Heir to Rowanlea

by Sally James

  He shook his head impatiently. Of course he could do nothing of the kind, she would assume he was jealous, trying to cause trouble. A pity she had no brother he could have had a quiet word with. Finally he decided it was none of his business, and he forced himself to pay attention to the dancing. When that set finished, however, he took his departure. He was in no mood for dancing with anyone else, and wanted to sit and think seriously.

  * * * *

  Harry arrived for dinner on the following day in a far from encouraging mood, merely nodding to Claude, making the briefest of greetings to his Aunt Claudine and Monsieur de Vauban, and then, after smiling bleakly at Charlotte and her mother, drawing his father to the far end of the room where he engaged him in a low-voiced conversation. Fortunately, before Lady Norville could become more than mildly irritated by this behavior, the Maines were announced.

  Charlotte watched Harry closely, and saw he retired to a seat beyond the center of the room after greeting the new arrivals, and seemed absorbed in his own thoughts, staring at the carpet—a new one Lady Norville had bought to replace the previous one which she had declared too shabby for words—instead of at Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth had drawn a little to one side and was talking animatedly with Claude, who was paying her flattering attentions, while the older Maines were occupied with Lady Norville and her brother.

  The dinner table did not offer Harry any opportunity of conversing with Elizabeth, for she had been placed on Claude’s left, with Monsieur de Vauban next to her. Harry was on the opposite side of the table, between Mrs Maine on Claude’s right and Charlotte, who had her uncle on her other side. Since Harry seemed disinclined to talk except when politeness forced him to pay attention to Mrs Maine, Charlotte had plenty of liberty to observe Elizabeth. She noticed with amused contempt that Monsieur de Vauban was attempting to flirt with her in a somewhat heavy-handed Gallic way, and firmly had to suppress the bitterness that attacked her when Elizabeth responded to his overtures with apparent willingness. Her attitude to Claude, however, made Charlotte clench her hands tightly under the table. The girl was obviously set on charming the young man, and he appeared only too willing to be charmed, paying her lavish compliments—as Charlotte assumed from the satisfied expression on Elizabeth’s face, though Claude spoke too softly for her to hear the actual words. She wondered whether she ought to tell Elizabeth what she had overheard at the ball, but decided the girl had treated Harry so badly she probably would not believe her. Perhaps, if her other scheme failed, she would think about it again. In any case, was it true?

  It was an uncomfortable meal for Charlotte, for her Uncle Henry was in a thoughtful mood, and when not having to talk to Lady Norville he paid little attention to Charlotte beyond asking her how she was enjoying the season, and then retreating into his own reverie and not listening to her reply. She was thankful when Lady Norville gave the signal for the ladies to leave the dining-room.

  Upstairs in the drawing-room Elizabeth showed no signs of wishing to draw apart with Charlotte, as most young ladies would have done, but instead seated herself beside Lady Norville, saying admiringly that she envied her the modiste who had fashioned the gown she was wearing. Lady Norville preened herself, but Charlotte’s attention was caught by hearing Mrs Maine remark to her mother she had been surprised to see Lady Weare leaving a house in Hill Street the previous day.

  “Normally I would have assumed you were making a visit there, but I happened to know the Blounts left town a week ago.”

  Charlotte glanced at her mother in surprise, for she had known nothing of this, and it was unusual for her mother not to have told her of all her doings. To her utter amazement she saw that Lady Weare was blushing as rosily as a girl, and almost stammering as she attempted to reply to Mrs Maine.

  “I—it is for sale, as perhaps you know,” she said at last. “There are so few suitable houses available in a good part of town that I was fortunate to hear of it.”

  “I was not aware you proposed moving,” Lady Norville put in, matriarchal disapproval in her voice.

  “We can scarce impose on your hospitality for ever, Claudine,” Lady Weare responded, her composure returning.

  “Oh, as to that you are very welcome, Sophia, but in the end we will both have to remove from here. I should start looking for a suitable house for myself soon. Did you decide to take this one? If not, I must look at it for us.”

