Regency Rumours

by Louise Allen

  ‘Exceedingly well. I might not be able to see much, but I could tell that rat’s face changed colour. Where shall we dine tonight?’

  ‘We are being followed.’ Giles took a firmer grip on James’s arm. In the darkness with only occasional pools of light, or the wind-tossed flames of the torches carried by passing link-boys, his friend was completely blind.

  ‘Who? How many?’

  ‘Five, I think.’ Giles turned a corner, aiming for King Street and the bright lights around the entrance to Almack’s. They had been eating in a steak house in one of the back streets that criss-crossed the St James’s area. Now they were only yards from some of the most exclusive clubs, gracious houses and the royal palace, but surrounded by brothels, drinking dens and gambling hells. It was not an area to fight in—not with a blind man at his side.

  ‘As to who it is, I suspect our three friends and a pair of bully boys they’ve picked up.’ He lengthened his stride. ‘We rattled them, it seems. We’re almost to King Street, James. If anything happens you’ll be able to make out the lights if you just keep going down the slope and you’ll be on the doorstep of Almack’s.’

  ‘And leave you? Be damned to that,’ James said hotly.

  ‘Go for help—hell, too late, here they come.’

  There was a rush of feet behind them. Giles swung round, pulled the slim blade from the cane he carried and pushed James behind him as he let his sword arm fall to his side. The two big men, porters by the look of them, skidded to a halt on the cobbles, their shadowed faces blank and brutal.

  Beyond three figures lurked, too wary to approach. Giles stepped back as though in alarm, flailed wildly with the cane and the big men laughed and rushed him. The rapier took the nearest through the shoulder, then was wrenched from Giles’s hand as the man fell against his companion. As the second man fended off the slumped body Giles jabbed him in the solar plexus with the cane, kneed him in the groin as he folded up, then fetched him a sharp blow behind the ear as he went down.

  ‘Stay behind,’ he said sharply to James as his friend moved up to his side. The three men who had held back rushed them, so fast that he was only just aware as they reached him that they were masked. His fist hit cloth, but there was a satisfying crunch and a screech of pain as the man—White, he suspected—fell back. Then one of the others had him in a bear hug from behind and the other began to hit him.

  Through the blows and the anger he kept control, somehow, and began to fend off the man in front of him with lashing feet and head butts when he got close enough. Dimly he was aware of the sound of breaking glass and James’s voice, then he wrenched free and could use his fists.

  James shouted again, there was a thud and swearing, a fast-moving shadow and pain in his face, sharp and overwhelming. Giles’s fist connected with the chin of the man in front of him and he saw him fall. As he went down the alleyway was suddenly full of figures and the flare of light.

  James was there at his side, gripping his arm, and a stranger who seemed strangely blurred, stood close, a torch in his hand. ‘Gawd! They’ve made a right bloody mess of you, guv’nor.’

  ‘Made more of a mess of them,’ Giles said, his voice coming from a long way away. Then there was silence.

  Giles had believed her. Isobel hugged that to herself through the rest of the day and into the next, allowing his faith to warm her like a mouthful of brandy. He believed her and he would convince Penelope’s family of her innocence. Somehow that was less important than Giles’s acceptance, although it should not have been.

  She could not deceive herself: Giles Harker aroused feelings in her that no unmarried lady should be feeling—anger and exasperation amongst them. But there was more, something between friendship and desire that every instinct of self-preservation told her was dangerous.

  Perhaps it was simply desire. Isobel sat and sorted tangled embroidery silks for the countess without taking conscious note of the vivid colours sifting between her fingers. He aroused physical feelings in her and that, of course, was wrong and sinful.

  If she was the unawakened innocent that he believed her, then perhaps she would not have recognised this ache, this unsettled feeling, for what it was. Or she would have been shocked at herself and put it out of her mind, convinced that she was simply attracted by a handsome face and fine figure.

