The Diabolical Baron

by Mary Jo Putney

  He was turning to quietly withdraw from the salon when Caroline began to play. He had heard the piece before at some musicale, but this time its lyrical passion affected him as music had never done before. When she had finished, the Italian, for once bereft of words, kissed her hand in genuine awe. Jason quietly asked, “What was that, Caroline?”

  The deep blue eyes had looked directly into his. “It’s a piano sonata by Ludwig van Beethoven. Did you enjoy it?”

  He nodded, unwilling to describe how deeply it had resonated within his newly lacerated heart. Moved in spite of himself, he had an insight into what music meant to Caroline.

  Ironic that such understanding came at the same moment he was wishing her at Jericho. The world was entirely too complicated, he thought glumly as he retreated once more to his study.

  The second intrusion of his privacy was occasioned by the long-awaited arrival of his Aunt Honoria. Lady Edgeware, after a token diatribe against the roads and a few acid comments on changes made in Wildehaven since her last visit, retreated to her chamber to rest before dinner.

  Jason could only be grateful, though he expected she was sharpening her tongue so she could do justice to dismembering his houseguests. The evening was to prove him correct.

  * * * *

  The vicious ache at Jessica’s temples gave her ample reason to avoid dinner, but she chose to go down. She had decided to leave Wildehaven as soon as the Hanscombes arrived, but would be unable to avoid seeing Jason a few more times.

  Dressing for dinner, she found herself regretting her love of clothes: her heavy heart could not begin to live up to the dashing image in the mirror. The dark teal-blue evening dress was the most subdued one she owned; unfortunately, it had an extremely low-cut décolletage, and the color enhanced the brilliance of her auburn tresses while turning her green eyes to turquoise. But no other gown would be better, so she resigned herself and went next door to collect her niece.

  As they joined the two men in the small salon, she couldn’t help noticing what a dour party they were. Jason was at his most sardonic, Caroline was withdrawn in distant silence, and Jessica thought she herself must look cold and forbidding.

  Only George Fitzwilliam showed a semblance of normality, manfully searching for topics that would draw some response from his companions. His struggles ended when the dowager Lady Edgeware swept in, resplendent in a purple turban with three nodding ostrich plumes. She had obviously recovered from her journey and was eager for victims. Jason hadn’t mentioned her arrival and now took an unholy pleasure in watching his guests girding themselves for battle.

  George blanched as she looked at him dismissively and said, “I’ll never understand what you see in this nodcock, nevvy. All the Fitzwilliams have attics to let.”

  “But such good ton, Aunt Honoria,” Jason murmured.

  Naturally interested in her future niece, she then fixed Caroline with a gimlet eye, examining her from head to foot before barking, “So this is the chit. You look a milk-and-water miss to me. Do you have enough bottom to deal with a Kincaid, girl?”

  Caroline flinched but her eye didn’t drop under the examination. “I shall certainly try my best, Lady Edgeware.”

  “Trying isn’t good enough. If you haven’t produced an heir within a twelvemonth, you’ll have me to answer to.”

  Impressed that his betrothed had not collapsed under a stare capable of rendering strong men craven, Jason intervened to drawl. “Surely I would also bear some responsibility for that.”

  “Nonsense. The Kincaids have always been a lusty lot, unless the blood has run thin in you.” She glared at her nephew as if daring him to proclaim his virility, but wisely changed her target before he actually could.

  Turning to Jessica, she narrowed her eyes in concentration before saying triumphantly, “The Incomparable Miss Westerly, spring of ‘03. Married a red-coated rattle and disappeared. What are you doing here?”

  Fearing Jessica might react badly to such bald description of her much-mourned husband, Caroline hastily said, “Lady Edgeware, may I present my aunt, Mrs. Sterling?”

  Her ladyship waved her hand impatiently at Caroline. “No need. I remember her clearly from her come-out. Are you still a hoyden, girl?”

  Jessica lifted her chin and said coolly, “Yes. And I see you are still rude.”

