The Danice Allen Anthology

by Danice Allen

  At Rob’s door, Julian rapped sharply on the peeling wood several times. When there was no immediate answer, he knocked again and persisted till the door finally opened. Rob’s manservant, a do-it-all chap of the sort that single men hired to keep their small lodgings tidy and prepare occasional refreshment as well as oversee all the usual duties of a valet, answered the door. He was still dressed in his day clothes, but they were wrinkled and his person unkept. He looked and acted as though he’d been drinking. His bald pate was gleaming with sweat, and his nose was as red as a radish.

  “I’m here to see Mr. Hamilton,” Julian informed him briskly.

  The unsteady manservant peered up at Julian with eyes that looked painfully bloodshot. “T’ master is sleepin’,” he said.

  “Wake him up,” was Julian’s uncompromising response.

  The servant blinked confusedly, his bleary gaze traveling slowly up and down Julian’s tall, impeccable figure. “But it’s the wee hours,” he argued. “What’s a fine gent like you doin’ ’ere at this time o’ night, anyway? I kin tell ye fer a fact he ain’t got no money. Owes me wages fer four months.”

  “That’s regrettable, my good man. I advise you to sober up and find another position as quickly as possible. But I’m here for reasons that have nothing to do with extracting money from your master. A fruitless endeavor, I should think.” He stepped past the servant and into the tiny parlor.

  “You goin’ t’ kill ’im?” the servant inquired.

  Julian smiled ruefully. “You’re the second person to ask me that in the last few hours. I’m tempted, but … no … I’m not going to kill him.” He dipped into his coat pocket and came up with several shillings, handing them to the surprised servant. “These ought to secure you lodgings and food till you can find new employment. Don’t spend it on gin, because you probably won’t get such another chance to change your luck in a million years. Now, show me where Hamilton sleeps, then leave us alone.”

  Startled into soberness, the servant obeyed, gesturing toward a door at the end of a short hall to indicate Rob’s bedroom. Then he hurried to his own minuscule chamber to gather and pack his few belongings in an old hatbox. Within five minutes, he had thanked Julian for the tenth time, said good-bye, and was gone.

  Julian picked up a brace of candles off the mantel in the parlor, walked down the hall to Rob’s chamber, and opened the door. As Julian held the candles aloft, light spilled over a narrow bed that shared very cramped quarters with a tallboy and a small wardrobe closet. Rob was sprawled on the bed, fully clothed. On the floor next to the bed was a half-empty bottle of whiskey. He was sleeping off his latest drinking spree.

  Julian lifted his leg and none-too-gently jabbed Rob’s ribs with his boot. Rob startled, drew up one knee, and shielded his eyes from the light with a splayed hand. “Lord, Percy,” he croaked sluggishly, “that you? Can’t be time already ….”

  “No, it’s not time, and I’m not Percy Mingay, come to coddle and coax you to relative sobriety so you can take careful aim at my brother. Get up, you distasteful little worm.”

  Rob scooted over the rumpled bedclothes, propping himself against the headboard. His hand was still up, trying to buffer his weak eyes from the candlelight. He blinked and squinted and peered around and through his fingers. “Serling,” he said at last, his tone incredulous … frightened. Then, trying to cover his initial fear, he lowered his hand and demanded, “What are you doing here?”

  Julian set the brace of candles on the tallboy. “Aren’t you going to ask me if I’m going to kill you? That seems to be the question uppermost in people’s minds today.”

  Rob made a sneering smile, trying to appear confident and unconcerned. “You won’t kill me. Not here. It’s not your style.”

  “How right you are,” Julian observed, removing his snuffbox from his jacket pocket, flipping it open, and taking a sniff. “But Jack will certainly kill you this morning at St. James’s Park … if you go.”

  Uncertainty flickered across Rob’s face before his bravado returned. “Of course I’m going. Why wouldn’t I? For some reason you think your brother will shoot to kill, but while he may want to, he won’t. Too honorable, that one.”

  “Honor isn’t something you’re overly encumbered with, is it, Rob? Even women and children are fair game to you when it comes to getting what you want. You don’t care a fig how they suffer, do you?”

