Reggie laughed suddenly. “You are an odd sort of chap, Merton, but I like you. More to the point, I trust you. I thought I trusted Sharp, but now I am not so sure. Where does he go to? And he lives so cheap, yet his income must be good, for I know he receives all sorts of little gifts by those who enjoy his patronage.”
Merton rose again and bowed. “You honour me with your confidence, my lord.”
“It seems to me—” Reggie began, but got no further. A crash from somewhere in the house brought them both to their feet, dashing out into the hall. The front door was still swinging, as booted feet thundered up the stairs. Reggie recognised those feet.
“Gil?” Reggie said. “What the devil is going on?”
His youngest brother turned from the half-landing, his face panicked. “I am not here, Reggie. Never been here, you have no idea where I am. Got it?”
“You are not at home, I understand perfectly. But—”
Gil turned and fled upwards. Reggie and Merton exchanged amused glances, while the footman stationed at the foot of the stairs gazed into the middle distance, trying, not entirely successfully, to pretend that nothing untoward going on and, if there were, he had certainly not observed it.
“Did we have notice of an impending arrival, Merton?” Reggie said.
“We did not,” Merton said. “But I think we are about to have another.”
A horse could be heard galloping at full speed up the drive, halting with a whinny of distress and a spray of gravel outside the entrance. Feet crunched rapidly across the drive, then thundered up the steps. Once again the front door was hurled open, and a man in the uniform of a Hussar raced into the entrance hall.
“Where is he?” he yelled. “Where is that despicable, shabby hell hound? Gil! Come out, you lily-livered cur, you! Damn you to hell and back! Come out and face me like a man or I shall come and find you!”
And with one graceful sweep of his arm, he drew his sword and rushed towards the stairs.
21: Vauxhall Gardens
Reggie was too much astonished to move. “Now, wait a moment…” he began.
Merton, however, moved swiftly to the bottom of the stairs to block the newcomer’s way. “May I be of assistance, sir? I do not believe any callers are expected today.”
“Stand aside!” the Hussar shrieked, his face purple, brandishing the sword perilously close to Merton’s nose. “I shall have his guts, I swear it! Where is he? Where is he hiding, the cowardly, snivelling little rat!”
“Would you be so good as to sheathe your sword?” Merton said, standing his ground but leaning backwards a little.
The Hussar darted to one side, but Merton moved to block his way. Another dart in the opposite direction, but again Merton jumped back in front of him. The Hussar glared at him, then howled with rage.
Reggie had recovered his wits by now, and strode across to join Merton at the foot of the stair. “That is enough, sir,” he said sharply. With a sudden intake of breath, he recognised the visitor. “You are Gil’s friend — Major… um…”
“Telford. And he is no friend of mine, the sneaking little runt!”
“Have you quarrelled?” Reggie said. “Gil is an idiot, sometimes. What has he done this time?”
The Hussar went even more purple, if that were possible. “He… he… Damnation, I cannot even think about it without exploding.” Again the sword waved about, and Reggie and Merton both took a step back. “My wife, can you believe it? My wife. And I called him a friend, and trusted him, and all the time… my wife.” He dropped the sword with a clang almost at Reggie’s feet, so that he and Merton both jumped aside in alarm. Then Major Telford sat with a thump on the bottom step and burst into tears.
“Whatever is happening out here?” Lady Hardy’s face appeared in the library doorway. “We heard shouting… oh, dear.” She gazed with some amazement at the scene, then emerged fully into the hall, Mrs Burford behind her. “Mr Merton, would you be so good as to remove that weapon to a safe place. Thank you. Fitch, will you find Crabbe— Ah, there you are, Crabbe. A glass of brandy, at once, if you please. Now, sir, are you hurt? Is anyone hurt?” She looked in appeal at Reggie but he mutely shook his head, and she sat composedly on the stair beside Telford, for all the world as if distressed Hussars brandishing swords were a routine occurrence. “There, there, sir. I am sure everything will be well. Should you care to take a little brandy? There, now. Just a sip. You have had a shock, I daresay. Pray come into the library, where we may be quiet, and you may tell me all about it. Up you get. There we are. Belle, will you take his other arm, if you please? There now, sir. The library is just over here.”
