Summer Darkness, Winter Light

by Sylvia Halliday

  Crompton drew in a rasping breath, but nodded his assent. Several spectators crowded around at the smell of fresh blood.

  Richard was at Allegra’s elbow. “Come,” he said. “You’re pale before they’ve even begun. I know Grey at cards. He needs to concentrate. Not concern himself with a wife who might faint.”

  She agreed and reluctantly allowed Richard to lead her away. They found an empty table and chairs in one corner of the Great Hall, and sent a servant to fetch some tea. They drank the brew together, and laughed at the antics of one of Burlington’s dogs, a little spaniel who leapt and played with the fringe hanging from the draperies at the nearby window.

  Allegra sighed. “I wish Dolly had come. I do so enjoy your sister’s companionship, Richard.”

  He frowned. “I scarce think she would enjoy herself. Even on such a pleasant occasion as this.” He scratched his ear under his short gray wig. “I think my sister is bewitched. At one moment she’s happy. And then she’s cast into a pit of despair, sighing and moaning. I had hoped that she might marry again. A woman shouldn’t be alone. I thought that was her intention as well, especially when she asked me to get Mr. Briggs’s advice on her marriage portion. But though she seemed concerned with his opinion—she sets great store by Mr. Briggs, I think—I’ve seen no suitors on the horizon.”

  Allegra hesitated. It wasn’t her place to reveal Dolly’s secrets. But she was dismayed to learn that the happy face her friend showed to her and to the world vanished into gloom once she was alone with her family. “Whatever her distress, I feel certain that time will heal it.” A vague enough response. If Dolly wished to confide in her brother, it was up to her to do so.

  Richard pulled his watch from his pocket. “Shall we see how Grey is faring?”

  The closet was now empty, save for the two players and the servants; the spectators had long since tired of the game and gone on to supper.

  Grey appeared as cool and composed as he had an hour before. But Crompton was a changed man. His large wig was slightly skewed on his shaven head, his waistcoat was unbuttoned as though he had needed more room to breathe, and his florid face seemed twisted into a permanent scowl. The scattered stacks of notes in front of Grey clearly explained Crompton’s disarray.

  Grey smiled. “Jack and game, sir,” he said, throwing down his cards.

  Crompton groaned, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his sweating brow. “No more,” he said. “You’ve bested me tonight, sir. As it is, I’ll trust you to be a gentleman, and not take those notes to my bank until I can secure the funds.”

  Grey leaned back in his chair and tapped his long fingers together. “What if I were to give you the opportunity to recoup, sir?”

  “Recoup?”

  “There’s sixty-five thousand pounds in notes of hand here, by my reckoning. I propose one turnup of the cards. Double or nothing. High card wins. What do you say to that?”

  Crompton chewed on his thumbnail and stared at the chandelier overhead. “That’s a deal of money, sir.”

  Grey laughed. “Come. Aren’t you a gambler? Think of it. One hundred and thirty thousand quid. On the turn of a card.”

  Crompton wavered, then nodded. He pulled out a shilling and thrust it at the groom of the chambers. “But I’ll buy the deck this time,” he muttered.

  Grey shrugged. “As you wish.” He held out his hand and motioned to Allegra. “Come, madam, be my luck.”

  She moved to him and put her hand on his shoulder, smiling her encouragement and love. But her heart thumped in alarm. There was a great deal of money at stake. She scarcely knew if Grey could afford the loss. What had possessed him to behave so recklessly tonight?

  Crompton slapped the shuffled deck in front of Grey. “You choose first.”

  Allegra was awed by Grey’s cool confidence. Without a moment’s hesitation, he turned over the deck to reveal the queen of hearts. He grinned up at her. “Of course.”

  Crompton gulped and stretched forth his hand to the cards. His plump fingers were moving and twisting like eels in a barrel. He grasped the deck, withdrew his hand, clamped his fingers around it again. He turned the card at last, sucked in his breath, and slapped the card onto the table with the face down. “God damn you, sir,” he muttered. He looked up at Grey. His face was haggard, drained of color. “If we can discuss this like honorable gentlemen, Lord Ridley…”

  Grey’s voice had turned to ice. “I’m not a gentleman, Sir Henry. I’m the coward of Baniard Hall. Remember?” He motioned to one of the hovering servants. “Fetch a quill and ink. Sir Henry has a promissory note to write.”

