Red Roses Mean Love

Chapter 24

Hayley walked through the woods, her footsteps silent on the hard-packed dirt path. Sunlight filtered through the trees, warming the cool, shaded air. When she reached the lake, she found a grassy spot and plopped down, resting her weight on her hands, and stared at the sparkling dark blue water.

Dear God, will I ever feel happy again? She picked up a small pebble and tossed it, watching a series of water rings spread. She normally found peace in this setting, in the moss-scented shade and gentle rustle of leaves. But not today. Not in the last two weeks. Not since he'd left.

She'd had two weeks to gather her spirits, garner her thoughts, and break out of the malaise that had been her constant companion since Stephen's departure. In those two weeks she'd failed utterly. It still hurt to breathe. Her insides ached and her heart felt crushed, her soul bruised, as if wild horses had trampled her into the mud. Life as she'd known it before Stephen's arrival was no longer the same.

She hadn't been able to look at her flower garden. She couldn't bear to see it-especially the pansies. And she hadn't slept in her bed since he left, unable to lie where they'd spent the night making love to each other.

She couldn't sleep anyway, so she spent most nights in her father's study, bent over her stories, writing until dawn. When the sun slipped over the horizon, she would lie down for an hour or two on the settee in the study and doze fitfully.

Because she knew her family was worried about her, she'd forced herself to put on a cheerful face for them the last several days in order to reassure them she was all right. She couldn't stand Pamela's pitying looks anymore.

Over the last two weeks her emotions had run the gamut from anger to heartbreak. Sometimes she was furious-at Stephen for his empty words and the way he'd left her, and at herself for falling for him. Other times she felt so utterly, completely devastated, she could barely stand up. Her knees weakened with shame every time she recalled her uninhibited behavior the night before he left.

She cringed to think she'd told him she loved him. She'd spent the first week he was gone worrying she might be with child, but that had proven not to be the case.

I have no one to blame but myself. I offered him everything I have-my heart, my soul, my innocence-it wasn't enough. She'd reread his note a hundred times, until she couldn't look at it anymore, and had finally laid it in the fireplace late last night. It was time to get on with her life. She had a family who depended on her, and responsibilities to take care of. They gave her a reason to go on. It was time to stop wallowing in self-pity and once again join the living. It was time to get on with her life.

Just as Stephen obviously had.

"Yes, yes, who is there?" Grimsley asked, pulling the front door open. He squinted into the sunshine, blinded by the bright glare. "Who are you? Do I know you? Where are my spectacles?" He slapped his hand to the top of his head and winced as their wire frames bit into his skin.

He adjusted the glasses on the end of his nose and peered again, this time his eyes widening in amazement. A footman garbed in full livery, the finest Grimsley had ever seen, stood at the door.

Winston chose that moment to stride into the foyer. "Who the hell are ya and wot the hell do ya want?" he bellowed.

"I have a message for Miss Hayley Albright," the footman intoned, his features an impassive mask. "Is she at home?"

Grimsley self-consciously tugged his waistcoat into place. "Yes, Miss Albright is at home. Wait here."

Winston glared at the footman, clearly suspicious. "You find Miz Hayley, Grimsley. I'll watch this bloke. If 'e gives me any trouble, I'll knock 'im sideways with me bare hands."

Summoning all the dignity he could under the circumstances, Grimsley left the foyer in search of Miss Hayley. He had absolutely no idea where she was.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to find her. After an exhaustive search, he finally located her in the vegetable garden, pulling weeds with Callie and Pamela. When he explained the presence of the fancy footman, they all followed him back to the house.

"Miss Hayley Albright?" the footman asked, his gaze alternating between Hayley and Pamela.

"I am Hayley Albright," Hayley said, coming forward.

He held out a folded piece of wax-sealed ivory vellum paper. "I have a message for you from the Countess of Blackmoor. The countess asked that I wait for your reply."

"The Countess of Blackmoor?" Hayley repeated, completely at sea. She turned the thick piece of paper over in her hands. "I've never heard of such a person. Are you certain the message is for me?"

