Love's Harbinger

by Joan Smith

  When the lady’s only reaction was a few titters, Faith assumed their names were not among those chosen for lambasting. But her calm was soon shattered. “Now here’s something interesting! ‘Mam’selle predicts there will be a run on silver bullets in the near future when the Peerless Peeress, Lady Marie Struthers, announces her engagement.' He is speaking of gentlemen committing suicide in regret, you see. A bit of whimsy. ‘Our congratulations to Mr. D., our best wishes to Lady Marie, and our condolences to the bachelors of England.’ Mr. D.! Guy has popped the question, and Lady Marie was not as slow to jump at the chance as some young ladies. That is why he hasn’t bothered to call.”

  Lady Faith’s firm chin wobbled in chagrin. She said not a single word, though her world was in dust and rubble around her. So it was Lady Marie he loved in vain and not a flashing-eyed gypsy. In vain . . . when did Guy Delamar ever do anything in vain? He always succeeded. He had succeeded in destroying her life. She managed to keep her eyes dry and listened to what her aunt had to say on the matter.

  She heard a tsk of annoyance before the words began. “Well, that is a great pity. I was sure I had attached him for you. I did my best. Nabbing a husband requires some cooperation from the young lady, however. You must have done something to disgust him, Faith, and I wish you will tell me what it is so that I might warn Hope to avoid it next year.”

  Faith swallowed and forced herself to speak through the lump in her throat. “I tried to save his life. You must by all means warn Hope to avoid such foolishness.”

  “Lud, that cannot be it. I told him all about that in my letter. Millie would have explained it as well. He knows it wasn’t Thomas you were trying to save. I wonder if our going to the Cranborne Arms gave him a disgust of you. I had not thought Delamar had those squeamish notions of propriety rampant amongst the gentility. No, I am sure he has not. It must be your small dot that held him back. Struthers is giving Marie a fortune—thirty thousand, I believe. Not much we can do about that. Hope has only five thousand like yourself. And speaking of five thousand, when are we to get back our money invested in the Anglo-Gold Investment Company? No doubt it will take an age, while the courts discuss it and set up committees to look into it, and meanwhile collect our interest.” She set the paper aside and drew a weary sigh. “What time is it?”

  “Three-thirty.”

  “It’s a lovely day—weatherwise, I mean. Shall we go for a drive in the park?”

  “I’m tired. I’ll lie down instead,” Faith said.

  Her aunt looked at her wan cheeks, her dull eyes, and was stirred to anger. “It is time for some plain speaking, my girl. We have exactly seven days in which to snare you a husband. Dragging around the house like a wounded herb is not the way to set about it. You might sit and sigh for a fortnight and it won’t bring him back. You must get out and be seen.”

  The dull eyes flashed to angry life. “I have been seen every night since we got back from Bournemouth! I was seen, half dead with weariness, the very night we arrived. I was seen bored to finders at Drury Lane the night after that and at the Claymores’ ball last night. Short of sticking me in a store window with a For Sale sign, I don’t know how you plan to increase my exposure.”

  “It is not lack of exposure, miss, but the face exposed that is holding gentlemen back. ‘Half-dead,’ ‘bored,’ and though you did not add it to your list of expressions, you might well include haughty contempt. It would take a stomach of sheet iron to digest such Friday faces as you have worn from day one, and it gets worse rather than better as the end draws nigh. Fraser stood up with you at the ball last night. I think he might have asked you again if you had not given him your stiff Mordain scowl and gone hiding yourself behind the palms like a timid doe. You must learn to sparkle, my dear.” She wanted to say “flirt,” but to ask a Mordain to flirt was like asking a flower to walk or a cat to fly. It was not in the creature’s nature.

  Faith lifted her chin and directed a mulish stare at her aunt, but she made no verbal reply. Her aunt noticed her cheeks were burning and would have welcomed a retort, but no, argument was beneath a Mordain. Her tirade was interrupted by the sounding of the door knocker. Both ladies came to rigid attention in the expectation that it might be Mr. Delamar. Dozens of disappointments over the past days had not yet cured them of the habit, but on this occasion their rigidity was repaid. The deep accents of Delamar were heard in the hall, and soon his footsteps advanced toward the saloon. He entered lithely, his eyes darting first to Faith.