  Lady Edgeware surprised the group with a cackle of laughter. “Of course I am. Not many other pleasures left at my age. Glad to see the spirit hasn’t been crushed out of you. Your behavior was quite improper for a gel of seventeen years—much like mine at the same age. If you live as long as I, you’ll end up much like me, terrorizing your descendants for sport.”

  A faint smile playing over her lips, Jessica replied, “Perhaps. But I hope I will be able to find other amusements.”

  While the rest of the party watched in fascination, Lady Edgeware led Jessica into a corner and started a cheerfully malicious monologue that lasted through the ensuing meal and obviated the need for anyone else to converse.

  When the ladies withdrew after dinner, she spent some time grilling Caroline about her family and health, approving of her Westerly connections (“a much better stable than the Hanscombes”) but clicking her tongue over the news that her mother had died after producing a mere daughter.

  At that, Caroline had opened her eyes wide and pointed out that a similar performance on her part would clear the way for a second wife to attempt an heir. Lady Edgeware gave her a sharp glance, unsure whether the girl was serious or was poking fun at the inquisition. Met by Caroline’s look of blameless innocence, she transferred her attention back to Jessica. By the time the tea tray arrived, her ball had been set for the night of the full moon on Friday week, and Jessica had been conscripted as chief assistant for planning and logistics.

  The party broke up early that evening, Lady Edge-ware having tired and no one else showing much interest in general conversation. When they reached their bedchambers, Caroline invited her aunt in with the promise of good news.

  Jessica followed willingly. It was time something good happened, though she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear that her niece had formed a lasting passion for Lord Radford.

  Instead, Caroline perched on the bed and shyly handed her the letter from the music publishers. Her aunt read it twice, then leaned over and gave her a hug. “Caro, this is wonderful! I assume that Richard Dalton sent your compositions to Winford?”

  Caroline nodded. “Yes, I’m glad he didn’t ask me first. I would never have had the confidence to submit anything. But it makes me very happy to know a stranger truly likes my work.”

  Jessica joined her niece on the bed, her eyes dancing as she said, “Did you think Signore Ferrante and I would endanger our immortal souls by lying about how good your music is?”

  “I didn’t precisely think you were lying,” Caroline laughed. “But I did assume some bias.” She frowned slightly in concentration, then said, “I knew my compositions were good for an amateur. The surprise is that they can be considered good on the level of serious musicians.”

  “But you have always been serious about music, Caro,” her aunt objected.

  “To be serious does not automatically make one good,” her niece said rather dryly. She lay back on the bed, her voice taking on a dreamy note. Jessica could not see her face as she continued, “So much has happened lately, Jess. I am a whole different person than I was three months ago.”

  Her aunt kept a light tone as she asked, “A better or worse person?”

  “Better, I think,” Caroline answered seriously. “More understanding, wiser I hope, and much, much older.”

  Jessica gave a throaty chuckle and said, “Oh, to be twenty-one again and to know I was grown up!”

  Caroline giggled. “I do sound rather pompous, don’t I? But surely, the fact that I didn’t bolt out of the room under Lady Edgeware’s interrogation is a sign of mature strength.”

  “By that standard, I must be a century-old Hercules.”

  C
aroline sat up and looked appropriately apologetic. “You were so brave. You have my sincerest sympathy on having taken her dragonship’s fancy.”

  “Oh, she’s not so bad now that I know she doesn’t despise me. Though it is a lowering thought to reflect that she may be right about my ending up like her.”

  “Never,” Caroline said firmly. “You are forceful as needed, but you have a kind heart. I misdoubt Lady Edgeware does.”

  “You must accustom yourself to thinking of her as Aunt Honoria,” Jessica said maliciously.

  “Heaven forfend!” Caroline gave a ladylike shriek and rolled over on the bed, grabbing a pillow to bury her head under.

  Jessica reached over to peel off the pillow. “One must take the bad with the good. As Lady Radford, you will be gaining much more than you lose.”

