by Stella Riley
‘What of it?’
‘For some incomprehensible reason, only Audley males inherit that colouring. I have five sisters and numerous aunts … all of whom have dark hair and grey eyes. Anyone who knows my family knows that. Anyone at all.’ He smiled for the first time since the woman Luiza had first appeared outside the theatre. ‘If the child is a girl, none of those people are going to believe she’s mine.’
* * *
After a largely sleepless night, Sebastian arrived at the breakfast table to find a curt note from Sir Charles Delahaye summoning him to Conduit Street at his earliest convenience. Sebastian grimaced, drank two cups of coffee and went back upstairs to allow Hobson to make him presentable.
Yet again, he was shown directly to the study where Charles awaited him with an expression that did not bode well. He said, ‘What in hell happened last night, Sebastian? And I’ll have it with neither omissions nor beating about the bush, if you please.’
Since he hadn’t been offered a chair, Sebastian remained on his feet and strove to look more composed than he felt. He said, ‘Plainly, then … my former mistress returned from Lisbon and re-applied for the position. I declined. She is now intent on disrupting my life and last night was her latest stratagem. The Portuguese female she presumably paid to make the scene outside the theatre disappeared from Philip Vernon’s house, leaving the child behind – which means it wasn’t hers. More pertinently as far as I am concerned, the child is a girl. I’m presuming you’ll understand the significance of that.’
‘A girl?’ The implacable stance relaxed a trifle. ‘Yes. I see. Well, that’s fortunate.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Don’t try to be clever. And don’t think to see Cassie this morning either. Until your name has been washed clean of the gutter, you will not come within a dozen yards of her.’
‘You think I would?’ asked Sebastian coldly.
‘I’ve no idea what you’d do. Quite aside from that vulgar scene outside the theatre, I’ve since had Cassie ranting at me more or less non-stop.’
‘Ranting? Cassandra? I can’t imagine --’
‘Neither could I before last night. Throughout the ride home and for a further hour after we got here, Serena and I were subjected to a diatribe on your innocence and the utter impossibility of anyone with half a brain believing otherwise. Inextricably mixed up in all that were accusations of malicious tinkering by a female who I suppose must be the former mistress you just referred to. Bedford House came into it somewhere – as did an incident in Dolly Cavendish’s library, which frankly appalled me.’
Sebastian winced inwardly. Oh love … I wish you hadn’t mentioned that.
‘Needless to say, I’m currently wondering what else has been going on between the pair of you behind my back. Well?’
‘Nothing.’ Well, nothing so very terrible, at any rate.
‘Sure about that, are you? Because somewhere along the line, you appear to have transformed my daughter into a person I don’t recognise. When, despite her protestations on your behalf, Serena and I still insisted that she was to stay away from you until further notice, the battle moved to new ground.’ Surveying Sebastian over sardonically folded arms, Charles said, ‘You could call what happened next a hurling down of several gauntlets. Serena and I are to understand in absolutely no uncertain terms that Cassie loves you à corps perdu as the saying goes; that you are completely honourable and let no one dare say a word to the contrary; and that if you ask her to marry you, she will do it even if it means a trip to Gretna Green. There was a great deal more, all of it in the same vein and accompanied by a great deal of gesticulation and far too many exclamation marks. And throughout it all, there were floods of tears – not, as you might suppose, of unhappiness or fear or worry – but of sheer uncontainable fury.’ He paused. ‘You, Mr Audley, have turned my lovely girl into a damned Valkyrie.’
In addition to the mingled joy, relief and incredulity came a mental image of Cassandra, shield in hand and her hair flowing loose beneath a winged helmet. In one sense, it was funny. In another, since it made his groin tighten, it wasn’t. He said raggedly, ‘I’m sorry, sir. I’m having trouble taking that in.’
