The Wicked Cousin

by Stella Riley

  Sebastian refrained from observing that, in point of fact, he hadn’t – because he’d never expected his father to come within a hairsbreadth of such an admission and suspected that he’d only done so now because he was afraid he might die. He said slowly, ‘None of the things I did were done with the intention of causing you anxiety, sir.’

  ‘I know that. You did ’em because I’d been doing your breathing for you. Perhaps if I’d left you free to enjoy university in the normal way … if I’d talked about a Grand Tour after Cambridge rather than finding you a bride … you’d have got a lot of what came later out of your system. But I didn’t, so you went to extremes.’

  ‘That’s certainly one way of putting it.’

  Lord Wingham nodded.

  ‘Not that it’s an adequate excuse … but after we lost Theo, I couldn’t …’ He stopped, drained his glass and then said explosively, ‘I was afraid, damn it!’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Yes. Now I do.’

  ‘But not in the beginning?’

  ‘No.’ I didn’t want to take Theo’s place – I just wanted him back. But nobody understood that. And nobody told me why my life was suddenly different. ‘I felt like a commodity. I also couldn’t see the sense in any of it. You had nephews and, thanks to Trixie and Lottie, the first of your grandsons. They might not bear the Audley name but they’re all of your blood. So with me or without me, the line was never going to end with you.’

  ‘The name still matters to me, Sebastian. I won’t pretend otherwise. And though you don’t think it now, you’ll feel differently when you have a son of your own.’

  ‘If I do,’ came the uncompromising reply. ‘Given the scarcity of male offspring through the last four generations, I may never do so - and since I’ve yet to produce any offspring at all, we’ve no way of knowing.’ He drew a long breath and then loosed it. ‘I’ll say it one more time, Father. Audley men all have the same blue eyes and the same ridiculous red hair. Both are inherited characteristics, not shared by the Audley women. It seems to me that our habit of siring females is another of the same.’

  This time the silence was a long one. Finally, the viscount said, ‘I won’t push you. I know it doesn’t do any good. But you’re twenty-eight years old. I hope you’ve enjoyed yourself these last years and I don’t begrudge that you’ve done so. But --’

  ‘But you can’t help hoping that I have now got it out of my system?’

  ‘Yes. I’d like to see you settled before --’

  ‘Don’t say it!’ Sebastian got up and reached for the decanter. ‘You are not going to die. And since talking as if you might isn’t going to make me mend my ways, you can save yourself the trouble. Furthermore, as I’ve just spelled out to Blanche, I’m not ready to step into your shoes – so I’m depending on you to remain healthy for a good few years yet.’

  ‘Ah.’ Lord Wingham blinked rapidly and held out his glass. ‘That’s … thank you. You’re a good son, Sebastian.’

  ‘No, I’m not. I’m a reckless, loose-living wastrel.’ And with a sudden dazzling smile, ‘But don’t they say that there’s hope for us all?’

  * * *

  Elizabeth’s husband, Jonathan, Lord Holdenby, returned from Rye in time to spend the half-hour before dinner privately with his brother-in-law. Once he’d described at some length the boxing match he’d attended and received, in return, an account of Sebastian’s most recent travels, he said thoughtfully, ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the impression that kicking up the dust ain’t as much fun as it used to be.’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Well, if the absence of your name from the scandal rags is any indication, you haven’t been doing very much of it recently.’

  ‘No. It has become a trifle … tedious. And hard work. But don’t, I beg of you, tell Blanche I said so.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it, dear boy.’ Jonathan grinned. ‘Actually, I stay out of her way whenever possible. The woman’s a Gorgon.’

  Sebastian laughed. ‘Scared, Johnny?’

  ‘Bloody terrified! And don’t pretend you’re not. She usually sends you gibbering back across the channel in a matter of hours.’

  ‘True. But I’ve half-promised Father a longer stay this time.’ He paused, contemplating the ruby brightness in his glass. ‘And I thought I might show my face in London.’

  ‘Brave fellow!’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I had a note from Nick Wynstanton a few days ago saying that – if and when you turned up – I might warn you that speculation about your return is already rife.’

  Sebastian looked at him aghast.

