by Sandra Heath
Hermione shifted. “Well, I…er, suppose he is handsome, yes,” she replied.
Sir Julian regarded Liza. “Since you have imparted some important information concerning my niece’s whereabouts, you will not go unrewarded.”
“I don’t want anything,” Liza answered. “Besides, I haven’t finished yet. I’ve brought you this.” She searched inside her cloak and drew out the note she’d found in Randal’s pocket lining. “I think you’ll find it very interesting. It’s from a man who was working for Lord High-and-Mighty, investigating about someone’s first wife. His lordship pretended it was on behalf of some friend or other, who was worried about his legitimacy, but it was really Lord High-and-Mighty himself who was worried. And rightly so, if you read what the note says.”
Sir Julian almost grabbed the note, but when he’d finished he was unsure of whether to be hopeful or not. Liza watched his face. “What’s the matter? It’s clear enough, isn’t it? Lord High-and-Mighty’s father was still married when he took his second wife. Bigamy they call it, don’t they?”
Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Bigamy?” she repeated. “Lord Sanderby’s father committed bigamy?”
“Yes, my dear, he most certainly did,” Sir Julian answered, then returned his attention to Liza. “Miss, er….”
“Lawrence.”
“Ah, yes, Miss Lawrence. I fear that although I know this note tells the truth about Lord Sanderby, in the absence of any names….”
“You mean, it isn’t any use after all?” Liza’s face fell almost comically. “And I was so hoping that I’d get my own back….”
“Never mind, my dear. You did your utmost.”
Hermione was unable to bear the suspense a moment longer. “Will someone please tell me what all this is about?”
“Yes, yes, my dear. I promise you shall know all in a moment. First I must attend to this young woman.” Sir Julian went to his deck, took out the leather purse he kept there, and gave it to Liza.
Her eyes widened. “The whole purse?” she gasped.
“Certainly, for I think you have earned it. Where are you bound now?”
“Well, London. Back to Mother Clancy’s bawdy house. Begging your pardon, madam,” Liza added quickly, glancing at Hermione.
Sir Julian beckoned to her and went to the door to address the footman who waited by the statue. “See that Miss Lawrence is given a proper meal in the kitchens; then have the pony and trap made ready to take her to Weymouth. An inside ticket is to be purchased for her on the next stagecoach to London.”
“Yes, sir.” The footman led Liza away.
Sir Julian immediately returned to Hermione and handed her the copied pages. “The late Lord Sanderby did indeed commit an act of bigamy some thirty or so years ago, with the result that Randal Fenworth has no right whatsoever to his title or fortune.”
“Good heavens!” Hermione gasped.
“The time has come for me to unburden myself to someone, and with your permission, my dear, I would like that someone to be you.”
“Of course, Julian, and you may be sure that not a word will pass my lips.”
“I know that, my dear.” Sir Julian began to tell her the whole story of his heartbreaking love affair with Randal’s wronged mother.
* * * *
Amanda had played with fire once too often and was already Randal’s wife. In the little Norman church of St. Winifred’s, on the edge of Wareham, the false Lord Sanderby slipped the ring on his bride’s finger. It wasn’t a proper wedding band, just his heavy signet ring, but it was on the correct finger. The vows had been taken, the final words uttered, and she was Countess of Sanderby at last! Well, almost, for there remained the consummation. The irregularities that accompanied the ceremony were not of any real consequence, for the entry was in the register, and the clergyman was clearly genuine. The special license would be later rather than sooner, but a rider had already been sent to Lambeth Palace for the necessary paperwork to be done. Within a day or so the records of the marriage would be as solid and safe as if it had taken place in St. George’s, Hanover Square, in front of all Mayfair!
Amanda would have preferred a grand wedding at London’s most fashionable church, but having the thing over and done with made her feel secure. She was Countess of Sanderby at last, and with the letter gone forever, Martin Ballard stood no chance whatsoever of discovering the truth. Nor could Uncle Julian do anything. She and Randal had succeeded in suppressing the disagreeable facts from the past, and they could now look forward to a good future together. Oh, she was going to be one of the finest ladies in London, with wonderful clothes, a sheaf of invitations propped behind the candlestick on the mantel, and a list of admirers flocking to her door. She would take London by storm, and she would have nothing more to do with her uncle, or with Tansy. They were beneath her now.