  “For you?” Charlotte exclaimed, her recent conversation with Claude fresh in her mind. “You do not mean to sell this house, do you?”

  “That is for Claude to say, is it not, dear? But no, I was thinking more of the time when Claude wishes to marry, and his bride will wish to have a say in where they are to live, and will most certainly not desire her mother-in-law to live with them!”

  “Is Claude contemplating marriage?” Mrs Maine asked quickly.

  “He has not confided in me yet, but with so many beautiful girls to choose from I would not be surprised. I merely desire to be beforehand with my arrangements when he does. After all, he feels very strongly his responsibilities towards Rowanlea and the family,” she added with a slight smile towards Lady Weare.

  Charlotte, watching Elizabeth closely, saw her glance across at her mother, a small secret smile playing on her lips. Mrs Maine turned back to Lady Weare.

  “I had no notion the Blounts contemplated selling,” she remarked.

  “They are getting old, and feel it is time to give up the town house,” Lady Weare said with a slight smile.

  “They are distant cousins of Mr Penharrow, are they not?” Mrs Maine persisted.

  Lady Weare nodded.

  “That is how I came to hear of it,” she said quickly. “He supposed I would be wanting to move soon, and was kind enough to mention it to me. But tell me, what did you think of the play last night? I saw you there, although I had no opportunity of speaking with you.”

  She firmly resisted all other attempts by Lady Norville and Mrs Maine to talk about the house, and kept the conversation on other matters until the men joined them. After that Charlotte was too concerned observing Elizabeth’s behavior towards Claude to spare any attention to the puzzle of why her mother should have kept her plans to herself.

  Claude had come to sit beside Elizabeth as soon as he had entered the room, and she seemed to welcome his overtures. Lady Norville had claimed Mrs Maine’s attention, and Charlotte found herself drawn a little to one side by Harry, who led her to a sofa near one of the windows.

  “Has Claude said any more about selling off the farms?” he demanded in a low voice.

  “Not to me.” Charlotte shook her head. “But Harry, his mother has just said she will be looking for another house, ‘for us’, she said, although she afterwards explained that she had meant to move when—if—Claude married! It seems as though they might be planning to sell this house!”

  Harry stared at her in dismay.

  “I suppose she may have been including her brother,” he said at last. “The fellow seems to have no intention of returning to France, and possibly they mean to set up home together. That must be it. Is Claude planning to marry?”

  “She would not say, and for myself I would not think it likely yet. He is only just twenty-one, and does not seem much in the petticoat line, despite what we heard Sir David saying. I’ve been thinking about that, and I wonder if Claude was so angry because the accusation was untrue. I am sure he pays attentions to females only to be in the fashion.”

  “As now,” Harry commented drily. “He is certainly an adept at flirting judging by his behavior towards Elizabeth at dinner and now!”

  “Well, you know, she is very pretty, and I think cannot help responding in the way she does to male flattery. It does not mean aught, I am convinced. I think she is merely being polite and welcoming to Claude, for despite everything he must feel strange here still.”

  Harry regarded her quizzically.

  “You have changed towards her,” he said, “even to believing she might
have worthy motives! A few weeks ago you would have been the first to condemn her.”

  “I have learned a great deal since I came out,” Charlotte replied defensively, “and I see she behaves in exactly the same manner as many other girls, and it means nothing.”

  He did not reply to this, but spoke of something else, while his gaze still rested on the pair across the room. Charlotte was more than ever determined to aid Harry in winning Elizabeth, and the pain she felt at the thought was slightly mitigated by the realization that if she could succeed it would prick Claude’s self-esteem. Later she spoke quietly to Elizabeth, inviting her to visit her one morning soon.

  “For I seem to have seen so little of you the last few weeks, and there is so much to talk of!”

