Come the Dawn

by Christina Skye

  Devlyn Carlisle’s smile faded. “I’ve had to be.” He stared down at the dusty greatcoat, thinking about his unhappy youth, his uncaring mother, and his inflexible father. He had learned young to hide his emotions and conceal his true hopes from the world. As he’d grown older, the act became second nature as he’d watched his reckless and profligate father let the estate fall to ruin. All the family’s financial stability had come from Thorne and his planning, though the world had no idea of that. For years he had played a role, feigning lazy nonchalance and every fashionable vice. And he had always succeeded in the masquerade.

  Right up until the day he’d met a woman with flame-red hair and probing eyes. In a matter of minutes India Delamere had seen right through his facade of boredom.

  “And what of Lady India? She bore the news of your death badly, I fear. But it will not do to see her until this business is over, Thorne. She would soon recognize Herrington as the masquerader he is.” Wellington’s eyes narrowed. “You do understand that.”

  Thornwood shrugged. “The lady will get over me soon enough. She has infinite resources at her disposal, given her scores of admirers.”

  “She is to marry, you know.” Wellington spoke the words with utter casualness, though his eyes were keen on his officer’s face.

  Thorne’s fingers tightened. “Longborough?”

  “So everyone says. She does not look like a woman in love to me, however.”

  “What has love to do with it? It would be an alignment between two fine houses,” Thorne said coldly. “That is one of the things we English do best, after all.” He shrugged. “I wish them well of each other. He is a mercenary opportunist and she has been spoiled by having too many men dancing in attendance. The two should suit admirably,” he growled.

  Wellington looked as if he would speak, but his visitor was already reaching for his greatcoat. “I must take my leave. My little band will be growing restless.”

  “Keep me informed. Be careful, but be swift, Thornwood. We haven’t much time left. Two weeks is my guess.”

  “In two weeks kingdoms have been toppled and fortunes secured,” Thorne said.

  And hearts have been irrevocably broken, he thought bitterly as he made his way back down the narrow passageway and out into the night.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Thorne presented himself at the Duchess of Cranford’s front door the next morning, there was no hint of recognition in the impassive butler’s eyes. “You wish to see Her Grace, the duchess? Whom may I say is calling?”

  “Thornwood,” Devlyn said curtly.

  “You are late, my lord,” came the icy answer.

  Late? Did the whole world know his schedule? Dev thought irritably.

  “If you will come this way, I shall ascertain whether the duchess is at home to visitors. It is too early for normal calls, of course.”

  Devlyn scowled. After the events of the night before he had had no success at sleeping. Then he had been off to see Wellington at the first tinge of dawn. As a result he was in no pleasant mood to endure Beach’s dour looks. But he bit back his retort and followed the butler to the sunlit back salon. He was admiring the rows of potted exotic plants and exquisite orchids that were the Duchess of Cranford’s principal hobby when he heard footsteps behind him.

  “The duchess is indisposed. She is not at home to visitors,” Beach said icily.

  “But she—” Devlyn stopped. Of course it would not do to argue with a retainer. He was far too well bred for that.

  What sort of game was the crusty old woman playing? As Devlyn strode back out into the street, he wondered if the Delameres would be the end of him.

  CHAPTER 14

  “I don’t like it, India. Not one bit.”

  The Duchess of Cranford glared at the Earl of Thornwood’s disappearing back. “I told him to be here at eight o’clock, and he has come.” She looked thoughtfully down at the streets already bustling and crowded this unseasonably warm September morning. “But it will do him good to learn some humility. Meanwhile, I have yet to have any answers from you, young woman. You escaped me last night because you were dead on your feet.” She confronted her granddaughter with the piercing blue eyes that had sent more than a few English statesmen into a panic. “You won’t be so lucky now.”

  India smiled fondly at her petite dynamo of a grandmother. “I simply wanted to be home, Grandmama. Oh, Lord Thornwood was passably nice and the children were wonderful, but there’s nothing like being here with you.”