  But she was not innocent and not a virgin. She had made love with her betrothed twice and, although Lucas had been almost as shy and inexperienced as she, it had been intense and pleasurable and had left her body wanting more. In her grief, and through the heartrending decisions to be made after his death, those feelings had vanished. Unaroused and unimpressed by the men she met when she returned to society, Isobel had assumed that passion had died for her.

  But it seemed that desire had only been sleeping and all it had taken was a kiss from the right man to awaken it. Giles Harker had not been the first man to kiss her since Lucas Needham’s death, but he was the only man who made her feel like this.

  What did that mean? Isobel held up two hanks of orange silk and tried to focus on whether they were exactly the same shade. She knew how she felt: happy and apprehensive, warm and slightly shaky. Very restless. Her lips retained the feel of his, her tongue the taste of him.

  Isobel shifted uncomfortably in the deep armchair. He was a rake, he had behaved disgracefully as well as heroically, and he made her want to cross verbal swords with him at every opportunity. She knew, none better, the dangers of giving in to physical passion—she should find an excuse and leave Wimpole before she was tempted any further.

  Coward, an insidious little voice murmured in her head. Why not enjoy being with him, even snatch a few kisses? You are far too sensible to—

  ‘Cousin Isobel, you are wool-gathering!’ It was Anne, laughing at her. Isobel looked down at her lap and found greens carefully paired with blues, the orange arguing with a rich purple and pinks looped up with grass-green.

  ‘So I am! Listen—is that a carriage arriving?’ They were in the South Drawing Room and the sound of wheels and of the front doors opening came clear in the still of the house.

  ‘Who on earth can that be?’ Anne glanced at the clock. ‘Past three. Too late for a call and we are expecting no one for dinner.’

  ‘And Mr Harker is not due back until tomorrow.’ Isobel dumped the silks unceremoniously into their basket and went to peep out of the window. ‘Very unladylike of me, I know! Now who is that? I do not recognise him.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ Anne came to look over her shoulder. ‘The groom is helping him down, even though he is quite a young man. I do believe he is blind—see his stick? But we do not know anyone who is blind, I am sure.’

  ‘It must be Lord James Albright. Mr Harker mentioned that he had a blind friend of that name. But…’ Her voice trailed off. If James Albright had heard from Giles of her innocence and had called to tell her so, surely he could not have arrived so speedily and uninvited by the Yorkes? Unless he had met Giles in town and had set out that morning without pausing to write.

  ‘What on earth is going on?’ Anne tugged her hand. ‘Come on, we will find out better from the hallway—see, four footmen have gone out and Mama!’

  ‘They are helping someone who is sick or injured,’ Isobel said. Her feet did not want to move. Her stomach was possessed by a lump of ice. It was Giles, she was certain, and something was horribly wrong.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ISOBEL CLUTCHED THE draped brocade at the window while Peter, the brawniest of the footmen, backed out of the carriage, supporting a tall figure. At least he is alive. Only then could she admit to herself the depth of her sudden irrational fear. With the thought her paralysis ended. It was Giles and he was injured. His head was swathed in bandages, his legs dragged as the men held him. ‘Giles.’ She brushed past Anne, uncaring about the other girl’s startled expression, and ran through the anteroom into the hall.

  ‘Giles!’

  ‘I can walk upstairs perfectly well,’ he was saying to the
footmen on either side of him. ‘I do not need carrying up in a chair, I assure you.’ His voice was slurred. As she ran forwards she saw his face was bruised. He did not seem to hear her, or see her.

  ‘Giles.’

  ‘Leave him.’ Cousin Elizabeth caught her arm while she was still yards away. ‘He is hurt, but the last thing he needs is women fussing over him. Peter and Michael will get him upstairs. The doctor has been sent for. I will go and have Mrs Harrison gather up salves and bandages and plenty of hot water.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘It is nothing mortal, I assure you, ma’am,’ an unfamiliar voice said behind her. ‘He is in a great deal of discomfort, but there are no deep wounds. Sore ribs, broken nose, bruising, cuts—so my doctor tells me. He should not have travelled today, but he said he had given the earl his word he would be here tomorrow and he’s a stubborn devil.’

