Counterfeit Lady Read online

  Facing the garden was a drawing room and the morning room. The library and dining room faced away from the river, toward the north.

  Making a quick survey of each of the rooms, she decided that whoever had decorated them was a person of taste. They were simple, quiet rooms, each piece of furniture an example of the cabinetmaker’s art. The library was obviously a man’s room, the dark walnut shelves filled with leather-bound books, an enormous walnut desk filling a large part of the room. Two red leather wing chairs sat before the fireplace.

  The dining room was done in the Chinese chippendale style, the walls covered in hand-painted textured paper, a delicate design of greenery and gently tinted birds. All the furniture was mahogany.

  The drawing room was exquisite. The south windows made the room bright and cheerful. The drapes were dusty rose velvet with the seats of three chairs upholstered in the same fabric. A couch sat perpendicular to the marble fireplace, its fabric of green and rose striped sateen. The walls were covered with paper of the palest rose, a border of darker rose at the top, and a little rosewood desk sat in one corner.

  But the morning room was Nicole’s favorite. It was yellow and white. The curtains were of heavy white cotton sprigged with tiny embroidered yellow rosebuds. The walls were painted white. A couch and three chairs were covered in gold and white striped cotton, and against one wall stood a thin-legged cherry spinet, a music stand beside it. A mirror and two gilt candle holders hung above the spinet.

  But everything was dirty! The beautiful rooms looked as if no one had entered them in years. The polished surfaces of the wood were dull and dusty, the spinet badly out of tune. The curtains and rugs were choked with dust. It was a shame to see such beauty hidden and neglected.

  Standing in the hallway and glancing up the stairs, she meant to explore the whole house but right now couldn’t bear to see more rooms covered in dust and dirt.

  With a glance down at the muslin of her dress, she turned toward the narrow hall leading to the kitchen. Perhaps Maggie would have an apron she could borrow and the wash house would have cleaning supplies. She remembered Janie saying Clay didn’t care what he ate. In the milk house she’d seen something that looked as if it hadn’t been used in years, or maybe never—an ice cream freezer. Maybe Maggie could spare her some cream and eggs and a child who could turn the crank.

  It was quite late when Nicole began to dress for dinner. She slipped on a dress of sapphire blue silk with long, tight sleeves, the bodice cut very low—almost too low, she thought as she looked in the mirror. With one more hopeless attempt to pull the fabric up, she smiled. At least Mr. Armstrong would see her in something that wasn’t torn and dirty.

  At a knock on the door, she jumped. A male voice, unmistakably Clay’s, spoke through the closed door. “Could I see you in the library, please?” Instantly, she heard his boots on the hardwood floors, then muffled as he went down the stairs.

  Nicole felt strangely nervous at what would be their first real meeting. Straightening her shoulders, remembering her mother’s words that a woman must always stand upright and look whatever fears she had in the face, that courage is as important to a woman as it is to a man, she went downstairs.

  The library door was open, the room faintly lighted by the setting sun. Clayton stood behind the desk, a book open in front of him. He was silent, but there was no doubt of his presence.

  “Good evening, sir,” Nicole said quietly.

  He studied her for a long while before he set the book on the desk. “Please have a seat. I thought we should have a talk about this…situation. Could I offer you something to drink before supper? Dry sherry, maybe?”

  “No, thank you. I’m afraid I have very little head for alcohol of any sort,” Nicole said as she took one of the red leather seats across from the desk. For some reason, one of Clay’s eyebrows raised slightly at her words. In the light, she could see him more clearly. He was a solemn man, his mouth drawn too tightly into a straight line, a furrow between his brows making his dark brown eyes look almost unhappy.

  Clay poured himself some sherry. “You speak with very little accent.”

  “Thank you. I admit, I must sometimes work hard at it. Too often, I still think in French and translate into English.”

  “And sometimes you forget to do this?”

  She was startled. “Yes, that’s true. When I’m very tired or…angry, I do revert to my native tongue.”

  He took a seat behind the desk, opened a leather folder, and removed some papers. “I think we should clear up some business matters. As soon as Janie told me the truth of what happened, I sent a messenger to a family friend—a judge—telling him of the unusual circumstances and asking for his advice.”

  Nicole nodded. He hadn’t even waited until he had returned home to start annulment proceedings.

  “Today the reply came from the judge. Before I tell you what he said, I’d like to ask you some questions. During the ceremony itself, how many people were present?”

  “The captain who performed the ceremony, the first mate who was your stand-in, and the doctor who acted as a witness. Three.”

  “What about the second witness? There was another signature besides the doctor’s for a witness.”

  “There were only the four of us in the room.”

  Clay nodded. No doubt, the name was forged or added later. It was another in a long list of illegalities about this marriage.

  He continued. “And this man, Frank, who threatened you. Did he do it in front of the doctor?”

  Nicole wondered how he knew the first mate’s name and that he was the one who had threatened her. “Yes, it all happened inside the captain’s cabin in a matter of minutes.”

  Clay rose and walked across the room, taking the seat opposite her. He still wore his work clothes, heavy dark trousers, tall boots, a white linen shirt open at the throat. When he’d stretched his long legs out toward her, he spoke. “I was afraid you’d say that.” Holding the glass of sherry up to the light, turning it in his hand, his eyes came back to hers, flickering briefly over the low neckline where her firm breasts rose above the blue silk.

  Nicole reminded herself not to act like a child and cover herself with her hand.

  “The judge sent me a book on English marriage laws, which I’m afraid hold true in America also. There are several grounds for annulment, such as insanity or failure to be able to bear children. I assume you are healthy in mind as well as body?” Again his eyes flickered.

  Nicole smiled slightly. “I believe so.”

  “Then the only other reason that would suffice is to prove that you were forced into the marriage.” He wouldn’t let Nicole interrupt. “The key word is prove. We must produce a witness to the marriage who can testify that you were forced.”

  “My word isn’t good enough? Or yours? Surely the fact that I am not Bianca Maleson would carry some weight.”

  “If you had used Bianca’s name instead of your own, then that would be grounds. But I have seen the marriage certificate and it is in the name of Nicole Courtalain. Is that true?”

  She thought of her moment of defiance in the captain’s cabin. “What about the doctor? He was kind to me. Couldn’t he be a witness?”

  “I hope he can. The problem is that he is already on a ship back to England, on the frigate that was being loaded when your packet arrived. I’ve sent a man to England after him, but it will take months, at the least. Until there is a witness, the courts will not annul the marriage. They call it ‘putting the marriage aside lightly.’ ” He finished the last of the sherry and set the glass on the edge of the desk, and as he’d said all he wanted, he was silent, watching her.

  Bending her head, she studied her hands. “So, you are locked into this marriage for some time to come.”

  “We are locked into it. Janie told me how you wanted to become partners in a dress shop, how you worked nights to save the money. I know an apology is little to offer, but I can only ask you to accept it.”

  She