  The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “Did anything happen I need to know about, young woman? If so, I’ll drag the man here by the scruff of his neck and see that he—”

  “No, nothing, Grandmama,” India said quickly.

  Her sleep had been restless, tormented by memories of Devlyn’s touch and the raw emotion that always seemed to grip her — for good or ill — whenever she was in his presence. No, the best thing would be to cut Devlyn Carlisle out of her life completely. He had made his own feelings all too clear, after all.

  She would leave the legal entanglements up to her grandmother.

  But India was not yet ready to confide these details to the duchess, nor even to her beloved brother Ian. First she needed time to heal.

  And time to learn how to forget, if that was possible.

  “You’re too docile by half, gel.” The duchess stared knowingly at her granddaughter, who had run before she could competently walk. The duchess had fetched India’s first doll after the girl had thrown it away in anger when it would not speak back to her the way she ordered. Later the duchess had wiped India’s tear-streaked face after the girl had taken her first tumble from the tall oak tree at the Devonham estate in Norfolk. This sudden docility was not part of the girl’s character. “Well, no explanations?”

  “Really, Grandmama, you are off the mark this time.” India waved airily. “Whatever there was between us is past. It was nothing but a silly infatuation, I realize that now. Lord Thornwood holds absolutely no interest for me. I am glad for his return, because it has shown me just how wrong I have been. Now the only thing on my mind is how to make up for lost time.”

  Her eyes narrowed speculatively. She studied one toe encased in a vibrant yellow slipper. “I rather think I shall begin by attending a meeting of the Balloon Ascension Society this afternoon. Two French representatives are going to present the proper procedure for strapping a basket to the rigging.”

  The duchess muttered something inaudible.

  “And tomorrow,” India continued, “I shall attend the evening festivities at Vauxhall.”

  “Out of the question,” the duchess said firmly. “That place is a meeting ground for every cutthroat, footpad, and villain in London. It is no spot for a respectable female, and I will not have you going there.”

  India did not look at all deterred by this argument. “Is it really? How very interesting, Grandmama. In that case I shall enjoy myself vastly.”

  “You didn’t listen, India. With your mother and father gone, you are in my keeping. I have every intention of seeing that you are safe. That, my gel, means no visits to Vauxhall.”

  India pursed her lips and fingered the pristine sash at the raised waist of her morning gown. “There is no need to be stuffy, Grandmama. Of course, I shall take Ian with me. You must admit that he would make an acceptable chaperon.”

  The duchess looked undecided, but she preferred to see India in the company of her brother. The duchess well knew that if she forbade India the trip, the girl was likely to slip out alone at the very first opportunity.

  The old woman sighed. “Very well. If your brother is available, there can be nothing exceptionable in that.”

  “I shall ask him this very afternoon,” India said, jumping to her feet.

  “You’ll do no such thing, gel. It’s back into that bed with you.”

  “But, Grandmama—”

  “Enough! The doctor said you need several more days of rest.”

  “Then he’s a querulous old f
ool. I’m fine!”

  “Into bed. Now.”

  “Oh, very well. But only since I am going to Vauxhall.”

  “Only if that wound is set. You must not keep tearing it open.” The duchess frowned. “I cannot fathom what sort of activity you indulged in to make the dressing come free last night.”

  India looked away to hide a flush. At her feet, Luna sat up and licked her hand. “Nothing of any great importance, I assure you.” India’s words were muffled as she stroked the great wolf’s fur. “It was just an … an experiment.”

  The duchess’s eyes narrowed. “And did your experiment yield the results you planned?”

  “I’m afraid so,” India said softly. “I shall be careful that it never happens again.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The meeting of the Select Company of the London Society for Balloon Ascensions was postponed until the following afternoon due to a flare-up of the founder’s gout. Bored and restless, India was returning from her fourth covert trip to the duchess’s library the next morning when she heard the big brass knocker thunder at the front door. Some instinct made her slip into the drawing room as Beach moved regally to the door.

