Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  “I shall pass your comment on to her.”

  “Thank you. I trust you will soon grace the boards in London again, sir?”

  “We open next week with Hamlet. To be followed shortly by my own version of a play by Molière.”

  “I shall look forward to it,” the clerk said. “You may go straight in, sir. Sir Harry is waiting for you.”

  As they went toward the inner office, Kemble grumbled, “You’d never guess he was waiting, considering the chatter of that lad before he let us through.”

  Sir Harry was seated at his desk, staring out the window. Enid remembered that he had been in this exact position when they had arrived before; she surmised that he probably spent a great deal of time gazing out the window.

  The massive man turned and eyed them rather coldly. “So you are back. Both of you are alive and safe.”

  “We saw some comrades who weren’t so fortunate along the way,” Kemble said.

  “Yes, quite.” Sir Harry cleared his throat. “Do sit down!” He waved at two chairs placed before his desk.

  “We are sorry we failed you,” Enid faltered.

  Sir Harry nodded. “So am I. The Austrians have the Dauphin, as you know. At least his life is saved. And in the end they won’t know how to use him properly. For all their cleverness, the Austrians lack finesse in diplomacy.”

  “We could not guess that Father Braun was an adversary,” Kemble put in. “You had made him the chief of the network over there.”

  “He had the talent for it,” the big man said. “Unfortunately, he felt he owed his first allegiance to the opposition. In matters of espionage this is a common occurrence.”

  “So you are not too disappointed in us?” Enid murmured.

  He surprised her by smiling suddenly. “I’m not at all disappointed. You poisoned Esmond and rid us of one of our most devious enemies. Our work in France will go on much more favorably with him out of the picture.”

  “All the credit must go to Lady Blair,” Kemble said. “She was magnificent throughout.”

  “That is most generous of you,” Sir Harry stated. “I’m sure you did your part as well. None of us will be noted for changing the course of history, but let us hope we may have steered it in a slightly different direction. We shall bear our anonymity with dignity.”

  “I feel very much the same way,” Enid agreed.

  Sir Harry coughed discreetly. “There is something about which I must warn you, Lady Blair.”

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Your husband. He is daily becoming more a topic of gossip. He has broken with the vicomte and now has an Italian lad living with him. Needless to say, he is back in London.”

  She sighed. “I fear he will never change.”

  “His gambling persists, of course,” Sir Harry continued. “And most distressing of all, he keeps sullying your name and linking it with those of Mr. Kemble and Count Beaufaire. To hear him tell it, you have a male harem catering to your whims!”

  “The fellow must be silenced!” Kemble exclaimed.

  “I didn’t want you to encounter any unpleasant scandal without knowing where it came from, Lady Blair,” the government man said. “Since he is still legally your husband, it is a very difficult situation.”

  “I know. I’m going to Surrey, and I hope my father may have a few suggestions or will be able to report some progress in the efforts to secure my freedom.”

  Sir Harry rose, signifying the end of their talk. “I truly hope so. Thank you both. You have done his Majesty a singular service. If I have my say, there may be a knighthood in the offing for you, Mr. Kemble.”

  “I expect no such honor,” the actor said. “I’m repaid simply by knowing we saved a few lives over there.”

  As he escorted Enid back to the waiting carriage, Kemble observed, “It wasn’t so very bad after all.”

  “He actually seemed pleased with us!”

  “So he did,” Kemble agreed happily. “The only shadow over us is that villain of a husband of yours! He must be prevented from ruining all our names.”

  “I shall leave for my father’s home in a few hours,” Enid said. “I’m sure he’ll know how to deal with this.”

  • • •

  She and Armand took the afternoon stage to Surrey and arrived at the Hensons’ country estate in the early evening. Enid’s parents greeted them warmly, and after a hearty supper of roast fowl and plum pudding, she and her father discussed the problem that was on everyone’s mind.

  Lord Alfred told his daughter, “My lawyers claim that your husband is slandering you in the foulest way.”