  Far from sparkling, Faith receded into her shell like an oyster at the approach of the knife. Just having been told she was entirely undesirable, she wanted to melt into the sofa. Failing this, she assumed her usual façade of composure—she looked not only cool but glacial when he made his bows. It was for Lady Lynne to make him welcome and ask all those questions that had been plaguing her.

  “Guy! So you are back, you rogue. Have you got my money?”

  “It will be returned by the courts in due course.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of. You must scribble up an article for your paper complaining about how they diddle us out of our interest. Come and sit down and tell us all about . . . Bournemouth,” she said. She was afraid the words “Anglo-Gold affair” might lead him to discuss less interesting matters.

  “Thank you,” he said, taking a seat beside her and across from Faith. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I thought you would be interested to hear the final outcome. I called on Lord Thomas’s father, who came to arrange the funeral,” he said, staring at Faith, who stared at her lap. His eyes followed hers, and when he saw her ringless finger, a brief smile quivered. “It took a few days, but he managed to pull some strings and got permission to take Thomas home for burial. Of course, the whole thing was a great blow to him. He had some hopes that marriage would settle Thomas down.” He was too kind to add the father’s suspicion that the unwanted marriage was what had pushed his son over the edge.

  “It would have taken more than that to make a silk purse of that sow’s ear,” Lady Lynne declared vehemently.

  Guy looked at the table and saw his paper there, its mussed condition telling him the ladies had been reading it. Lady Lynne followed his glance and said, “We thought we might see something of it in the paper, but I assume young Fletcher got this issue out for you?”

  “Yes, he’s my assistant editor. This issue is mostly political—the Fareham business.”

  “Then it is the next issue that will deal with the Anglo-Gold affair?” she asked warily.

  “I wanted to discuss it with you first. Naturally I don’t want to write anything to embarrass—to cause Lady Faith pain.” He looked at her, hoping she would return the compliment. The astonished face she wore could hardly be construed as a compliment, but at least she had lifted her eyes from her lap.

  “I don’t see how that can be avoided,” Lady Lynne said frankly.

  “The business is over and done with. No one has to know all the sordid details. Thomas is dead, Elwood is in jail—he’ll be tried in Fareham—and the money will soon be back in the proper hands. People will eventually hear that Lord Thomas is dead, of course, but the exact manner of his death isn’t known to anyone but ourselves and a few discreet people in Fareham. It will likely be assumed he died in a duel or something of the sort. There is no reason to cause Thomas’s family unnecessary hurt and shame.”

  Faith could hardly believe her ears. “But what about your story?” she asked.

  “My story will be that the Anglo-Gold Investment Company has been dissolved and that the investors will be reimbursed the full amount of their investment. With news like that, I doubt many questions will be asked.”

  Lady Lynne blinked in astonishment and said, “That’s all?”

  “I cannot say much more without saying everything. The Harbinger isn’t in the business of flaying innocent people. The guilty in this case have already suffered. To harp on it would be mere exploitation of the innocent. The less said the better, don’t yo
u agree?”

  “Certainly!” Lady Lynne agreed, and Faith nodded her head numbly.

  “It is the least I can do to repay you for your efforts on my behalf in Bournemouth,” he said, again speaking to Faith and wishing the aunt would disappear. “I’m afraid I misunderstood. If I said anything offensive, and I know I did, I want to apologize. I am sorry.”

  “That’s quite all right. I understand,” she said in a small voice.

  Over a glass of wine, they discussed a few details of that infamous night in Bournemouth. For the most part, Lady Lynne asked questions, Guy answered them, and Faith listened, trying not to look haughty. “You must let us know how much money we owe you for the hotel,” she mentioned.

  This caused Lady Lynne to change the subject rather quickly. She glanced at the paper, remembered Lady Marie’s engagement, and said, “I read that one of your reporters is engaged to a Mr. D. Is it possible that has anything to do with your sudden fit of discretion?”

  “No, Lady Marie knows nothing of this business,” he said, somewhat confused.

