Duel of Hearts

by Anita Mills

  Pushing past Marcus Havert’s astonished butler, Tony found the earl still at his breakfast. “Where is she?” he demanded harshly, removing his driving gloves.

  Rotherfield finished transferring marmalade onto a piece of toast before looking up. His black eyes betrayed none of the excitement he felt when they met Tony’s. “I am afraid you have the advantage of me, Lyndon,” he murmured. “Er … would you care to join me?”

  “No!”

  “I collect I am being privileged to see the legendary Barsett temper, my lord,” the earl observed, unperturbed by the intrusion or by Tony’s outburst.

  “I did not think you would stoop so low as to ruin a female’s reputation!”

  “By being seen with her?” One of Rotherfield’s black brows rose skeptically. “It has been seven years, Lyndon. Full half die ton cannot recollect the scandal, and the other half will never accept her anyway.”

  “Where is she?” Tony repeated. “Dammit, where is she?”

  The earl bit off a piece of the toast and masticated it thoroughly before shaking his head. “Leah? Dear me— has she left you? It does not surprise me, I suppose,” he decided coolly. “And I should not tell you if I knew, Lyndon. Suffice it to say that she is not here.”

  Tony’s right hand came up, striking Rotherfield so hard with the driving glove that it left a red mark across the high cheekbone. For a moment the black eyes flashed malevolently and then they were veiled.

  “Name you weapon, Marcus.”

  A slow smile of triumph spread across the darkly handsome face. “A widow is always preferable to a divorcee,” he murmured with deceptive softness. “Pistols.”

  31

  Jeptha Cole’s welcoming smile turned to a scowl within minutes of his daughter’s arrival. Had she not thrown herself in his arms and burst into tears, he would have been inclined to send her back to Lyndon House without listening to her side of the matter. But she’s seldom ever cried, not even when actually injured, so he held his peace and enveloped her in his arms, patting her awkwardly and mumbling soothing platitudes about everyone’s having a turnup with a spouse from time to time.

  Taking her into his library, he poured her two fingers of brandy and told her to calm herself. “Papa, I have made such a mull of my life,” she wailed, gulping the contents of her glass and choking on it. “Aargh!”

  “Well, you ain’t supposed to drink it like water, Leah! Sniff it—savor it, you know! Havey-cavey business—the thing about Rotherfield. I ain’t from the ton, my dear, and even I know he ain’t at all the thing! Man’s a deuced devil, they say, and he ain’t received!”

  “But Tony was seeing Mrs. Chandler!” she tried to explain.

  “That don’t signify!” Then, seeing that she was about to begin crying anew, he tried a different tack. “Daresay it’s my fault, after all—I rushed you into the marriage before you was to know what you was about. But damme, I like young Lyndon—and I was afeared of what Rotherfield meant to do. I didn’t want any brats coming in the side door ’cause you didn’t know how to go on.”

  “Papa!”

  “Well, I didn’t think you was a peagoose, but it’s been known to happen, and then Lyndon allowed as how the earl was too particular in his attentions—well, I couldn’t take the chance. Afraid Lyndon’d get away—arid I wanted you to be a viscountess, you know. Knew Rotherfield was rich as Croesus himself—stood to reason he had something else in mind.” He raised his gaze to his dead wife’s portrait. “Promised her.” Looking back at Leah, he nodded. “You understand, don’t you?”

  “No, Papa, I have never understood it.”

  “Got to sit—m’leg’s painin’ me,” he explained, taking a seat close to the window. “Don’t eat what you’d want me to since you been gone. Sit down.”

  Instead of taking the chair he’d indicated, she slid to the floor to lean her head against his leg as she had done when she was a small child. “Why did you never tell me about her?” she wondered as she dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “ ’Cause I miss her too much to speak of her—talk to her instead.” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked down at her. “You are the image of her, you know—cherish you for it.”

  “But what was she like?” she persisted.

