After all, boredom had embroiled him in this adventure.
His damsel laughed at the babe, her face reflecting the child’s glowing delight. There was nothing cold or hard in her at all.
Plague take it.
Cyn sought distraction and saw the crumpled paper. The light was going, and so he made a flame and lit one of the candle-sconces. Then he reached over and picked up the Gazette, turning to the news of the war.
The Americans remained quiet and it seemed French power there was crushed. There appeared to be unrest in the colonies about new taxes designed to pay for their recent defense. That would soon fade. Most of the news concerned the scandalous Czarina Catherine of Russia, and the Prussian advance against Austria. Perhaps he would end up posted to Hanover or some such place. After the unpredictable wilderness of the New World, he feared it would be tame.
Having finished the military news, he looked up at the women. “Would you like me to read some items to you?”
“Yes, please,” said Verity.
“No!” exclaimed Charles.
Interesting, thought Cyn. Again, she jibbed at a news-sheet. What on earth could she have done to attract the interest of the press? He began to read aloud. He read a piece about the turmoil in Russia, and another about improvements in iron-casting, but all the time he scanned the pages for anything related to his damsel.
He found it.
He skipped over the crucial item to read about a fire in Dover, and the trial of a sensational murderer who had apparently poisoned half his family before being caught. But he read slowly and managed to glean the other story at the same time.
It concerned Verity’s disappearance, not Charles, and did not conflict with the story they had told. What then was the problem?
According to the paper, there was widespread concern as to the fate of the widow and child of Sir W****m V****m. It was feared that Lady V****y V****m had lost her wits because of the death of her husband and her recent confinement, which had by great good fortune produced an heir for the deceased nobleman. Both her father and her husband’s family were offering a handsome reward for information which would return the afflicted lady to their loving care.
The rest of the item was genealogical.
Lady V****y had been, before her marriage, Lady V***** W***, daughter of the Earl of W****e, and sister to Lady C*****y W*** . . .
Cyn stopped reading. Finally his memory had been triggered, and he could fill in all the missing letters.
His damsel’s name was Chastity Ware.
The Notorious Chastity Ware.
Chapter 8
Cyn quickly began to read again—picking an item at random and landing on a dry essay about Weiman’s translation of Shakespeare into German. He doubted he was making sense of it, for the greater part of his mind struggled to absorb his discovery. The piece ended, and he offered the paper to the sisters. They both declined, and so he laid it aside. He noted relief on his damsel’s face.
On Chastity Ware’s face.
It would take time for him to be at ease with that name instead of Charles, but despite her reputation, it suited her. What, though, should he make of her reputation?
He remembered Henry Vernham saying Walgrave had shaved her head after he had found her in a man’s bed. It all fit, but only after a fashion. It did not fit with what he knew of her. He could not believe his damsel to be a shameless hussy who went from bed to bed.
And yet that was what the world believed.
When he’d been ill his brother Bryght had come down from London with a selection of amusements, including the latest cartoons. There had been a number which addressed the gossip about Lord Bute and the new king’s mother. There’d been related ones about greedy Scots sucking England dry while still flirting with the Stuarts. There had been a very funny bawdy one about the deposed Tsar of Russia and his wife, Catherine, whom rumor said he had never bedded, though everyone else had.
And there had been one about the grand scandal of the summer, Lady Chastity Ware.
He supposed the Earl of Walgrave, the Incorruptible, had enemies who had been pleased to strike at him through his daughter. He had been shown—ugly and bloated—staggering back from a bed in which his buxom daughter lay cheerfully naked under a salivating lover, saying, “No, Father, I won’t wed him, I just want to f**k him.”
He flicked a look at the pristine features of the young woman opposite. They bore no resemblance to the blowsy female of the caricature. Probably the illustrator had never seen her, and cared nothing about her as an individual. It was just a bit of titillation for the masses, and a low blow at the powerful earl.
He knew there would have been any number of caricatures on the subject, posted in the windows for all to see, available for a penny plain, twopence colored, and passed from hand to grubby hand as a source of amusement.
Had she ever seen any? He hoped to God not.
Cyn had heard the story in lascivious detail from Bryght. Apparently she’d been forbidden to attend Walgrave’s rout because of some misdemeanor—gossip said some earlier bawdiness. Tenderhearted Lady Trelyn, Society’s darling, had pleaded her case so well that Lord Walgrave and a group of guests had gone up to his daughter’s room to liberate her.
There they had found her, as Vernham had said, in flagrante delicto. With so many people as witnesses, there had been no question of hushing it up, though her father had tried. The scandal could have been passed off if she had agreed to a hasty marriage, for most there would have kept the story to themselves, and there would only ever have been rumors. Lady Chastity, however, had absolutely refused to marry the man. She had, of course, been immediately ostracized, not so much for sinning as for not following the rules when caught.
Lord and Lady Trelyn—known for their irreproachable character—had supported her the longest, and refused to confirm the story, but in the end they too had done so, expressing great commiseration for the anguished father.
