by Joan Vincent
“Get off me,” the lad complained. “Ye be crushin’ the very life from me.”
“Order your beast from my back,” Elizabeth retorted angrily. “And let go of my reticule. What do you mean by sending this monster against poor defenceless women?” she demanded, twisting about and trying to push the dog off.
The huge beast yawned, ignored her efforts, and laid its head upon its gigantic paws.
Ceasing the struggle for a moment, Elizabeth looked straight ahead and saw an immaculate pair of white silk hose. Her eyes travelled up sky-blue satin breeches.
“Sir, please remove this animal...” She stopped speaking as soon as she recognized the comte. My lord Cavilon,” she murmured with sinking heart.
“La, my dear.” He daubed at his forehead with his kerchief. “I am quite fatigued by the walk. I do seem to encounter you in the most unusual places and in the most extraordinary poses.”
“Would you please find someone who would be able to help me? These are a pair of thieves.” Elizabeth tried to control the anger welling within her.
“Rather, ma petite, I would say they have you,” Cavilon returned with a flutter of his hand at her predicament.
“When I am free,” Elizabeth threw daggers with her eyes, “you had best be gone. Never depend upon a Frenchman for aid,” she gritted through her clenched teeth.
The comte ignored her and spoke to the lad. “Your beast is well trained?”
“His name be Barney,” the boy snorted.
“He will do whatever you command him, n’est-ce pas?”
“This,” Cavilon tossed a guinea in the air and caught it, is yours if he removes himself from the mademoiselle.”
“Up, Barney,” the boy commanded. The dog rose and stepped to one side. Yawning widely, it sat down on the grass.
“Ma petite does not yet obey my commands so well.” The comte tapped his cheek contemplatively. “But I believe she will rise if you surrender the reticule.”
The boy did so grudgingly.
Elizabeth rose to her knees, keeping one hand on the boy’s arm.
“Ye said she’d let me be,” the lad complained.
“Non, I said she does not yet obey me.” Cavilon shrugged nonchalantly.
“Do you wish the boy taken to Newgate?” he asked Elizabeth.
“Newgate? But there are many vile men there—thieves and murderers,” she said, struggling to her feet, a glowering look on her features when Cavilon failed to assist her. “Thank you,” she said sarcastically as she brushed at her skirt.
“But I could not soil my gloves,” Cavilon protested innocently. “As for the lad, he is also a thief.”
“Where are your parents?” Elizabeth questioned the ragged lad.
“Me be an orphan. But Barney takes good care o’ me. We eats well, we do,” he assured her.
Her resolve to see him punished began to melt beneath his large blue-eyed gaze. “What is your name?”
“Tom. It’s all I’m known as,” he shrugged.
“And no one has ever looked after you?”
“Me told ye, Barney does,” Tom protested.
“You live by stealing,” she condemned.
“‘Tis common, Miss Jeffries,” the comte interrupted. “There are many such as this in London. Would you have them starve? Prison will be best for the lad.”
“I do not need your suggestions, my lord,” she snapped.
“Ah, my dear, but I do think you need my assistance. What will your aunt and uncle say if you walk through the streets of London looking as you now do?”
Elizabeth took in her stained and torn gown. With a silent curse acknowledged him correct.
“I will have one of my footmen take the boy away,” he told her.
“What of me Barney?” Tom wailed.
“Hush,” Elizabeth commanded. “You are both coming home with me.”
Cavilon arched his brow.
“Have your coach brought forward,” she ordered.
“Only because I am a gentleman.” He bowed elaborately and minced back through the shrubs.
“Coo, me ain’t never seen none the likes o’ him,” Tom told her as they waited. “Ain’t he pretty, mum?”
“To some, I suppose,” Elizabeth snapped, and pulled the lad after her.
Signalling the footman to open the coach door, Cavilon stood to one side as Elizabeth prodded Tom inside and then was assisted by the footman. Barney, seeing his master disappear in front of the young woman, plunged into the coach just as Elizabeth stepped up. She was pushed aside as the dog clambered onto the seat beside Tom.