  ‘Tell me you’re joking.’

  ‘No. According to Nick, the clubs are taking bets on whether – and when – you’ll appear and the females are twittering like starlings.’

  ‘Christ,’ muttered Sebastian. ‘That’s all I need.’

  ‘Well, you shouldn’t be so damned colourful, should you?’ returned Jonathan reasonably. ‘And it can’t be all bad. After all, there must be some old friends you’d like to catch up with.’

  ‘Precious few. I’ve acquaintances spread across most of the Continent … but friends in England? Not so many.’ He thought for a moment and then said, ‘Truth to tell, I can only think of one. Is Eastry around?’

  ‘Eastry?’ For a moment, Jonathan looked baffled. ‘Oh – you mean Sarre. I suppose you wouldn’t have heard. He inherited the title about three years ago but only returned from France a few months back and immediately got himself leg-shackled, if you can believe it. Caught an heiress, then disappeared to Kent.’

  ‘Kent? He’s at Sarre Park?’

  ‘As far as I know. Write to him … or take your chances and ride over there, why don’t you?’

  Sebastian nodded. ‘When my backside has recovered from three weeks on the road, I might do that. Is Anubis still in the stables?’

  ‘That four-legged fiend? Yes. And he’s still the horse from hell. If he don’t manage to break your neck on the way, he’ll have you over to East Kent in a blink.’

  ~ * * ~ * * ~

  CHAPTER THREE

  Caroline, Lady Sarre looked with satisfaction at the changes she’d wrought in the south parlour. Due to the Dowager Countess’s reluctance to remove to the Dower House coupled with Adrian’s refusal to leave Sandwich Bay until she’d done so, they’d been at Sarre Park for only three weeks and it had taken Caroline all of that time to turn just one room from a chilly cavern to something more inviting. Since the rest of the house was equally unwelcoming, she could see she was going to be kept busy for quite some time.

  Her one and only meeting with the Dowager had not gone well but Caroline had been polite and kept her temper. She’d continued to keep it despite the provocation of patronising remarks and disparaging glances. And she might even have gone on keeping it had not her ladyship surveyed Adrian as if he’d crawled out from under a stone and listed both his supposed failings and the many ways in which he was wholly unfitted to his position - which was when Caroline’s patience had finally snapped.

  ‘That’s enough, ma’am. Adrian is a better son than you deserve – and I won’t have him spoken of that way.’

  The Dowager’s colour had risen alarmingly and she said, ‘You won’t have it? You – the child of some clod-hopping northern cloth-weaver?’

  ‘Yes. I had wondered if Adrian was being a little harsh in insisting that you occupy a separate establishment but now I see that he was not. Indeed, given your low opinion of him, I’m sure you can’t want to reside under his roof. However … as he has said, we wish to move here at the end of next week. And if your own servants are not equal to the task of transferring your belongings to the Dower House, we’ll be happy to supply you with extra help.’

  ‘Brava, darling,’ murmured Adrian softly and with amusement.

  Caroline had nodded and turned a bright, hard smile on her mother-in-law.

  ‘As for th
e ‘northern cloth-weaver’ you referred to – he is actually my grandfather and, thanks to him, I have an extremely substantial dowry. I won’t sink myself even further in your estimation by naming the exact sum.’ She’d paused to enjoy the sight of her ladyship’s jaw dropping. ‘Oh – and we spent the days after our wedding as guests of the Duke and Duchess of Rockliffe. So you see, ma’am … you have completely the wrong end of every possible stick.’ And with a brisk curtsy, ‘Good day.’

  Adrian had laughed almost the whole way back to Devereux House … and the Dowager had quit Sarre Park within four days.

  Now, three weeks later, Caroline was just considering which room to attack next when Bertrand wandered in and said, ‘We have a visitor. His name is Audley and he is asking for Adrian.’

  * * *

  Sebastian looked with interest at Lady Sarre. Though her figure was good and her smile warm, she wasn’t the sort of obvious beauty that Adrian usually favoured. And then, in the second that thought occurred to him, he realised that she was staring.

  Oh God, he thought resignedly. My damned hair, I suppose. Why do they always have to get poetic over it? Why can’t they just call it what it is? Red.