  “Perhaps the engagement put you in a good mood, eh?” she persisted.

  “I am delighted with the engagement, of course. I expected her father to cast a rub in the way, but he had a blind eye to the groom’s lack of a title when he learned the size of his bank balance and that Marie was determined to have him, come what may. She is very modern in her notions.”

  “That would suit you,” Faith said, and looked at him askance.

  “I have admired her forever. She’ll make a charming wife, but I doubt if she’ll continue writing for me. She’ll be very busy once she’s shackled. A whole house to be done over, if I know Marie.”

  He finished his wine and set the glass down. Lady Lynne saw no advantage in entertaining a gentleman on the edge of being married and did not try to detain him. Before he left, he drew two white envelopes from his pocket and proffered them rather hesitantly.

  “I am having a rout party tomorrow night to show off my new house. I don’t really live over my shop, you know,” he added jokingly to Faith. “I would be honored if you ladies would attend.”

  Lady Lynne took the cards. Any party was possible of throwing up a potential husband for Faith, so she accepted. Faith really did not look forward to such an evening at all and objected. “We are promised to dinner with the Hagills, Auntie.”

  “Why, that is for seven-thirty. We’ll be out of there by ten. It will give us a good excuse not to listen to the Hagill gels banging the piano. Tin ears, every one of them, and lead fingers. There’s not an ivory on their keyboard that isn’t smashed to bits. We shall be very happy to attend your rout, Guy. Where is your new house?”

  “I’ve moved uptown. It’s on Piccadilly, bordering the park.”

  “Why, you’ll be a neighbor to the Devonshires!” Lady Lynne exclaimed. She had anticipated Upper Grosvenor Square, or some address bordering on good real estate, not at the very heart of it.

  “And the Iron Duke, but it was Devonshire who put me on to it. We see a deal of each other in the way of political business, you must know. He’ll be attending my party. I look forward to seeing you there.” His eyes rested on Faith as he spoke. He saw there none of the anticipation he had hoped for, but at least she was coming.

  “The Duke of Devonshire, can you top that?” Lady Lynne said when Guy had left. “And a mansion on Piccadilly. Which one can it be? What a pity we hadn’t realized he was a nabob; we might have made a harder push to attach him.”

  “He must already have had an understanding with Marie. He wouldn’t have proposed without a prior attachment,” Faith pointed out. But she knew very well that he had spoken of loving in vain. The proposal was new then, since his return.

  “Sly puss that she is, offering to garner bits for Mam’selle. Won’t she lord it over the world when he sets her up as a neighbor to Devonshire and Wellington! That’s why he bought the house, of course, to tempt her. I had thought old Struthers was setting them up in a home. I believe I’ll take a run down Piccadilly and see if I can discover which place he bought.”

  This errand found favor with Faith. She felt she might as well complete her misery and went for her bonnet. By asking a pedestrian, they discovered which house belonged to Mr. Delamar and drove slowly past it a few times to memorize its façade. It was not quite so large or fine as the Duke of Devonshire’s palatial establishment, with eight chimneys visible from the front, statuary, and a stone fence behind the iron palings to obscure the view, but it was still finer than most homes in London. It was a great loss that Faith was not to occupy it.

  “They may say what they like of America,” Lady Lynne said with a sigh, “it cannot have better opportunities than England, if a fellow is willing to apply himself. Who would have thought it—from a scandal sheet to the top of the hill, and in very short order, too.”

  A carriage pulled to the door as they drove slowly past, and two ladies descended to enter Delamar’s house. “It’s Lady Marie!” Faith exclaimed. She looked as hard as she could, but little could be learned from Lady Marie’s quickly receding back except that she wore an unexceptionable blue pelisse and a straw bonnet.

  “So it is, and her mama, the ugly old cow. They will be arranging Guy’s rout party for him. How I should love to have done it. I hope they don’t stint on the champagne, eking it out with orgeat as they did at their own do. Still, it is Marie’s engagement party and it ain’t old Struthers who will be picking up the bill, so we may look forward to some decent refreshment.”