Emerging from the church porch, Amanda laughed as the wind caught her skirts and flapped them wildly. She was still happy and laughing as Randal escorted her across the churchyard toward the lych-gate. St. Winifred’s stood between the vicarage and a comfortable coaching inn called the Black Bear. They had already secured the best suite of rooms, and Randal wasted no time about conducting his bride upstairs to the great four-poster marriage bed.
If Amanda had been hoping for a romantic wooing, with many kisses and fair words to enhance her mood, she was gravely disappointed. Once the door closed behind them, Randal almost pushed her onto the bed in order to set about his husbandly duty. Not a single kiss was bestowed upon her lips, nor a single caress stroked her skin; there was just the swift business of coupling. Very swift, as it happens, for Randal was prone to rush things the first time, whether or not he wanted to. As Liza could have told his bride, the first was over in a blink, and the second in three. Four was unheard of! Amanda, whose adventures in Constantinople had been a little too adventurous, resulting in her not being quite the innocent little virgin her new lord believed, consoled herself with the thought of all the lovers she would have in the near future.
Thus the runaway marriage was made secure, and all chance removed of any third party putting it asunder.
* * * *
Lysons was a Dorset man and knew Wareham very well. He certainly knew St. Winifred’s, and reined the sweating team to a halt outside the Black Bear, where a glance through into the yard immediately revealed Randal’s carriage, with its telltale badge.
Martin flung open the door and climbed down, but as he turned to assist Tansy out as well, Ozzy and Cleo jumped out and disappeared into the yard. Martin watched them go, then looked at Tansy, whose hand he still held.
“I would rather you waited out here,” he said quietly.
“No.”
“Tansy—”
“No!”
With a sigh, he gave in. “Very well, but you are to keep behind me. Is that clear?”
“Yes.” She gazed at him. “I do believe you are being masterful, sir,” she murmured, unable to help the coquettish note that crept into her voice.
“And you, miss, are playing—”
“With fire?” she supplied.
“Yes.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her roughly on the lips; then he looked deep into her eyes. “The time is not far off when I will show you what that fire can really do, Tansy Richardson. In fact, I intend to singe your adorable wings.”
“Oh, I do trust so,” she whispered.
“Make no mistake of it. However, for the moment we are here on another errand entirely. Have a care now, Tansy, for what I’ve heard of Sanderby does not fill me with admiration.” Taking her hand, he led her through into the inn yard.
They were soon informed where they would find Lord Sanderby and went upstairs to the suite, which was at the front of the building, overlooking the road. Two small shadows were at their heels, one ginger, one tabby, and both waited intently as Martin paused before putting his hand on the door latch, lifting it, and walking straight in.
Amanda and Randal were now in the bed, as nak
ed as the day they were born, a fact that was only too obvious as they sat up sharply. Amanda pulled the bedclothes over her charms, but then her alarm turned to a smirk as she saw who had entered. She raised her left hand and waggled the fingers. “You’re too late. I am already Lady Sanderby, so if dear Uncle Julian has sent you to drag me back to Chelworth, he is going to be sadly disappointed.”
Randal’s gaze was fixed upon Martin, in whom he saw more of his father than in himself. This had to be Marguerite Kenny’s son—his only too legitimate half-brother! Martin sensed nothing. That they were siblings did not even cross his mind.
Tansy’s gaze was equally fixed upon Randal, whom she recognized immediately as the gentleman who’d destroyed Sir Julian’s letter.
Ozzy and Cleo jumped onto the bed, and Amanda recoiled in disgust. “Ugh! You’ve brought these vile creatures with you!” Cleo spat at her, by way of returning the insult, and Amanda pulled the bedclothes up to her chin as she edged further away against the pillows. Ozzy, however, could not have cared less about Amanda, for his attention was upon his favorite prey, Randal Fenworth. With a low growl, the tomcat advanced toward his goal, and Randal hastily grabbed the bed coverlet and hauled it around himself as he jumped out of the bed. “Dab it all. Get theb out of here!” he cried, edging away until he pressed against the adjacent windowsill.
