Duel of Hearts

by Anita Mills

  “Hallo, Marcus—you are in my chair,” Gil told the earl pointedly. “And you are like to stumble in the dark if you do not leave now.”

  “I can find my way.”

  “But can you repair the lady’s rep?” Gil countered. “Got to go—my box, after all.”

  Hugh, who had been waiting for Rotherfield to leave, sighed with relief when the earl brushed past him. “Stupid thing to do, Gil,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I mean, what if he’d taken the maggot into his brain to call you out?”

  “I wouldn’t go. Don’t have to, you know—and I’d rather be a living coward than a dead fool.”

  “I do not understand either of you,” Leah told them in disgust. “But then I like him.”

  “Don’t know him—that’s all, and he don’t bear knowin’ neither,” Gil added with a finality that forbore further conversation. “Curtain’s goin’ up.”

  28

  “Madame, ’tis the duchess herself come to call,” breathed Jeanne as she threw open the shutters to admit the sunlight.

  Having spent a night of considerable agitation that did not bring sleep until well past dawn, Leah stirred reluctantly and blinked several times in an effort to assimilate herself into her surroundings. At first thought, it did not seem possible that anyone would call so early, and particularly not an elderly lady who had spent the previous night at the opera.

  “Which duchess?” she asked, still puzzled.

  “Lord Lyndon’s aunt Davenham.”

  “Then she has come to see Tony.” Leah lay back down and pulled the covers about her. “Tell Blair to wake him.”

  “Fitch said she asked to see you,” Jeanne persisted, bustling about to retrieve Leah’s wrapper and lay out a day gown of figured muslin.

  “Still, he ought to be wakened.”

  There was no answer from Jeanne, who pulled open a drawer and studiously searched for a petticoat. Finding one, she laid it across her arm and approached Leah again. “Annie has drawn your bath, madame—do you wish it before you receive the duchess?”

  “No, I cannot keep her waiting that long,” Leah decided, rising finally and stretching. “What time is it?” She yawned.

  “Just past eleven, madame.”

  “Let me wash my face—I’ll bathe later when she is gone.”

  Slipping out of her nightrail, she stepped into her undergarments and pulled on the blue-flowered muslin dress. “No—there’s not time to pin up my hair, Jeanne. I shall just brush it.”

  When Leah appeared belowstairs in less than fifteen minutes, the small elderly woman moved forward, wobbling on her cane, to greet her. “No, no—do not stand on ceremony with me, my dear. We are, after all, family.” Smiling through thin lips, she stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on Leah’s cheek. “You are such a pretty representative of the Barsett name, child.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  “ ‘Your Grace,’ ” the old woman scoffed. “Utterly ridiculous formality. You will call me Aunt Hester as Tony does. Humor an old woman and do it. Now, let us sit for a comfortable coze whilst we decide what is to be done.”

  “Done?”

  “About that dreadful woman, of course. Oh, I know you and I are not supposed to know of her, but after last night, ’twould be difficult to claim ignorance, anyway. I could positively choke the life from him, of course, but ’twould serve no useful purpose.”

  “ ’Tis not your—”

  “My affair?” the dowager interrupted gently. “Call me an interfering old woman, a meddler even, but humor an eccentric relative, my dear. ‘Tis the license that comes with old age, I suppose, for we dare to insinuate ourselves into the lives of our heirs. But enough said on that head—I am here to help you.”

  “Why?” Leah asked bluntly.

  “Because I like you! You ain’t one of them milk-and- water misses—cannot abide ’em! And if you and Tony are at daggers drawn, I’ll never see the next Barsett.”

  “I fail to see what can be done,” Leah admitted. “He obviously prefers her.”

  “Utter fustian! A Banbury tale if I was ever to hear one! You’ve got to bring him to heel, that’s all.”

  “I’d rather grind him into the ground.”