  Elizabeth, glancing across at Claude, smiled and agreed, and promised to come a few days later. Satisfied, Charlotte watched her go, and began to worry at the problem of how to manipulate satisfactorily the other persons in the drama she was about to enact.

  * * * *

  Harry himself was becoming more and more concerned with the fear that Claude, who appeared to have developed a passion for gaming, and was to be found most evenings at some club where the play was deep, would gamble away his fortune. Whatever he did to try and convince himself it was none of his affair, his mind kept reverting to the problem of how to warn Claude of the danger. Hearing from some of his cronies that Sir David Clarkson was often to be seen in his cousin’s company, and distrusting that gentleman excessively, he was driven, one evening shortly after the dinner party when he chanced to meet his cousin at White’s, to speak to him.

  “I hear you are very familiar with Clarkson,” he said quietly, having maneuvered Claude into a corner from which he could not escape.

  “What of it? Do you presume to dictate to me about my friends as well as my land?” Claude asked unpleasantly.

  “I don’t care a damn whom you make friends with!” Harry snapped. “It’s simply that you haven’t been about London long enough to know Clarkson is regarded as a queer fish. Some say openly he’s a Greek! What is certain is that more than one young fool has been ruined after becoming too friendly with the fellow. Pauling seems to have been the latest, and had to go off to France some weeks back. I would hate to see you cheated!”

  “And lose all chance of inheriting a profitable Rowanlea, hey?”

  “I care for Rowanlea enough to wish for it not to be destroyed,” Harry said, keeping his temper with difficulty. “It matters naught to me, though I do not expect you to believe it, whether it belongs to you or my father, but I cannot bear to see what our forebears have built up over centuries wantonly thrown away, which is what will happen if you sell off all the farms and the unentailed property, and then gamble away the money.”

  “I am inclined to believe you,” Claude said, looking curiously at Harry. “I have not sold any farms yet. But consider, Harry, I too have family feeling, but half of my family is near destitute, and in France. Be content, cousin, I am fortunate at cards, and you underestimate me if you think I can be cheated. Besides, I think I know more than you do about Sir David!”

  * * * *

  Not entirely reassured, but feeling more charitable towards his cousin than for a long time, Harry invited him to join his own party, and since none of the particular friends Claude had made in London were present, he readily agreed. They spent several hours pleasantly sampling the joys the club had to offer, and then, on Richard’s suggestion, retired to his rooms to continue with a private gaming party.

  Several of the young men were by this time decidedly merry, and it was a very lively group that made their noisy way to Jermyn Street. As the rest of the night wore on, however, they became more concerned with the cards, only a couple of them retiring too foxed to understand what they were doing.

  Claude was flushed and bright-eyed, and Harry watched him covertly. It might have been that Claude was exhilarated by his success, for the pile of coins and notes of hand beside him grew steadily larger, but Harry had the nagging feeling that something else was pleasing his cousin.

  Another hand ended, and Richard tossed his cards down in disgust.

  “You have me, Norville,” he exclaimed, and scribbled another note. “You’ve the devil’s own luck tonight, for sure!”

  “Oh, I am always lucky,” Claude said with a smile, and proceeded to deal for the next hand.

  “Too lucky, begod!” a slurred voice commented, and Claude glanced contemptuously at its owner, who was slumped in his chair, and had provided a high proportion of the notes he now held.

  “I keep my wits about me,” Claude replied equably, and for a while the game absorbed them all, until once again Claude won handsomely.

  “I should not be the one to suggest a close,” Claude remarked, sweeping the cards towards him, “but I am devilish tired. Will you all, if you agree to end now, come and have your revenge with me one evening soon?”

  There were cries of protest from a couple of the men who had lost most heavily, and with a shrug Claude smiled and agreed to continue for a while longer. He still won, and Richard laughingly asked him to tell the secret.

  “For it cannot be pure chance,” he said ruefully.

  Claude flashed him a quick look.

  “What do you accuse me of, Mr Davies?” he demanded quickly.