Picking herself up, she decided it would be easier to sit across from the pair after all. She slid over to make room when Cavilon gingerly joined them.
“The coach will have to be entirely redone,” he sniffed, raising his kerchief to his nose to cover the odour from the pair opposite. “I see marriage with you shall be quite… expensive, ma petite... but vastly interesting.”
* * * *
A storm erupted when the foursome entered Lady Waddington’s home a short while later. The unfortunate mistress of the house was preparing to depart when they entered. She was promptly knocked down by Barney’s exuberant greeting.
Her shrieks brought Sir Henry and the servants running to the scene. Sheer pandemonium broke loose when the footmen chased Tom, who in turn were pursued by Barney.
Cavilon deftly drew Elizabeth from the midst of the fray. Raising her band to his lips, he brushed it with a kiss. “I shall take my leave ma chère petite... until a more appropriate time.
“With your delicate sensibilities—for your uncle has assured me they are most properly delicate—you will require some time to recover from these,” his hand encompassed the mad scene before them, “exuberances. I shall call to take you riding tomorrow afternoon. We must, after all, begin our courtship.”
A teasing twinkle appeared in his eye and was gone just as quickly. Before she could prevent it, he leaned forward and kissed her, then fluttered and pranced away, leaving her looking after him in confusion.
“Elizabeth!”
Sir Henry’s roar broke through the spell that held her. Dashing into the fray, she intercepted Tom and was again felled by Barney.
“Take that... that beast to the mews,” Sir Henry commanded a footman who was struggling to keep a hold on the huge dog.
“Tell Barney to go with them,” Elizabeth told Tom. “It will be all right.”
“Go on, Barney,” the lad said sorrowfully.
“Take the boy to the kitchen and have him scrubbed,” Sir Henry continued his orders.
“Madeline, you can stop that confounded fainting. The beast is gone.
“Elizabeth, to your room at once. When you have repaired your appearance, you will come to my office and explain.”
“Yes, Uncle,” she said and hurried up the stairs.
* * * *
“I will check with the authorities,” Sir Henry told Elizabeth at the conclusion of her explanation. “If the boy is indeed an orphan, a place shall be found for him at my home in Ashford.”
“And Barney... the dog?” she added.
“The beast can come, but only if it is well controlled,” her uncle grudgingly granted.
“Oh, thank you. I am certain Tom can do that.” Elizabeth rose with a grateful smile.
“We are not finished, miss.” Sir Henry pointed for her to retake her seat. “I am certain that your description of the encounter with the lad and his dog has been altered somewhat in the telling to put everyone in the best light possible. The condition of your toilet upon your return, however, I feel is ample proof of what must have occurred.” Her objection was rendered useless.
“What concerns me is that you made no mention of Comte de Cavilon assisting you, other than to convey you and your acquisitions home. Am I correct in assuming that he was present when the animal stole your reticule?”
“But I did not say that Barney...”
“I know London’s ways, my girl
. The folderol you told me about the boy makes a good story, but that is not my worry at the present moment. Simply answer the question,” he told her curtly.
Elizabeth slowly nodded.
“And Lord Cavilon did nothing to seize the lad?” Sir Henry continued his questioning.
“The comte did...” Elizabeth hesitated, uncertain of her uncle’s intent, and discovered that she had no wish to have Cavilon appear negligent in the matter.
“Well?” her uncle prompted.
“He paid the lad to... to come along with me,” she finished weakly.
“And yet you permitted him to kiss you? Yes, my dear, I saw that. I am not blinded by old age yet.
“I take it then, that despite all you have said, you have consented to wed him?”
“Comte de Cavilon and I did not discuss marriage,” she answered. A sinking feeling vied with the realization that she had forgotten momentarily that Cavilon was French. “If we had, I would not have accepted him,” she finished irresolutely.