  Rob slid forward till his feet met the floor. He reached down, picked up the bottle of whiskey, and took a long swig, at the same time keeping a close account of Julian’s every move … or nonmovement, in this case. Julian knew that remaining calm and as still as a nun at prayer would unnerve Rob. He would feel as though he were being watched by a coiled snake about to strike. It was an apt metaphor because Julian was only biding his time before delivering his own brand of poison.

  “So what if I got desperate and tried to blackmail Amanda? Does that make me a complete villain? And I wouldn’t call that sister of hers a child.” He leered. “She looks pretty mature to me.”

  Julian suppressed the urge to grab Rob about the Adam’s apple and squeeze his scrawny neck till his eyes popped. For some reason, his lecherous insinuation about Sam made him furious … more furious than the situation warranted. He should expect Rob to be vulgar and disrespectful, but—perhaps like an older brother—Julian had developed strong protective feelings for Sam.

  “At the moment, I’m not speaking of Amanda and Sam.” He paused, stretching the tension. “I’m referring to your shameful abandonment of your wife and child and your intent to commit bigamy.”

  Julian had the supreme pleasure of watching Rob turn white as a corpse. “Wh-what are you talking about? I don’t—”

  “Don’t bother denying it,” Julian interrupted in a bored drawl. “You’d be wasting my time, and you’ve wasted far too much of it already.”

  Rob sat with his hands braced on the edge of the bed, hunched forward as if he had a huge knot in his stomach. His eyes were wide and anxious; his arms trembled. “You’re mad. I don’t know what nitwit story you’ve made up about me, but—”

  Julian sighed and pulled a sheet of paper from his waistcoat pocket. He unfolded it and offered it to Rob. “Here. Read this if you want proof. Don’t bother tearing it up because I’ve got another copy in a safe place. The vicar at St. Mary’s obligingly searched his books and found your name and the name of a Miss Sophia Lansdown entered in the section for recorded marriages. The date of the ceremony—attended by only you and your bride—was June fifth, eighteen-thirteen, prior to your stint in the army.”

  Rob stared at the paper in Julian’s outstretched hand but said nothing and made no move to take it. His trembling increased. Julian raised a brow. “What? You don’t want to see the vicar’s confirmation of your marriage, Rob? But then why should you? I suspect you remember that glorious day as clear as a bell.” He folded the paper and returned it to his pocket.

  “How … how—?”

  “Amanda’s aunts gave me the first clue which led me on today’s appalling journey of discovery. The hovel your wife and child live in is squalid and unsafe. Mrs. Hamilton—who is sadly naive and pitifully loyal to you despite everything you’ve done—finally broke down after your recent prolonged absence and applied to a relief house for help. Amanda’s aunts have taken a special interest in that particular charity since they’ve been residing in London, and got to know your wife rather well. The poor thing thinks you’re working from dusk to dawn at some clerk’s job to get them out of Spitalfields, and thusly justifies to herself your constant absence and the fine clothes you wear when you pay her and the child a rare visit.”

  “This is all an absurd lie!” Rob spluttered. “You’ve paid that woman to testify falsely against me. As for Amanda’s aunts … why they’re nothing but a couple of senile old crones!”

  “You’re quite wrong. Miss Nancy and Miss Priscilla are very sharp and spry. They’d heard your name from Sophia but didn’t make the connection i
mmediately. They had also seen you once or twice in Spitalfields, talking to your wife … most recently, yesterday. Imagine their surprise when they likewise saw you at Miss Darlington’s and understood you to be a suitor for their niece’s hand in marriage! And, as I recall from what the ladies told me, you actually gave your wife a guinea and promised more. Were you expecting to come into some money, Rob? Perhaps enough to support your first wife and child and keep them hidden away and secret from the public while you took another woman to the altar under false pretenses?”

  “I never—”

  “And all this after spending the quarterly allowance grudgingly sent by her invalid father from Yorkshire … your supposed ’uncle.’ Lucky for you he was conscientious enough to send the money—to your Abingdon Street address, of course—but too angry with his daughter for eloping with the likes of you to allow for her to confide in him and seek his further assistance. He thought he was helping her, but he was only plumping your pockets and helping support your bachelor ways and gaming habits.”