  “To take the spotlight away from his own debaucheries,” she said bitterly.

  “Without question.”

  “Have the lawyers made no headway at all with the annulment?”

  “Very little,” Lord Alfred admitted. “Andrew is fighting it every step of the way.”

  “Not because of love, but because of hatred.”

  “We have tried to make that point, but without too much success. He is doing everything to make it impossible for you to show your face in London society. In short, he is attempting to destroy any chance you may have for happiness.”

  “I’m not afraid of him,” Enid said. “He has done his most dastardly to me, and I have survived.”

  “Naturally, I learned of the ordeal he made you suffer in that disgusting brothel.” Lord Alfred’s face flushed with indignation. “If I were a younger man, I would seek satisfaction from him!”

  Armand, who had been listening quietly, spoke up now. “I, sir, am a younger man—and an interested party as well!”

  Enid was immediately opposed to this suggestion. “No, no!” she protested. “We will simply ignore Andrew and his scandalous talk.”

  “I hope you both will be able to,” Lord Alfred remarked.

  And on this grim note the Hensons retired for the night.

  • • •

  A half hour later Enid slipped into Armand’s chamber. Beams of silver moonlight filtered through the window and over his naked body, which quickly locked with hers in a feverish embrace atop the rumpled bed covers. Encouraged by the secrecy of their surroundings, the lovers succumbed to a desperate need to throw all caution to the winds and hungrily sought release in each other’s burning flesh. Again and again the flames of passion consumed them, carrying them aloft to exalted heights, until, shortly before dawn had streaked across the horizon, their desires had been satiated and their souls purified.

  The days at Henson House were spent strolling in the woods and going for long horseback rides. Some of the neighboring families presented Enid with several gala parties, at which Armand proved to be a popular favorite. When a week had passed, Enid thought they should make their farewells and return to London. She was determined to forge a place for them there in spite of Andrew’s deviousness.

  • • •

  As soon as she and Armand arrived at the flat, she found an invitation from Sir James and Lady Evelyn Drake to one of their lavish soirees. Waving the gilt-edged vellum happily at Armand, she exclaimed, “This most assuredly will be a stunning affair!”

  He gave her a keen look. “Will Andrew be there?” he asked.

  She hesitated before replying, “Yes, he might be. He is an old friend of the Drakes’.”

  “In that case, should we attend? I mean, would it be wise?”

  “We can’t allow him to frighten us away from every social event.”

  “I shall leave it up to you. We will do whatever you wish.”

  “We will attend!” she decreed.

  • • •

  On the night of the party Enid decided to wear a low-cut satin gown of dark crimson. She graced her throat and bared upper chest with a heart-shaped gold locket that Armand had given her to replace the pendant in which she had kept the poison. Since Esmond’s gruesome death, she had been strangely adverse to its feel against her skin. Armand’s gift—a really fine antique piece—w
as one of the few family heirlooms he had been able to bring with him out of France.

  At Enid’s prompting, he dressed for the evening’s festivities in a smart black waistcoat of the style currently very popular with London gentlemen. His bearing had always been impressive, and tonight he cut a handsome figure indeed.

  Gay laughter and a welter of confusion greeted them as they threaded their way through the Drakes’ crowded drawing room. Sir James and Lady Evelyn received them warmly, and after pleasantries had been exchanged, Enid introduced Armand to several friends whom she had not seen in months.

  It was the gala affair that Enid had predicted, and someone even whispered that the prince himself and many of his circle were in attendance. Enid suggested to Armand that they join the dancers in the ballroom, and no sooner had they moved in that direction than they came face to face with a smiling, dissolute-looking Andrew Blair.

  Eyeing them brazenly, Andrew waved a hand and cried, “If it isn’t my charming wife and her equally charming lover!”

  Armand’s reply was swift and harsh. He slapped Andrew full across the face and bellowed for all to hear, “I demand satisfaction!”