"Absolutely certain," the footman said.

"What does it say?" Callie asked, pulling on Hayley's gown.

"Let's find out." Hayley broke the seal and scanned the note. "How extraordinary."

"What?" Callie and Pamela asked in unison.

"The Countess of Blackmoor is inviting me to tea tomorrow at her London town house. She says although we've never met, she recently discovered we have mutual friends and she would like very much to meet me."

"Who are the mutual friends?" Pamela asked, peering over Hayley's shoulder to scan the note.

"She does not say."

Callie clapped her hands together gleefully. "A tea party with a countess! Can I come? Please, Hayley?"

Hayley shook her head, completely confused. "No, darling, I'm afraid not." She turned her attention back to the liveried footman. "The countess is expecting you to return with my reply?"

"Yes, Miss Albright. Should you consent to the countess's invitation, a carriage will be sent to pick you up and escort you home."

"I see." Hayley looked at Pamela. "What should I do?"

"I think you should go," Pamela said without hesitation.

"Me too," piped in Callie.

"After all, how many chances does one have to share tea with a countess?" Pamela asked with an encouraging smile. "It will do you a world of good to get out. Besides, aren't you simply dying of curiosity to see who your mutual friends are?"

"Yes, I must admit I am." Hayley reread the invitation one last time, still not quite believing it was meant for her. "Very well," she said to the footman. "You may tell the countess I'd be delighted to accept her invitation."

"Thank you, Miss Albright. The countess's carriage will be here at eleven o'clock tomorrow." The footman bowed, then left. Hayley, Pamela, Callie, Grimsley, and even Winston crowded around the window, noses all but pressed to the glass, and watched the elegant coach disappear from view.

"Tie me to the mainsheet and wave me in the breeze," Winston huffed. "I ain't never seen such a fancy rig in all me life."

"Indeed," Pamela agreed with a laugh. "Goodness, Hayley, what on earth will you wear?"

Hayley stared at her sister, nonplussed. "I have no idea. I don't own anything the least bit appropriate."

"What about the pale aqua dress-"

"No." Hayley's sharp reply cut the air. "I mean, it is much too fancy for afternoon tea," she amended hastily. She didn't want to even think about that dress. If she did, then she'd think about Stephen and the night she'd worn it, and she refused to do that.

"You could borrow one of my dresses," Pamela offered.

"That's very kind of you, but I'm much too tall for anything of yours," Hayley said. "I shall simply wear one of my gray gowns."

"You'll do no such thing," Pamela said firmly. She grabbed Hayley by the hand and dragged her toward the stairs. "Callie, please find Aunt Olivia. Tell her to fetch her sewing kit and then come to my bedchamber."

Callie ran off on her errands, and Hayley allowed Pamela to pull her up the stairs. "What are you doing?" Hayley asked.

"We are going to find you something to wear," Pamela replied, throwing open the doors to her wardrobe. She pulled out several gowns, surveying them critically before tossing them on the bed. "No, none of those will do," she said, reaching in again. "Ah ha!" she said, her face lighting up with triumph. She held a pale peach gown out to Hayley. "This will look lovely on you."

"But it will be much too short," Hayley protested, shaking her head. "Besides, that is one of the gowns I bought for you so you could look your best when Marshall comes calling."

"We can correct the length," Pamela said firmly. "We'll simply fashion a ruffle and sew it onto the bottom. Ruffles are very popular now."

"But what about Marshall?"

"He hates the color peach," Pamela said, but her blush told Hayley she wasn't being truthful. Tenderness flooded Hayley at her sister's attempt to please her.

Aunt Olivia and Callie appeared in the doorway, and before Hayley knew what was happening, her plain brown gown was gone, and the peach gown was lowered over her head. Pamela explained to Aunt Olivia about the tea with the countess and the lack of suitable attire.