  “I made a mistake in my youth,” Rob defended himself petulantly. “I should never have married her. She’s beneath my touch.”

  “In other words, she isn’t rich enough and you think you can do better? The allowance isn’t enough to support yourself—never mind a wife and child—in the manner to which you aspire?”

  “She’s nothing but a country squire’s youngest daughter! Rough and uneducated. Her Yorkshire accent is as broad as a horse’s arse!”

  “And you imagine her beneath your touch for those reasons?” Julian shook his head and smiled derisively. “On the contrary, she is as far above you as the moon and the stars. You are nothing but a self-serving opportunist with no morals, no natural feelings, and no honor.” His aristocratic nostrils flared. “You disgust me. I’ve had to watch you take advantage of Jack’s good-natured decency for two years. It thrills me to the core to know that after this last interview I’ll never clap eyes on you again.”

  Rob sat up straighter and thrust his chin forward, seeming to try for a last show of defiance. “What makes you so sure of that?”

  Julian crossed his arms and peered down at Rob with chilling contempt. Rob’s chin tucked back in. “If you are so foolish as to remain in England, I will make sure the truth about you is known in every household of my acquaintance,” Julian informed him in a tone that left no doubt of his absolute sincerely. “Your reputation will follow you wherever you go. You will be shunned by everyone. You will be known for what you are: a deserter, a would-be bigamist, and a blackmailer. As Jack’s friend your debts were tolerated. But without Jack’s support, the duns will fall on you like a pack of ravening wolves.”

  Julian paused, letting his words sink in. “A boat is scheduled to cross the channel this morning at four-thirty. I suggest you purchase passage on it and climb aboard.”

  Rob dragged his hands down his face, the clenched fingers leaving red streaks in their wake. “But I haven’t got a groat to my name! I’ll starve, I’ll be forced to—”

  “Live like your wife and child? No, I would not wish that on a dog.” Julian pulled a pouch full of coins out of his pocket and threw it at Rob. Rob caught the pouch and stared dazedly at it. “That should keep you going till you find employment of some kind.

  “Oh, and I know how worried you must be about leaving behind your wife and child,” he mocked scornfully. “Let your mind be at ease. Once they’ve been properly fed and clothed, I plan to restore the young woman to her family in Yorkshire. I’m sure she can reconcile with her father when she tells him you’re dead.”

  “Dead?” Rob gulped.

  “Yes,” said Julian. “And murdered in the most gruesome manner.”

  Rob’s head darted up. His anxiety was palpable.

  Julian smiled. “Your throat slit in a dark alley.”

  “But… but that’s a lie!” Rob quavered, wild-eyed. “I won’t be dead. I’ll be—”

  “As good as dead,” Julian finished for him. “Because if you ever set foot in England again, I’ll bloody well make sure the reports of your death aren’t the least exaggerated. And the same fate will befall you if the tiniest bit of scandalous gossip makes its way across the channel casting doubt on Samantha Darlington’s antecedents. No matter where you’ve hidden, I’ll track you down like an animal and kill you. Do I make myself clear, Rob?”

  The two men locked gazes. Julian’s expression was grimly earnest; Rob’s was filled with terror. Julian meant every word he’d said, and Rob knew he meant it.

  “Well, Rob?” Julian prompted. He tsk-tsked sarcastically. “What will you do?”

  At twenty-five minutes past the hour of five in the morning, St. James’s Park was deserted. The sunrise was a diffused gleam of gold on an otherwise gray horizon, and fog swirled thickly through the trees that dotted the dew-drenched grass. The damp cold crept into Jack’s blood, mixing with his aversion to the task before him. To protect Amanda and Sam, he was going to have to kill Rob.

  He sighed. He wasn’t killing Rob as punishment; judgment belonged to the courts and God, and Jack would never presume to sentence a man to death for his crimes. He was killing Rob as a precaution against injustices the bastard was planning against innocent people. Jack compared it in his mind to killing one’s enemies at war. On the battlefield you were protecting what was near and dear to you: your country. And—even ranking above sweet England—there was nothing more near and dear to Jack than Amanda.