  “Well, she was a proud and willful girl, much like you really. Now, this may surprise you—don’t know if I ought to tell you of it—but she was Quality. Met her by accident.” His eyes took on the faraway look of one remembering across time. “Back, then, her papa was heavily in debt and needed the blunt badly to come about, so’s he was wantin’ to sell Marianna to a wealthy gentleman some twenty years older’n she was.” He shifted in his chair, seeking greater comfort, and continued, “The end of it was that she ran away from ’em. Met her in the posting house then. Oh, but she was a pretty thing—only seventeen and frightened by the bucks that was ogling her. Not that she was a dieaway miss, mind you, but some of ’em was coming too strong.”

  “You met Mama in a posting house?”

  “Aye. She was runnin’ to her granny’s—now, there was an old Tartar for ye. I offered to take her there, and I guess she thought I looked less a menace than the rest of ’em. Anyways, the old woman wouldn’t have her—was goin’ to send her back to Milbourne, you know. Well, the end of the matter was we went to Gretna—got married over the anvil.”

  “You eloped?” somehow she could not imagine her father as a dashing romantic figure.

  “I know what you are a-thinkin’, missy!” he retorted. “Jeptha Cole didn’t always look like this, I can tell you! She thought me quite handsome, she did—and I was.”

  “And what did Lord Milbourne do?” she asked, returning to his story.

  “Disowned her! Said I wasn’t fit to put on his boots- cast her out. Anyways, we came to London and set up housekeepin’ out beyond Smithfield Market—not too fashionable for a girl like Marianna, but she never complained of it. Learned to do for herself and me too. We was poor as beggars, Leah. My parents were nobodies— my father was naught but a chandler in Liverpool ere he died. Aye, missy, I was a come-down for your mother— nothin’ like she had a right to expect.”

  His eyes traveled to the portrait above them. “I miss her—Lud knows I miss her, Leah.”

  “Papa …” Her hand sought his and held it.

  “Oh, it’s all right.” He patted her head affectionately and looked down through misted eyes. “I’ll see her again, you know. But I wanted to make it up to her for takin’ me, don’t you see? When we was just married, I came here and worked for a founderer for fifteen shillings a day—and hard work that was. But as hard as things was on me, they were harder on her. She wasn’t made for bearing—narrower in the backside than you—and we lost three babes before you. You was the only one to come into this world breathin’.”

  “Oh, Papa.”

  “Ain’t done yet.” It was as if the years of pent-up memories would not be stilled now. “.What broke her heart was Milbourne. ’Twasn’t enough that he disowned her. He wouldn’t let any of ’em—her mother or sisters even—come near her. Said if she wanted to be a Cit, she could live like one. She never had the things she was used to after we was wed. I wanted to give ‘em back to her, but I couldn’t.

  “Then there was a fellow named Asa Pierson—foreigner, you know—wanted to go into shipping here. Well, he had the money, and he liked me—we went into it not knowing what we was doin’ even, but I learned the business. Bought anything and sold it at a profit—weevily meal, rum, sugar, salvage rice.”

  “And you prospered.”

  “And we prospered—damme if we didn’t. Worked six and one-half days a week to do it, but we did. Best thing I ever did for your mother was when I was able to build her this house before she died.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, Papa—the best thing you ever did for her was marry her. Everyone should have as romantic a tale to tell.”


  “But it didn’t end right.” He sighed and was silent for a time. “At least she knew she had you, puss—knew you breathed. Begged me to care for you even. As if I wouldn’t—you were all I had left of her.”

  Tears streamed down Leah’s face, tears for the mother she’d never known. Her hand tightened on her father’s and she leaned closer to his leg.

  “But that wasn’t the end of it. You always get the chance to misuse them that misuses you if you wait long enough. The year after Marianna died, Milbourne turned to me for money, said he wanted to rear his motherless grandbaby, give you everything if I was to frank the business. Told him where he could go, I did—told him I’d make you a lady myself. But I guess you ain’t happy, so’s—”

  “But there was no need! Papa, I am not ashamed to be your daughter—and Mama was not ashamed to be your wife! What is there to a title, anyway?”