  “Now, there’s the ticket! Knew you was a gel with spirit the first time I saw you! What you got to do is keep him at home, Leah! Now, there’s more than one way to do it, of course. You can start giving parties here. He’ll be in attendance—shocking bad ton not to come to his own affair, after all. Or you can get Gilbert Renfield or young Rivington to dangle attention after you. Tony’s hotheaded—won’t like it one jot! He ain’t the sort to climb over your admirers to get to you, I can tell you.”

  “Are you suggesting that I flirt with Gil or Hugh?” Leah asked incredulously, despite having toyed with and discarded the same idea.

  “Knew you wasn’t a slowtop the minute I saw you— told Bucky you’d lead Tony, but she wouldn’t have it,” the old woman crowed gleefully. “Exactly what I was saying! And with your countenance, it won’t be a difficult task!”

  “I don’t know,” Leah mused doubtfully. “For one thing, neither of them would make Tony jealous in the least. I mean, would you cast out lures to his best friends? Besides, ’twas his jealousy of Rotherfield that provoked the row.”

  “Well, Rotherfield will not do at all, of course.” The dowager was definite on that. “No, it must be a more eligible man. Tell me, do you know Ponsonby? Almost as handsome as Tony and a shameless flirt. Now, there’s a man for you—won’t let you get burned either, ’cause he knows how the rules are played out.”

  “What is wrong with Rotherfield?” Leah asked ominously, prepared for another inexplicable tirade against the earl.

  “Well, I always did like him, of course, but I was the only one. Oh, that don’t signify anyway,” she muttered, her digression at an end. “The thing about Rotherfield is that he don’t flirt—ain’t a gamesman like that, if you was to get my meaning. No, a gel’d get burned on him—I’ve knowed a peagoose or two that has.”

  “I don’t understand how—”

  “The thing about Marcus Halvert, my dear, is that he’d expect you to pay if you played. Now, more to the point— who’s to get? Need one of ’em as is handsome and interested enough to bring Tony to heel—don’t suppose you know ‘Ball’ Hughes either, do you?”

  “Golden Ball?”

  “Then you do know him! Wealthiest dandy in town, I daresay.”

  “No, I have not exchanged beyond the merest civility with him and I cannot think he even noted me.”

  “Humph! He notices every female he meets.”

  Leah bit her thumbnail tentatively and considered the possibilities. “I am not at all certain that I wish a jealous husband, ma’am—I am not even certain that it should be I who attempt to mend matters between us. I did not go to King’s Theater with my fancy piece, you know.”

  “No, no, of course you did not,” the old lady said soothingly. “But there is much that is good in Tony—I should dislike seeing him lose quite the best thing that has ever happened to him.”

  “But he is stubborn beyond bearing, and—”

  “Think on it—’tis all I ask. I admit my meddling is selfish, but there must be more Barsetts to carry the Lyndon title.”

  Once the duchess had left, Leah sank to a sofa to consider what she ought to do. She wanted her husband’s love and his loyalty—one without the other was meaningless to her. And yet she did not see how it was her fault that he had gone to Elaine Chandler, and certainly she’d done nothing to make him display the creature publicly. So he had forbidden her association with Rotherfield—he was unreasonable on that head. Why could she be friends with Gil and Hugh and not the earl? Nothing Marcus Halvert had ever suggested carried the least hint of expected impropriety. Indeed, her heart went out to him as she saw the injustice inflicted by an unforgiving society for what surely must have been youthful indiscretions.

 
; In her mind, she turned over every word of the last argument she’d had with Tony. Well, she conceded with a wry grimace, she had challenged him to see the woman. Perhaps she ought to at least try the waters this morning and see if he were properly contrite.

  “Mrs. Fitch,” she called out to the housekeeper as that woman bustled past the open door, “is Lord Lyndon down yet?”

  “I do not believe so, madam.”

  “He’s still abed?”

  “Er … I do not believe so,” the woman answered uncomfortably.

  An awful suspicion assailed Leah, leaving her with a sick feeling deep within. “Mrs. Fitch,” she asked calmly, “when did my husband get home?”

  “Uh … well, I daresay you will need to ask Blair about that, my lady.”

  “Did he come home?” Leah asked ominously.

