Lysander's Lady

by Patricia Ormsby

  ‘No, I did not. I referred him to my godmother.’

  ‘Kate! You would never consider marrying that—that wicked monster!’

  Miss Honeywell looked at her friend’s ashen cheeks and wide, horrified eyes. ‘I don’t think you have told me all the truth about Wayleigh, have you, Elizabeth?’

  ‘I do not understand you, Kate.’

  ‘Oh yes, I think you do. You told me that after your brother’s death, he came to you with the deeds of your home, saying he had obtained them from Bredon.’

  ‘That is true. I suspect that Lord Bredon bade him give them to me for safe-keeping, hoping that my mother and I would, at least, have a roof over our heads. Wayleigh attempted to turn this generosity to his own advantage.’

  ‘No.’ Miss Honeywell rose and began to pace the terrace. ‘Bredon never gave those deeds to Wayleigh. He did not have them to give. Wayleigh took them from Cantwell and shot him in doing so. Elizabeth, you must have suspected that!’

  ‘Yes.’ The reply was scarcely audible. ‘But of what use to say it? He is so plausible, and in the eyes of the world Bredon is condemned already. Kate, if you have any harebrained notion in your head of getting a confession from Wayleigh, dismiss it, I pray you! He—just why is he offering for you?’

  ‘I cannot be perfectly certain. That is why I did not turn him away.’

  Lady Harveston came to take her hand. ‘Kate, I beg of you, do not try to outfox him! Let Mr. Derwent deal with this.’

  ‘Elizabeth,’ said Miss Honeywell in a very damping way, ‘promise me you will say nothing of what is in my mind to Mr. Derwent. If he thinks me stupid enough to be taken in by Wayleigh, so be it. Why, indeed, should I not seize the chance of becoming a Duchess? Now, did you say something about lunch? I vow all this talk of marriage has made me uncommon sharp-set!’

  The return to London the following afternoon was worthy of the setting of a Cheltenham tragedy. Her ladyship, Bates informed Miss Honeywell severely, was laid upon her bed with her hartshorn and had given instructions not to be disturbed. Bartholomew had raided the larder, and Cook was having hysterics. He added that there were two letters from foreign parts awaiting Miss’s attention.

  Miss, assuming that Bartholomew’s depredations were the cause of the domestic chaos, took the little boy to task, soothed Cook’s ruffled plumage, and decided to defer calling upon her godmother until that afflicted lady should feel more the thing. She then sat down to read her letters, one from her mother and one from the agents who were dealing with her father’s affairs. When she had finished, she laid then down on her bonheur-du-jour with so serious an expression on her face that Venus, who was hanging up her gowns, ventured to ask if she had received bad news.

  ‘Bad news? No, the contrary, I should suppose. All are well at Stellenbosch. It’s only so—so unexpected.’

  Reassured, the maid finished her task and left her mistress alone to read through her letters again. What they told her was perfectly clear and impossible of misinterpretation. Her father had left a vast sum of money in trust for her until she was twenty-one, which would be in just over a year’s time. From this money provision had been made for a comfortable competence for her mother during her lifetime. Mrs. Honeywell had explained that the arrangement was at her request, she being concerned that Kate should not have to wait until her mother’s demise for her inheritance.

  ‘I do not wish to see you beset by fortune-hunters, my dearest child,’ she had written, ‘though I think I can trust to your good sense for that. If, however, your fancy should alight upon some gentleman who is not over-plump in the pocket, then you can be easy in the knowledge that you will not starve.’

  Her daughter had to smile fondly at that. The smile was erased from her lips by the entry of Horace to convey to her Mr. Derwent’s compliments, and would she be so good as to grant him a few minutes of her time in the book-room?

  ‘Kindly inform Mr. Derwent that I will be with him presently.’

  When Horace had withdrawn, she peered into her mirror to study her appearance. She was looking a trifle peaky, to be sure, as a result of her cold, and she considered whether or not to rub a little rouge into her cheeks, but decided against it, contenting herself with twining a gay ribbon through her hair. Perhaps that would put Lysander in mind of the occasion when he had done that service for her, and her interestingly fragile appearance should arouse his compassion.

  ‘As if it mattered!’ she fumed. Then, with head held high and heart beating strongly, she went downstairs, assuring herself once again that nothing he could say or do would be of the least concern to her.