‘You are having trouble? How do you think I feel?’ Quite suddenly and against all expectation, Sir Charles smiled, albeit a trifle sourly. ‘She’s always been the perfect daughter; biddable, gentle and demure, as if there wasn’t an ounce of real passion in her. Even when I first spoke to her about you, she merely sat with her hands folded in her lap and said she’d be happy to receive you – which did nothing to dispel my fears that she was destined to become the perfect, dutiful wife … or to put it another way, a doormat. Ugly as last night was, it has at least removed that particular worry. So you’d better clear your name and be quick about it, Sebastian. Otherwise, Serena says we may need to start hiding the best china.’
This, Sebastian decided, was even more bizarre than the notion of Cassandra in an uncontrollable temper. Shaking his head to try and clear it, he said, ‘I’m meeting Nicholas, Harry and Philip at Angelo’s in an hour. Since Miranda attended the theatre with Richard Penhaligon last night, we’re hoping to shake some information out of him. I don’t know how successful that will be … but you’re welcome to join us if you wish.’
‘One of you intends to fence with him?’
‘Yes. Me.’
* * *
By the time Mr Audley and Sir Charles arrived at the fencing academy, Lord Harry had arranged for sole use of the smaller salon but there was as yet no sign of their quarry. Then Nicholas strolled in with Philip saying, ‘No chance of getting Rock here, I’m afraid. Adeline’s pains have started. Amberley is there, lending Rock his support – though personally I’d have thought Adeline more in need of it. All the proud father has to do is while away a few hours with a couple of glasses of claret and a few rubbers of piquet.’
‘How little you know,’ murmured Charles with faintly disquieting sympathy.
All four younger gentlemen eyed him uneasily but forbore to ask what he meant.
It having been decided that the occasion should appear as normal as possible, they each stripped down to shirt and breeches and took a foil from the rack. And since – for reasons which annoyed him – Philip had been elected to face Sebastian, Harry and Nicholas took on each other.
Sebastian said, ‘Don’t look so peevish, Philip. We’ll dance about a bit until after Penhaligon gets here, then you can make some excuse and quit the field.’
‘I’m not peevish – I’m bloody insulted. Nobody is worse than Nick. He charges about as if he was trying to stop a herd of elephants.’
‘And I’d have to show more skill than I want to in order to stay out of his way.’ Sebastian flexed his foil and checked that the button was securely in place. ‘We have a plan. Let’s stick to it.’
Mr Penhaligon sauntered in some ten minutes later, stopped dead when he spied Mr Audley and would have sauntered straight out again had not Sir Charles made it impossible for him to do so by engaging him in conversation. Meanwhile, the room rang with the clash and slither of steel, a few amicable insults and quite a lot of laughter. Mr Penhaligon watched from the side-lines and relaxed.
After five minutes, Philip pretended to twist his ankle.
‘Ah – damn!’ he grunted, limping artistically to a bench. ‘My apologies, Audley. I damaged my ankle a few weeks ago and it’s still weak. Maybe one of the others will give you a bout.’
Nicholas and Harry paused in their endeavours and Harry said, ‘Sorry, Sebastian. Nick has just tossed me one insult too many – so I intend to have my revenge. Ask Penhaligon. He’ll give you a match, I’m sure.’
‘No – really,’ said Richard hastily. ‘I hadn’t meant to practise today. I just looked in to – to pass the time of day.’
‘Pass half an hour with us, then,’ invited Harry. ‘See if you can cheer Audley up a bit. The poor fellow’s been having a lousy time of it recently.’
‘Thank you for rem
inding me,’ muttered Sebastian moodily. ‘It’s up to you, Penhaligon. I’d be just as happy with a bottle for company.’
‘You had enough of that last night,’ said Nicholas, taking a sneaky swipe at Harry who barely managed to deflect it. ‘Time to work up a sweat, my boy.’
Combined with the affable, unthreatening presence of Sir Charles Delahaye, the suggestion that Mr Audley was suffering the after-effects of the night before, served to convince Mr Penhaligon that he was in no danger. Smiling and beginning to shed his coat, he said, ‘Half an hour, then. And I thank you gentlemen for inviting me to join you.’
‘Pleasure,’ grunted Harry, engaging Nicholas’s blade without warning.
And, ‘Ha! That the best you can do?’ retorted his lordship.