The gown fit Hayley quite well, except it was a bit snug in the bodice and about six inches too short. Pamela and Aunt Olivia walked around Hayley, pulling material here, pinching material there, discussing options. When a course of action was finally decided upon, the dress was quickly removed and the three women set to work.

They worked the remainder of the afternoon, pausing only long enough to eat dinner. Nathan and Andrew were properly impressed with Hayley's invitation to tea. After dinner, the three women worked into the dark hours of the evening, chatting companionably, sewing and stitching. Callie stayed with them, along with Miss Josephine, until the child could no longer stay awake. She fell asleep on the settee in the drawing room, her arms wrapped around her doll.

"There! I think that about does it," Pamela said, standing up and stretching. She glanced at the mantel clock. It was nearly midnight.

"Try it on, Hayley dear," Aunt Olivia said.

They assisted Hayley, settling the gown over her chemise. Aunt Olivia had cleverly inserted a lace panel into the back of the dress, so the bodice fit perfectly. A cream ruffle surrounded the bottom of the gown, the material taken from an old gown of Pamela's that no longer fit. Aunt Olivia had added a cream-colored velvet bow just under the bustline.

"It looks beautiful," Pamela enthused, walking all around Hayley. "Absolutely perfect."

"The countess will be most impressed," Aunt Olivia predicted with a smile.

"Provided I don't do anything to disgrace myself," Hayley said.

"I'm sure she'll love you," Pamela said, helping her remove the gown. "Just as everyone does."

A wave of sadness washed over Hayley. No, not everyone.

An elegant black coach, its lacquered doors emblazoned with the Blackmoor family crest, pulled up to Albright Manor at precisely eleven o'clock the next morning. The entire Albright household, including Pierre, escorted Hayley to the door. She hugged them all, promising to relate every detail about her day when she arrived home later that evening.

A liveried footman helped Hayley into the carriage, and they were off, amid shouts from the children and much hand-waving.

Once her family was lost to her sight, Hayley settled back and surveyed the inside of the coach. She'd never been in such an elegant conveyance before. She ran her hands over the thick burgundy velvet squabs, her fingers sinking into the softness.

With a sigh she sat back, watching the countryside roll by. Once they reached London, she watched the scenery change as they left the rundown sections of the city and entered the more fashionable district. Hayley looked at all the well-dressed ladies and gentlemen strolling along, and the elegant shops and town houses. The carriage finally drew to a halt in front of an impressive brick town house. The footman opened the carriage door and assisted her down.

Walking slowly up the steps, her gaze took in the lovely structure, from its aged rose-colored brick to the small but lovely flower garden. Just before she reached the top step, one of the huge double doors opened.

"Good afternoon, Miss Albright," a dour-faced butler intoned, standing back so she could enter the foyer.

"Good afternoon," she replied with a smile. She stepped into the foyer and caught her breath. A multi-tiered crystal chandelier, the largest Hayley had ever seen, hung from the ceiling. A majestic staircase curved upward to the second floor. The foyer floor was dark green marble, and so shiny, Hayley could easily see her awestruck reflection in it.

"May I take your wrap?" The butler's voice jerked her attention back to him, and she surrendered her shawl.

"Thank you."

"The countess is in her private sitting room. Please, follow me."

Following the butler down a long corridor, Hayley gazed about with interest, trying not to gawk. Glossy mahogany tables ran along the hallway, each containing huge arrangements of fresh flowers. She admired the flowers, mentally naming each individual bloom as she past. Several gilded mirrors graced the pale ivory silk-covered walls. She surreptitiously checked her appearance and was satisfied that the coach ride had not disarranged her coiffure.

The butler stopped abruptly in front of a door, and Hayley nearly plowed into his back, so intent was she on looking about. Luckily she caught herself just in time.

He opened the door and indicated with a solemn nod of his head that she should enter the room.

A warm fire crackled in the grate, lending a cozy air. The room was bright and cheery, sunlight spilling through the tall Palladian windows. Several oil paintings depicting pastoral scenes graced the pale green silk walls. Two chintz wing chairs flanked the sofa, and a cherry escritoire sat in the corner. Fresh flowers filled crystal vases, their sweet fragrance scenting the air. Hayley felt as if she were in an enchanted secret garden.