  In this last presumption she found herself to be much at fault. Mr. Derwent greeted her civilly enough and made proper enquiries about her health, but behind his formal phrases lay a watchful coldness that she could not care for.

  ‘I understand, Miss Honeywell, that I have to offer you my felicitations.’ She stiffened, not quite sure of what might be coming next. ‘On two counts,’ he went on pleasantly. ‘The one on becoming a notable heiress—your mother conveyed the news to her ladyship by the same post as, I imagine, she informed you—and the other on becoming a prospective Duchess.’

  Seeing her look of surprise, he smiled tightly. ‘Oh, yes, my lord of Wayleigh has been very busy. May I wish you happy, ma’am?’

  Kate’s hands clenched together in her lap and she could only wish that the Marquis had given her more time to prepare her story. ‘You are very kind, sir,’ she got out, ‘but I have not accepted him yet!’

  ‘I see. No doubt it gratifies you to keep a Marquis dangling!’

  All pretence at courtesy was discarded in open scorn. Miss Honeywell, feeling her own temper stir, held firmly to her self-control.

  ‘As you well know, sir, such a—a notable heiress as myself can always call the tune!’

  ‘I daresay, since that happy situation doubtless prompted the offer!’

  ‘Oh, what an ungenerous thing to say!’ she taunted him, and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. ‘He couldn’t have known of it!’

  ‘Could he not? Then there can be only one other possible reason for his lordship’s amazing condescension! He wishes to still your tongue, and has trailed his title before your nose as a carrot before a donkey! I had not thought you to be quite so easily gulled, Miss Honeywell!’

  Lysander was deathly pale, and shaking with the effort of controlling his emotions. Why it should be so, he could not explain. What this infuriating, impertinent girl did with her life was no affair of his, yet the very thought of her married to Wayleigh stirred in him such a storm of revulsion that he could not contain himself.

  She, confident that such an outburst was not aroused solely by disgust at her behaviour, proceeded to add fuel to this promising fire.

  ‘I protest you do me less than justice, sir,’ she said archly. ‘Is my inheritance my only asset?’

  He looked her up and down, the contempt in his regard turned to pity. ‘You cannot hope that Wayleigh has fallen victim to your charms?’

  ‘No,’ she replied composedly. ‘Though he did protest that he admired my courage.’

  ‘Was that his only given reason for offering for you?’

  She assumed a bashful air. ‘He held that my being shut up in this house for a night could not redound to my credit.’

  ‘You mean he offered you marriage to save your good name?’

  ‘I thought it excessively good-natured of him!’ she murmured wickedly.

  ‘Good-natured? Wayleigh? That’s a bouncer, if ever I heard one! Why, I would have—’ He stopped, biting his lip...

  ‘But you didn’t, did you?’ she reminded him sweetly.

  At that moment Lysander was in two minds whether to take her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled, or to seize her in his arms and kiss some sense into her. She solved this small difficulty for him by remarking in an offhand way: ‘I daresay you are more conversant with Lord Wayleigh’s starts than I, having certain tastes in comm
on with him.’

  That set him back on his heels. ‘I should be glad to learn what tastes I have in common with his lordship.’

  ‘One springs immediately to mind, but doubtless there are others,’ said she, deliberately provocative.

  ‘Well, ma’am?’ He was barely holding himself in check and she had to steel herself to say it.

  ‘A certain young lady by the name of Miss Barbara Weston!’

  It was at that interesting point in the conversation that Bates rapped upon the door and, opening it, announced Lady Sophia and Lord Francis Trennick.

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  Bates declared afterwards to his confidante, Mrs. Hignett, that never would he have done such a thing had he not feared for Miss Honeywell’s safety. Not in all his long service with her ladyship had he seen Mr. Lysander so on his high ropes. Hot at hand he could occasionally be when thwarted of his purpose, but this icy rage was something very different.

  Controlling his displeasure with an obvious effort, Mr. Derwent asked his visitors to be seated and enquired how he could be of service to them. Lady Sophia, ignoring this very reasonable request, flung herself upon Miss Honeywell’s bosom and dissolved into a storm of tears.

  ‘Kate, oh Kate! My poor Timothy! That wretched necklace to betray us when we were almost free! It doesn’t bear thinking of! It is all so unjust—Timothy would never kill anyone!’