  Crompton began to bleat, his words tumbling out of him in a highpitched quaver. “I do humbly beg your forgiveness for my intemperate words, Your Lordship. And for the scene in Ludlow. And for whatever disrespect I may have shown formerly to your good lady. I’m a simple man. This will ruin me.”

  Grey smiled; he suddenly reminded Allegra of a Carolina water snake about to strike. “I had thought of that, of course. And so I’m prepared to be merciful.” He indicated the notes on the table before him. “I’ll be content with this. A wedding present for my wife.”

  Crompton’s fat jowls sagged with relief. “You have my gratitude, sir.”

  “Wait.” Grey held up a cautionary finger. “There’s one thing more I want from you.”

  Crompton managed a thin smile. “You have but to name it, sir.”

  “The Baniard woods that adjoin my land.”

  Crompton rose to his feet, his face purpling. “You’re mad, sir! I’m building a manor house there.”

  Grey raised a bored eyebrow. “I’ll have it torn down.”

  Crompton was beginning to sputter. “By God, I’ll not countenance this…this blackmail! I would rather borrow money to pay my debt to you than give up that land. There’s a fine income there. I bought it from my friend Lord Ellsmere, God rest his soul, the year before he died.”

  Grey shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “’Twas a gift, I think. Would you admit to that, Tiberius? That’s what you called yourself to Ellsmere, was it not? In your secret correspondence?”

  “What?” Crompton sank back into his seat, quivering like fish jelly. “You…you have no proof of that.”

  “Ah, but you see, John Wickham was careless. He saved his letters, and left other proofs to his son, Thomas. I have Tom’s dying statement as well. If I should show any of those proofs to Walpole…”

  Crompton was almost in tears. “I didn’t learn of Ellsmere’s evil plot till long after all the Baniards were dead. I take no responsibility for what happened to them!”

  “But now, you see, they’ve come back to life. I think my wife is entitled to her family’s woods as compensation.”

  “Yes, of course,” blubbered Crompton. “But Ellsmere’s letter…”

  “It will stay in my possession. I give you my word to destroy it the minute I hold the deed to the woods in my hand. I’ll send my secretary around to you tomorrow. Now, as to these winnings here…” He pointed to the notes on the table. “Madam my wife needs something in which to carry them home. Take off your peruke.”

  “By God, sir, you go too far!”

  Grey bared his teeth in an ugly scowl. “Your wig, Tiberius.” He gave a sarcastic laugh. “Blackmail, you see, is a dirty business. Even if your victim is a man you claim as a friend.”

  Crompton pulled the wig from his head and slammed it down on the table. His shaved pate was damp with sweat, as red and blotchy as his face. He stormed to the door amid the titters of several guests who had just come into the room. At the last moment, he turned and shook his fist at Grey. “You bloody rogue! You stone-hearted villain! Your wife made a cuckold of you with Osborne, and you never even knew it! May it bring you nightmares now!”

  Grey roared and leapt for Crompton, but was restrained by Richard’s strong grasp. “God’s teeth, Grey, let it go! Look to your lady. She’s exhausted.”

  Allegra sagged against the table, trembling. I
t had been too much for her—watching the battle of wits between Grey and Crompton, bursting with pride yet fearful that at any moment Crompton might draw his sword. “Please,” she whispered. “Take me home.”

  Grey drew a long, steadying breath and put his arm around her. By the time Richard had gathered the notes into Crompton’s wig, Grey was beginning to smile sheepishly. “Stupid of me to allow Crompton to vex me that way. I’ve been wondering about Ruth and Osborne every day for the past week. Rethinking every moment of my life with her. Every disturbing encounter that I saw with Osborne. I suppose when Crompton said the words aloud, I knew I couldn’t hide the truth from myself any longer.” He sighed. “Come, my fair Allegra. ’Tis time for home and bed.”

