“What a handsome couple you made!” exclaimed Mrs. Drinkard after he had thanked her for the dance and taken himself off to solicit the vicar’s daughter for the next set. “What, pray, did he say to bring such a blush to your cheeks?”
“Why—why nothing, Mama. If I was blushing, it was because I had failed to mind my steps, with disastrous results. Did you not see me crash into the poor man? If I was blushing, it was because I was ready to sink with mortification!”
Mrs. Drinkard gave her a rapturous look. “And oh!—the way he caught you in his arms! It was exceedingly clever of you, my dear. But mind, I think you a very sly minx!”
“But—I didn’t—”
“Depend upon it, we shall have you betrothed by midnight!”
“I should not presume—” Daphne protested, resolving nevertheless to give Sir Valerian a wide berth until that hour, just in case. Her demurrals were cut short as the violins began a song in three-quarter time, and in the next instant he was there.
“I’ve come to claim my waltz, Miss Drinkard,” Theo said, bowing over her hand. “I hope you haven’t forgotten.”
“N-no, indeed! Mama, if you will excuse me—”
Her mother looked less than pleased at this latest development, but as it would have been shockingly rag-mannered for Daphne to have danced twice in succession with the same partner, even had Sir Valerian solicited her hand for the waltz, there was little she could do but nod her consent and trust that the sight of Daphne in the arms of his secretary would spur that parliamentary hopeful to declare himself without further delay.
As for Daphne, Sir Valerian occupied no more place in her thoughts than he did in her affections. “You are very late, Mr. Tisdale,” she chided Theo as he led her onto the floor. “I had almost given you up.”
“And miss my waltz? Never!” he declared. “But there was a little matter of dress to attend to. It took longer than I intended.”
“It was time well spent, for you look very fine,” she assured him.
“Twenty years out of date, at the very least,” he confessed, grinning ruefully at her. “Fortunately for me, gentlemen’s fashions don’t change so very quickly.”
Daphne could not fail to read into this remark an unflattering awareness of her own three-year-old gown. “So is mine out of date. At least, Kitty—Lady Dandridge, I should say, who was my particular friend before she went to London and married Lord Dandridge—she says no one is wearing gowns with only one flounce around the hem anymore.”
“I shouldn’t like to disparage your friends, but she sounds to me like a spiteful old cat,” he said, his arm tightening protectively about her waist. “And even if it were true, well, one look at you in that gown would have every lady in London ripping the excess flounces from her dresses, for they would all look fussy by comparison.”
She looked up at him with an expression combining skepticism and playfulness. “I don’t believe you for one minute, but it’s very kind of you to say so.”
“Perfectly true,” he insisted. “Why, my sister would agree, and she—” He broke off abruptly.
“ ‘She’?” Daphne prompted.
“She knows more about fashion than any female I know,” he concluded lamely.
Daphne was certain that was not what he had intended to say, but chose not to press him. “I didn’t know you had a sister. You’ve never said anything about your family before.”
Theo shrugged. “There’s not much to tell. I don’t remember much about my mother, for she died while I was still in the nursery. My father died quite—quite recently. Then there’s my sister and her husband and children.”
Daphne was more interested in the late Mr. Tisdale. “Did your father leave debts too, then?” she asked in ready sympathy. “Is that why you’re working in the mill?”
Theo nodded. “You—you might say so.”
“But what of your sister’s husband? Can he do nothing to help you?”
Theo was silent for such a long moment that Daphne began to wonder if he intended to answer at all. “He has tried,” he said at last. “In fact, he’s done more than I realized at first, but he . . . he . . . he . . .”
His words trailed off, and his gaze became fixed on something over her shoulder. Daphne glanced around and saw two or three of the mill workers congregated near the door, their heads together in hushed conversation. She had not noticed before, but the crowd had thinned considerably. All of what her mother termed the more respectable guests remained, but many of the mill workers had apparently found the festivities not to their liking and had left early. Even as her brain registered this observation, the numbers decreased by three; the little group near the door ended their conversation with nods of agreement and slipped outside as a body.
“I—I’m very sorry, Miss Drinkard, but—but I have to go,” Theo stammered. His hand fell from her waist, leaving her bereft and just a bit chilly where the warmth of his skin had penetrated the folds of satin. “Let me take you back to your mother.”
“Mr. Tisdale, what is wrong?” Daphne asked, struggling to keep up as he took her arm and practically frog-marched her off the floor.
“I don’t know, exactly. Possibly nothing.”
“But you don’t think so,” she said, regarding him keenly.
“No, I don’t think so. But I have to find out.”
“Then I’ll come with you.”
He shook his head. “If I’m right and some mischief is afoot, I’d rather you weren’t mixed up in it.”
“If, as you say, some mischief is afoot, it would appear half the village is ‘mixed up in it,’ ” she pointed out, with a sweeping gesture that took in the half-empty barn. “What’s more, I’m afraid I might be mixed up in it in any case. This concerns the meetings Mama has allowed Sir Valerian to hold in our house, doesn’t it?”