Another fragment of recollection. The lover had been her brother-in-law, Henry Vernham! His damsel had thrown away all caution for a man like that? The only explanation was the kind of fevered, unreasoning lust that rode some women, but he’d seen no sign of that in Chastity Ware.
Cyn glanced at her again. He wouldn’t have thought her wanton. He certainly wouldn’t have thought her stupid. If she’d played that game and been caught, the only sensible thing was to marry the man. Such a female would not find marriage too rigid a confinement.
And yet he could not think her such a female. His head throbbed with contradictions and suspicions.
Another memory. Rothgar had been displeased with the caricature, and it had disappeared, probably into the nearest fire. Rothgar and Chastity Ware would have met before the debacle. Perhaps Rothgar realized how little the cartoon related to the reality.
Had Rothgar too been in her bed? Cyn almost groaned aloud. He didn’t want these thoughts, but they invaded his brain like maggots.
He could not deny that she’d been involved in something scandalous. In addition to the witness of the Trelyns, Cyn had the evidence of his own eyes and ears that the enraged earl had shaved off his erring daughter’s hair and confined her to her old nurse’s cottage with only the clothes of a penitent whore to wear.
’Struth, and she’d found a bold way to get around the restrictions! Her brother’s clothes, and the appearance of a male. Damned clever, but damningly bold.
He had to admit to some sympathy for the beleaguered father of Chastity Ware. But only if she was the hussy she was made out to be.
Chastity watched Cyn toss the Gazette aside and almost wept with relief. It had been like waiting for an ax to fall waiting for him to read that item. She had steeled herself for the sneer, for the disgust, and it would have been even more unbearable from this officer than from Mrs. Inchcliff.
How strange clothing was. Though it made no sense, she felt that Mrs. Inchcliff might have understood, might have given her the benefit of the doubt, whereas she knew Ca
ptain Lord Cynric Malloren would condemn her on the spot.
And, quite simply, her heart would break.
Cyn suddenly leaned forward and rapped on the roof of the carriage. Hoskins pulled up.
“I’m going to sit on the box for a while now that I’m male again,” he said to the sisters. “I’ll spell Hoskins and explain some of our plan. Anyone seeing us go by will be bound to notice my scarlet coat, which should throw off the hunt.” He pulled on his boots, leaped down, and slammed the door.
“Goodness,” said Verity, as the coach moved off again. “Isn’t it strange? He’s become quite a different person since he put on his regimentals.”
Chastity too had detected something brusque in his manner. “I’m sure he’s a very good officer,” she defended.
Already she felt his absence like a gaping void. She had better get used to it. He would soon be out of her life forever. She picked up the paper. “I’m going to hide this before he comes back. I was in agonies, Verity. Look!”
Verity read the piece and bit her lip. “Oh, lud. All England must be on the lookout by now, so I mustn’t be seen by anyone who knows me. And of course, they had to bring your name into it.” She touched Chastity’s hand. “I did think it would all blow over.”
“It will never blow over.” Chastity sighed. “One thing is sure—after all this I will never again accept gossip without question.”
Verity shifted the baby in her arms. “It isn’t just gossip, dearest, you must accept that. You were seen in bed with Henry, and by a number of people who are beyond reproach. How unfortunate that the Trelyns be there. Their word is unquestionable.”
“But I didn’t invite Vernham to my bed. I was fast asleep!”
“In the eyes of the world that hardly matters.”
Chastity stared at her sister. “Are you saying I should have married Vernham?”
Verity sighed. “I really don’t know, dearest. I suspect I would have, but then I’ve always been weaker than you. It’s just that I’m beginning to realize how bad your situation is.” She cast a glance at her sister. “Partly because of Lord Cyn.”
Chastity stiffened. “What, pray, does he have to do with it?”
“Don’t deny there’s something between you. I can sense it. It’s doubtless confusing him since he thinks you male, but as soon as he discovers you are female I think he will be interested. It’s a shame nothing can ever come of it.”
“There’s nothing for anything to come of,” said Chastity firmly. “And I have no intention of him ever knowing I am female. I think your wits are wandering, Verity.”
It was nearly five o’clock and dark when they passed through the north pike into the ancient city of Winchester. The road was quiet since most travelers had already arrived at their destination, but there were still plenty of people about on foot.
Both Verity and Chastity kept out of sight. Cyn raised the hatch and called down, “We’re avoiding the fashionable inns and going to the Three Balls. Hoskins assures me that even if Vernham or your father are here, they’d never stay at such a small place, but it’s decent enough. Don’t grow complacent, though. Remember your parts, and see if you can conceal the baby in the bag.”
Chastity held open the portmanteau. Verity put a folded blanket over the unspun wool, then slipped the sleeping babe onto it. He sighed, then settled.
They laid a thin cotton cloth over him and partly closed the bag.
The coach swung sharply. Greetings were called. They peeped out to see they were in the lantern-lit yard of a small inn. It was an ancient place, with a shortage of right angles, and low-hanging eaves. It was charming, but definitely not the kind of establishment to attract the patronage of the high aristocracy.