When Mr Penhaligon was facing him over their raised blades, Sebastian merely waited for him to begin … and when he did so, deflected the oncoming thrust with a seemingly idle parry. Richard frowned a little and tried a different move, followed by a feint. Sebastian defeated the first with a flick of the wrist and ignored the second. He still didn’t bother to attack. Richard’s frown deepened.
After five more minutes of the same, coupled with Sebastian’s expression of sulky boredom, Mr Penhaligon stepped back and dropped the point of his foil to the floor. He said, ‘If you don’t want to do this, you need only say.’
‘God,’ muttered Sebastian. ‘You want me to exert myself?’
‘It might make the bout a little more interesting.’
‘If you say so.’ With a long-suffering sigh, Sebastian raised his blade. ‘En garde.’
And then it began. Mr Penhaligon suddenly found himself facing a swift, relentless attack that drove him across the room before he could recover himself and left him too busy to notice that Nicholas and Harry had stopped fencing to watch.
After a few minutes, Nicholas said, ‘If this were in earnest, it’d be a slaughter.’
‘Told you,’ returned Harry. And to Charles, ‘Did he mention Sebastian held his own against Rock for eleven minutes?’
‘No. He didn’t – and if he had, I might not have believed him. As for Mr Penhaligon, I think he’s just beginning to realise what he’s tangling with.’
In fact, Richard was starting to sweat. Without appearing to do anything very much at all, Sebastian was making him work extremely hard just to keep hold of his foil and was pushing him around the floor like the merest beginner. Nothing he tried to halt this process did the slightest bit of good. He couldn’t get past Sebastian’s guard and hadn’t managed to touch him even once. Sebastian, on the other hand – had the bout been real – would have left him bleeding in several places and killed him twice. Almost playfully, the tip of Sebastian’s foil came to rest on the base of his throat, over his heart and once, at his groin, before withdrawing again. The whole thing was becoming an embarrassment and it wasn’t made any better by the desultory bits of helpful advice being offered by Harry and Nicholas. Mr Penhaligon’s shoulder was on fire and he had cramp in his sword-hand; in addition, he was out of breath and out of temper.
Needless to say, losing his sangfroid didn’t do anything to mend matters. His play became wilder and more erratic … while Sebastian continued to press him, looking infuriatingly unruffled and wearing a faint, mocking smile. Then, without any warning whatsoever, Sebastian delivered two tricky moves in quick succession and said, ‘How deeply are you involved with Miranda Silvarez?’
Shock nearly made Richard drop his foil. ‘What?’
‘You were with her last night at Drury Lane. And you know as well as I do that she planned that nasty little surprise. Did you help her?’
‘No!’ This time, Richard leapt out of range, lowered the foil and said breathlessly, ‘Enough. I don’t know where you got this damned ridiculous idea - but you’ve had your fun and I’m leaving.’
‘Not yet.’ Sebastian gestured to the closed door and the fact that Philip Vernon was now leaning against it. ‘Not just yet.’
‘If this is about last night, that was no fault of mine.’
‘And we’re supposed to take your word for that, are we?’ asked Nicholas.
‘Yes.’ Mr Penhaligon stared round at the other faces and noted a distinct lack of friendliness in any of them. ‘You’ve jumped to conclusions based on the fact that I invited Lady Silvarez to the theatre? You’re deranged – all of you.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Sebastian. ‘One of your lapdogs offered me a wager involving a lady’s virginity recently. His idea – or did you put him up to it?’
Some of the colour drained from Richard’s face. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘You do. But don’t worry. I haven’t divulged the name of the intended victim. Yet. As for Miranda, we know someone has been helping her get a toehold in society and believe that person is you. Well?’
‘So? What of it?’
‘In Miranda’s case, it suggests the existence of a relationship between the two of you,’ observed Sebastian dispassionately. ‘What is she bribing you with? The same present I refused and which started this hell-hath-no-fury campaign of hers?’
Mr Penhaligon’s jaw dropped and he swallowed hard.