“And yet you allowed him to kiss you?” Sir Henry snorted. “With all the servants as witness.”
“Considering Barney’s presence, I hardly think they were watching, Uncle,” Elizabeth tried to joke.
“This will not do at all.”
“But I—”
“Silence. I must think.” Sir Henry rose and paced back and forth, his features becoming sterner with each step. It was one thing to wed Elizabeth to a foppish man, quite another to wed her to a womanly coward who would not protect her from a thieving lad. Cavilon, for all his wealth, could only he a scoundrel to let a beast such as Barney accost his future wife and lift no finger to help her. It was a base man who would not aid a genteel woman and yet took personal liberties with her. His thoughts came hard and fast.
The comte may be wealthy, but there are fates worse than poverty, Sir Henry concluded, and marriage to that effeminate coward would be the worst for a proud young woman like his niece.
“I want you to go and pack, Elizabeth,” Sir Henry announced. “Madeline shall go with you to Ashford. You may take the lad—what was his name... Tom. You will depart in the morn.
“There will be no marriage between you and Comte de Cavilon. It would be best if you were gone from London for a time in the event the man proves difficult in the matter. Mayhaps we can return in the fall.”
“As you wish, Uncle Henry.” Elizabeth rose and walked slowly to the door. Looking back she asked, “Will you come with us?”
“I must call on the comte and tell him of the refusal. There is also the matter of the lad, which I will see to personally. Then I shall join you.”
“Thank you... for taking Tom,” she murmured, and left, quietly closing the door behind her. She knew her heart should be singing for joy, her freedom from marriage to Cavilon a fact.
That was what you wished, she told herself. Why then, Elizabeth pondered, did she feel this peculiar emptiness? Why did she wish to cry more than laugh?
Chapter Twelve
“Was that Sir Henry I saw leaving?” Tretain asked Cavilon as he joined the comte in his study.
“It was,” the other returned cryptically.
The earl saw that the lace scarf which lay before Cavilon on the desk was torn in two. “What did he say to raise your bile so?”
“Sir Henry Jeffries has regretfully informed me that my offer for his niece’s hand has been refused. My... person has been found... undesirable.
“Damn the man. He so much as called me a coward.” Cavilon’s eyes narrowed in frustrated anger. “Elizabeth is being sent to Ashford.”
“It may be for the best,” Tretain said softly. “Even you could not say she was amenable to the match.”
“If I recall correctly, Lady Juliane’s feelings before your marriage were much the same as Elizabeth’s. That did nothing to alter your pursuit,” Cavilon noted coldly.
“But then, you did not have this,” he threw the torn lace to the floor, “to compete against.”
“A true love would have seen through your affectations.”
“In three meetings I am to overcome this?” The comte’s gesture indicated his powdered and laced appearance.
“Perhaps it is just Sir Henry’s old-fashioned ideas about what denotes a man that have led to this and it has nothing to do with Elizabeth,” Tretain began.
“There is more to it than that. Yesterday my wealth was enough excuse for my over-elaborate, foppish mannerisms.”
“Then you should rejoice that the girl did not accept you.”
Cavilon scowled at Tretain. “I know you mean well, but...” He sighed heavily, “I love her. The moment I thought Barney was lunging for her, I knew it for a certainty.”
The earl cocked his head questioningly.
“Barney is a four-footed giant fond of relieving ladies of their reticules,” Cavilon half explained.
“I see,” Tretain said his interest tweaked.
The comte’s face darkened, his thoughts far from the incident in St. James’s Park. “I wanted to win her love in spite of my present guise. If she accepted me in this state, I would know it was from affection.”
“How could you have been certain?” the earl questioned slowly. “Your wealth is a great temptation to many. Think of all the plotting mamas and widows upon whom you have used your skills of avoidance these ten years past, if not since you stepped into your first pair of breeches. When love is genuine, you will know it,” he ended earnestly, the distress he saw on his friend’s face troubling him deeply.