  Richard grinned and pressed the filled wig into Grey’s hand. “I haven’t seen such a performance since you cozened the Viceroy of Bengal into giving you his prize stallion. By God, I wish Peter had been here tonight!” He patted Grey’s shoulder. “Now take your wife home. I’ll see you upon the morrow.”

  They made their way home to Morgan House in the dark of night, their footmen running ahead with lighted torches to show the coachman the road. Allegra could only marvel at the wonder of the man beside her. He had avenged the Baniards, forced Crompton to pay for all his wickednesses, given her back her family’s lands intact. And all without raising his voice, let alone drawing a sword.

  She slipped her arm through his. “You’re the bravest, kindest man I know, Lord Ridley.”

  He looked down at her and smiled. “Are you tired, Lady Ridley?”

  “Not that tired.”

  “Good.” He kissed her gently. And then not quite so gently. By the time they reached Morgan House they were burning with desire. Grey groaned when he saw Briggs waiting in the vestibule, holding a sheaf of papers in his hand. “Why must the mail be delivered day and night in this damned city?” he muttered. “Well, what is it, Briggs? Can’t it wait until morning?”

  “No,” said Allegra, seeing the look on the steward’s face. “The man is shaking like a leaf. What is it, Mr. Briggs?”

  “’Tis only…A distant cousin. My grandfather’s sister’s son, I think. He has just died.”

  “Oh, alas,” she murmured in sympathy. “Was he dear to you?”

  “I never even knew of him. But…but he’s left me some money. An income from a trust. Some property in Scotland.” He stared at them, bewildered.

  “But that’s wonderful news!” she said. “How much has been left to you?”

  “He bequeathed three hundred a year to my elder brother.”

  Allegra’s heart sank. Three hundred a year could support a gentleman in moderate comfort; no doubt Briggs would get less than his brother. Scarcely enough to bring to Dolly in marriage. “And you?” she asked.

  “Two…” he gulped. “Two thousand. A year! The lawyer says that my cousin felt that since my brother Arthur has the family title and holdings, the bulk of his fortune should come to me.”

  “Oh, Mr. Briggs!” Quite forgetting her position, Allegra burst into happy tears and threw her arms around his neck.

  He sputtered in embarrassment and untwined her arms. “Milady, you shouldn’t. It isn’t proper.”

  Grey scowled. “And is that bloody letter the only thing that’s keeping Lady Ridley and myself from our beds tonight?” He stifled Briggs’s stumbling apology with a grunt. “I suppose you expect me to allow the wedding feast here at Morgan House. The sooner the better, I should guess. Before Christmas. Or the day after.”

  Briggs had never looked so happy. Nor so young. “Wedding?” he squeaked.

  “Well, I assume you plan to ask Dolly.”

  “Y-yes. Of course. I…”

  “If I recall Dolly’s habits, she likes to read late into the night.”

  Briggs’s face lit up as though he’d been struck by a wondrous revelation. “Do I have your permission to call upon her tonight, milord?”

  “Of course.”

  “You don’t object?”

  Grey’s stern expression melted into a grin of delight. “You bloody fool! If you hadn’t asked, I would have thrown you out on the spot!”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Mr. and Mrs. Jonathan Briggs, Esquire. Oh, doesn’t it have a lovely sound?” Dolly’s blue eyes glowed with happiness.

  Allegra glanced out of the open door at the cold December afternoon and tucked Dolly’s hood closer to her neck. “It sounds just as it ought,” she said.

  Dolly hugged her against her bosom. “Thank you for the wedding dinner, and the day, and for being my friend, and…”

  Allegra laughed. “Go to your new husband. He’s waiting in the carriage. You’ll be at your house in Bloomsbury Square?”

  “For a week or two. And then Jonathan wants to visit his brother, Sir Arthur. We both regretted he was too ill to travel to the wedding.” She kissed Allegra on both cheeks and hurried out to her coach.

  Allegra sighed and leaned against a marble pillar in the vestibule of Morgan House. It had been a lovely day: the simple ceremony amid the grandeur of St. Paul’s Cathedral; the bride bubbling with joy, the groom alternately beaming and pinching himself to be sure it was all happening. Morgan House had sparkled, the servants in their blue and crimson Morgan livery had been properly attentive, and the cooks had outdone themselves. Grey, splendid in his red ribbon and star of the Order of the Bath, had presided nobly over the festivities in the Great Hall, raising his glass to toast the happy couple.

