Julie Tetel Andresen

by The Temporary Bride

  “It might be.”

  “Well, then, Richard, we shall see! We shall see! There is no question of my relinquishing my position to you in the absence of firm proof against my rights to Clare! You must see that it is entirely out of the question!”

  Wraxall laughed. “There is the trifling matter, of course, of your having just gambled away more than one million pounds.”

  Talby had recovered his equilibrium. “You broke into my house, threatened me with play, and demanded the unheard-of sum of one million pounds. No, it will not do! Think how it will sound in a court of law!”

  “I have, and I propose another scenario. A peer cheated out of his birthright chooses to reappear after more than six years—need I point out that the mere fact of my existence will require divulging the bargain we struck those six years ago?—with evidence that you presented me with falsified documents.” Wraxall added, “I should already have a point in my favour for having tried to protect the name Wraxall all those years ago by faking my death and leaving the country.”

  “You must think to protect it still! You would not want your noble name to be dragged through the mud of the public courts. Or have the past years soured your loyalty to a name you cannot rightfully claim? What better reason to return to me now, filled with your noble intentions of six years ago, if not that you are tired of your new life? What then of the name Wraxall?”

  “It will live on through my heirs once I have proven my legitimacy.”

  “But that remains to be proven.”

  “Ah, yes! Did I not mention that I would have no hesitation producing the proof in a court of law?”

  “You persist in your bluff?”

  “Naturally. I have nothing to lose,” Wraxall said coolly, “and there is the possibility that I possess that which you fear most.”

  Talby’s eyes narrowed in sudden comprehension. “I believe, dear cousin, that you are quite serious in your intention to pursue the matter in court.”

  “I am encouraged to think,” Wraxall said, pleasant once again, “that we begin to understand each other.”

  Talby uttered a long and momentarily satisfying imprecation about his cousin’s parentage.

  Wraxall riposted, unmoved, “I think we both know that at least one part of your aspersions on my character is false.”

  Talby flung up a hand in a fencer’s gesture. “A hit, Richard, a hit!” he exclaimed. “Shall we score points here, too? But you have changed, cousin, since last I saw you. You were never one to put easily out of countenance. Now, however, I find your sang-froid quite … masterful.”

  “You mean, I presume, that I am now an ill bird for plucking, having lost my fledgling feathers to you in our last encounter, although even then I was no callow youth. I shall tell you what it is—being stripped of consequence, fortune and name brings one rapidly to an assessment of one’s worth. I discovered mine soon enough,” he said tranquilly. “It is a salutary experience.”

  “One you recommend for me, I apprehend?”

  “What you decide to do about my existence is to be your own choice.”

  Talby considered him a moment. “Do not think I do not appreciate your methods. I do! You are a consummate gamester! Yes, I completely understand that you have dealt me the minor hand and that if I fold my cards now, I shall never discover whether you beat me with a pair of deuces or a quatorze of aces. You wish to condemn me to a purgatory of eternal doubt. Very effective! I congratulate you!”

  Wraxall said nothing but kept his eyes fixed on Talby.

  “Your face gives away nothing, dear Richard!” Talby laughed mirthlessly. “Damn your eyes! I begin to perceive the wisdom in withdrawing gracefully from this encounter. Imagine the proceedings in court! And if I were to lose! If I were to lose!”

  Having taken Talby’s capitulation for granted, Wraxall asked, “Was it worth it?”

  Talby regarded Wraxall in some surprise. “But naturally! Need you ask? Of course, your claim to the position is far from legitimately established, but that shall remain between you and me! There is some bitterness, I find, in having to relinquish it all to a ba—”

  “Spare me, I beg of you! Your remonstrations are entirely unnecessary at this point, and you shall have ample leisure to overcome your bitterness.”

  “You have no idea!”

  “But I do. You will recover. I did.”

  “Ah, well!” Talby said wearily. “I have been yearning to see Italy again. It has been such a long time.”

  “I do not intend to send you to Italy.”

