Free Anne Barbour by A Dangerous Charade Page A

the delusion that she could charm him into acceptance of her as a suitable companion for his aunt. He intended to prove her wrong.
    Apparently his thoughts were easily read on his face, for after a quick glance at him, Alison rose to her feet and made as though to join Lady Edith. Perversely, he held out a hand to stay her.
    “Tell me about this school of yours.”
    Alison’s eyes widened. “Well,” she began warily, “I thought of setting it up just outside London. In Kensington, perhaps. On the other hand, I may join the number of select academies already in Bath—so that I may be near Lady Edith,” she concluded a little self-consciously.
    March looked at her in some astonishment. If she was telling the truth, she had chosen an odd occupation for an adventuress.
    “Do you plan to teach in the school yourself?” he asked.
    “Oh, yes, at least at first. If we are a success, the administrative duties will keep me quite busy, I suppose.”
    Alison’s eyes had taken on a sparkle of enthusiasm as she spoke, but at the earl’s next words, they became shuttered.
    “And for this, you are proposing to leave my aunt at the end of the year, after your protestations of devotion to her?”
    “Of course not,” she replied in a weary tone. “I told you—I have informed Lady Edith that, while I appreciate the gift she plans to bestow upon me then, I shall set it aside for the time being. I shall remain here in Bath with her as long as she needs me.”
    “Ah, well then,” March retorted, unable to keep the sarcasm from his voice, “she is, after all, in her seventies. Perhaps you won’t have long to wait.”
    At this, Alison stood abruptly. “Her ladyship is in excellent health, which I hope will continue for some years to come. Now, if you will excuse me ...” She walked swiftly away in the direction of the other adults.
    March cursed his unruly tongue. He had glimpsed the tears that had flashed in her eyes before she turned away, and he could only conclude they were genuine. He sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt. Was he wrong about Miss Alison Fox? Everything in his experience led him to mistrust her, but her sincerity, and the unconscious affection she had shown his aunt during the time he had observed her was beginning to overwhelm him. Could he have been so mistaken in his assessment?
    She had turned down a substantial bribe, and displayed no inclination to negotiate further. Perhaps, he thought, it would behoove him to remain in Bath for another week.
    He should, of course, be getting back to Frances. But Frances, he was perfectly aware, would wait on his return. She and her doting parents had made it plain that in the earl of Marchford—or at least in his title and his wealth—they beheld the realization of their dreams for the Honorable Frances Milford.
    Abruptly, he pushed this uncomfortable notion from his mind, dimly aware that the careful business-like approach to marriage on which he had prided himself now brought him only a profound sense of depression. He also preferred not to dwell on the anticipation stirring within him at the prospect of spending another week in the company of Alison Fox.
    Dinner that night was a lively affair, for Sally Pargeter had returned with Meg from the picnic and had been invited to spend the night. The two young ladies were still very full of the events of the afternoon, and most of the conversation was taken up with the exploits of the various young males in attendance at the picnic. After dinner, they retired early, Meg explaining that they had much to talk over, as though the house were not still ringing from their airy prattle.
    “I had no idea,” commented March as he and Alison and Lady Edith took their ease in the drawing room, “that the doings of a group of the greenest young halflings I’ve seen in quite some time could provide so much food for conversation.”
    “I assure you,” replied Lady Edith, “their doings are only of interest to very young