  Kate, being in full agreement with this sentiment, endeavoured to comfort the distraught girl by assuring her that Bredon was still far from being convicted of any crime. ‘But he has no one to stand by him—no proof of his innocence!’ wailed Sophia, her anguish rendering her blind to all reason. ‘And it will be my brother’s evidence that will—will put the noose about his neck!’

  Miss Honeywell was strongly tempted to inform the lady just what she thought of her brother’s complicity in the affair, when Lord Francis said in a shocked sort of way: ‘You are never going to marry Wayleigh, ma’am?’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Kate, attempting in vain to detach Sophia’s clinging embrace from around her neck.

  ‘Well, I know he’s my brother and all that, but he ain’t up to your weight, ma’am.’

  ‘He is behaving most gentlemanly in offering me the protection of his name,’ she said primly.

  ‘Offering you Spanish coin, more like!’ Lord Francis informed her. ‘You’re not an heiress, are you?’

  ‘Yes,’ interrupted Mr. Derwent, ‘she is. A very considerable one.’

  ‘Oh,’ Lord Francis said sadly. ‘Might have guessed it. Wayleigh’s always fly to the time of day.’

  ‘Kate, you mustn’t! You must not marry him!’ pleaded Sophia between sobs. ‘If you think to persuade him to concede the race to Mr. Derwent, there’s no need for that, I assure you. Francis knows it all.’

  ‘That’ll do, Sophy, leave the telling of this to me,’ his lordship ordered gruffly. ‘It’s no pleasant thing to play the crooked cross on my brother, but m’grandfather will have it that there’s been so much talk, the only thing is to have the wager cancelled.’

  ‘I am perfectly agreeable, but is your brother?’ Mr. Derwent’s attention appeared to be wholly directed upon Miss Honeywell, who was assisting the lachrymose Sophia to a chair.

  ‘He will be when he knows you hold a written statement from me, declaring that I assisted to change the horses.’ That caught Mr. Derwent’s interest. ‘He’s not going to be over-pleased with you, Trennick.’

  ‘He’ll likely half-kill me,’ said Lord Francis, in the tone of one who accepts the inevitable. ‘That’s why you’d best have it in writing—in case he goes too far. Only to be made public if he don’t see sense.’

  Mr. Derwent was frowning intently. ‘Yes, I owe you that. But how are you to be saved from his vengeance? Cannot we get you hid away for a time until his anger cools?’

  Lord Francis made a wry grimace. ‘His anger will only cool when he has vented it upon my person.’

  Miss Honeywell, eyeing his slim young figure and comparing it mentally with the Marquis’s powerful frame, darted a look of appeal at Mr. Derwent.

  ‘We could say that we tricked you into a confession,’ she suggested hopefully.

  ‘Difficult to trick him into setting it on paper,’ pointed out Mr. Derwent dryly.

  ‘It’s no good, ma’am.’ Lord Francis spoke with a cheerful resignation that made her heart ache for him. ‘Nothing will save me from his wrath, whether he believes me to have betrayed him willingly or no, so leave it as it is. If you can supply me with a sheet of writing-paper, Derwent, I will do the business now.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Miss Honeywell desperately, ‘I can divert his attention to a more serious matter.’

  That drew a reluctant grin from Lord Francis. ‘What, ma’am, could be more serious than losing twenty thousand pounds?’

  ‘The loss of his freedom, possibly his life.’

  The two Trennicks regarded her as if she had taken leave of her senses, while Mr. Derwent, who had been looking through the drawers of his desk for writing-paper, straightened up abruptly.

  ‘Such an attempt on your part would certainly preclude your ever becoming the Duchess of Edmonton,’ he reminded her.

  ‘I never intended it!’ she flung back at him.

  ‘Your pardon, ma’am.’ He sounded a little shaken. ‘I seem to have misjudged the matter.’

  ‘But how can you threaten Wayleigh’s life. Kate?’ wondered Sophia, dabbing at her eyes with an ineffectual handkerchief.

  Miss Honeywell found herself at a loss. To be forced to tell his sister that the Marquis was a murderer was a task beyond her powers, and again her eyes besought Mr. Derwent’s assistance.