  “No? But, dear cousin—”

  “There is an estate in Jamaica, as you know, that is in need of attention. I desire that you keep your name, an income, and that there be at least an ocean between us.”

  “Jamaica? As your dependent?” Talby expostulated, horrified. “You may as well kill me now!”

  “And be left with a body on my hands? No, you shall not wreak vengeance on me in that way, Talby. And think of the scandal!”

  “Yes, think of it! It seems that one cannot be averted,” Talby said with malicious satisfaction.

  “True, although I hope to minimize it. I had thought at first to try to save your neck—not out of fondness for you, I am sure it is unnecessary to add—but to avoid the unfortunate scandal! However, I realized soon after I arrived in England that that was impossible. I am entirely prepared for it, however. Incidentally, did I mention that I have already notified the proper authorities of my, shall we say, miraculous survival?”

  Talby’s face was set in unpleasant lines. “Have you indeed? Well! I see that it is to my advantage to leave the country. You have covered yourself well.”

  “Yes.”

  “I desire to have Robbie accompany me.”

  “By all means.”

  “And my team of greys. Even in Jamaica—”

  “I am sorry to have to disoblige you, but there will be no time to ready them. You shall be leaving tomorrow, and your boat sails the next day.”

  Talby’s features became saturnine. “This has been an amusing evening for you, has it not? I suppose you have already contrived a diverting tale intended for public consumption to account for my sudden departure.”

  “I flatter myself that your departure will, er, be lost in the happiness of my return. I do not desire to malign you. Your health requires a warmer climate, I think.”

  “You are too good,” Talby murmured.

  “Thank you,” Wraxall replied with matching irony. “Circumstances would not have been so smooth, of course, had my sister succumbed to your manly charms. Your courtship of her was a very nice touch! And so carefully plotted!”

  “Yes, I thought that rather a coup on my part. Your death was perceived as a fatal blow to my chances with the lady, and I succeeded to your exalted position with every display of controlled reluctance. The situation was really rather poignant,” Talby said, studying his sapphire.

  “Indeed. However, I was confident in the knowledge that my sister would be unable to take the position she felt should belong to my wife.”

  “I do not think that particular consideration ultimately prevented her from entertaining my suit more seriously.”

  “No?”

  Talby looked up briefly. “We should not have suited,” he said in a strange voice.

  Wraxall was mildly surprised. “What, Talby? An honest emotion?”

  “Your sister is an estimable woman,” Talby replied simply.

  Wraxall smiled. “I perceive that she would have been the making of you, Talby. So, there appeared a wrinkle in your plan, after all! I am inclined to pity you.”

  “Damn you! I do not crave your pity!” Talby said, moved at last from his resignation.

  “No, my admiration, rather. You are taking this well.”

  Talby laughed. The sound caught in his throat. “That is because I am not carrying my pistol with me. You have caught me singularly unprepared this evening.”

  “So I see. Perhaps it will make you feel bette
r to know I had the foresight to carry mine. Ah! Here is Keithley now!”

  Wraxall turned his head to see his henchman climb through the window. His coat was torn, he had the beginnings of an interesting bruise over one eye, and he was wearing a grin of satisfaction.

  “You have met with success?” Wraxall demanded.

  “Aye, and no easy task it was!” his man replied, obviously pleased by this circumstance. He glanced over at Talby. “Good evening to you, sir, but I reckon it might as well be Godspeed!”

  “You were so confident of the outcome?” Talby enquired indolently.

  “That I was,” Keithley responded cheerfully. “Faith! You don’t suppose I don’t know the master’s ability! What was it? Piquet? Écarté?”

  “Hazard,” Talby informed him dryly.

  Keithley whistled softly. “That accounts for it, then. But it makes no odds what you would have chosen.”

  “You seek to reassure me?” Talby said silkily. “Tell me instead what you have done with Robbie.”

  “He’s bound and gagged and awaiting your pleasure in the wardrobe,” Keithley said.