  Devlyn Carlisle waited outside.

  “May I help you?” the butler intoned.

  “The Earl of Thornwood to see Her Grace, the Duchess of Cranford,” came the crisp answer. “I trust she has recovered from her — indisposition.”

  “If you will step in, I shall ascertain if Her Grace is receiving.”

  India knew she shouldn’t do it. It was conniving, ill-bred, and utterly reprehensible.

  She did it anyway.

  As soon as Beach had led Devlyn upstairs, where the duchess was to see him, India made her way to a storeroom that opened onto the high, domed conservatory. In one corner, a missing wedge of plaster was hidden by a luxuriant potted rose. If she leaned close, India could hear every word that Thorne and her grandmother said in the room next door.

  And that is exactly what she did.

  ~ ~ ~

  “It’s no use making that long face at me, boy. I’ve gotten no real answers from that granddaughter of mine, so I mean to have answers from you.” The duchess frowned down at a potted fern and snipped off a straggling frond. “Go ahead, I’m listening.”

  Thorne leaned back against a wall of glass and studied the duchess lazily. “Answers? What sort?”

  “Young jackanapes! As if you didn’t know perfectly well. Answers about what has been going on between you two in the last three days, of course! And probably before that, though I can’t guess when, since India has just come to London.”

  Thornwood plucked an infinitesimal speck of lint from his beautifully fitted jacket of royal blue. “It would be better for you to ask your granddaughter those questions.”

  “I have, blast it. Now I’m asking you.”

  Thorne shrugged. “There is nothing between us. I suffered losses to my memory after Waterloo. Whether I shall ever remember is a question none of the medical men can answer.”

  The duchess looked up from packing dirt around a pot of flowering strawberries. “Damn nuisance that must be.”

  Thorne smiled reluctantly at the woman’s crusty language. “That’s rather the way I look at it, Your Grace.”

  “But you still haven’t answered my question. What went on between the two of you while India was at Belgrave Square? The girl has been restless as a goose after the first frost. And don’t tell me it’s because of that wound at her side, because I know better. She’s appallingly healthy. Always has been.”

  “Perhaps,” Thorne began carefully, “it has to do with something your granddaughter said. It seems that we became … rather close in Brussels.”

  “Close? What does that mean? Were you in love with her?”

  “It would seem so. Unfortunately, as I have no memory, I can neither confirm nor deny the tale. But I have nothing to add, Your Grace. Any questions will have to be answered by your granddaughter.” A muscle tightened at his jaw. “Of course, whatever association we might have had must now be considered severed.”

  “Indeed?” The duchess put down her trowel and stared at Thorne. “And why is that?”

  “I should think it was obvious. I am not the same man she knew. Any further association would only bring her pain.”

  “And possibly because you have other business to attend to right now?”

  Thorne’s head snapped up. “What?”

  “My dear boy, I have a perfectly good set of eyes in my head. Your father, though a rapscallion, was often engaged on diplomatic missions for the Crown and I have my reasons to suspect that you are involved in exactly the same business.”

  “Who told you—”

  “For one thing I noticed you and Wellington’s secretary in very deep conversation outside the Royal Academy yesterday. In addition, that same secretary of the duke’s has already called three times this week at your town house.”

  “You’ve had my house watched!”

  “Of course.” The duchess was unperturbed. “India is my only granddaughter. Now do you mean to tell me what is really going on?”

  Thorne stiffened. “Your inquiries are unwanted, Your Grace. I might even go so far as to call them dangerous.”

  The duchess’s eyes glittered. “Indeed? Is that a threat, you arrogant stripling?”

  “Not quite.” Thorne traced the petals of a strawberry bloom. “It is rather a suggestion that you be careful.”

  “Bosh,” the old woman snapped. “I’ve lived too many years to start being careful now, and I won’t countenance anything that troubles those in my family. Do you understand me?”