  Andrew did not expect such an immediate reaction. Or perhaps he had talked so loosely in their absence that he presumed he could do the same to their faces. In any event, he was quite perturbed at the obvious insult. But too many people had seen and heard the encounter for him to ignore it. Within a few hours the delicious scandal would be bubbling on everyone’s lips.

  Andrew straightened his waistcoat. “You shall have your satisfaction, sir,” he promised.

  “My second will call on yours,” the count told him. “This time the duel will be with swords, not with cards.”

  A shaken Andrew attempted a brave smile. “How appropriate!” he declared weakly.

  Armand and Enid left the party shortly afterward. She knew that Andrew had gone beyond himself and would now be trying to think of some way to avoid the duel. Despite the danger for Armand, she knew it must be carried out. It was the one hope they had of silencing her husband once and for all; perhaps it might even lead him to release her from their marriage vows.

  The next morning Kemble came over to the flat she and Armand were sharing. He spoke without preamble. “I ask that I be allowed to be your second, Armand. And Gustav insists on being one also.”

  “I shall be honored to have both of you,” Armand replied warmly.

  Later in the day Kemble returned and announced, “Dawn tomorrow, St. James’s Wood.”

  Armand nodded. “Excellent,” he said. “I am looking forward to this match, believe me!”

  That evening, while Enid and Armand were having an early dinner, he collapsed suddenly at the table. She hurriedly sent for the same doctor who regularly attended Kemble. Within minutes the physician appeared, the actor on his heels.

  The two men carried Armand, who was in a semiconscious state, into the bedchamber and placed him gently on the bed. Then the doctor began his examination. Enid wrung her hands nervously and prayed that the attack would not be fatal. Kemble paced the room like a caged tiger.

  At last the doctor left his patient’s side and motioned Enid and Kemble toward the parlor.

  “He has been stricken by some sort of obscure fever,” the physician told them. “I have seen at least a dozen cases like this recently, and all the victims were French refugees. The disease is one that apparently they contracted over there.”

  “Will he get well?” Enid asked fearfully.

  “He will be perfectly fit within a week or ten days,” the doctor assured her. “In the meanwhile, he must have plenty of rest and good nursing care. I shall send over a woman who has handled these cases in the past.”

  After he had left the flat, Enid and Kemble stared blankly at each other. Then Kemble murmured, “But what about the duel?”

  “We must call it off, of course!” Enid replied.

  “Andrew will claim that Armand is craven, and you can be sure he’ll make the most of that lie,” Kemble warned her.

  “But Armand is ill! You heard the doctor’s diagnosis yourself!”

  “Yes, but you know what Andrew is like.”

  “What can we do?” she moaned.

  “Someone must stand in for Armand,” Kemble declared. “As one of his seconds, I shall consider it my duty and an honor!”

  “No, I will not allow you to do such a thing! You might be killed! After all, Andrew is not an indifferent swordsman.”

  “I shall manage,” Kemble insisted. “I may not be your equal, but I’m as good as many others.”

  His words gave her a sudden inspiration. “Wait! I have an idea. Tell Andrew that Armand is ill, but that my wish is for the match to take place. And that a masked swordsman will fence in his stead.”

  “Masked swordsman?” Kemble echoed, puzzled.

  Her eyes glinted fiercely. “Let me create a precedent. I shall be at St. James’s Wood tomorrow at dawn to defend my own honor!”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” Kemble protested, aghast at her scheme.

  “But I would! I’m probably the only one capable of taking Armand’s place and closing Andrew’s hateful mouth. When I defeat him on the field of honor, I’ll remove my mask and show him my face. Then let him boast about the duel!”

  “Diabolical!” Kemble declared, his shock turning to admiration. “It should both silence him and complete his dishonor!” Then a look of doubt crossed his face. “What if by some freak of fate he should break your defense and maim or kill you?”