  “Uh … no, but that is not to say … well, he was used to stay at his clubs, your ladyship, and we do not make much of his absences.”

  “I see.”

  “And sometimes he stays with Mr. Renfield.”

  “That will be all, Mrs. Fitch.”

  As soon as the housekeeper escaped, Leah went to Tony’s library to find something to soothe her—reading always provided an escape. Drawing out the steps, she climbed to reach for a volume of Blake’s poetry, one of her favorites, Songs of Experience, hoping that somehow his cynical, biting, metaphysical poems might help her feel that she was better off than the general condition.

  “My lady?” Horton stepped tentatively to the doorway, his disapproval evident on every line of his face. “Lord Rotherfield is here—shall I tell him you are not receiving?”

  “Of course you must not! Tell him … Oh, no matter, I shall tell him myself.”

  She found the earl admiring the moldings on the fireplace surround. His back was toward her even as he greeted her. “I thought perhaps you would wish to see the Menagerie at the Tower—or there is an ascension planned by Mr. Graham if the wind holds. I find myself suffering from a surfeit of boredom today, and … ”He turned around diffidently, all traces of his famed arrogance gone. “My dear,” he murmured at the sight of her, “you appear a trifle hagged.” Crossing the room quickly, he demanded, “Was Lyndon unpleasant when you returned home?”

  “I did not see him.” She looked up into those black eyes of his and thought she read sympathy there. “Do sit down—please.”

  “Something has overset you. If there is anything I can do to assist you …”

  She sucked in her breath, screwing her courage to the utmost, and nodded. “Lord Rotherfield,” she asked baldly, “would you mind very much if I were to engage in a mild flirtation with you?”

  To his credit, he did not so much as blink to betray his surprise. “I should be honored, of course,” he responded lightly, and then with a faint quiver at the corners of his mouth, he managed to ask, “But, dear lady, must it be mild?”

  “If it offends you—”

  “No, no, of course not,” he hastened to reassure her. “But have you considered the matter thoroughly, Leah?” he asked with uncharacteristic gentleness. “Do not forget who I am—I am Rotherfield. Perhaps you would be better advised to ask Renfield or Ponsonby—you can be seen everywhere with them.”

  “No. The choice is yours, of course. You may not wish to be seen with this Cit’s daughter, after all, and I should quite understand if that were the case.”

  “Leah, you have but to ask—I stand ready to do whatever ‘tis you wish.”

  “I wish to make Tony think you are my lover.” Her face reddened with embarrassment even as she said it, and she hoped he would not think her some sort of doxy.

  “I see.”

  “But of course I should not expect … that is … ”

  “I already knew you were not that sort of female, my dear. My only concern is why you have chosen the least presentable of your acquaintances for the task.”

  “I wanted a dangerous man, my lord. I think Tony could intimidate anyone else.”

  29

  The amethysts nestled in the hollow of her throat and dipped downward to the décolletage of her lavender silk gown. The dress was simplicity itself, a perfect foil for the beautiful necklace Tony had bought in Paris. While waiting for Jeanne to return from pressing the cashmere shawl she meant to wear, Leah tucked an errant strand into the braid that formed an unusual crown of hair on her head.

  Her heart nearly stopped beating when she caught the reflection of Tony in her mirror. For well over two weeks they’d scarce exchanged pleasantries even, each watching silently as the other came and went from the house. Leah duly noted that she should have locked the door after Jeanne. She sat very still, not wanting him to know she’d seen him. Her heart beat rapidly and her whole body tensed as he moved closer. An involuntary shiver went down her back when his warm fingers lifted her necklace at the nape of her neck.

  “ ’Tis as pretty as I thought it would be on you, my dear.”

  She jerked away so quickly that she nearly bumped her head on the mirror. “I do not believe I gave you leave to come into my chamber, my lord.”

  “So you are going to be away from home again tonight,” he observed, ignoring her coldness. “How long do you think you can maintain this giddy schedule you give yourself?”

  “There is so much to do in one short season that one feels one must make the attempt to appear at everything,” she answered with feigned indifference.