  ‘You are Lord James Albright?’ Giles had vanished unsteadily around the turn of the stair. The man who stood to one side, leaning on a light cane, wore thick spectacles on a pleasant face that showed both bruises and a graze along the jaw. When he held out his hand to her she saw his knuckles were raw. ‘You have been in a fight? Is that what happened to Giles…Mr Harker?’

  ‘The same fight,’ he said with a grin. ‘I might be nearly as blind as a bat, but when you put a big enough target in front of me, I can hit it.’ As she took his hand he closed his fingers around hers, as if to detain her. ‘I think you must be Lady Isobel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then I have an apology to make to you on behalf of my sister.’

  ‘There is no need. I understand why she thought as she did. But why have you and Giles been fighting?’

  ‘Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?’

  ‘Of course, forgive me. Lady Anne, do you think a room could be prepared for Lord James, and some refreshments sent to the South Drawing Room?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll arrange that and then go and help Mama.’ Anne hurried away.

  ‘Through here, Lord James.’ Uncertain how much assistance he would need, Isobel laid her hand on his arm and guided him to where she and Anne had been sitting. ‘Are you in need of any medical attention yourself?’ The bruises seemed alarming as he settled into the armchair with the last of the fading light on his face.

  ‘It is nothing some arnica will not help,’ he said with a smile, then fell silent as the tea tray was brought in, candles lit and the fire made up.

  Isobel served him tea, then forced herself to wait patiently while he drank.

  ‘You are wondering why I am here and what Harker and I have been doing,’ James Albright said after a minute. ‘He came to London yesterday to tell me the truth of what occurred when my sister’s engagement was broken. At the time Penelope was adamant that she did not want any action taken against White, that in drink and high spirits he must have been entrapped by—forgive me—a designing female. She just wanted to put it all behind her.

  ‘But once I heard the truth, that he had not only been unfaithful to my sister but had plotted to assault another woman in the process, then I knew I must challenge the three men involved. My family honour was involved twice over—once in the insult to Penelope and secondly in the role we unwittingly played in your disgrace.’

  ‘But, forgive me, you are—’

  ‘Almost blind. Quite. But, as my second, Harker could legitimately take up the challenge on my behalf. He would have called them out in any case, but that would raise questions about his, er…relationship with you. This way we both achieved satisfaction and the matter appeared to be entirely related to the insult to my sister.’

  ‘His relationship with me?’ What had Giles said to this man? What relationship?

  ‘You are friends, are you not?’

  ‘Oh. Yes, of course.’ Isobel’s pulse settled back down again.

  ‘We challenged them and they apparently decided it would be easier if we suffered an unpleasant accident and fell foul of some footpads. Foolish and dishonourable, and even more foolish in practice. They thought that two large bully boys would make mincemeat out of one blind man and an architect with a pretty face. Unfortunately for them they were not at school with us. I learned to defend myself in a number of thoroughly ungentlemanly ways and Giles, when he is angry, fights like a bruiser raised in Seven Dials.’

  ‘And you beat them—five of them?’

  ‘Almost. It turned nasty by the end, but then the noise brought out a crowd from the nearby ale houses and, er, another place of entertainment and they soon worked out who the aggressors were and the odds against us. White, Wrenne and Halton have been taken up by the watch for assault and affray and their two thugs proved to be wanted by the magistrates already.’

  ‘But Giles—how badly is he hurt?’

  ‘Sore ribs where he was kicked. He was kicked in the head, too, I suspect, so he is probably concussed. The broken nose. Bruises and grazes all over. But that will all heal.’

  A chill ran down her spine. What was Albright not saying? ‘And what will not heal?’ Isobel demanded bluntly.

  ‘Oh, it will all knit up again. It is just that his face…there was a broken bottle.’

  It seemed it was possible to become colder, to feel even more dread. ‘His eyes?’ she managed to articulate.

  ‘His sight is all right, I promise. As to the rest—I couldn’t see well enough to judge.’

  ‘No, of course not. Thank you for explaining it all to me so clearly.’