  Talby eyed the man malevolently. “You have bound and gagged my poor Robbie?” he exclaimed. With narrowed eyes and flaring nostrils, he turned in his chair. “You go too far, Wraxall!”

  “Poor Robbie be damned—begging your pardon,” Keithley ejaculated. “He’s not up to my weight and does not display to advantage, but he’s game as a pullet to sport the canvas! Not a bruiser, don’t mistake me! I don’t recommend a career in the Ring! But when the situation became clarified, he came boring in and even popped in over my guard more than once. Didn’t draw my cork, though, but it was a near thing! Not the prettiest set-to I’ve ever had, but—”

  “Entirely satisfactory,” Wraxall intervened.

  Talby winced with exquisite distaste. “No more, I pray! I have long deplored the violence of this age and do not need further impetus to take myself and my doubtless bloodied man off to Jamaica without further mauling from you or your master.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE NEXT DAY a travelling chaise left Clare Hall in the hours before dawn. It was already approaching a coastal seaport by the time Lady Happendale had been made comfortable in her apartment, to read and to enjoy the mid-morning sun. She had excused Helen from her side a half hour earlier on the grounds that her new companion was looking pale and drawn and in need of the fresh air of the garden. Lady Happendale’s reading was interrupted by the opening of the door.

  She marked her place with a finger and looked up with a half smile, expecting to find Helen. She had opened her mouth to make an observation on her reading, but the words died on her lips. She drew in a sharp breath, her face drained of all colour, and the book fell unheeded from her lap to the floor.

  In several long strides, Wraxall was at her side and had lifted her into his arms, where he held her securely for wordless minutes.

  “Richard!” she cried, her voice shaking with tears and muffled by the lapel of his coat. “Richard, Richard, my dear. Is it you?”

  “It is I, Amelia,” he said, soothingly, and most tolerantly allowed her to expend some of her emotion into his excellent coat before placing her back down tenderly. He sat beside her, calmly possessed himself of both her hands and held them in a firm clasp. He watched her patiently as she struggled to compose herself. She made a number of attempts to communicate, most of them inarticulate. Her brother, needing no words to understand, uttered the appropriate replies. She groped at length for her handkerchief, and not finding hers at hand, gratefully accepted the one he held out for her.

  “Th-thank you!” she said with reasonable intelligibility. “I am not such a watering pot in the normal course of the day, I assure you, Richard!”

  “I know, dearest,” he replied.

  She blew her nose. “Oh, no, I never cry! I did not at any time after your disappearance, in fact, and not even at your…your…my God!— not at your funeral!”

  “What, not even a tear?” he teased, as if affronted.

  She gave a watery chuckle. “It was a thing far too grim for tears, my love!”

  “I am sorry,” he said and clasped her to him again.

  This gesture produced a fresh outpouring from her ladyship, which lasted an appreciable time. At length, she drew herself away and said with an involuntary gulp, “Do not eat me, Richard! I know that gentlemen detest clutching, but I find that I cannot help myself! Your coat is in a fair way to being ruined!”

  “I had anticipated something of this sort and was prepared to sacrifice it when I put it on this morning.”

  She smiled up at him blindly through the tears. She shook her head slowly with the fondest, most loving of smiles. “Just let me look at you, for I do not yet believe my eyes! No, I am seeing you and touching you and yet I cannot believe it!”

  “You have not changed a jot, dearest,” he said, returning her warm smile. “That’s a very fetching cap, but I don’t recall that you had taken to wearing one before I left.”

  Lady Happendale made an ineffective attempt to right the delicate lace confection that had gone decidedly askew. “Oh, yes, for several years now—”

  “To hint away the suitors?”

  “Richard!” she said playfully. Then, on a sob, “Richard! I—we—it was awful! Everyone thought that you were—Oh! the rumour!” she exclaimed. “It is true! Olivia Saltash!”

  Wraxall had no difficulty interpreting these obscure exclamations. “So the news of my reappearance has been circulating?”

