheek. “I have traveled a long way to be near you.”

  Clay’s chair nearly fell as he dashed across the room to Bianca. He grabbed her shoulders with both his hands, then stared at her face with a burning intensity. “Welcome,” he whispered, and kissed her cheek. He did not notice the way she recoiled from his touch. “Take the trunk upstairs, Roger.”

  Roger backed away from the group. He’d just spent six hours in a sloop with the blonde woman, and a couple of times he had to restrain himself from throwing her overboard. He wouldn’t have believed it was possible for one woman to find so many things to complain about in so short a time. She railed against Roger and his men’s lack of subservience toward her. She seemed to expect all the men to cater to her merest wish. The closer the sloop got to the Armstrong plantation, the more Roger was sure he’d made an error in delivering her to Clay.

  Now, looking at the way Clay stared at the woman, Roger was astounded. How could he look at her like that when that pretty little Miss Nicole was standing there, her heart in her eyes? Roger shrugged, jammed his hat on his head, and carried the trunk up the stairs. Boats were his business, and he was thankful women were not.

  “Clayton!” Bianca said sharply, twisting out of his grip. “Aren’t you going to ask me to sit down? After that long trip here, I’m afraid I’m exhausted.”

  Clay attempted to take her arm, but she eluded him. He held a chair for her, to the left of his at the head of the dining table. “You must be hungry,” he said as he took another place setting from the chippendale cabinet.

  Nicole stood in the doorway and watched them. Clay hovered over Bianca like a mother hen. Bianca swept the green gauze of her dress aside and sat down. Nicole was aware that Bianca had gained at least twenty pounds since she’d last seen her. She was tall enough to carry the weight, and as yet it hadn’t distorted her face, but her hips and thighs had greatly increased in size. The high-waisted fashions concealed it to a degree, but the sleeveless style completely exposed her heavy upper arms.

  “I want to know everything,” Clay said, bending toward her. “How did you get here? What sort of passage did you get?”

  “It was dreadful,” Bianca said, lowering her pale lashes. “After your letter to my father arrived, I was desolate. I realized what an awful mistake had been made. Of course, I came on the next available ship.” She smiled up at him. After her father had shown her the letter, she’d laughed heartily at the joke played on poor, stupid Nicole, but two days later she’d received another letter. Some distant cousins of hers lived in America, not too far from Clay, and they’d written Bianca to congratulate her on her catch. They seemed to think she knew of Clay’s wealth and asked to borrow from her as soon as she married Clay. Bianca dismissed the cousins instantly, but she was furious to read of Clay’s wealth. Why hadn’t the stupid man told her he was rich? Her anger quickly turned from Clay to Nicole. Somehow, the conniving little bitch knew about Clay and had arranged to go in Bianca’s place. Immediately, Bianca told her father she planned to go to America. Mr. Maleson just laughed and said that as soon as she earned the money she could go; it didn’t matter to him.

  Bianca turned to Nicole, still standing in the doorway. She smiled like a gracious hostess. “Won’t you join us?” she asked sweetly. “A cousin of yours came by the house to ask after you,” she said when Nicole was seated. “She had some wild story about your going into business with her. I told her you worked for me and that you had no money. She said the most fantastic things about your selling some emeralds and working at night. It was really quite preposterous. To make sure, I searched your room myself.” Her eyes sparkled. “A passage to America is so expensive, isn’t it? But, then, you wouldn’t know, would you? My ticket cost about what I’d guess a partnership in a dress shop would cost.”

  Nicole kept her chin up. She wouldn’t let Bianca see that her words hurt. But she rubbed her fingertips in memory of the pain of sewing in the dim light.

  “It’s so good to see you,” Clay said. “It’s like a dream come true, having you here again beside me.”

  “Again?” Bianca asked, and both women looked at him. He was staring at Bianca strangely.

  Clay recovered himself. “I meant that I’d imagined you here so often that it does seem as if you’ve returned.” He picked up a bowl of candied yams. “You must be hungry.”

  “Not at all!” she said, but her eyes never left the food. “I know I couldn’t eat a thing. In fact, I may give up eating altogether.” She laughed delightedly at this statement. “Do you know where they put me in that horrible frigate? In the lower deck! With the crew and the livestock! It was beyond belief! The porthole leaked, the roof leaked, and for days on end I lived in semidarkness.”

  Clay winced. “That’s why I had arranged a cabin for you on board the packet.”

  Bianca turned to look across the table to Nicole. “But, of course, I didn’t get such luxurious treatment. I imagine your food was better than mine, too.”

  Nicole bit her tongue to keep from commenting that whatever the quality was, the quantity seemed to have been more than sufficient.