Meekly Telford allowed the two ladies to lead him away, the butler following with the brandy on a tray. Fitch, the footman, exhaled gustily.
“We never lack for excitement, do we, Fitch?” Reggie said. “Not with Gil in the family. You may go downstairs and have a restorative draught of something or other. Ah, Merton, sword safely stowed?”
“Locked in the writing room, my lord.”
“You had better stop all this ‘my lord’ business,” Reggie said. “That is all very well for Carrbridge — peer of the realm and all that — but I should like to think we are friends. After all, we have stood shoulder to shoulder before a madman with a sword, so that makes us comrades, I should say. Will you call me Reggie, Merton? Or Marford, if you prefer.”
“I should be greatly honoured, my— I mean Reggie. No, Marford sounds better, I think. I am not family, after all.”
“As you wish. And now, I could do with a brandy myself. Lord, what an idiot my brother is. Something will have to be done about him before he gets himself killed in a duel. We got away with it this time without harm, thanks to your bravery and Lady Hardy’s good sense, but we might not be so fortunate another time.”
“Lady Hardy is quite wonderful in a crisis,” Merton said. “She is a remarkable woman.” His thin face was alight with… could that be admiration? Reggie remembered the many evenings the two of them had spent facing each other over the chessboard, both relaxed, at ease… happy. It was a new idea to Reggie, but he could see the makings of a marriage there, when Lady Hardy put off her widow’s black. And Merton’s choice of house took on a different aspect — seemingly his thoughts ran the same way.
The idea was pleasing, although it was dispiriting too, for it reminded Reggie of his own disappointed hopes, and then of Miss Chamberlain’s dear face. And he wondered, for only the twentieth time that day, what she was doing and whether she ever thought of him at all.
~~~~~
He would have been surprised to know just how often he was in Robinia’s thoughts. Every time an admirer paid her a flowery compliment, she remembered Reggie’s quiet good sense. Every time a suitor proposed to her yet again, she was reminded of Reggie’s dignified behaviour in withdrawing from her presence. Every time she saw a violently coloured waistcoat or a coat with excessive padding, she thought of Reggie’s restrained elegance of dress. In short, he had become her standard by which every other gentleman was measured, and none came close.
Not even Captain Daker, if she were truly honest with herself. Much as she adored his twinkling eyes and his handsome face, and admired the way his uniform enhanced his masculine charms, she no longer felt entirely comfortable in his company. Not that she saw him very often. Lady Cotter had refused him admittance to the house, and Lady Carrbridge’s influence ensured that he was no longer invited to even the less prestigious events, so their paths rarely crossed. He had taken to riding in Hyde Park each afternoon, and usually they were able to exchange a few words there, and twice he had called on an acquaintance while she was visiting, but they seldom met at evening engagements.
But these meetings no longer gave her the pleasure they once had. If they met in the open, they could do no more than exchange commonplaces about the weather. If they met indoors, he would spoil their brief time together by pushing a scrap of paper into her hand, later found when she opened it out to be filled w
ith silliness professing his undying love. Or, if they were more private, he would talk nonsense about special licences and elopements. Such things made her feel awkward and nervous, and that was so uncomfortable. She would wistfully remember Reggie, who never, ever made her feel uncomfortable.
She said nothing about it, however, and Lady Cotter never asked, although sometimes she would say, “You are looking a little tired, Robinia. Shall we have a quiet evening at home, for once?” And then they would sit over the cribbage board and go to bed early, and Robinia would lie awake for hours thinking about the man she loved with all her heart, but was not quite sure she liked any more. It was very difficult.