  Had he known that words like garnets and Burgundy wine were floating through Caroline’s mind, he’d probably have groaned out loud. Since he didn’t, he bowed gracefully over her hand and, when she apologised for Adrian’s absence, said, ‘The fault is mine, Lady Sarre. I should have written – not dropped upon you unannounced. And I can call again at a more convenient time. Indeed, another day will do just as well. I hope Adrian is well?’

  ‘Perfectly well, thank you. Do I gather that you haven’t seen him for some time?’

  ‘Three years, give or take.’ His smile was sudden and spectacular. ‘In Venice, as I recall. I generally live abroad, you see – as did Adrian at that time.’

  ‘Oh.’ Fleetingly, Caroline wondered how much Mr Audley knew about the various skeletons in her husband’s overcrowded closet. ‘Well, if you’ve travelled some distance to see him, I should certainly have Adrian summoned because I’m sure he won’t want --’ Her words trailed off at the sound of carriage-wheels on the gravel outside and she turned automatically towards the window. ‘Dear me. This is unusual. You are our very first visitor, sir – and now it appears you are not to be the only one. I wonder -- ?’ Again, she stopped, eyes flying wide and both hands pressed briefly to her mouth. ‘Oh my God. Grandfather?’

  Just for a second, Sebastian wondered if she was going to faint. Then she whirled past him saying breathlessly, ‘Forgive me, Mr Audley – and please don’t think of leaving!’

  Through the open doorway, Sebastian watched with amusement as her ladyship hurled herself on a lean, grey-haired gentleman while the sandy-haired French fellow who had answered the door looked on over very un-butler-like folded arms.

  ‘Grandpa!’ she cried. ‘Oh Grandpa – I can’t believe it. You’re here – really here!’

  ‘Of course I’m here, you daft lass.’ He wrapped her in a hard embrace. ‘Did you think I’d wait forever for you and this earl of yours to get up to Halifax?’

  ‘But the snow? The roads? You might have been stranded!’

  ‘Very nearly was – and more than once.’

  Lady Sarre took his cloak and handed it to the Frenchman whilst taking the opportunity to whisper something that provoked an even more un-butler-like crack of laughter.

  Then, as she drew her grandfather towards the warmth of the parlour, the old man said, ‘Now, Miss … where’s this husband of yours? Ah.’ He stopped as his eyes lit upon Sebastian. ‘Well, young man. I reckon you’ve got a bit of explaining to do, don’t you?’

  A gleam of laughter lit the dark blue eyes. ‘Not really, sir. No.’

  ‘No?’ Mr Maitland’s chest expanded alarmingly. ‘Running off with my grand-daughter without so much as a --’

  ‘Grandpa – stop,’ interposed Caroline hastily. ‘This gentleman is a visitor.’

  ‘So he’s not the earl?’

  ‘No. Bertrand is sending someone to find him. Oh!’ A sudden thought seemed to strike her and, turning back, she called, ‘Bertrand – have Grandfather’s carriage taken round to the stables, would you? And when Adrian gets here --’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ The Frenchman flapped a dismissive hand. ‘I know. But on your head be it.’

  The Countess merely grinned, turned back to her guests and made the necessary introductions. Sebastian shook hands with Mr Maitland and prepared to enjoy himself. He’d grasped the situation within seconds and was looking forward to seeing how his friend was going to extricate himself from the trouble it appeared he was in.

  Adrian arrived, hot-foot and agitated, some half hour later to fling open the parlour doors, saying anxiously, ‘Caroline? What’s wrong? Are you all right?’

  Then he stopped dead, presumably absorbing the fact that his wife was not only perfectly composed and sipping tea, but also entertaining one man he recognised and another he didn’t – but whose identity he could probably guess.

  Managing not to laugh, Sebastian watched Lord Sarre swallow a curse. His hair was damp and windblown; he was wearing neither cravat nor vest; his shirt was filthy and he himself was sweat-stained and dirt-spattered, with grime under his fingernails. Standing ramrod straight, he nodded a brief acknowledgement at Mr Audley and then looked, with a total lack of expression, at his wife’s grandfather.