"Miss Albright," said a soft voice behind her. "Thank you so much for accepting my invitation, especially on such short notice."

Hayley turned, prepared to greet her hostess, but her first glimpse of the countess stunned her. She wasn't sure what she'd expected the Countess of Blackmoor to look like, but she certainly hadn't envisioned the lovely young woman walking toward her with a friendly smile wreathing her beautiful face.

The countess extended her hand. "How do you do, Miss Albright?"

Hayley managed to remember her manners and dropped into an awkward curtsy. She then rose and took the countess's hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Blackmoor. And it is I who should thank you for your kind invitation."

"Please come in and sit down," the countess invited, leading the way to the sofa. "I thought we might sit and chat for a few minutes before tea is served."

"This is a lovely room," Hayley remarked once they were seated.

"Thank you. It is my favorite. No matter how frantic things become, I can escape in here and find peace." The countess leaned forward and studied Hayley with unconcealed interest.

"I must admit, Miss Albright, you are not at all what I expected," she said. Hayley's dismay must have shown because the countess quickly added, "Oh! Please, do not misunderstand me. I am most surprised-most pleasantly surprised, I assure you." She reached out and briefly squeezed Hayley's hand.

Hayley whooshed out a sigh of relief. She returned the countess's friendly smile and confided, "In that case, I must admit that you are not at all what I expected either."

"Indeed? What were you expecting?" the countess asked, her face filled with lively interest.

"Honestly?"

"Certainly."

"Well, I pictured you attired in some sort of formidable dark gown, and a pince-nez perched on your nose. Several strands of pearls, a severe gray-haired chignon, and tending toward obesity. I imagined you'd sport a limp, and be very, very old," Hayley concluded, a sheepish grin tugging at her lips.

The countess burst out laughing. "Good heavens! And you actually agreed to come to tea?"

"In truth, I considered turning down your invitation, but my younger sisters wouldn't allow me to refuse." Hayley admitted, relaxing in the countess's presence. In spite of her hostess's noble lineage, she was friendly and warm, and Hayley liked her immediately. "They're pea green with envy I'm having tea with a countess. My younger sister, Callie, lives for tea parties. She's at home right now, pacing the floor, anxiously awaiting my return so I can tell her how a countess pours tea."

"How old is Callie?"

"She's six. She'll be seven in two weeks."

"How wonderful." The countess rang for the tea cart. "Please continue. I'm anxious to hear all about you and your family." She listened intently while Hayley gave a brief sketch of all the Albrights, including Grimsley, Winston, and Pierre. Just as she finished, the tea arrived.

"And what of your parents?" the countess asked, pouring out two cups.

"They are both deceased."

"How terribly sad for you. Who takes care of your brothers and sisters? Your aunt?"

A small laugh escaped Hayley. "No, Aunt Olivia is a dear lady, but I fear she's unable to take care of such a high-spirited bunch."

"You have a governess, then?"

"No. Just me. And, of course, Pamela."

The countess's teacup froze halfway to her lips. "Do you mean to say you're in charge of the entire household?"

Hayley nodded, amused by her hostess's dumbfounded expression. "It's difficult at times, but I wouldn't trade them for anything in the world. Do you have any brothers or sisters, my lady?"

"I have two brothers," she answered, but immediately switched the conversation back to Hayley, asking literally dozens of questions about Halstead, the Albrights, and Hayley's interests. In return, the countess told many amusing tales about the glittering world of Society. Hayley wondered why the countess did not mention their mutual friends, but she was reluctant to broach the subject before her hostess did. She certainly didn't want the countess to think her ill-mannered.

When the second pot of tea was finished, Hayley chanced to glance at the mantel clock and nearly overturned her cup. "My goodness! Surely it cannot be after five?"

The countess laughed. "I was enjoying myself so much. I cannot believe the time flew by so quickly."

