Duel of Hearts

by Anita Mills

  The muscles in the earl’s jaw worked as his mind overruled his anger. “Thirty thousand today, Lyndon,” he offered evenly.

  Tony’s face grew pained. “I thought I made myself plain on that head—I mean to have Leah Cole.”

  “Cole might prefer to make her a countess,” Rotherfield countered.

  “No. I can see she is received, my dear Marcus, which is something you cannot quite manage. And despite what you might think, the old man is rather fond of his daughter. So . . . we have reached point non plus between us, I think.” Turning away, Tony set his empty cup on the tray and prepared to pour himself some more of the coffee. “Good day, Marcus.”

  Grasping the head of his walking stick as though he would strangle it, the earl executed the stiffest and slightest of bows to acknowledge his dismissal. “ ’Twould seem the hand is yours, Lyndon,” he murmured in that cold voice of his, “but the game is not yet done.”

  “A line worthy of the great Edmund Kean.” Tony lifted his steaming cup in a mock toast to Rotherfield’s back and then sighed heavily at the sound of the earl’s measured tread on the stairs. Once again, he could have strangled his betrothed—through her he’d gained an enemy no man wanted.

  Unable to dismiss the earl’s visit lightly, Tony bathed and endured the ministrations of his valet before presenting himself in Hans Town to speak with Jeptha Cole. Consoling himself with the thought that Rotherfield’s sudden ardor for Leah would probably cool in their absence, he prepared to discuss the wedding trip.

  In the process of directing the cleaning of the marble floor herself, Leah was in the foyer when he rang. And, for once, she appeared self-conscious in his presence. As the door opened to admit him, her hand flew to the dust cap that covered her hair, snatching it off to hold it behind her.

  “If you are looking for Papa, he has gone to Garraway’s for an auction sale of salvaged goods,” she offered, not meeting his eyes. “Mrs. Crome, will you inquire of Millie if there are any polishing cloths left? I fear that ’twill take more than we have to do the task correctly. And, Timothy—do go with her to carry.” Looking up quickly and then down again, she added to Tony, “You find us at sixes and sevens with the cleaning, I fear. Whether there are guests or no, Papa would have the place shipshape for the wedding.”

  “Miss Cole . . . Leah . . .”

  “If you are come to apologize for kissing me last night, I—”

  “Not for the kiss, Leah, but for the quarrel.” Moving in front of her, he reached to take the cap and, flinging it aside, possessed both her hands. To his surprise, she did not pull away. “Come, can we not cry friends, my dear? I shall promise to treat you with the respect you deserve in hopes that you will cease ripping up at me.”

  This time, when she dared meet his eyes, they were searching her face soberly, and she felt an involuntary lurch in her chest. A man ought not to look at one quite like that. “I daresay the fault was not all yours, my lord,” she answered slowly. “You are not the first to accuse me of a devilish temper, after all.” Pulling her hands free, she turned her back on him and rubbed at a finger smudge on the highly polished staircase newel. “I would, however, prefer that you not see Mrs. Chandler publicly. ’Tis narrow-minded of me, I know, but I . . . well, I would not be the object of false pity, my lord,” she finished, stiffening her back.

  “I do not mean to see her at all.”

  “Never?”

  “She is gone from my life, Leah.” He came up behind her, but made no move to touch her. “ ’Tis not admirable of me, I know, but then you do not know how ‘twas between us.” When she remained silent, he sighed and sought to explain. “I cannot expect you to understand everything, of course, but there are women who sell their favors outright, and there are those who flatter and pretend affection for gifts. Elaine Chandler is one of the latter, Leah. I was not her first protector nor am I her last.”

  “How can you know she did not care?” Swinging around to face him suddenly, she looked up, demanding, “How can you just cast away someone?”

  “I have reason to believe she had already sought another, wealthier man than I—that only word of my imminent rescue by your father brought her back.”

  “Oh.”

  “That and the on-dit that my Cit was quite beautiful. I think perhaps the gossip stung her pride. Elaine is rather noted for choosing her protectors, rather than for being chosen.”

  “And she came to the duchess’s party to see you.”