  “Accuse? Why, I do not accuse!” Richard laughed. “Merely I imagined you must have some system, some knowledge of the cards we do not. There are people, you must know, who can calculate in a second the chances of drawing particular cards.”

  Claude looked hard at him, then smiled briefly. Harry, however, had been struck by some note he had never before heard in his cousin’s voice, and looked at him carefully as he played the next hand. It struck him Claude was holding the cards in a slightly awkward fashion, against his free hand on which gleamed a diamond ring set in an old-fashioned, elaborate claw. A horrid suspicion occurred to him, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from bursting out with it there and then. Impatiently he waited until it was a natural movement for him to pick up some of the cards, and he scrutinized them quickly. On the backs of most of them, scarcely noticeable amidst the pattern, were tiny scratched marks.

  Richard, whose turn it was to deal, held his hands out for the cards, but Harry shook his head.

  “You had best examine them, Richard,” he said quietly. “They seem to have been marked, and as Claude has won all night, it would appear he has some explaining to do!”

  The rest of the young men swooped on the cards, and with many exclamations of disgust pointed out to one another the faint marks. Claude had risen to his feet, pale but steady, and faced Harry.

  “You accuse me, I apprehend?” he said coolly. “If you do, you lie!”

  “Then how do these marks come to be here?” Harry demanded. “You could have made them with your ring, for it has sharp enough points!”

  “I cannot explain it apart from suggesting that on some former occasion these cards have been marked.”

  “No such thing, for I opened new packs tonight,” Richard said, shaking his head.

  “You have won, you wear a sharp-edged ring, and it is the obvious conclusion!” Harry declared.

  “Obvious to a fool, no doubt!” Claude returned furiously. “I will not be so accused! I see it now, it is a trick to discredit me, to blackmail me so that you may deprive me not only of my fair winnings tonight, but also of what you have always resented my inheriting. But do not be too sure of killing me, Harry. I too can shoot. I demand satisfaction! Who are your seconds?”

  Richard, aghast, tried to intervene, but Harry brushed him aside.

  “No, Richard, it has gone too far. Jack, will you stand my friend?”

  “Of course,” Jack replied quietly, and turned to Claude with an enquiring look.

  “Sir David Clarkson will act for me,” Claude said briefly, and turned to stride out of the room.

  It was by now almost dawn, and Harry, shaking off his solicitou
s friends at last, returned to his rooms to sleep through the morning. Jack appeared later to say all had been arranged for the following morning, and he was just off to engage a surgeon and book breakfast at an inn near Paddington Green.

  “I’ll call for you at about half past seven,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll bring my pistols, they’re a pair of Manton’s, and accurate to the inch. Have you any idea if Claude’s a good shot?”

  “None,” Harry replied. “I doubt it, for he does not appear to care for any sport except riding, and I’ve never heard of him practising at the galleries.”

  “Well, you’d best not kill him!” Jack warned.

  “No, by heavens, or it would be said I’d forced this quarrel on him through jealousy over Rowanlea! Jack, old fellow, if he should be a better shot than we think, I’ve left letters for my father and—” he stopped suddenly. “Willis has them, and will give them to you if necessary.”

  “It won’t be, we’ll be laughing at it by this time tomorrow.”

  Chapter 10

  Jack departed, and Harry, knowing news of the duel would by now be all over town, could only hope his father and the other members of his family would not come to hear of it until after it was finished with. He went out to dine, and to visit some of his favourite haunts, showing himself as careless and debonair as possible, so that none could accuse him of being afraid. It was late when he returned home, and there were few enough hours left of the night. Even so, he could not sleep, and was heavy-eyed when Jack appeared.

  Jack nodded approvingly at the dark coat, from which Harry had removed the bright buttons, and the black cravat. He kept up a cheerful flow of conversation as they drove out to Paddington and Harry did his best to appear insouciant. It was a quarter to eight when they arrived, and Harry chided Jack for making him wait so long.