  Enid smiled grimly. “You have fenced with me. Do you think that is likely?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Then please go to him and present my offer.”

  Her friend returned to her within the hour. “It is all arranged to your satisfaction,” he reported with delight.

  “Andrew will fence the masked stranger?”

  “Yes. He walked straight into the trap. I could tell he thinks Armand’s stand-in will be Gustav.”

  “Of course,” she agreed. “Gustav has been a fencing instructor, and he is one of my close friends.”

  “Obviously Andrew considers himself a more expert swordsman.”

  “That is quite possible.”

  “So he agreed to the match at once.” Kemble chuckled. “I can’t wait to see his face when he realizes that Gustav is one of your seconds. It will be a picture to enjoy!”

  “The moment of his defeat will be even better,” Enid vowed.

  She spent the rest of the night at Armand’s bedside, watching the nurse minister to him and doing whatever she could to assist her. Seeing his feverish twisting and tossing, and hearing his repeated moans, she voiced aloud her anxiety that the doctor might have been too optimistic in his pronouncement of Armand’s condition.

  The nurse comforted her by saying, “It is always the same in these cases. The fever must run its course. The first few days and nights are the difficult ones, but I assure you he will improve afterward.”

  Enid went to bed very late and slept fitfully. As a consequence, she felt little like fencing when she rose before dawn the next morning. As she kissed a sleeping Armand farewell, she could not help but wonder whether chance might not be on Andrew’s side this morning. If so, he could kill her—after all, people did die on the field of honor—and she would never see Armand again.

  Susie and Jenny arrived to see to her disguise as a young man.

  “Much will depend on your cloak,” Susie said. “Do not remove it until the last moment.”

  “That’s right,” Jenny agreed. “You are far too shapely, and he would see through the ruse at once.”

  Enid donned the mask they had brought. “I promise to be silent and to move in a mannish fashion. I also promise to cling to the cloak until the moment before the duel is to begin.”

  Susie kissed her and said, “I wish we could be there, but Kemble will not allow us to go.”

  “It is not proper for females to attend such events,�
�� Enid told them. “Besides, the sight of the two of you might make Andrew overly suspicious. We dare not chance it.”

  Kemble and Gustav came to pick her up and expressed their admiration at her outfit. Then they left by carriage for St. James’s Wood. This site was a favorite meeting place for duelists, since it was within the city limits but was remote enough to ensure against any outside interference.

  A thin mist hung in the air, making the clearing amid the tall trees appear even more desolate. Andrew and his second were already present. When he saw that Gustav was one of her seconds and not the swordsman, he went into a frantic huddle with his man.

  Sir Drake, host of the party where the incident had taken place, had been chosen to preside over the match. He discussed the details with the seconds, who then reported back to Andrew and Enid, respectively. Then a hush fell over those assembled as the moment arrived for the duel to begin. Enid discarded her cloak and sprang forward at the ready.

  She could never be sure whether it was belated panic or sheer courage that made her wicked husband respond so well. He was more than a worthy adversary. And so she and the man who hated her and whom she hated with equal fury darted back and forth in the gray mist, parrying rapidly in interplay, their swords ringing out harshly in the eerie silence.

  Andrew was fencing in a most aggressive manner, and Enid soon realized that if the match lasted much longer, he might very well defeat her. He had the advantage of being able to pit his masculine strength against her weaker female frame. But her advantage lay in being in better condition than he, and she had more skill as well.

  She began to wonder grimly if skill was enough. He backed her up a distance, while she frantically wielded her blade to try to protect herself. He used every trick he knew to succeed in disarming her, and she feared that in the end he might just do that. Would he then be satisfied, or would he run his weapon through her slender body and drain the life out of her?

  These thoughts haunted her as she battled on in silence, breathing heavily and growing more weary with every passing moment. Then, unaccountably, Andrew lost his footing on the wet grass. Just as unaccountably, she was unable to give way, and as a result she plunged forward and drove her sword through his left side.