  “Not me—you. That was my mistake, Leah—I sought to make her leave and drew even more attention to her. Had I the chance again, I should ignore her.”

  “But how can you?” Her gray eyes searched his face as she sought to understand him. “I mean . . . that is, after what she has been to you . . . well, you must have felt something for her once.”

  It was a highly improper conversation between them, but Tony realized that she deserved an answer. “No,” he admitted baldly. “ ’Twas merely a business arrangement. When I saw she sported Carrington’s gifts, I knew our liaison was over.”

  “Carrington? But he is old and fat and ugly!” She nearly choked with revulsion at the thought of the aging roué she’d met at the Childredges’ party. “Surely not!”

  “Old men pay more to get what they want, Leah.”

  “ ’Tis disgusting!”

  “I suppose it is,” he admitted, smiling at her innocence. “I find the notion distasteful myself, but ’tis the way of things. Now . . . ” His blue eyes gleamed as he moved closer to lean his tall frame on the banister. “Having admitted my folly, I’d ask of yours, my dear—what is Rotherfield to you?”

  “The earl?” She appeared taken aback by the sudden shift in direction the conversation had taken. “I like him—I’d count him a friend, I think.”

  “Leah, I think you should know that—”

  “There are no more cleaning rags to be had, Miss Leah,” laundry is done, we shall have to contrive with what we have. And with the wedding coming so soon upon us, I don’t know as how—” She stopped and caught herself guiltily. “Well, daresay it can be managed, of course, if you two was to get out of our way. Ain’t a bit of sense to havin’ four people standing about when two’s got to work.”

  “I cannot stay,” Tony murmured apologetically. “ ’Twas my intent to take you driving, as the weather is quite warm.”

  “Alas, but I cannot, my lord. I am scarce prepared to be seen, and I . . . well, there is so much to do. Despite the fact that there will not be many to eat it, Papa is determined that we have a particularly fine supper, and—”

  “Enough! ’Tis comforting to know I shall be leg- shackled with some ceremony then. If you will but see me to my curricle, I’d have of you just where ’tis you would go on the wedding trip.”

  “Oh, I had not thought . . .” Looking around her, she caught the intense interest of the old housekeeper and the footman. “Yes . . . of course,” she managed, hiding her consternation at the thought of leaving her home forever with him.

  He held the door open for her and followed her out into the early-afternoon sun. “You did think to go somewhere, did you not? I seem to distinctly recall speaking of France or Italy, my dear.”

  “I have never been away from London in my life, sir,” she admitted frankly, “and I have not the least notion of where to go. Indeed, I’d hoped that perhaps we could just stay here with Papa.”

  He shook his head. “ ’Twould be too much remarked —and I should like to show you Paris if you do not object. However, if ’tis Italy you prefer, then I thought perhaps Florence or Milano—Rome is dirty and crowded.”

  “As Paris is closer, I think I should prefer that—I’d not be gone from Papa overlong.”

  “As you wish then. I shall send my man ahead to bespeak accommodations for us.” They’d reached his curricle and he turned back to face her. “I think you will find the experience enjoyable, Leah.”

  The soft spring breeze caught his blo
nd hair and ruffled it and the sun reflected warmly in his blue eyes as he looked down on her. The thought flitted through her mind that he did indeed look like the conquering Alexander. Sucking in her breath, she managed to nod. “But you will not forget our agreement, will you?” she blurted out finally.

  A slow smile lifted both corners of his mouth and one eyebrow. “That your citadel is safe from me? Miss Cole, I herewith promise to make no direct assaults on your fort.”

  “And indirect?”

  “Now, that depends on you. I am not above attempting to gain the keys to the gate, but then ’tis up to you to keep them.”

  “If that means you hope to charm me, Lord Lyndon, you will discover the task difficult indeed.” But the sharpness of her words was eased by the mischief in her eyes. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

  He stood watching her as she skipped back up the steps and into the house. If that could be construed as a challenge, Tony meant to take it. Whistling softly, he took the ribbons from his groom and swung his tall frame up into the seat. Seeing the drapery lift slightly in the front saloon, he tipped his beaver-brimmed hat in that direction before clicking the reins.