Hayley finished her tea and started to rise. "I've enjoyed a lovely afternoon, but I must be going. My family will wonder what has become of me."

"Please, don't leave yet," the countess said, halting her with a gentle touch on her arm. "We still haven't discussed our mutual friends."

Settling herself once again on the sofa, Hayley said, "When I first arrived, I admit I was fairly bursting with curiosity, but after a while I forgot all about them, whoever they are." She smiled. "It's odd, but I feel as if I have known you for a very long time."

The countess returned her smile. "I feel the same way. In fact, I would like very much for us to be friends."

Normally Hayley would have been quite taken aback at the notion of being friends with such a highborn lady, but after spending the afternoon with the countess, she felt very much at ease. "I'd be honored, Lady Blackmoor."

"In that case, I insist you call me Victoria. All my friends do."

"That would be lovely … Victoria. And you must call me Hayley."

"Excellent. Hayley, I think it's time we discussed our mutual friends."

Hayley waited, curious. "Go on."

"I believe you're acquainted with my husband."

Curiosity turned to confusion. "Your husband?"

"The Earl of Blackmoor."

Hayley shook her head. "I'm sure I've never met him."

"You may, perhaps, know him by his given name," Victoria suggested.

"That is most unlikely."

"His name is Justin Mallory."

Hayley stared at Victoria, struck mute by her shocking words. It took her a full minute to recover her voice. "I am acquainted with a Mr. Justin Mallory, but it must be a coincidence. The Mr. Mallory I know is not a nobleman."

Victoria rose and walked across the room to the dainty writing desk. She returned carrying a framed miniature, which she handed to Hayley. "This is my husband, Justin Mallory, the Earl of Blackmoor."

Hayley looked at the small painting and felt the blood dram from her face. The handsome man looking back at her was indeed the same Justin Mallory she knew. Shocked and confused, she said, "I had no idea Mr. Mallory was an earl. Or, obviously, that you are his wife."

Victoria sat next to Hayley and said in a gentle voice, "I believe you also know Justin's best friend, Stephen Barrett."

Hayley stiffened. Hot pain flashed through her, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "I am acquainted with a Mr. Stephen Barrettson."

"His real name is Barrett, but I don't believe you know him by his other name."

The room suddenly felt too small and bereft of air. "Other name? How many does he have?" Dear God, I must get out of here before I lose my mind.

"Quite a few, actually, but I won't bore you with his numerous lesser titles. He is the Marquess of Glenfield."

Hayley stared in profound shock. "We must be speaking of two different people. The man I met was a tutor."

"No. The man you met is Stephen Barrett, the Marquess of Glenfield. He is also my brother."

Black dots danced before Hayley's eyes and her breath clogged in her throat. She gaped at Victoria, speechless.

"I'm so sorry to spring the news on you like this-"

"I must go," Hayley said, jumping to her feet and looking frantically about for her reticule. She didn't understand what was going on here, but she had to get away. Stephen was a marquess? Victoria was his sister? He'd said he was a tutor-with no family. More lies… like when he said he cared for me. The depth of his deception hit her like a brick to her head. A tutor? A hysterical half laugh, half sob bubbled up her throat.

No wonder his Latin was abysmal and he couldn't shave. His formality, his criticism of her household-now she understood it all so well. Dear God, the man probably owned half of England. How he must have laughed at them. All of them. Especially her.

Nausea grabbed her and she clutched her heaving stomach. She couldn't bear to hear another word. Spying her reticule, she snatched it up and practically ran across the room, desperate to escape.

"Wait!" Victoria caught up to her and grasped her by the upper arms. "Please, don't leave like this. I must speak to you about my brother."

"I have nothing to say about your brother."

"Because of the way he left you. I understand. But there are so many things you don't know. Things I need to tell you. Please. You don't have to say anything. Just listen to me."

Hayley stood stiffly, looking at the floor.

"Please," Victoria repeated.