  ‘Harker said you were not a young lady to have the vapours and that you would want the truth whole.’

  ‘Indeed, yes. Please, allow me to pour you some more tea. Or would you prefer to go to your room now?’ Giles expected her to be strong and sensible and so, of course, she would be.

  The evening seemed interminable. The doctor came and went after speaking to the countess, the earl and Lord James. Dinner was served and eaten amidst conversation on general matters. The explanation that Mr Harker and Lord James had been set upon by footpads was accepted by the younger members of the family and everyone, once concern for Mr Harker’s injuries had been expressed, seemed quite at ease. The earl was delighted with his intellectual guest and bore him off to the library after dinner to discuss the rarer books.

  Isobel thought she would scream if she had to sit still any longer with a polite smile on her lips, attempting to pretend she had nothing more on her mind than helping Lady Anne with her tangled tatting. She wanted to go to Giles so badly that she curled her fingers into the arm of the chair as though to anchor herself.

  Finally Cousin Elizabeth rose and shooed her elder daughters off to their beds. ‘And you too, Isobel, my dear. You look quite pale.’

  ‘Cousin Elizabeth.’ She caught the older woman’s hand as the girls disappeared, still chattering, upstairs. ‘How is he? Please, tell me the truth.’

  ‘Resting. He is in some pain—the doctor had to spend considerable time on the very small stitches on his face, which was exhausting for Mr Harker of course. He will be able to get up in a day or so.’

  ‘I must see him.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ Lady Hardwicke’s reaction was so sharp that Isobel’s worst fears flooded back. ‘He needs to rest. And, in any case, it would be most improper.’

  ‘And those are the only reasons?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ But the countess’s gaze wavered, shifted for a second. ‘Off to bed with you now.’ As they reached the landing she hesitated. ‘Isobel…You have not become unwisely fond of Mr Harker, have you? He is not…that is…’

  ‘I know about his parentage. I hope we are friends, ma’am,’ Isobel said with dignity. ‘And he helped Lord James clear my name, so I am grateful and anxious about him.’

  ‘Of course.’ Reassured, Cousin Elizabeth patted her hand. ‘I should have known you would be far too sensible to do anything foolish. Goodnight, my dear.’

  Anything foolish. She is worried that I have become attached to him in some way. And I have. I desire him, I w
orry about him. I want to be with him.

  At her back was the door to his room. In front, her own with Dorothy waiting to put her to bed. Isobel walked across the landing and laid her right palm against the door panels of Giles’s room for a moment, then turned on her heel and walked back to her own chamber.

  ‘What an evening of excitements, Dorothy,’ she remarked as she entered, stifling a yawn. ‘I declare I am quite worn out.’

  Half an hour later Isobel crept out of her room, her feet bare, her warmest wrapper tight around her over her nightgown. At Giles’s door she did not knock, but turned the handle and slipped into the room on chilly, silent feet.

  There was a green-shaded reading lamp set by the bed, but otherwise the room was in darkness, save for the red glow of the banked fire that was enough to show the long line of Giles’s body under the covers. His left arm lay outside, the hand lax, and the sight of the powerful fingers, open and still, brought a catch to her breathing. It was unexpectedly moving to see him like this, so vulnerable.

  On the pillow his head was still, with a bandage around the forehead, down over one cheek and around his neck. It was lighter than the heavy turban he had been swathed in when he arrived—Isobel tried to take comfort from that as she crept closer. The doctor had paid no attention to anything but getting his dressings right, it seemed—Giles’s normally immaculate golden-brown hair stuck out incongruously between the linen strips.

  She felt the need to smooth it, touch it and feel the rough silk, convince herself that he was alive and would soon be well, although he lay so immobile. Even as she thought it Giles moved, caught himself with a sharp breath. His ribs, or perhaps it was just the accumulation of bruised muscles.

  ‘Lie still,’ Isobel murmured and took the last few steps to the bedside. His unbandaged cheek was rough with stubble and unhealthily hot when she laid her palm against it. They had placed him in the centre of the wide bed and she had to lean over to touch him.