  As he drove out of sight, she let the curtain fall. If Tony Barsett thought to turn her up sweet with those incredibly handsome looks of his . . . She paused mid- thought, fearing that he just might be able to do it. He was a rake and a gamester—an unprincipled fellow who mounted mistresses and discarded them, she reminded herself severely. And as long as she could remember that, she could guard not only her citadel but also her heart.

  18

  With the bride’s father’s illness as an excuse, the wedding was a very private, albeit elegant affair. The dowager duchess, having ascertained that the Coles were not, after all, so terribly vulgar, deigned to lend her presence and that of Mrs. Buckhaven, as did lords Renfield and Rivington.

  Owing to the grayness of a rainy day, the gaslights glowed invitingly in the green saloon as the party assembled. Leah, truly lovely in a simple dress of rose-colored raw silk, took her place beside Lyndon. As she walked, the silk rustled against the stiffened taffeta petticoat whose lace edging peeped fashionably from beneath the gown’s hem. The single strand of perfectly matched pearls nestled in the hollow of her throat, while another strand had been woven into curls spilling from a knot at the crown of her head.

  The vicar, summoned from Old St. Margaret’s, cleared his throat and began with the ancient words, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here . . .”

  Leah stole a sidelong glance at the viscount, catching his somber profile and thinking, despite her misgivings, that he was certainly the handsomest man she’d ever seen. If only . . .

  She was brought abruptly back to the present as her father placed her hand in Lyndon’s and she heard the clergyman addressing him, charging him with the responsibilities of marriage, asking his response. Her eyes widened a fraction as his warm, almost frighteningly strong fingers tightened on hers and he answered clearly that he would. And she felt his body tense beside hers when the vicar turned to her, charging and asking the same. She hesitated momentarily, her gaze traveling to where her father sat in his best coat and breeches next to the small, deceptively frail duchess.

  “I will.”

  It was as though she could feel Lyndon’s silent sigh of relief. Turning again to him, the vicar took him through the age-old vows that bound husband and wife together until eternity, and Leah listened almost dispassionately as Tony repeated, “I, Anthony Edward Charles Robert Barsett, take thee, Leah Frances Cole . . .”

  This, then, was it—she was no longer a daughter in her father’s house, but rather a wife, mistress of her own establishment, responsible for the duties that went with her new and elevated status. Well, not for all of them, she reminded herself to bolster her lagging courage. Stealing another quick glance at Barsett’s face, she wondered what was going through his mind. He too was committed forever now—if he should find another, if he should come to love someone else, he was no longer free . . .

  “Repeat after me, please.” With a start, she realized they waited for her now. Drawing in a deep breath, she nodded and followed his words, “I, Leah Frances Cole, take thee, Anthony Charles . . . that is . . .” Flustered for a moment, she hesitated and began again in a stronger voice, “I, Leah Frances Cole, take thee, Anthony Edward Charles Robert Barsett, to be my husband, to . . .”

  In a matter of very few minutes it was done and they knelt on the soft woolen carpet for the blessing and benediction. Balancing herself awkwardly with her hand in his grip, she struggled to smooth her slim skirt and rise. It was over. For good or ill, she belonged to a man she scarce knew and had not wanted.

  “Not quite,” he murmured, as though he read her thoughts. Leaning so close that her senses reeled from the clean, pleasant scent of his Hungary water and from the warmth of his skin against hers, he brushed his lips across her mouth quickly and stepped back—but not before he’d seen her eyes flutter and heard her sharp intake of breath.

  “Now?” she asked, trying to hide the sudden apprehension she felt.

  “Now.” His hand slid down from her shoulder to her hand again, sending a shiver in its wake. “You are cold as ice, my dear,” he whispered. “Would you have me send for your shawl?”

  “No—’twill pass.”

  “Well, now . . . Lady Lyndon. Let me be the first to congratulate you, my dear.” Jeptha Cole’s eyes brimmed brightly as he surveyed her proudly. “Aye, but don’t you look fine!” he managed, his voice low with suppressed emotion.

  “Mr. Cole,” the duchess cut in imperiously, “I believe ’tis proper to congratulate him rather than her!”