  Not appearing in the least discomposed, Caroline rose and smiled sunnily at him.

  ‘Adrian. I’m sorry – did whoever Bertrand send not explain? There is no emergency. It is merely that we have guests. I believe you know Mr Audley. And this is my grandfather, Mr Maitland.’ She turned affectionately to the older man. ‘Grandpa, allow me to present my husband, the Earl of Sarre.’

  Despite his growing hilarity, Sebastian spared a moment to feel sorry for his lordship – who was quite clearly wishing the ground would swallow him up. If there was one thing he recalled about Adrian Devereux, it was that he’d never seen him less than perfectly groomed. Right now, he looked like a farm labourer.

  Mr Maitland fixed Adrian with a gimlet stare and eventually said, ‘You’re the earl?’

  ‘Unlikely as it may seem – yes,’ replied his lordship stiffly.

  ‘My little Caro’s husband?’

  ‘I have that honour, sir.’ This time Adrian managed a slight bow. Then, on an indrawn breath, ‘You must forgive me, Mr Maitland. I would very much like to offer you my hand but am afraid it must wait until I’ve washed. You too, Audley.’

  ‘Oh don’t mind me.’ Sebastian grinned. ‘I can only apologise for intruding at such an inopportune moment.’

  Hubert Maitland continued to gaze at Adrian through narrowed eyes for a moment or two. Then, on a sound resembling a snort, he advanced, hand out-stretched, saying, ‘There’s nowt wrong with a bit of dirt, young man – and it says a lot about you. So take my hand and tell me what you were about when my little lass sent for you?’

  Adrian accepted the proffered hand and found his fingers seized in a powerful grip. He said helplessly, ‘I – we are in the process of repairing the roofs of the estate cottages.’

  ‘Ah. And not enough workmen to get the job done without you rolling up your own sleeves, my lord?’

  ‘No. That is we have plenty of willing hands, sir. I help out from choice, not necessity.’

  ‘And why might that be, lad?’

  Adrian blinked. He didn’t think that, in his entire life, anyone had ever addressed him as ‘lad’. Not even Betsy, who’d known him since he was six. He looked at Caroline, positively glowing with satisfaction. And that was when he realised what she’d done and why he was standing in the middle of the south parlour and meeting Hubert Maitland for the first time whilst looking as though he’d been rolling in a ditch.

  His shoulders relaxed and he said simply, ‘My father was an indifferent landlord and I want our people to know that I am cast in a different mould. Working alongside them see
med the quickest way to prove it. And now,’ he finished pleasantly, ‘if you will all excuse me, I am going to restore myself to some degree of respectability. I believe I will also have a few choice words with Bertrand.’

  As the door closed behind him, Caroline tucked her hand into her grandfather’s arm and said, ‘There. He’s not what you expected, is he?’

  ‘He’s not much like any aristocrat I ever saw, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Unless he’s changed a great deal since we last met,’ murmured Sebastian, ‘I suspect he’s currently remedying that.’

  ‘Oh - undoubtedly,’ agreed Caroline. And to her grandfather, ‘I knew if you saw what Adrian really is, that you’d like him.’

  ‘Who says I like him?’ grumbled Mr Maitland. ‘The fellow may not be too grand to get his hands dirty – but that don’t change the fact that he ran off with you in that hole-and-corner way.’

  ‘Actually,’ she said wickedly, ‘it was the other way about. I ran off with him. How else do you think I was going to catch an earl?’

  The old man gave a bark of laughter.

  ‘Minx. Good thing I know better than believe that, isn’t it? But I reckon you better explain it to this young fellow over here.’

  ‘No.’ She smiled at Sebastian. ‘No. I think I’ll leave that particular task to Adrian.’

  * * *

  Once more dressed to his own satisfaction, Adrian submitted to an hour-long grilling from Mr Maitland from which he emerged mentally exhausted but triumphant. He’d admitted that, despite having inherited little save debts, he was now part-owner of a lucrative gaming-club and thus made it clear he didn’t need to marry for money; but he’d successfully avoided all mention of the Evie Mortimer scandal, his acting career in Paris and the fact that when Caroline had eloped with him, she’d believed him to be a French highwayman.