  ‘That need not concern either of you,’ he said smoothly. ‘Have you everything you need, Trennick?’

  ‘Devilish odd contraption, this,’ Lord Francis was inspecting his gilded pen-nib dubiously.

  ‘It is a new-fangled invention of Watts’,’ explained Mr. Derwent. ‘For myself, I’d as lief sharpen three or four quills in the course of a letter as scratch away in such a fashion, but novelty is everything nowadays.’

  Miss Honeywell had the strong impression that they were discoursing in this desultory manner in order to distract her mind from more grave matters, and was about to protest when Sophia caught at her arm.

  ‘You have never seen Wayleigh in one of his rages,’ she whispered. ‘He becomes quite beside himself. Francis he does hold in affection, but that won’t save him.’

  Mr. Derwent folded up Lord Francis’s letter and placed it in an inside pocket of his coat. ‘I am expected either to pay up by midnight tonight or provide proof that your brother used unfair means to win the race,’ he remarked. ‘Is he in town?’

  ‘Yes, he left Mount Trennick before we did.’ Lord Francis glanced apologetically at Miss Honeywell. ‘I was a little anxious lest we should meet with him here.’

  ‘He is most likely to beat Brooks’s,’ mused Mr. Derwent. ‘I will go along there now and confront him. If he refuses to take my word for it, I will show the letter under vow of secrecy to the judges.’

  ‘You are very generous, sir,’ faltered Sophia. ‘And—and I have dealt with you so very badly.’

  ‘Yes, you have, haven’t you?’ he agreed, but in a perfectly amiable way. ‘However, I think you have been made to suffer for it quite enough, so I shan’t add to your burden by reproaches. When does Bredon stand his trial?’

  ‘I believe he is being brought up to Bow Street tomorrow.’ At that she began to weep again, and her brother put a comforting arm about her.

  ‘Take heart. Sophy. If we could discover how and when ‘

  ‘No!’ Mr. Derwent cut in on him decisively. ‘Depend upon it, he’ll be well guarded. Promise me you’ll not attempt it. You’ll fail, and it won’t better his situation. Are you going back to Mount Trennick now?’

  ‘I will go to Berkeley Square, if you please,’ Sophia said in a choked voice. ‘At least I will feel close
r to Timothy here in London. If we told Papa about all this, Francis, d’you think he would take your part against Wayleigh?’

  He flicked her cheek with a careless finger. ‘His Grace is no match for Way, so that can’t signify.’

  ‘What about Lord Fontevin?’ broke in Miss Honeywell eagerly. ‘If you took refuge with him—?”

  ‘D’you think he’d take heed of a blind man? No, I’ll not cringe in a corner. He’ll know what I’ve done and I’ll answer to him for it.’

  A pity, reflected Mr. Derwent, that the youngster had been so much under his elder brother’s influence for all his life. He had got bottom and a fine sense of pride, something could yet be made of him. Miss Honeywell, who could not rid herself of a feeling of impending disaster, gave him her hand to kiss.

  ‘Just give us time,’ she pleaded, ‘and we may be able to divert his animosity.’

  ‘ ’Twould only be putting off the evil day, ma’am. Now if you will excuse us, we’d best be away.’

  ‘And I too,’ Mr. Derwent said briskly. ‘It is past five o’clock and there is much to be done.’

  When the farewells had been said and Miss Honeywell was alone, she sank into the big leather winged chair, worn supple with use by Mr. Derwent and his brother and father before him, and gave herself up to thought. Ten minutes later the clang of the street bell disturbed her cogitations and she frowned impatiently. The impatience changed to consternation when Bates came in to enquire if she would be wishful of receiving my lord of Wayleigh. At first she was tempted to deny him, then she recalled that she might save Mr. Derwent a long wait at Brooks’s if she directed his lordship there.

  ‘Dear lady, can I prevail upon you to take a turn with me in the Park?’

  He was everything an attentive suitor should be, impeccably dressed in Wellington frock-coat and pantaloons, with Hussar boots and tall-crowned beaver. His Osbaldeston neckcloth was perfection, his hair carefully pomaded—there was even an aura of perfume about his person. Miss Honeywell was impressed, and almost tempted to believe that their fears for Lord Francis’s safety were groundless. Surely this modish buck could not turn into a wild beast that would rend his brother?