He looked down into her wide, troubled eyes, and could not bring himself to put her off with reassuring half-truths. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
“Then surely I have some right to know!”
In fact, it would be her mother, rather than Daphne, who had a right to know if some skullduggery had been taking place beneath her own roof. But Theo, observing Mrs. Drinkard in animated conversation with the squire’s wife, had no great confidence in that lady’s discretion—if, in fact, he could make her believe anything ill of Sir Valerian at all. She had not yet noticed her daughter’s departure from the dance floor, but she might look their way at any minute, and when she did—
“All right,” Theo said. “Come with me. But if anyone should ask, you felt faint from the heat, and I merely took you outside for a breath of fresh air.”
He did not wait for her agreement, but steered her out the ill-fitting back door of the barn, wincing at the screech of the rusty hinges. It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dark, but there was a full moon, and it was not difficult to tell where the men had gone, for a faint orange glow showed just over a rise in the meadow. Theo put a finger to his lips to silence the questions that trembled on the tip of her tongue, then took her hand and picked his way across the meadow in the dark. As they crested the ridge, he saw more than fifty men, all bearing flaming torches and armed with a hodgepodge of farm implements. From his vantage point, Theo could see pitchforks, shovels, pickaxes, and even something that might have been a cricket bat silhouetted against the flickering orange light.
As he stared in mounting horror, a harsh voice that could only have belonged to Abel Wilkins bellowed, “Are you with me?”
The assembled men shouted their assent.
“To the mill, then!”
“To the mill!” echoed the men, and the torches bobbed crazily against the night sky as the group set out toward the road that led to the village and the cotton mill beyond.
“Good God!” Theo stared down at Daphne, his eyes glittering in the feeble light. “They’re marching on the mill! I’ve got to stop them!”
She clung to his sleeve. “No! What can you possibly do against fifty
armed men?”
“I don’t know,” he said, setting his jaw, “but I have to do something.”
“Very well, then,” she said resolutely. “I’m coming with you.”
“You, my girl, are getting out of here! Ethan Brundy’s house has a safe room. He had it put in when the house was built, for just such an emergency.” He glanced toward the barn and the field beyond. “It’s not very far if you cut across the pasture.”
“And I suppose the butler will invite me in and usher me to the safe room with no questions asked!”
“Tell him the Duke of Reddington said he was to let you stay there until further notice.”
“The Duke of—” she echoed incredulously. “The duke might have something to say about that!”
“Daphne, I don’t have time to argue the matter with you! Just go!”
He called me Daphne. Her heart rejoiced, but she hadn’t the luxury of savoring the sound of her name on his lips. “Mr. Tisdale—Theo—you will be careful, won’t you?”
Theo had already begun to turn away, but at this entreaty he stopped, seized her by the arms, and kissed her swift and hard on the mouth. The kiss was over almost as soon as it began, but when he would have released her, she flung her arms about his neck and kissed him back with all the love and passion and fear she could never put into words. But if she had thought to deter him from the path he was set on, she was doomed to disappointment. All too soon, he broke the kiss and set her firmly at arm’s length.
“Now, go,” he said a bit breathlessly, putting a hand to the small of her back and giving her a little nudge in the direction of the barn.
It made her want to cry, the fact that the kiss she had so longed for had come under such circumstances, and the knowledge that he might not live long enough to kiss her again. But he was urging her to go, and if she could do nothing else to help him, she could at least obey him in this. She dared not look back for fear her feelings would betray her, but picked up her skirts and ran toward the barn, avoiding the wide double doors that allowed the light within to spill out, exposing her flight to anyone who might happen to glance that way. Instead, she made for the rear of the building, then circled the far corner—
And ran into Sir Valerian Wadsworth with sufficient force to knock the breath from her body.
“My dear Miss Drinkard!” he exclaimed, taking her by the shoulders to steady her. His hand was warm on her bare skin, and she realized her gown had slipped from one shoulder in her mad flight. “Where have you been? Your mother has been greatly disturbed by your absence, and could not be easy until I offered to go in search of you.”
Recalling Theo’s instructions, she stammered in between gulps of air, “I was feeling faint—stepped outside—Mr. Tisdale—fresh air—”
“I see,” he said smoothly, looking past her to the meadow beyond. “But where is Mr. Tisdale now?”
“He is—gone. He—” He’s gone to confront fifty angry men armed with torches and pitchforks, all on his own. No, surely the time for dissembling was past. “Sir Valerian, the workers are marching on the mill. He’s gone to—to try and stop them. Please, you must help him! Perhaps they will listen to you.”
He drew her hand through the curve of his arm and patted it soothingly. “I daresay he must have misunderstood, and the men have merely gone in search of stronger drink than anything on offer tonight. Pray do not trouble yourself! Let me take you back inside. Will you not allow me the honor of partnering you for the next set? I believe it will be forming soon.”
“I assure you, there can be no mistake! We should—we must do something!”
His voice hardened, and the hand covering hers tightened painfully. “If it is truly as you say, Miss Drinkard, then you would do well to stay out of matters that don’t concern you.”