Martin looked at him in astonishment. No one had mentioned that Sanderby had a speech impediment! Tansy was thinking the same, but endeavored not to show it as she spoke instead to Amanda. “Amanda, I think you should come back to Chelworth.”
“And be insulted, ignored, and generally maltreated? No, I think not.”
“But, Uncle Franklyn will not like it that you—”
“Leave my father out of this, if you please,” Amanda snapped. “Look, why don’t you both just go? I am Randal’s wife now, and that is how I intend to stay. As you can see, there is nothing anyone can do about it.” She indicated the crumpled bed, all the while keeping a wary eye on Cleo, who was staring unblinkingly at her.
Randal looked hatefully at Martin. “You heard by wife. She beans to stay with be, and I have certainly done enough to bake the barriage safe!” Ozzy disliked his tone, and he gave a long, low, wavering growl that seemed to contain as many expletives as were at Liza’s disposal. Randal’s glance slid toward his pillow, beneath which he had hidden a loaded pistol. It was no ordinary pistol, but possessed a magazine and was capable of firing nine shots in succession.
Martin sensed the other’s loathing but had no way of knowing the cause, so he endeavored to remain reasonable. “My lord, I accept that the situation has reached the point of no return, but if you and your bride will just return to Chelworth to convince Sir Julian of your union…. He has been appointed your wife’s guardian, and so is bound to require proof that the marriage is genuine.”
Had he deliberated for a year upon which words would provoke Randal the most, Martin could not have chosen to more effect. Each syllable touched a raw nerve, and with a savage cry, Randal dove for the pillow, in the process dropping the coverlet that spared his blushes. Tansy and Amanda both screamed as he grabbed the pistol, cocked it, and swung it toward Martin, who retreated hastily.
“Sweet Jesu, Sanderby!”
“Farewell, by fine lord!” Randal breathed, and began to squeeze the trigger.
Ozzy leaped, and struck Randal with such force that he lost his balance and tottered backward. The pistol went off, the shot thudding into the ceiling; then Cleo leaped for Randal as well. With a cry he stumbled heavily back against the window, which gave way beneath his weight. For a terrible moment Randal seemed to hang in the air; then, amid a shower of glass and wood, he plunged out of the window and down into a large, exceedingly full rainwater butt.
Icy water cascaded everywhere, and then the butt, which was rather old, began to split. Randal Fenworth and the rest of the dirty water were spilled upon the cobbles, where startled onlookers stared in amusement at his lack of a stitch of clothing. Ozzy and Cleo stood on the windowsill above, looking very pleased with themselves as the dismayed landlord hastened to relieve Randal of the pistol, which was still clutched in his hand.
Tansy and Martin were stunned by what had happened, and so initially was Amanda, but the latter recovered apace. Her hard voice rang into the silent room. “There’s nothing either of you will ever be able to do! You’ve been outwitted, and that is the end of it!”
Tansy whirled to confront her. “You are welcome to your marriage to that…that murdering excuse for a man! You and he should, I trust, be very happy together. When he is released from jail, that is!”
“Jail?”
“Well, he did just try to shoot Martin, or did that escape your attention?”
Amanda’s cornflower eyes were bright and venomous. “He thought Martin was about to shoot him. I shall vouch for that. So it will be our word against yours.”
“Except that Martin does not have a pistol,” Tansy hurled back.
Martin exhaled slowly. “I’m afraid that isn’t true, Tansy. I may not have drawn it, but I do have one. Look, all in all, I think we should just leave this as it is.”
“Leave it? But—”
Amanda’s scathing tones cut in. “Oh, just do as your little lieutenant tells you, Church Mouse, for to be sure he has a soupçon more sense than you do. Mind you, that is about all he does have, for he is hardly the rich suitor you’d really like, is he?” She began to laugh, peal upon peal of triumphant laughter that was only silenced when Cleo returned purposefully to the bed and dealt her a very sound scratch to the cheek, then jumped neatly out of reach of Amanda’s furious fingers.