Robinia was finding the numerous evening engagements a little dreary and repetitive now, although she still smiled and danced away the night with her constant stream of admirers. It would be churlish to object to their attentions, and naturally it was very pleasant to be such a success. But she was aware that matches were being made all around her, and one after another her new friends would announce blushingly that they were shortly to become Viscountess This or Lady That. Even Ursula Salmond was betrothed to an earl’s son, and who could have foreseen that? Her sister Violet was not betrothed but an announcement was expected imminently. Robinia was perfectly well aware that she ought now to be settling on one or other of her most eligible suitors — Lord David was, perhaps, the least unappealing.
The most enjoyable events were those which took her away from Lady Cotter’s watchful eye. An outing to Richmond Park with Lord and Lady Carrbridge and all their numerous relatives was the greatest delight to her. Oh, to be amongst the trees, and able to walk about freely in the extensive parklands and breathe clean air again! But her drives to Hyde Park were enjoyable, too, and sometimes she could persuade her escort to go at an unfashionably early hour, so that they were not so pressed about by horses and carriages and well-wishers that they could barely move.
Lord Humphrey was one of the earliest to drive her in his curricle, and the first gentleman to do so, which made her a little nervous. He chatted amiably to her, however, attempting to put her at her ease in a way that reminded her strongly of Reggie.
“You are very quiet, Miss Chamberlain,” he said, as they turned into the park. “Am I driving too fast for your comfort?”
“Oh no! Not at all, my lord. It is just that… I have never been out in public with a gentleman before. Not alone.”
“Ah. Then I am greatly honoured, and you will soon see that it is a perfectly commonplace thing. Your godmother would not have permitted it had there been the least impropriety in it. However, if I should leave the park and begin driving very fast towards the Scottish borders, then you may have cause to be alarmed, Miss Chamberlain.”
She laughed, but there was a bubble of unease in her mind, too, for was that not exactly what Captain Daker had suggested? And he was not speaking in jest, she suspected. But thoughts of Captain Daker put her in mind of a commission not yet executed.
“Lord Humphrey…” she began tentatively.
“Miss Chamberlain?” he replied gravely.
“I have… something for Captain Daker, but I have not yet been able to give it to him. I know you see him sometimes, so…”
“Happy to oblige a lady,” he said, with a smile, and it was so precisely what Reggie would have said that tears sprang to her eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
There was one place which Robinia had not yet visited, and that was Vauxhall Gardens. Most of her friends had seen the delightful lantern-lit paths, the cascade, the performances at the rotunda and the fireworks, and returned in raptures, but Lady Cotter had said with pursed lips, “Ramshackle place! We will wait until later in the season, when you are a little more established, before venturing there.”
Now at last she deemed the time was proper, and Robinia could hardly wait. Lady Cullingworth was to go with them, and a party of young people as yet unattached, for the benefit of that lady’s romantic matchmaking. It was an evening exactly suited to Robinia’s mood. None of her regular suitors were present, and Lady Cullingworth’s proteges were lively and open, absorbing Robinia easily into their friendly group. Everything was as enchanting as imagination had made it, nothing disappointed and it wanted only the presence of Reggie to make it perfect. She smiled at the thought of him, with a burst of affection. He would have squired her about, her arm resting in his, and smiled his lop-sided smile at her and—
No, that was not right. Anyone would think she was in love with Reggie! She was in love with Captain Daker, she knew it. She loved everything about him, such as… such as… She could not now remember what it was that she had loved about him, beyond his handsome face. The dreadful truth could not be ignored. Somehow, in those snatched meetings and the silly little love notes forced on her and the talk of elopements, her opinion of him had changed. So improper, to be writing to her! And an elopement! As if she would ever agree to such a thing. Whereas Reggie — poor Reggie! He had behaved beautifully, always, and must be her ideal of gentlemanly behaviour.