Startled and a bit frightened by the change in his tone, she looked up at him. The obsequious manner he had always adopted toward her was gone. The lines about his mouth were cast into strong relief by the moonlight, and his eyes glittered, cruel and utterly ruthless.
“It was you,” she said, stunned by the realization. “That’s what the meetings were about. You incited the mill workers to riot.”
“I?” His eyebrows rose in an exaggerated indication of surprise. “I’ve been here all evening, entertaining my guests. You should know, for you danced with me yourself.”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Her voice held more conviction now. “I must be sure to bathe when I return home. Suddenly I feel dirty.”
He released her hand, but only long enough to grab her arm and pull her to him, so close that they stood nearly nose to nose. “Perhaps you feel dirty because you are dirty. Let me remind you that the meetings you so deplore were held beneath your mother’s roof, with her full cooperation and your own assistance. You’re in this up to your pretty neck, my dear, and if I go down, I won’t hesitate to take you and your ambitious mother with me. Now, you’re going back inside with me, do you understand? You’re going to dance with me, and you’re going to like it.”
You’re going to like it . . . The words rang in her head, warning her, reminding her of—what? You’re going to like it . . . Like it . . . Like . . . The next time a man does something you don’t like . . .
Oh, Theo, she thought, I hope you’re right. She took a deep breath, then snatched up her skirts with her free hand and drove her knee into Sir Valerian’s groin with all the force she could muster.
The results astounded her. Sir Valerian dropped to his knees with a groan of agony, the hands that had gripped her now cupped protectively over the site of the assault. Forgetting, at least for a moment, the need for haste, Daphne stared down in rapt wonder at what she had wrought.
“It works!”
At the sound of her voice, Sir Valerian looked up, his face turning quite purple as he unleashed upon her a tirade in which he castigated her as a Jezebel, among other things, most of which were unsuitable for mixed company, and several of which she had never even heard before. Daphne had no time to waste on him. She spun away and took herself off in the direction of the Brundy residence as quickly as the moonlit night, the uneven ground, and the thin dancing slippers on her feet would allow.
17
May men say, “He is far greater than his father,”
when he returns from battle.
HOMER, The Iliad
THE BAND OF RIOTING workers appeared to be heading for the road that led to the mill, so Theo set out across the fields in the same direction, hoping to reach it ahead of them. Exactly what he would do when he got there was unclear; still, it behooved him to do something. He could only hope some plan of action would have presented itself to him when the time came.
He reached the mill to find it dark and quiet. Stepping up to the nearest window, he cupped his hands about his eyes, pressed his nose to the glass, and peered inside. Moonlight shining on the rows of machines cast weird shadows onto the sanded planks of the floor, but there was no sign of any movement, and no sound. Clearly, he had got there ahead of the mob, in spite of having twice lost his way and once wrenched his ankle by stepping into a rabbit hole. He had not long to wonder at this curious circumstance before a faint orange glow over the hill, accompanied by a murmur of sound like a swarm of angry bees, announced the approach of his adversaries. But surely the glow was brighter than it had been before. Or was it merely an optical illusion, a trick of the moonlight as its source rose higher in the sky?
Then the first of the torches began to crest the hill, and Theo’s thudding heart dropped into the region usually occupied by his stomach. What had been surely no more than fifty men had increased to two—three—four times that number. What could any one man do against such an army?
“Buck up, old boy,” he admonished himself under his breath. “You were already outnumbered fifty to one. What’s a couple hundred more?”
Setting his jaw, he stepped away from the window and positioned himself before the door.
LADY HELEN BRUNDY, exhausted
from three days on the road, leaned her head back against the squabs and attempted, without much success, to sleep. Well-sprung as it undoubtedly was, her husband’s traveling carriage was no substitute for the goose down pillow that awaited her at the end of the journey. Her glance rested briefly on the rear-facing seat, where her son lay curled up with his head on his father’s lap, and she envied him the easy slumber of the young.
Her husband, correctly interpreting her wistful expression, gave her a look that might have been a caress. “Not much longer now, love.”
“No,” she concurred, summoning a weary smile.
Her gaze shifted to the window, beyond which familiar landmarks might occasionally be glimpsed in the light of the carriage’s swaying lanterns: a signpost indicating the direction and distance to Manchester; a thatched cottage distinguished, incongruously, by a tiny square window of stained glass; the silver gleam of moonlight on water as they crossed the bridge over the River Medlock. Then another sight, less familiar, met her eyes. She sat up straighter, peering out the window for a closer look at the faint orange glow in the distance.
“Ethan, something is burning. You don’t suppose—the house—”
He shifted Willie’s limp form and leaned forward, almost pressing his nose to the glass. “It couldn’t be the ’ouse; it’s not far enough to the north. All the same—”
He rapped sharply on the overhead panel, and ordered the coachman not to spare the horses.
“STOP RIGHT THERE!” Theo bellowed as soon as the mob was close enough to hear. He took a step forward, out of the shadow of the hulking building at his back, and drew himself up to his full height.
The Desperate Duke Page 17