‘Didn’t she tell you about that?’ continued Sebastian. ‘She was my mistress for a time in Lisbon until she set her sights on a wedding ring. The moment I arrived in London, she made it plain that I was supposed to fall, first into her bed and then down on one knee. As we’ve seen, she doesn’t like being thwarted. But right now, we’d like to know about your part in her revenge quest. Specifically, the Bedford House rumour, the wholly false accusations in The Whisperer and last night’s farce outside the theatre.’
A bead of sweat made its way down Mr Penhaligon’s cheek. He said, ‘All right. She asked me to help her get some invitations and I did. She saw what happened at Bedford House and I … well, I just mentioned it to a few people. But I had nothing to do with the scandal-sheet thing and the first I knew of last night was when it happened. Satisfied?’
‘Not especially.’
There was a long, unpleasant silence into which Nicholas eventually said derisively, ‘If you ask me, he’s feeble-witted. But the question is whether or not we believe him?’
‘Difficult,’ murmured Sir Charles. ‘I wonder if Keswick knows in what puddles his brother is playing?’
‘Unlikely,’ remarked Sebastian. And fixing Mr Penhaligon with a hard stare, ‘I want Miranda stopped. And since you’ve been her partner in crime, you may prefer to be the one to stop her – because if it’s left to me, you won’t enjoy the results any more than she will.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Richard wiped the sweat from his face and summoned a flicker of bravado. ‘If you’re threatening to challenge me --’
‘I’m not. I’m actually threatening to do much worse than that. Since The Whisperer’s interest in me brought a letter from the Duke of Rockliffe’s man-of-law down on it, I suspect the editor will be quite eager to be helpful. A piece written by myself, to the effect that Mr Richard Penhaligon has been foisting a trollop by the name of Miranda Silvarez on polite society; and that the pair of them have been conspiring to ruin the Honourable Sebastian Audley’s good name in various ways – most recently by paying a female to publicly accuse him of abandoning both her and his alleged child.’ Sebastian paused, smiling grimly. ‘I’ll also prove my innocence by mentioning that the said child is a girl … and that no Audley female offspring in the past three generations or more has ever had red hair. That particular curse is reserved for the men.’
Through the course of this, Mr Penhaligon had gone steadily whiter.
‘Damn it, I’ve told you I had no part in last night!’
‘So you did. There’s no justice in the world, is there?’
Richard looked around again, desperate to leave and knowing there was only one way these men would let him. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want you to make the situation clear to Miranda. There are to be no more attacks
on me – of any kind at all. Is that clear enough?’
‘What if she won’t listen?’
‘It’s up to you to make her listen. If she doesn’t desist, I’ll infect the pair of you with social leprosy. That thought should be sufficient incentive for you to convince her.’
* * *
While the gentlemen were frightening Mr Penhaligon into compliance, prior to heading off in their various directions to begin undoing the harm of the previous night, Cassie stared mutinously through the window of her bedchamber. Before leaving for an undisclosed destination, her father had told her mother why the child was definitely not Sebastian’s and Mama had, in turn, passed the information on to Cassie. But although she was glad of it, she hadn’t needed proof; and she found it did little to dispel the seething emotions that had consumed her since that moment outside the theatre; fury on Sebastian’s behalf, worry about what he must be feeling and frustration that she wasn’t being allowed to offer him comfort. All she could do, Cassie decided, was to pour her heart out to an understanding ear.
Being long, passionate and angry, the letter to Caroline was also slightly garbled, covering as it did everything between the moment when Cassie had first fallen in love with Mr Audley and the public disaster of last night. Scribbling a final paragraph, she wrote, I love him so much, Caro and I wish I’d told him instead of being afraid to trust that a man like him could want a girl like me. As for that evil witch – I could kill her. Literally. I only wish someone would give me the chance.
* * *
At around the time Cassie was sealing her letter, Mr Penhaligon was telling the evil witch that the game was over – and why. Miranda listened with increasingly deepening colour and dangerously narrowed eyes. And when his recital drew to a close, she said scathingly, ‘You pathetic excuse for a man. If you can’t actually stand up for yourself, couldn’t you at least have managed a credible lie?’