How she wished he were there beside her, yet she had been abominably rude to him and sent him away, and probably he had forgotten all about her by now. He had not really been in love with her, she knew that. He had wanted her fortune, just like all her other suitors. Lady Carrbridge had said he was in love, but she was such a romantic! Once or twice there had been a look in his eyes that set her heart racing, but perhaps that was just her fancy. Lady Harriet had said he was only miserable at Drummoor because he was bored, and who should know a man better than his own sister?
But she could not be downhearted for long, not in a place as magical as Vauxhall Gardens. After supper, they set off to walk along the paths, Lady Cotter and Lady Cullingworth at the front, and two married sisters at the rear as chaperons. The young people in the middle chattered and giggled and dawdled and then ran to catch up, while the two chaperons at the back stopped to talk to some acquaintance, and Robinia found herself walking alone.
She had been aware for some time of rustling in the undergrowth to her left, but there were many criss-crossing paths through the trees, so she had taken little notice. Now, abruptly, a face appeared round a thick bush.
“Hoy! Robinia! This way.”
Was it—? Could it be—? “Captain Daker? But why are you not in uniform?”
“Never mind that! Quick — get off the path before anyone sees us.”
“Why should they not see us? Will you walk beside me?”
“No, no!” he cried, in obvious agitation. “Quick, someone is coming! Get out of sight!”
Robinia could not in the least understand his behaviour, but she was determined not to leave the path. “Nonsense!” she said, but smiling to soften her words. “I do not know what you are about, but I intend to walk on now. Good evening to you, Captain Daker.”
And she did so, leaving him behind, but she was puzzled by it, and not a little agitated. He had not seemed at all himself, and why was he not in uniform? Had he resigned from the militia? And why did he not wish to be seen? It was all too confusing for words. She quickened her pace to catch up with the others.
A turn in the path showed the rest of the party already far ahead, and when she looked behind she could no longer see the two chaperons. For the first time, she felt a degree of alarm and hurried on with as much haste as decorum permitted. There were other parties of revellers about, but they were strangers and some were loud and inebriated, and not to be depended upon for aid.
She came to a point where another, narrower path left the main path, and here she encountered Captain Daker again, bowing respectfully to her. At least he was not hiding behind a bush this time, so although she would have liked to hurry by, politeness decreed that she stop and curtsy to him. When he spoke, his tone was reassuringly moderate and his smile warm.
“My dear Robinia, I beg your pardon for startling you. It makes me so happy to see you again, for I have been granted scarcely a glimpse of you these past wee
ks. It is not to be borne! Will you not walk a little way with me — this path is well-lit, but quieter than that one, and we may be more private. I have much to say to you, my dear Robinia.”
Her heart fluttered, for she could guess what he wished to say. Yet some residual alarm caused her to say, “I prefer to stay on the main path. However, there is no one about at present, so you may speak to me quite privately.”
“But it is not private enough,” he growled, the smile gone in an instant. “Come, Robinia, it is time to settle this once and for all.”
He held out his hand imperiously. She hesitated, but although she tried to think of a good reason to refuse, her mind was blank.
“Surely you are not afraid of me?” he said, his face lit up in a smile again. “Trust me, Robinia.”
She did not want to go with him, for she was now quite certain that she would never marry him, but perhaps she owed him one last meeting to tell him so. Placing her hand in his, therefore, she entered the side path.
Within a few paces, she realised she had made a mistake, for he smirked and wrapped one arm around her waist, so that they walked side by side, their hips and shoulders touching, making her blush and blush again. But when she tried to pull away, his arm only tightened.
“It will all be fine, you will see, my sweet,” he said, grinning down at her. “As soon as we are married—”
“No!” She wrenched herself free, spinning round to face him. “It is no good! I cannot marry you. Please believe that I would not for the world give you pain, but you must see that it is impossible.”
His face changed in an instant to rage. “You must!” he hissed. “Everything is ready, the carriage is waiting—”
“Carriage?”
“To convey us to Scotland, of course.”
“What? Do not be so ridiculous! Stand aside, Captain Daker. I shall return to my godmother.”
Sons of the Marquess Collection Page 20