Raising her chin, Hayley saw that Victoria appeared very serious and earnest. She also now noticed that her green eyes were very much like Stephen's, and they were pleading with her to remain.

"Does he know I'm here?" Hayley asked, not willing to stay if there was a chance she might come face-to-face with Stephen.

"No. And neither does Justin. No one will disturb us here."

Not convinced she wasn't making a grave error, Hayley reluctantly walked back to the sofa and sat down. "Very well. I'll listen to what you have to say."

Victoria sat next to her. "I would first like to say thank you. You saved Stephen's life and I shall always be grateful." Reaching out, she clasped one of Hayley's clammy, trembling hands and squeezed.

"I don't understand any of this," Hayley said in a tight whisper. "He said he was a tutor. He said he had no family-"

"Someone is trying to kill him, Hayley."

Hayley's blood turned to ice. "I beg your pardon?"

"Someone tried to kill him the night you found him. From what I understand, it may not have been the first attempt on his life."

"Dear God," Hayley whispered, pressing her hand to her stomach. "Did Stephen tell you this?"

"No. Stephen was here for dinner the night before last. He and Justin had a most revealing conversation which I, ah, accidentally overheard. Stephen was foxed, and revealed quite a bit of his feelings to Justin."

"He spoke of a plot to kill him?"

"Yes. And he spoke about you."

"Me?"

"Yes. That is how I knew who you were and where you lived. Hayley, ever since Stephen returned to London he's been miserable. He misses you. He needs you."

Hayley shook her head. "No. You're wrong."

"I'm not wrong," Victoria said vehemently. "I heard it from his own lips. I know Stephen very well. Except for Justin, I am the person he is closest to. Justin is worried about him, and so am I. He doesn't sleep, he barely eats, and he's drinking far too much. He's lost interest in everything, and his eyes…Hayley, his eyes are so empty and haunted."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hayley whispered, fighting back tears.

"Because he loves you, although he's too foolish to know it."

Hayley dropped her head into her shaking hands. Victoria's words crashed into her, mortifying her, confusing her.

"He wants to go to you, Hayley, but he feels he can't. Not with someone trying to kill him. He doesn't want to place you or your family in any danger."

Hayley raised her head. "Is that why he didn't tell me the truth about who he was?"

"I honestly don't know. I only know what I overheard."

"Perhaps you should tell me what you heard."

"Of course." When Victoria finished, Hayley felt as battered as if she'd fallen off a cliff. She was angry at him for his duplicity, terrified for his safety, heartsick at the hopelessness of her love for him.

Victoria reached out and squeezed her hands. "Stephen has never been a happy man, Hayley. Our father has always been very hard on him, demanding absolute perfection from him because he's the heir. As a result, Stephen is quite cold and forbidding with most people. But since his return to London two weeks ago, he has been abjectly miserable. Someone wants him dead, and I'm afraid they'll succeed before he pulls himself together."

The thought of Stephen dead made Hayley's blood freeze in her veins. "But what can I do? I offered him everything I could, but he still left."

"But don't you see, he had to leave. He had to return to London to find out who's trying to kill him."

"Again, I ask, what can I possibly do?"

"You can make him happy. Do you love him?"

Hayley drew in a sharp breath at the sudden question. Do you love him? A hundred images of Stephen flashed in her mind; images she'd tried without success to banish.

Images of the man she loved.

Unable to deny it, she whispered, "Yes. But surely you can see how hopeless this is. Stephen and I are from two different worlds. Dear God, he's a marquess. I would never fit in-"

"Nonsense," Victoria interrupted, waving her hand in a dismissive fashion. "You could if you wanted to. All you would require is the proper support and patronage, and you already have that."

"I do? Who?"

"Me." Victoria's gaze was steady and serious. "I want Stephen happy. Even if I didn't find you delightful, which I do, you're the woman he wants. That is good enough for me. Now, are you certain you love him?"

"Positive."

"Then help me save him."

"How?"

Determination sparkled in Victoria's eyes. "I have a plan."

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