  Caroline looked suddenly sad, her playfulness gone as quickly as it had come. “I will strive to remember that.”

  * * * *

  Richard returned from London late Sunday night after a hard ride. His leg aching from the strain, he took a glass of brandy and retired to a long dreamless sleep. He felt unreasonably refreshed the next morning, and wondered if his well-being stemmed from a sense of coming home. He firmly repressed the thought; he wasn’t quite ready to make that decision.

  Besides finalizing the contract with Caroline’s publisher, he had taken time in London to discuss his legal options with Chelmsford. He was leaning toward making a private settlement with the Wargrave estate that would give him one of the smaller unentailed properties with enough cash to make it viable, and leaving the title and the rest of the estate to Reginald Davenport. He doubted his cousin would object, since the alternative would leave Reggie without a feather to fly with.

  Richard had been bemused to learn that his cousin’s sole income was an allowance from the estate that had been paid even though he and the old earl had been at outs for years. That knowledge had contributed to Richard’s feeling that he himself was not cut out to be an English aristocrat; they didn’t seem to act like normal people.

  After breakfasting, he rode over to the village church to set a plan in motion. His eyes took several moments to adjust to the dim light as he walked down the aisle in search of Reverend Chandler. It was the sound of stifled sobs that drew his attention to the figure kneeling in the small Lady chapel to his left. He hesitated, uncertain whether to pass in silence or offer what comfort he could. Reluctant to walk away, he stepped into the chapel.

  Lady Helen Chandler raised her head from the railing and turned to him, tears running down the proud hawk face. Richard handed her his linen handkerchief, reflecting that he had seen more than his share of distraught ladies recently. She pressed it against her eyes for a few moments, then said in a steady voice, “My daughter would have been fifty years old today.”

  “Would have been, Lady Helen?” Richard questioned gently. If she wished to release some old sorrow, it would not be the first such tale he had heard.

  The old woman nodded. “I am sure she is dead these last three years. But I had not seen her for thirty.”

  Richard felt a faint prickly uneasiness at the base of his skull, but his voice was still calm as he asked, “Had she married and moved to a foreign country?”

  She said in a distant voice, “In effect. But the tragedy is that she was forced from her home. I hold much of the blame for her leaving. For many years I had hoped I would see her again, to beg her forgiveness. I felt in my heart she was well, and I think happy. Then three years ago my sense of her ended, and I knew she would never come home again.”

  Richard said nothing, torn by the shadow of old tragedy that combined with his own growing speculation. But Lady Helen needed no encouragement: she had a compulsion to talk, the story pouring out of her in a spate of words.

  “My daughter was nineteen, and a lovely young girl. A crony of my first husband’s wished to marry her. We both approved, but Mary wanted nothing to do with him. She was in love with a young man she had grown up with. A rather wild young man, I thought.”

  Lady Helen grimaced. “It is one of the ironies of the story that I preferred Lord Barford for her because I myself had married a childhood sweetheart and could not say it was a success. Were it not for my son and daughter, I would have left Rankin and be damned to the scandal.”

  She drew a deep breath and continued, “Mary wept and pleaded with me, but I was convinced she would be best off married to a solid, mature man who could take care of her. The boy she wanted, Julius, was scarcely a year older than she, a younger son with no prospects. So I in my pride, my wisdom, coerced my daughter into a betrothal with a man she loathed. As it turned out, her instincts were far sounder than my ‘wisdom.’ Had I known of Lord Barford what I learned later, I would not have let him in the same room with Mary, much less used my authority to force a marriage. But it is one of those conspiracies men have, keeping information from women. Barford was corrupt and vicious, attracted by Mary’s sweetness because he desired to destroy it. He had been married long before. His wife hanged herself.”

  Richard was cold with a chill deeper than the sunless stones of the church. Here at last was the full story of why his parents had left England, and he hoped he was strong enough to bear it. “It sounds as if you acted from the best motives.”