  “Then maybe Maggie’s cooking will help make up for it.” Clay held the bowl a little closer to her.

  “Perhaps just a little, then.”

  Nicole watched quietly as Bianca helped herself to some of each of the twenty-some dishes on the table. Never did she pile her plate high or seem to eat very much of anything. A disinterested observer would have said she was a moderate eater. It was a way she’d learned over the years to conceal her gluttony.

  “Where did you get that dress?” Bianca asked as she delicately poured honey over a bowl of spoon bread.

  Nicole knew her face must be turning pink. She r
emembered too well Clay’s accusations that she’d stolen the fabrics from Bianca.

  “There are some things we must discuss,” Clay said.

  His words saved Nicole from having to respond.

  Before he could continue, Maggie burst into the room. “I heard you got some company off the sloop. She a friend of yours, Mrs. Armstrong?”

  “Mrs. Armstrong?” Bianca said, and looked at Nicole. “Is she referring to you?”

  “Yes,” Nicole said quietly.

  “What is going on here?” Bianca demanded.

  “Maggie, would you leave us?” Clay said.

  Maggie was very curious about this woman Roger had railed about for the last hour. It had taken four tankards of beer to calm him. “I just wanted to know if you were ready for dessert. There’s almond cheesecake, peach and apple tarts, and a custard pie.”

  “Not now, Maggie! There’s something more important than food to be discussed.”

  “Clay,” Bianca said quietly. “It’s been so long since I’ve had anything fresh. Maybe we could have the peach tarts.”

  “Of course,” Clay said instantly. “Bring it all.” He turned back to Bianca. “Forgive me. I’m too used to giving commands.”

  Nicole wanted to leave. More than anything else in the world, she wanted to get away from this man she loved who had suddenly turned into a stranger. She stood up quickly. “I don’t believe I want any dessert. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go home.”

  Clay rose with her. “Nicole, please. I didn’t mean—” He looked down, for Bianca had placed her hand on his. It was the first time she’d voluntarily touched him.

  Nicole’s stomach turned over when she saw the look in Clay’s eyes. She hurried out of the room, out of the house, and into the cool night air.

  “Clay,” Bianca said. She removed her hand from his arm as soon as Nicole turned away, but she’d seen the power her touch had over him. He disgusted her as much as she remembered. His shirt was open at the throat, and he didn’t bother to wear a coat. She hated touching him, hated even being near him, but she’d suffer a lot to own the plantation. All the way up from the wharf, she’d looked at the houses around her, and that odious man from the boat said Clay owned it all. The dining room was richly furnished. She knew the wallpaper had been painted to order for the room. The furniture was obviously expensive, even if there was so little of it. Oh, yes, if she had to touch him to get this place, she’d do it. After they were married, she’d tell him to stay away from her.

  Maggie brought in an enormous tray loaded with hot, deep-fried tarts and cool cheesecake. The custard pie was topped with an apricot glaze. “Where did Mrs. Armstrong go?”

  “Back to the mill,” Clay said succinctly.

  Maggie gave him a suspicious look and left.

  Bianca looked up from a plate heaped with three desserts. She told herself that since she’d eaten so little supper she could now be generous with herself. “I’d like an explanation.”

  When Clay was done, Bianca was finishing a second piece of custard pie. “So now I’m to be discarded like so much refuse, is that correct? All my love for you, all the misery I’ve gone through to get to you, means nothing. Clayton, if you’d only let those kidnappers tell me they were from you, I would have gone with them gladly. You know I wouldn’t have stayed away from you.” She blotted her lips gently, and tears came to her eyes. They were genuine. The thought of losing all Clay’s wealth made her want to rage. Damn that Nicole! The opportunist!

  “No, please don’t say that. You belong here. You’ve always belonged here.”

  His words seemed strange, but she didn’t question them. “When this witness to the marriage returns to America, you’ll get the annulment? You wouldn’t let me stay here and then…then discard me, would you?”

  He raised her hand to his lips. “No, of course not.”

  Bianca smiled at him, then stood. “I’m very tired. Do you think I could rest now?”

  “Of course.” He took her arm to lead her upstairs, but she jerked away from him.

  “Where are the servants? Where’s your housekeeper and butler?”

  Clay followed her up the stairs. “There are some women who help Nicole, or did help her before she moved across the river, but they sleep over the loom house. I never felt I needed a butler or housekeeper.”

  She stopped at the top of the stairs, her heart pounding from the exertion. She smiled demurely. “But now you have me. Of course, things will change.”

  “Whatever you wish,” he said quietly, and opened the door to the room that had once been Nicole’s.

  “Plain,” she said, “but adequate.”

  Clay walked to the bow-front cabinet and touched a porcelain figurine. “It was Beth’s room,” he said, then turned back to her. His look was that of a desperate man.