  “Where is it tonight?”

  “Well, I have a card to Lady Childredge’s soiree, of course, but since Marcus positively despises such events, I am going to Vauxhall for a concert and to see the fireworks. I believe there is a female who descends from a wire one hundred feet above ground through a blaze of light, to arrive unscathed at the bottom.”

  “I did not know you wished to go there.”

  “Oh, I should not think to trouble you, Tony,” she responded airily. “Now that I know precisely how I am to go on, I quite understand that ’tis utterly unfashionable to be seen with one’s husband anyway, and as you are so seldom home yourself, I have asked Marcus.”

  “I see.” He’d promised himself that he would avoid a quarrel with her, that he would try to be conciliatory, but she was making it deuced difficult. He looked down on the wound braid of her hair and felt a terrible, painful hunger. “I thought perhaps we might spend an evening at home. You wished once to become a political hostess, as I recall, and I thought it would be possible to discuss a small dinner party for the Whigs—or whomever you might wish to invite.”

  “I did not think you cared for politics, my lord.”

  “Well, I do not, but I am prepared to listen for your sake.”

  “How very kind of you,” she murmured. “And shall we invite Mrs. Chandler also?”

  “You are not going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “No.”

  “You and Rotherfield are becoming the latest on-dit, my dear. Do you not think you are a trifle particular in your attentions?” he asked, despite his resolve to ignore the earl.

  She appeared to consider the matter and then shook her head. “No, I do not think so. Last night I went to Covent Garden with Renfield, and Saturday I attended the ballet with Johnny Barrasford. And then ‘twas Lord Ponsonby who escorted me to the Dinsmore affair last week. Alas, Marcus is not always able to take me about.”

  “If you would give me sufficient notice, I would make certain I am free to take you to some of your engagements,” he offered stiffly.

  “And why should you? No, I could not allow myself to interfere with your Other Interests.” To Leah’s utter relief, Jeanne reappeared with the folded shawl. “Alas, but I am late, Tony. Would you be so kind as to drape that over my shoulders just so? And remember, ’tis the fashion to leave it lower on one side.” She smiled sweetly, knowing full well he’d much rather strangle her with it. His fingers almost burned her where they touched the bare skin at the back of her neck, but she wille
d herself to stand perfectly still. “Thank you,” she managed politely when he was done.

  “Leah-”

  “Perhaps tomorrow, Tony, as I am late already. Good evening. I pray you will give my regards to Mrs. Chandler.”

  He wanted to forbid her going, but since that night at King’s Theater, there’d been very little to say. He’d made a cake of himself and a laughingstock of Leah, earning the censure of his great-aunt, whose scathing peal still stung, and the cold disapproval of his friends. It was becoming increasingly difficult to see Jeptha Cole nearly every day and parry questions about Leah. While the old man discouraged her visiting him, saying she was a fine lady and must forget from whence she came, he nonetheless wanted to know secondhand of her every triumph. And, his jealousy of Rotherfield aside, Leah’s determined association with the man was making her less and less acceptable amongst the ton. Even Sally Jersey had cornered him quite literally on the street and had demanded to know when he meant to put a stop to it. Of course, he’d acted as though he approved of the earl, when in truth, only a complete fool would.

  “Did you wish to attend the Childredge affair?” Rotherfield asked her as he handed her up into his vis ά vis. “I am not averse to putting it to the touch, you know.”

  “Well … ”

  “It might be possible to do both,” he offered. “If the Childredges put on a deuced bore, perhaps we could press on in time to see the fireworks.”

  “You are not afraid of being cut?” she asked. In the weeks since she had really come to know him, she had achieved an easy friendship that allowed for candor between them.

  “I am not afraid of anything,” he reassured her. “And I feel quite certain that no one will cut you there.”

  The way he said it gave her pause, for in the several instances when they’d chosen to appear places other than those charging admission, the reception had been decidedly chill. She’d begun to suspect that the Menagerie, the balloon ascensions, the fireworks, and the drives in the park had been contrived with an eye to avoiding any unpleasantness for her.