Martin pulled Tansy toward the door. “The new Lady Sanderby isn’t worth bothering with,” he said. “I definitely think we should leave them to get on with it. If I press charges against Sanderby, the resultant scandal may touch upon you as well.”
Amanda hurled a pillow at them. “You may be sure it will, for I will see to it!” she screamed.
Martin raised an eyebrow at Tansy. “I’m afraid you and I are far too lowly to associate with such grand and refined persons, Tansy.”
“How dare you!” cried Amanda, almost forgetting herself enough to climb out of the bed, but remembering just in time that she too was without a stitch of clothing.
Martin opened the door. “Come, Tansy, let us leave this, er, person to her own devices. She has made her bed, and now she must lie in it.” He almost bundled Tansy from the room, and once again the two cats accompanied them.
They drove away from the Black Bear, leaving Randal trying to extricate himself from the landlord’s clutches, that indignant fellow being in no mood to put up with guests who went around firing pistols willy-nilly, no matter how nobly born they said they were. And there was the small matter of paying for the shattered window. A cat did it? No, two cats? Well, if he was expected to believe that, he might as well be expected to fly up to the roof of St. Winifred’s as well! No guest at the Black Bear, lord or not, was going to leave without paying up for all damage done!
Tansy sat with Martin in the carriage, needing his warmth and closeness after what had just happened. Her heart was still beating swiftly, and now that they were safe, she felt like crying with relief. She was more glad of his arm around her than he could have begun to imagine, and as she rested her head on his shoulder, she had to close her eyes to stop the tears from having their way. Ozzy and Cleo occupied the seat opposite, looking so prim and proper that it was hard to believe they had just knocked the Earl of Sanderby out of a window into a butt of none-too-clean rainwater.
Martin smiled. “Look at them. One would think butter could not melt in their mouths.”
Tansy opened her eyes and smiled too. “They shall have a dish of cream each when we return to Chelworth.”
Martin chuckled. “How like your uncle you are,” he murmured.
“I shall take that as a compliment.”
“And so it is.”
She was silent
for a moment, then craned her neck to look up into his eyes. “Martin, what do you think he meant?”
“Who?”
“Amanda’s unlovely new husband. He said ‘Farewell my fine lord’ when he aimed the pistol at you.”
“Did he? To be honest, Tansy, I haven’t a clue what he said. I was more concerned with what he was doing.”
She turned to the front again. “Well, that’s definitely what he said. Don’t you think it rather strange?”
“Does it matter?”
“No, I suppose not.”
Chapter 31
Sir Julian and Hermione listened in horror as Martin related the events at the Black Bear. They were all four seated in the library, their faces lit by the dancing fire as the stormy March afternoon faded into darkness once more. When Martin finished, Sir Julian got up wearily and went to the fireplace. Resting a hand on the mantel, he gazed into the flames.
“It would seem Amanda is quite beyond redemption,” he said heavily.
Tansy felt the need to comfort him if she could. “She is still the Countess of Sanderby, Uncle, so I do not think she is exactly ruined.”
Sir Julian glanced at Hermione, who quickly lowered her eyes.
Tansy was still thinking of her cousin. “I did not think that even Amanda could be so vile, but the things she said at the inn were quite unforgivable.”
Sir Julian nodded. “Your cousin is a spoiled, utterly selfish, entirely disagreeable young wench, and thus the perfect bride for a man of Randal Fenworth’s caliber.” Again he looked at Hermione, this time with a query in his eyes. Should he tell Tansy and Martin everything? Was there any point now that the letter had been destroyed, and with it all hope of proving anything?
Before Hermione had a chance to reply, the library door swung open, and Ozzy and Cleo came in, the latter holding the letter in her mouth. Everyone thought of King Osorkon’s retriever cat, for that was indeed how she seemed, even to her tabby fur. She trotted to Martin and laid the letter on the carpet at his feet. Not realizing what the folded sheets of paper were, he gave a slight laugh and bent to pick them up. “What’s this?” he murmured.