  “I understand perfectly, Your Grace. But may I also add a word of advice? There are things you cannot understand — duties and responsibilities which I am not at liberty to discuss. I will say no more. But I trust you will consider the deepest meaning in my words and see that others of your household behave accordingly.”

  The duchess smiled slowly. “Duty and responsibility? Hardly the sort of words I expected to hear from a Carlisle. Of course your father was a complete fool until he reached the age of forty. Then he finally began to show some sense. Unfortunate that he married a woman who seemed determined to run through his whole fortune in the course of the first year of their marriage.”

  Thorne’s shoulders stiffened and then a reluctant smile crept across his face. “She very nearly did it,” he said wryly. “Among her other projects was building a menagerie. She brought in two hundred peacocks and five tons of marble from Italy so that a palace in the Grecian style could be built overlooking the river.” He shook his head. “My father had a competence that should have been passed on nicely, yet all I seem to remember is stables empty of horses and salons empty of paintings.”

  And a house empty of laughter, he thought.

  The keen old eyes studied him. “And you’ll be different?”

  “You may be certain I will,” Thorne said darkly.

  After a moment the duchess nodded. “Very well. Then there’s one bit of advice I shall give to you. My granddaughter will be attending the fireworks at Vauxhall in the company of her brother. She will be in the costume of a shepherdess, with a mask of blue satin. It is a devilish place, and should she find herself in danger she might perhaps be glad of a helping hand.”

  Devlyn’s brow rose. “Are you setting yourself up as a matchmaker, Your Grace?”

  The duchess’s face was utterly unreadable. “I leave that up to you to decide, dear boy.”

  ~ ~ ~

  After the duchess and Thornwood had left the great domed conservatory, India crept out of her hiding place. As she did a cold wind brushed across her face. Since the conservatory was always kept carefully closed to protect the duchess’s prized orchids, the cold air was unexpected.

  Frowning, India made her way to a long corridor of glass at the back of the house, where she finally found the source of the draft. Two of the rear windows, usually locked, were thrown open. India looked
out over the twisting chimneys and saw something move down the slope in the shadow of a chimney.

  India froze, searching the rooftops but the motion was not repeated. Finally she convinced herself it had all been her imagination. But when she turned to make her way back inside, she saw the perfect print of a shoe outlined in sand on the floor. The same sort of sand was scattered over the windowsill.

  Her hands tightened. So it wasn’t enough that Thornwood had wormed her plans out of the duchess. Had he also sent someone to spy on her in her grandmother’s house?

  A fragile stem of violets snapped beneath her fingers. She would not be spied upon by Devlyn Carlisle. Nor would she stand for his interference in her life. Not after he had made his feelings for her so clear.

  Her eyes darkened with mischief. Thorne expected her to be at Vauxhall as a shepherdess, did he? Very well, she would see to it that he had a surprise coming.

  ~ ~ ~

  In the hectic activity of the next hours, India forgot about the footprint and the opened windows. Her costume for Vauxhall was yet to be finished and the seamstress was still busy adding gold braid to the low neck and sheer billowing sleeves. The lovely gown was of the finest silk gauze and would have been entirely scandalous if worn alone.

  The fine fabric was all the rage, the dressmaker assured her, and no one knew tonnish dress and taste better than the imperious Madame Grès.

  But as she stood studying herself in the cheval glass, India had a sudden thought of what Dev would say if he saw her in this dress, with her hair caught up in a cascade of curls and her face provocatively covered by a red satin mask. Of course he expected her to be dressed as a shepherdess wearing a blue mask.

  That costume was now out of the question. India was not about to make Dev’s interference any easier. No, she would be Nefertiti, the imperious Queen of Egypt. She smiled at the sheer white and gold dress, draping her slender body perfectly. To complete the exotic look, one shoulder was left bare.

  The seamstress sat back with a sigh. “Mademoiselle is épatante. You will have many men tonight. Vraiment, this necklace was an addition of the most brilliant.”