  “Yes, I should say! I heard yesterday from Olivia. Do you remember her? Yes, of course! Then Talby came. But I could not persuade myself to believe… I still have difficulty accepting… but who saw you to start the news?”

  “Honeycutt.”

  “That is very odd! Where and when did you see him?”

  “Last week. I put up for a few days in an inn this side of Thrapston.”

  “You have been only a few hours away from me for nearly a week?” she exclaimed. “My head is in a whirl!”

  “I promise to explain it all to you in good time, but not just yet! There are too many other things to discuss first.”

  “Indeed! To begin with, where have you been all this time, and why did you go away! I suppose Keithley has been with you from the beginning?”

  “He has, and I have been making a name for myself in foreign gambling circles in the past six years.”

  “What can you mean?”

  “Perhaps you have heard of a Mr. Darcy.”

  “Why, yes, but—” She broke off. “It is not possible!” she breathed. “You? You are Mr. Darcy? He is, of course, quite a mystery. No! It is too fantastic! But why did you leave, my love?”

  Hardly had the words left her lips than the answer formed in her brain. Her brows drew together in a pained frown. “Talby?”

  “Yes, I am afraid so,” he said slowly.

  She dropped her eyes. “I always suspected,” she said with difficulty. “No, I always knew in my heart that he had something to do with your … disappearance, but I would not admit it to myself. And yet, sometimes I did not think he could be so bad after all. He became—but perhaps it only seems this way to me—he became a little less, well, inhuman in the past years. What can have motivated him, I wonder?”

  “Who has said that the most obvious and least credited motive is love?” he remarked.

  She looked up quickly. “Love?”

  Richard smiled but did not divulge the secret of Talby’s heart. “The love of position and consequence, I should suppose. You will admit that a dukedom with all its trappings is a temptation when one stands so close in succession. It proved irresistible in Talby’s case.”

  “Thank God he did not kill you for it!” she said with a shudder. “But how did he go about getting it away from you?”

  “His tastes are far too nice for bloodshed. No, he merely convinced me of my illegitimacy.”

  “Richard!”

  “All s
tories lose credibility with the telling, I have found, but before you dismiss me as a complete cawker, you must hear me out.”

  “I am waiting. Anxiously so!”

  Richard was calm, his voice a little detached, as if he were recounting the misfortunes of an acquaintance. “Talby came to me on a July evening almost seven years ago with the news that I was not Father’s son. He presented me with a story of a love affair that Mother had had with Giles Ormsby, who died shortly after my birth. You would have been too young to remember him. In any case, it is difficult to describe my feelings at the time. Incredulous wrath and impotent fury… And Talby—so delicate, so careful to avoid offence!—brought me to a sense of what he was saying by producing evidence in the form of two birth certificates and Mother’s diary. Needless to say, the story was not easy to accept, and Talby gave me a week to think it over and decide on a course of action. What finally convinced me was the diary, which told the whole story. Even then, I could not believe it, but as evidence, it was conclusive. There was no doubt that it was Mother’s diary.”

  Lady Happendale turned this over in her mind. “Yes, her diary disappeared shortly after her death, which was the year after you succeeded to the title.”

  Wraxall nodded. “I have no doubt that Talby’s idea was a long time in the planning. However, with evidence of the diary and a ‘true’ birth certificate, as well as a ‘false’ one, which Mother supposedly concocted to cover her tracks after Ormsby died, I could hardly doubt Talby’s story. As little as I resemble Father in appearance, I confess that I could almost believe that I was not his son.”

  “You took after Mother, while I took after Father, but still—” she protested.

  “One should cherish a belief in a mother’s marital fidelity, come what may?” Richard asked with light irony. “No, my dear. We know that our parents’ marriage was not made in Heaven, and I knew Talby was absolutely capable of dragging the documents through the courts. You see, I had no counter-evidence, and I thought that if there were any Talby would have ensured that it was destroyed.”