  “I gave him the money.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “I had my revenge for her—he crawled to me for the money and I gave it. He had to seek out the son-in-law he despised. And in return for it, I made him promise not to see you.”

  “I have seen him, Papa,” she cut in quietly. “And my grandmother also. I saw them last night.”

  He sat very still.

  “Lady Milbourne is very ill—she wished to see me. She said I reminded her of Mama.”

  “Daresay she could have made you a finer lady than I,” he answered heavily.

  “No. She said you had done better with me than she did with three daughters, Papa.”

  “She did?” He brightened visibly. “Well, daresay Marianna had to get her breeding somewhere—must’ve been her.” Patting her head again, he shook his head. “My mistake was doing like Milbourne, I suppose— making you take a fellow you didn’t want.”

  “I am sorry to have ruined your plans.”

  “Fiddle. Ain’t a day gone by since you was born that I ain’t been proud of you. Only thing I ain’t got is a grandson.”

  “Viscount Lyndon, sir!” Crome announced self- importantly from the doorway.

  “Tony! Here?” Leah looked at her father in consternation, as though she ought to flee.

  “There, there.” Jeptha Cole patted his daughter’s hand. “Don’t have to go home with him if you don’t want.”

  “Sir … Leah.”

  In spite of her anger, in spite of her hurt, in spite of everything he’d said to her, Leah’s heart lurched and her senses reeled at the sight of him. Pulling up by the arm of her father’s chair, she turned away from her husband to keep him from seeing the hope in her face. She had left him, after all, and she had her pride.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked shakily.

  “Like you, I have come for a visit.” The blue eyes that met hers were alive with mischief and more. “I wanted to be here when you shared your interesting condition with you father, my dear,” he told her with a reasonably straight face.

  “My what?”

  “Or perhaps you did not wish to tell him because it is early days yet,” he suggested helpfully.

  “Tony, what are—?”

  “Then that explains it!” Her father’s face took on such an expression of pure joy that Leah could only stare. “I

  knew it was a queer start, my lord! Marianna was like that—could always tell by the way she was blue-deviled at first. Well, if that don’t beat the Dutch!”

  “Tony!”

  “My own blood Quality! Now, if you was to name a girl Marianna, I’d do right by her, you understand,” Cole told Tony. “ ’Course, if it’s a boy, I daresay you’d want a family name—and there ain’t one as I’d have on this side of the blanket.”

  Leah stared across the room at Tony, not knowing whether to laugh or scream with vexation. “You will have to pardon us, Papa, but I am wishful of speaking with my husband.”

  “When do you expect it? I mean, it ain’t but a while since you was wed—wouldn’t want talk, you know.”

  “There will be no gossip about that, Papa,” she reassured him. “Tony—”

  “Take him to the garden.” her father suggested. “ ’Tis private—and a pretty place t’ settle a dust-up. ‘Course there’s a breeze,” he added doubtfully. “Don’t know if you ought—”

  “The garden will be fine. Tony, would you care to take a turn about Papa’s garden?” she asked sweetly.

  She waited only until she was sure they were alone before she rounded on him. “Of all the mean-spirited, the idiotish, the . . .” She groped helplessly for something to convey her opinion of what he’d done and, finding none, sputtered, “I left you, Tony! You cannot go about raising false hopes when you know very well—”

  “No, I don’t know. It is possible, you know, and I am prepared to attend to the matter with relish—abandon even,” he offered with a grin.

  “How could you? You know he will be disappointed beyond bearing!”

  “Actually, I thought that would overset him less than hearing you’d left me for Rotherfield.”

  “I did not leave you for Marcus!” she hissed, furious at being outfaced. ‘ Ί left you over that Chandler woman! And because you are overbearing and … because we do not deal well together!”