  “Eh?” He eyed the diminutive dowager with a look that bordered on dislike for a moment and thundered, “Dash it, Your Grace! No need t’ tell him—he knows I like him! Gave him my greatest treasure, didn’t I?” Then, conscious of her affronted expression, he attempted to mollify her. “Aye, but I wish him well—congratulate him too, I suppose. Damme, Leah’s a viscountess now, ain’t she?” he chortled. “Calls for some sherry t’ toast ‘em! Crome! Crome!”

  The butler and housekeeper, who’d both been watching surreptitiously as Leah wed into the Quality, hurried forward. Leah caught the old woman’s furtive brush at tears and enveloped her in a quick embrace. “I will miss you,” she whispered.

  “Here, now, miss . . . madam, ’tis not fitting,” the elderly housekeeper whispered.

  “Lady Lyndon, may I be the first to felicitate you?” Hugh Rivington murmured at Leah’s shoulder. “All London will envy Tony for stealing the march on ’em.”

  Turning around, Leah faced Tony’s friends and extended her hands, only to have both carried up to be kissed at the same time in an unusual display of gallantry by Rivington and Renfield. “Hugh’s right, m’dear—ain’t a buck in London as won’t go into mourning when he sees you,” Gil promised.

  “Thank you.”

  “Oh, Lady Lyndon!” Mrs. Buckhaven clasped her own hands together soulfully as she approached Leah. “I cannot yet credit that dear Tony is wed! Now he will cease raking about and—”

  “Bucky!”

  “Well, surely he will not—”

  “Bucky! I am certain Leah will discover Tony’s faults soon enough without having you enumerating ’em for her,” the duchess reproved her sharply. “Aye, I wish you well also, my dear,” she told Leah. “And don’t be thinking you have to name the first gel Hester for me, ’cause you don’t, you know—hate the name! Besides, a gel can’t carry on the Barsett line.”

  “Well, I—”

  “Leah will take whatever Divine Providence gives us, won’t you, my dear?” Tony came up behind her and squeezed her shoulder with one hand while reaching around her with a glass of sherry in the other. “To Lady Lyndon—may the years bring you happiness, my dear,” he murmured softly. “Here, let me get one of my own and we will drink to it.”

  “I am in agreement with Her Grace,�
�� Cole announced to anyone within hearing. “No need to name any boys Jeptha—don’t know where I got such a name and don’t want to pass it on. Humph! Seems to me that Lyndon’s got enough names to choose from on his own, anyway.”

  “Lady Lyndon . . .” Tony lifted his glass to touch the rim of hers.

  Lady Lyndon. Lord Lyndon’s lady. It sounded foreign to her ears and yet it was fact—Leah Cole was gone forever, replaced by the Viscountess Lyndon. She was Leah Barsett now. Slowly she lifted her glass to her lips and took a sip.

  “ ’Tis quite good, really.” The duchess managed to unbend over her glass enough to smile thinly at Mr. Cole.

  “Ain’t it? Got it from a smuggler off the coast—said it was from Boney’s own stock. Didn’t believe him, of course,” he snorted, “but it could’ve been.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps we should repair to the dining room. Monsieur Lebeau is quite the temperamental cook, and—”

  “What Leah’s tryin’ to say is he’s a demned Frenchie! Never know what he feeds us by the name of it, but it’s palatable enough! Aye, we’d best eat if you are to make the Dover packet before nightfall.” Jeptha Cole patted his pocket and beamed at his new son-in-law before reaching to draw out a sheaf of papers. “Know you don’t want m’money, my lord, but thought you might like to have these for a wedding present.”

  Everyone turned to watch Tony remove the string that bound the papers together. As he examined them, Gil peered around his shoulder. “What are they?” he asked curiously.

  Tony turned over the first one carefully and refolded it. “My thanks, sir—my heartfelt thanks.”

  “But what—?”

  “Stock certificates?” Hugh queried.

  “No, not quite—’tis an interest in a merchant vessel and bills of lading for her first cargo.”

  “Shipping!” the duchess choked in horror. “Mr. Cole”—she rounded on the still-beaming man—”Barsetts do not engage in trade!”