  “Clay!” she said, her hand at her throat. “You almost frighten me.”

  “Excuse me,” he said quickly. “I’ll leave you alone.” He left the room abruptly.

  “Of all the rude, boorish—” Bianca began under her breath, then shrugged. She was glad to be rid of him. She looked around the room. It was too austere for her. She touched the white and blue bed hangings. Pink, she thought. She’d redo the bed in pink tulle with layers of ruffles. The walls would be papered in pink also, and maybe she’d have flowers painted on the paper. The walnut and maple furniture would have to go, of course. She’d replace it with some gilt furniture.

  She undressed slowly and slung her dress across a chair back. The memory of Nicole’s apricot silk made her angry. Who was she to wear silk, when she, Bianca, had to make do with gauze and muslin? But just wait, she thought, she’d show these ignorant Colonists what real style was. She’d purchase a wardrobe that would make Nicole’s look cheap.

  She slipped on a nightgown from the trunk that Roger had placed in the room and climbed into the bed. The mattress was a little too firm for her taste. She drifted asleep thinking of all the changes she would make in the plantation. The house was obviously too small. She’d add a wing, her own private wing where she wouldn’t have to be too near Clay when they were married. She’d buy a carriage. A carriage that would surpass the queen’s! The roof would be supported by gilded cherubs. She fell asleep smiling.

  Clay quickly left the house to go to the garden. The moonlight glistened on the water in the tile pool. He lit a long cigar and stood quietly in the shadow of the hedges. Seeing Bianca had been like seeing a ghost. It was almost like having Beth back again. This time, though, nothing would take her away—not his brother, not death. She would be his for all eternity.

  He dropped the cigar and crushed it under his foot. He strained his ears to hear the mill’s water wheel, but it was too far away. Nicole, he thought. Even now, when Bianca was so near him, he thought of Nicole. He remembered her smile, the way she had clung to him while she cried. Most of all, he remembered her love—for everyone. There wasn’t a person on the plantation to whom Nicole hadn’t extended her kindness. Even lazy, mean old Jonathan had said some good things about her.

  Slowly, he turned to go back to the house.

  Bianca woke slowly the next morning. The comfort of the bed and the good food were a luxury after her days aboard the ship. She had no problem remembering where she was or what she planned to do; she’d spent all night dreaming about it.

  She threw the covers back and made a little face at them. It was really too much to ask her, as mistress of such an estate, to sleep under linen covers. The very least she could abide would be silk. She pulled a pink cotton dress from the trunk and thought it was disgusting that Clay should leave her without a maid.

  Outside the room, she gave a quick look down the hallways, but she had no curiosity about the house. It was enough that it was hers. Now her main interest was the kitchen, which had been pointed out to her last night.

  She cursed the distance from the house to the kitchen. From now on, she’d see that food was brought to her so she wouldn’t have to walk f
or it.

  She stepped inside the big kitchen regally. It was all like a dream come true. All her life, she’d known she was destined to command. That idiot father of hers had laughed at her when she’d said she wanted the estate that the Malesons had once owned. Of course, the Armstrong plantation could never come close to the estates in England; how could anything in America compare to England?

  “Good mornin’,” Maggie said pleasantly, her arms covered in flour to her elbows as she prepared biscuit dough for the noon dinner. “Anything I can help you with?”

  The big room was alive with activity. One of Maggie’s helpers watched after three pots set in the coals of the fireplace. A little boy lazily turned a haunch of meat on a rotisserie. Another woman pounded dough in a large wooden bowl, while two girls chopped pounds of vegetables.

  “Yes,” Bianca said firmly. She knew from experience that it was best to establish superiority over servants right away. “I would like for you and the other servants to line up and get ready to receive my instructions. From now on, I expect you all to stop what you are doing when I enter a room and pay me the proper respect.”

  The six people in the room stopped what they were doing and stared, open-mouthed.

  “You heard me!” Bianca commanded.

  Slowly, awkwardly, the people moved toward the east wall. All except Maggie. “Who are you to be givin’ orders?”

  “I do not have to answer your questions. Servants should know their place. That is, servants who want to keep their employment,” she threatened. Bianca tried to ignore Maggie’s hostile stare and the fact that she didn’t line up with the others. “I would like to talk about the food that comes from this kitchen. Judging by last night’s supper, the food is a bit plain. It needs more sauces. For instance, the ham’s glaze was quite delicious.” She smiled smugly, knowing her praise would brighten their day. “But,” she continued, “more of the sauce should have been served.”

  “Sauce?” Maggie asked. “That ham was glazed with pure sugar. Are you saying you want me to send in a bowl of melted sugar?”