  Lady Helen made a sharp, angry gesture with her hand. “Intentions are not good enough. I tried to guide my daughter’s life, and it caused a tragedy. One I will never atone for.”

  “Would your husband have forced the marriage even without your cooperation?”

  She lifted her head with the ghost of old pride. “No. I am the daughter of an earl. I had influence, some fortune of my own. He could not have prevailed against me and my family’s consequence.

  “My son, Robert, supported his sister. He was much of an age with Julius, and they were close friends. But I no more listened to him than to Mary. Instead ...” she paused, then said doggedly, “I warned my husband that I feared she might elope. She was too docile. I couldn’t believe she had given up so easily.

  “We were staying in our London town house a fortnight before the wedding. My fine husband was drinking late one night with Barford. I am not sure of the details, but apparently he said Mary might run away before the ceremony. Barford suggested that he should make her his that very night. After all, they were betrothed, as good as married. It was no great crime to anticipate the ceremony, and it would prevent the girl from ruining herself by an elopement. Besides, what other man would want her after he had taken her?”

  Lady Helen’s voice changed, becoming taut with anger. “And so her father, who should have been her natural protector, stood by and watched his daughter raped in her own home. I was asleep in the opposite wing and heard nothing, but I heard later that the servants in the attic above were wakened by her screams. When he was done with her, somehow she found the strength to escape. She left the house before Barford and my husband realized her intent. She ran bleeding and barefoot through the streets in her shift. Thank God the house where Julius had lodgings was only a few blocks away, and nothing worse befell her on the way over.”

  Oblivious of her present surroundings, Lady Helen had turned her eyes to her inner vision as she continued in a hoarse whisper, “I learned the rest of this from my son, Robert, who was with Julius Davenport. Mary pounded on the door, crying hysterically. Julius ran down to let her in and she poured out the whole story on his front steps as he held her. Barford and my husband came up then and tried to take her away.”

  She gave a faint smile, a smile of vengeance satisfied. “They fought a duel right there in the streets, by torchlight. My son stood second to Julius, my husband to Barford. Barford chose swords. He was reputed to be one of the best duelists in England, but young Julius was better. Apparently he could have killed Barford quickly, but he didn’t. Instead he played cat and mouse, slashing him, causing him to bleed from a dozen wounds. In a proper duel it would have been stopped, but my son wouldn’t interfere an
d my husband didn’t dare.”

  She stopped for long moments. Her voice was a whisper as she said, “Finally Julius had enough of butchery and stabbed Barford through the heart. He turned to my husband and said the only reason he wouldn’t kill him too was to avoid distressing Mary further. Then they went inside. Robert had been holding Mary throughout the duel; he said she refused to leave.”

  Lady Helen shrugged. “The next morning Julius and Mary were gone from his house. Robert came and told me what had happened and said they were leaving England. My son and I left my husband’s house that day never to return. I received a short note from Julius several months later, saying they were married, Mary was well, and neither would ever set foot in England again.

  “I bought a house near here, thinking if they ever came back, they would visit Wargrave. Even that was a faint hope. Julius’ father, the Earl of Wargrave, had not gotten on with the boy for years, and now he publicly disowned him. The full story was hushed up, but enough was known to cause a ghastly scandal.”

  “How did you come to where you are now, Lady Helen?” Richard asked the question almost absently as he studied the face of his grandmother.

  This time when she smiled there was peace in the expression. “God was good to me. Reverend Chandler helped me come to terms with my guilt. He and I were widowed about the same time. Eventually we married and have been happy these fifteen years. My son is Lord Rankin now, with his main estate a dozen miles east. He married whom he chose and is content with his life. You can be sure I cast no rub in his way.”

  “So you learned by your mistakes. That is no small thing.”

  She sighed, sadness returning to her eyes. “Perhaps not.” Her eyes sharpened on the captain. “Why am I telling you this? Reverend Chandler is the only one I have ever told before.”

  Richard crossed and knelt by the railing a scant foot away from her. “Your heart knows why. Look at me.”