  “May you know the blessed felicity we have found,” he’d said, and Allegra’s heart had overflowed with love.

  “So pensive? When our guests await you?”

  Allegra turned and smiled at the sound of Grey’s voice in the entrance to the vestibule. “Grant me a moment’s quiet contentment, my love. Dolly looked radiant, didn’t she?”

  “As do you.”

  She looked down in pleasure at her pale-blue silk mantua. The front, from bodice to hem, was trimmed with diamond buckles and bows. “Such extravagance, Grey. Even for Christmas.”

  He took her into his arms and kissed her. “I want to give you all those things you missed. All those things you were so cruelly denied.”

  She sighed. His words had touched a painful spot, the one blight on the day. “I wish Charlie had come.”

  “Patience, my sweet. There’s much anger in your brother. We can only wait until it fades. Perhaps if he had something to do, a position in Court…” He frowned in thought, gazing up at the painting on the domed ceiling. “Gifford is good at arranging things.”

  Gifford is good at arranging things. She stared at him, struck by a sudden thought. The answer to a mystery that had been nagging at her. “You did it. You and Gifford. That…that cousin who was completely unknown to Mr. Briggs. Who left his fortune to the younger brother, not the elder. Surely an odd bequest. Unless you and Gifford…!”

  He shrugged. “Nonsense. I’m sure we all have distant, unknown kin.”

  “Who would leave a fortune to a stranger they had never made any effort to meet? It was your doing, wasn’t it, Grey?”

  He was beginning to look uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and tugged at his lace cravat. “Don’t be absurd. Why should I throw money away like that?”

  “You were prepared to gamble away a fortune to Crompton.”

  “That’s a different story. I would have challenged him again and again until I had won it back.”

  She shook her head. How blind of her not to have guessed it before. “You’re the unknown benefactor, Grey. And that’s that.”

  “I’ll deny it till my dying day.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “I love you, Grey Ridley. An angel, they called you at the almshouse.”

  “Faugh,” he said gruffly, turning away in embarrassment. “What need I of so much money? I have wealth enough to maintain myself for five hundred years.”

  The dear man. Her eyes filled with tears. “How was I lucky enough to find you?”

  “Hmph
! You tried to kill me, as I recall.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “And you tried to beat me, you brute!”

  He pulled her close and patted her rump through her gown. “I wonder what would have happened that day had I succeeded in pulling down your breeches?” He stroked her firm bottom again, his hands immodest and suggestive in their movements.

  She tried to ignore her thrill of pleasure, and managed to glare at him in mock annoyance. “You’re quite tenderhearted about it now, you rakehell. But I bit your tongue merely for kissing me. Remember? What do you suppose might have happened if you had gone beyond kisses?”

  “Shall we discover the answer now?” He held her in his possessive embrace and pressed his lips to her bodice.

  She struggled halfheartedly. “Godamercy, Grey. Our guests await.”

  His mouth burrowed deeper among the folds of her lace neckerchief. “I want to send them all home and take you to bed.”

  “I can scarcely wait to get back to my stillroom in Baniard Hall,” she said with a giggle. “Surely I can concoct a love-dampener! Now, behave yourself.” She allowed him one more kiss, then took him by the hand and led him into the drawing room.

  Most of their guests had departed when the wedding couple had left. Allegra had given instructions to the butler to move the remaining company—some two dozen ladies and gentlemen—into a smaller room, and to see to a light supper should the party extend into the nighttime hours.

  She liked the small drawing room in Morgan House. It was handsomely furnished, warm and intimate. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of King George, which His Majesty had given to Grey upon the occasion of his knighthood for bravery in battle. It seemed fitting to bring the company here. Most of the men who had chosen to linger with their wives were Grey’s old army companions. With Allegra’s consent, Richard Halford had urged them to stay a little longer. The friendship and approval of these men, she knew, would go far toward dispelling Grey’s lingering doubts about his bravery.