“There are so few women of honour, of principle. Some are lured by money, some by a handsome face.”
A deep bitterness had come into Cavilon’s voice. “They swear to love forever but stay only while the jewels and money last. They promise to wed, then fly into another man’s arms the moment the first is from their side. How does one recognize this genuineness you speak of?
“Once I loved and was loved,” the comte continued, “or so I believed. You should have heard the vows we swore to one another, the promises we made. But her words meant nothing.” His fist came down on the desk with bruising force.
“She betrayed me. I was gone but two weeks. On returning I found her wed to another who had already come into his inheritance and did not have a father standing in the way of his fortune, as I did. Not a word would she say; she laughed at my protest. I had believed her pure and innocent. Thus I learned a lesson about women I have never forgotten.”
Tretain stared at his hands. There was nothing he could say to relieve such a deep wound.
“In Elizabeth Jeffries I thought to find a woman who would honour any promise she made. Had she wed me even when she loathed me, I would have known then that if I could capture her heart, she would love me always. That she would never play me false.”
“But I did not realize that an agreement had been reached between you,” Tretain noted, puzzled.
“There was none.” The question broke Cavilon’s brooding. “There was none,” he repeated, a studied expression easing his dark look.
“Had you not thought to purchase land in an eastern shire?” the earl asked. “Perhaps you could spend some time with Lord Tenbury. I believe his lands lie near Ashford.” Tretain grinned.
“Mayhaps.” A challenging gleam came to Cavilon’s eyes.
“Wasn’t that Tenbury with you at White’s the other day? Yes. I heard something said about him—about your winning his lands.”
“That is only temporary. The young fool needed a lesson. I had seen he was gambling much too impulsively and there were many waiting to fleece such a young lamb. The estate is mine only if he fails to pay the debt in six months’ time. He is now making the rounds of the bankers. One will be willing to loan him the sum if he can show a less brash nature in the next four months,” Cavilon said reluctantly.
But the land is yours till then? Would it not be a more forceful lesson if Tenbury were to see you occupy his manor?”
“Mon ami,” Cavilon rose smiling, �
��merci.” He paused in front of his desk. “But tell me, why was it you called?”
“Only to offer my felicitations,” Tretain lied easily.
“You have found someone for the task you spoke of?” The comte cocked his head suspiciously.
“No,” the earl laughed, “but you would be of little use in your present state. Hie off to Ashford. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavour there.” Tretain reached out and shook his friend’s hand.
“Merci. My greetings and apologies to Juliane for not calling to bid her farewell. Send word if the situation with the other matter becomes desperate. Perhaps Martin shall have to make one last journey.”
“Your services will be missed,” Tretain told him seriously. “But then, we have learned never to depend on any one individual. Bonne chance,” he added and took his leave.
Cavilon returned to his chair and sat deep in thought for several minutes, then rose and summoned Leveque. “We shall journey to Ashford in Kent in the morn,” he told the valet. “I have acquired some property I wish to inspect. Prepare for a lengthy stay.”
* * * *
Putting the letter on her bureau after reading it a second time, Elizabeth continued to gaze at it shaking her head. Ten days back at Ashly, back in the routine of running her uncle’s household and seeing to the prodigious task of civilizing Tom and Barney, had helped push thoughts of Cavilon back, if not entirely from her mind. Now this strange letter from Lady Tretain forced it all to the fore.
Surely my short note telling Lady Juliane that I was leaving London and could not call upon her could not have prompted this? she wondered. Had Cavilon prompted it?
No, she thought, pacing to the oriel window in her bedroom. Even a man such as the comte did not reveal such things about himself as Lady Juliane had written. How strange to think of Cavilon as a man passionately in love with anyone, Elizabeth mused, thinking of the letter’s contents. And how very sad that he was betrayed. She recalled his words about ardour being tiresome, and deep pity for him arose.