  Jack frowned. It was easy to rationalize. He was convinced he was doing the right thing. So, why did he feel so wretched? He kept remembering what Rob had said: You owe me. Yes, he owed Rob for saving his life, but he couldn’t let that fact stop him from doing what he had to do. He’d have years to feel guilty about it as penance. For now he must set aside those doubts and regrets and simply do what he considered his duty.

  Jack felt Julian’s hand on his shoulder. “How are you, brother?”

  Jack looked up into Julian’s sober countenance and forced a smile. “Ready and impatiently waiting.”

  “How was Amanda when you left her last night?”

  “Resigned, I think. Anxious, I know.”

  “I’m surprised she didn’t insist on coming this morning. She’s a strong-willed baggage, eh?”

  Jack smiled … this time genuinely. “That she is. I didn’t tell her where or when we were meeting. She was miffed, of course, but I didn’t want her watching when I …”

  Jack’s words trailed off. Any vestige of a smile entirely disappeared. Julian squeezed Jack’s shoulder, then let go. He understood Jack’s dilemma and sympathized; it was unnecessary to put his feelings into words.

  Presently a black gig pulled up several yards away under a canopy of trees. It was the doctor. As was frequently the custom, a medical man was present when a duel had potential for serious injuries.

  “Did you send for the old sawbones?” Jack asked his brother.

  “No,” Julian replied. “Must have been Mingay’s idea.”

  “Well, that either means Rob intends to mortally wound me,” he observed dryly, “or they think I intend to mortally wound Rob.”

  Julian did not comment, and growing more restless by the moment, Jack plucked his watch from his greatcoat pocket and squinted in the inadequate light at the roman numerals on its face. “Where is the bastard, anyway? It’s five-thirty-two! However late he shows up for everything else, you’d think he’d be on time for a duel!”

  Julian shrugged. “Maybe he’s changed his mind.”

  “He has,” came a voice from behind them. They turned and observed Percy Mingay walking toward them through the fog. When he reached them, Jack could see the irritation and exasperation on Percy’s face. “I don’t even like the little sod, but I got up at four-thirty this morning so I could roust him out of bed and stand as second for him at this hellish hour, and he had the gall to cry craven and leave the country! Can you believe it?”

  Jack was astounded. “No, I can’t believe it.
What proof do you have?”

  “When I got to his apartment this morning, he was gone. But he left a note behind saying—” Percy had been in the process of extracting an envelope from his coat pocket when he seemed to spy something over Jack’s shoulder. He froze and stared. “Unless, by God, that’s him coming now on horseback at full gallop. What’s he up to now?”

  Jack turned and tensed. He could feel Julian’s tension, too. Just as Percy had indicated, there was a man on horseback approaching at a fast speed. He was small in stature like Rob and shrouded in a billowing great coat. In the dim light it was impossible to see whether or not the rider had a weapon … such as a gun aimed directly at Jack’s heart. Or even at Julian’s heart … God forbid.

  It had to be Rob. Who else would be out at this hour? Who else knew of the duel except those directly involved? But why was Rob on horseback, and why was he charging toward them hell-bent for leather? Jack was afraid he knew.

  “Hand me the pistol, Julian,” he said quietly, careful not to make a quick movement and alert the rider to his intentions too soon. Julian handed him the loaded gun, and Jack dropped it to his side, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. He wouldn’t shoot—he wouldn’t even prepare to aim—till he had proof there was sufficient reason, like the glint of steel from an upraised pistol or rifle.

  “Don’t do this, Rob,” Jack pleaded under his breath. “Don’t let things end like this.”

  As the rider got closer, Percy swore vehemently and darted behind a nearby tree, peeking out from behind the thick trunk like a frightened child. But, as Jack knew he would, Julian stood stalwartly beside him. Jack clenched his jaw and held his breath … then suddenly let it out in a hiss of profound surprise and relief.

  “Amanda?”

  The horse slowed to canter, then a walk. Amanda pulled on the reigns, and the sweating horse pranced to a stop. Julian took the tethers and grabbed the horse’s bit, while Jack set the pistol carefully down, caught Amanda by the waist, and helped her dismount.