The coach door swung open and Cyn indicated that they should climb down. Chastity saw that it would be wise to show themselves, to fix the illusion in the minds of the postilions. They left the portmanteau on the floor of the carriage and stepped down. Cyn courteously assisted Verity and ignored Chastity entirely. Chastity wondered wryly if she should go and help with the horses, but feared she’d expose the deception if she tried.
As the postilions unhitched their horses, the plump innkeeper bustled out to attend his patrons. While Cyn chatted to the man, Verity kept her head demurely lowered and stood quietly by his side. Cyn occasionally addressed a remark to her, calling her ‘dear,’ and touching her with gentle familiarity. Leaning against a wheel, hat down over her eyes, Chastity thought bleakly that they made a lovely couple.
She saw a bored-looked young man pop his head out of the inn door and come to the same conclusion. Did her father have a watcher at every inn in the south? Why? Concern for a missing daughter was one thing, but this was extraordinary. She prayed the baby would not wake.
Cyn paid off the postilions and the men clattered off. Then he arranged to store his carriage for a few days at the inn and to hire a riding horse so he could explore the area. He gave it out that he was in search of a house to lease. He took rooms for himself and his coachman, letting it drop that his wife would be staying with a friend.
It all went off without a hitch.
In no time they were strolling out of the inn yard, Cyn carrying the valise in which the baby still slept soundly.
“All clear. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble with Mary Garnet,” said Cyn cheerfully. “She’s always been a game one. Never wanted to leave the Canadas, but when the second child came, Roger insisted she return to England. She and the children are living with her father, a scholarly sort. We’ll have to hope he puts up no objection.”
It turned out as Cyn had predicted. When they reached the pleasant brick house on a quiet lane, Mary Garnet professed herself only too delighted to have a female guest, and her father seemed equally hospitable. Soon they were all in a snug parlour taking tea.
Mary was a sturdy young woman with apple cheeks and a ready smile. Her two children—an equally sturdy girl of five, and an elfin boy still in skirts—hovered shyly for a while. But then the girl was drawn toward the baby, and the boy toward Cyn’s uniform.
“Da’s a soldier,” he gravely told Cyn.
“I know. I know your father very well. We have great fun together trouncing the king’s enemies.”
“With swords?”
“Swords and guns. Lots of lovely, noisy things.”
The child leaned against his knee, wide-eyed. “You have a big horse?”
“I do indeed.” Cyn smiled down. “Do you want to play horsy?”
The boy nodded, and so Cyn hoisted him onto his knees and began the chant.
“This is the way the ladies ride,
Nimble, nimble, nimble;
This is the way the gentlemen ride,
A gallop, a trot, a gallop, a trot;
This is the way the farmers ride,
Jiggety jog, jiggety jog;
And when they come to a hedge . . . They jump over!”
He lifted the squealing lad into the air.
“And when they come to a slippery place . . .” The little boy held tight, brimming with expectation. “ . . . tumble down Dick!” Cyn opened his legs and dropped the shrieking child almost to the floor.
“Again! Again!”
Cyn obligingly began the performance all over again.
Chastity watched, an ache in her heart. He liked children as well as babies. He really would make a wonderful father—firm when necessary, but tremendous fun.
Stop it, Chastity.
She saw the little girl, Caroline, eyeing the horseplay enviously, clearly torn between the attractions of the baby in Verity’s arms, and the sheer excitement of the game. When Cyn called a pause to catch his breath—more likely to let the little boy calm down before he fizzed over like shaken champagne—Caroline demanded his attention. “We’re to have a new baby here too,” she said.
Cyn’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Mary Garnet. “I do hope that means Roger’s had furlough.”
The woman shook her head at him. “
Of course it does, you rogue. He brought you home, as you well know.”
“Brought me home?” asked Cyn blankly.
“Do you not remember? He wondered, though at times you were perfectly coherent, he said.”
Cyn shook his head. “I hardly remember the voyage. I have him to thank for saving my life, then.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, but he’ll be pleased when I write that you are fully recovered. He wanted to visit before he sailed, but was told you were not up to it.”
All good humor disappeared from Cyn’s face. “The devil you say! I wonder how many other friends my solicitous brother barred the door to.”
“Come now, Cyn,” Mary said. “You were very ill. Roger said they’d lost hope until Rothgar appeared to take over.”
Cyn frowned. “Appeared where? You make him sound like a damn apparition!”
Chastity couldn’t believe how curtly he spoke to the wife of the man who had saved his life, but Mary took it in her stride. “Don’t you remember that either? That shows how ill you must have been. He appeared at the dock when you arrived. Roger said it was positively eerie him standing there, as if he’d had prior notice.”
Cyn’s lips twisted slightly, but if it was a smile it lacked humor. “I assure you my brother does not use a crystal ball. Doubtless just accurate and speedy information. So he turned up and pulled me back from the jaws of death, did he? I suppose I should be grovelingly grateful to him. I must remember when next we meet.”
Then he flashed a smile, like someone putting spark to tinder, and began to play with the little boy again. In a moment Caroline moved to his side. “It’s my turn next,” she said firmly.
Cyn finished a round with the boy and looked at the girl. “Are you sure this is suitable for a young lady?”
She nodded. “Papa plays it with me.”
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