  With this important detail settled in her mind, she had the carriage returned to Berkeley Square. There were vital decisions to be made. What ensemble to put on Faith to make her attractive tomorrow night. How to drop Fraser the hint, in a manner designed not to frighten him off entirely, that Faith was available. What dessert to order for her own dinner tonight. And, having lost Guy, for a new bridegroom would not be eligible for seduction for a year, whether Mr. Fletcher might be interested in a dalliance.

  She hardly noticed that Faith’s shoulders were slumped in defeat. She had no way of knowing what was in her mind. Faith was thinking, Mordain Hall, for the rest of her life, while Marie Struthers married Guy. There would be no repetition of that violent kiss. A single kiss in a roundhouse—that was what she had to remember of love. She felt she could have been the woman Guy chose if only she had not been a blind, proud fool.

  Surely he had been interested on those few occasions when they had been alone together. But she had disgusted him. He had found her ignorant, and she was—ignorant and unfeeling. She had mocked him and his origins, had shown her shock when she learned he was an officer, had held Thomas up as an example of England’s finest, had boasted of her tired blue blood. Of course he hated her. She hated herself. It was a wonder he even asked them to his party.

  But he was kind beneath that harsh exterior. He was suppressing an exciting story to spare Thomas’s father and herself pain. She had a sad and certain feeling that her life was over. The next decades would be only a decline into old age, lived out in regret for missed chances. How she wished she could turn the calendar back to their first meeting and relive those days. She would praise instead of jeer. She would admit to her lamentable ignorance and ask him to explain the world to her.

  She would even embrace Whigdom, and for a Mordain that was tantamount to treason. She was in a treasonous, desperate mood. She could never have Mr. Delamar now, but she could at least make him see what he was losing. For one night she could be all those things she had failed to be before. What had kept her locked inside her shell? Shyness—and that was only another name for selfishness. Pride—no virtue but one of the Seven Deadly Sins.

  She had been so proud when Thomas chose her over all the other ladies who dangled after him. Had she ever really loved him? Loved—she hardly knew him. She hadn't known him. She had never suspected his true nature. If only he had left her picture behind with his prayer book, she would have guessed sooner that he did not care for h
er. Why had he taken it? How could she have been such a naive fool as to love a stranger? Naive . . . there was the problem, but the scales were lifted from her eyes now. She would listen no more to the urgings of Aunt Lynne but follow her own course.

  She was determined to change her ways, and to practice for the performance at Piccadilly the next night, Faith was in lively form at the ball that evening. She entered smiling and nodded at any acquaintances she had made. She stood up twice with Mr. Fraser and did not sit out a single dance. She chattered like a magpie, and the gentlemen did not appear to care that what she said was largely nonsense. Now if only she had behaved with such liveliness all Season, she would have had half a dozen offers.

  Her aunt was at a loss to understand this new mood when it was time to make their toilettes for the Hagill dinner and Guy’s rout the next evening. She assumed it was a desperate attempt to get another proposal before her few days were up.

  “Not the yellow crape, Auntie,” Faith said firmly. There was not precisely a sparkle in her eye; it was more of an angry glitter. “It makes me look like a slab of butter. I’ll wear the rose. It is livelier and improves my complexion.”

  “Your complexion is lively enough, my dear. Quite ruddy for you. You’re not running a fever, I hope?”

  “No, I’m not,” Faith said, setting a pearl barrette amidst her sable tresses. This decking herself out like a dasher was also new. She was happy with the results as she preened before the mirror. She had never looked better, and she knew it.

  But Lady Lynne placed her hand on her forehead all the same and was convinced there was an elevation in temperature. “You are dreading the ordeal of Guy’s rout party. Perhaps we ought not to attend.”

  “On the contrary, I am looking forward to it. We did not think to congratulate him on his engagement when he was here yesterday.”

  “Congratulate him? I begin to think he could have done better for himself than an earl’s daughter. Graveston has a sister or two, and there are half a dozen plug-ugly royal princesses desperate for a match. But then Guy is not blind, after all, and the royal merchandise is beyond redemption in looks. Like all young men, he has an eye for a looker. He has got over his disgust of nobility, you see, as I told you he would. It was all a hum to cover up his jealousy. I wonder what title he’ll take when they give him a handle.”