  “I thought we dealt extremely well together—of course,

  I should like to deal with you more often,” he added wickedly.

  “Tony, ’tis hopeless.”

  “Tell that to your father.”

  “And ‘tis monstrous unfair to use that against me!” she burst out.

  “I have to use what I have. You see, Leah, I do not want to lose you. I may have been all those things you have flung at me, and I am not proud of them, but since I have met you, I am a reformed rake, gamester, and whatever else ‘tis that you call me.”

  “A libertine.”

  “A reformed libertine then.”

  “A dissolute libertine.”

  “A reformed dissolute libertine.” He stepped closer and attempted to draw her into his arms. “And I am prepared to let you continue reforming me—within reason, of course. I am even prepared to become a Whig for you.”

  “This is ridiculous!”

  “I am to give my maiden speech in Lords.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as I finish writing it,” he announced smugly.

  “Now I know that’s a hum, Tony Barsett,” she retorted, backing away. “You do not have a speech—and you never will.”

  “Max started writing it last week, but I find I need to work on it myself. Max, idealist that he is, expects me to attempt redressing all the ills of the world at once, you know.”

  “A Banbury tale,” she scoffed, realizing she’d backed herself into a stone wall.

  “Well, he has given me opinions on everything from Catholic emancipation to chimney sweeps, my love. I shall hold forth at length on workhouses, poorhouses, child labor, street urchins—”

  “Stop it!”

  “Perhaps you would wish to help me edit it,” he suggested, leaning into her.

  “Tony, I need time. This is not fair—”

  “What isn’t?”

  “Everything!” she exploded. “You cannot follow me here—I left you! You cannot tell my father I am increasing when I am not! You cannot be at daggers drawn with me over Rotherfield when I like him! You cannot—”

  Reluctantly he backed off, disappointing her. “All right. Do you wish me to go in there and tell your father it was all a hum? Do you wish me to sit at home without you? If Marcus is naught but a friend to you, I can accept that, I suppose.” “I don’t know what I want! Please Tony—” “All right. Perhaps ‘tis best to think everything out,” he sighed. “If you wish, I will tell him now.” He turned to leave.

  “Where are you going?” “Home.”

  “Don’t tell him yet.” She raised her hands and then dropped them helplessly. “I shall tell him it was a mistake later.”

  When he reached the garden gate, h
e stopped with his back to her. “I do love you, you know.”

  She wanted to run after him—he’d said almost everything she ever wanted to hear from him. He’d promised her everything. But he hadn’t mentioned Elaine Chandler. She stood rooted to the ground until long after she’d heard the gate shut.

  32

  Gil and Hugh stared at Tony as though he’d lost his mind. The first to recover sufficiently to speak, Gil gasped, “You wish us to do what?”

  “Second for me.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.”

  “You actually challenged Rotherfield?” Hugh asked finally. “I hope he chose swords.”

  “He chose pistols.”

  “The man’s a crack shot! A marksman! Devil take it, Tony, but why’d you do a cork-brained thing like challenging Rotherfield?” Gil shook his head in disbelief. “You’d have been better off if he’d chosen rapiers.”

  “I am an excellent shot also.”

  His friends looked at each other and shook their heads. “But it ain’t the same thing—shootin’ a man’s different from shooting game,” Hugh complained.

  “Well, now, Lyndon has a good eye, come to think of it.” Gil allowed. “But can you kill a man?” he asked. “Hugh’s right—and Rotherfield’s as cold as they come. It don’t make any difference to him that you’re going to bleed.”

  “I don’t know. In the war, I killed several people, but I didn’t know any of them.” Tony appeared to consider the matter and shook his head. “I can fire first and de- lope.”

  “And he can fire the second ball into your heart.”

  “Come to think of it, Tony is a crack shot. Thing is to get the first ball off,” Hugh decided.