by Sandra Heath
Jerry Warburton glanced from one to the other, and then his lips parted as he realized where he had seen Dolly before. She was Miss Rutherford’s maid! “I say,” he said slowly, “I’m afraid that I think the lady probably was at Avenley House, for I saw her there myself. At least, I saw her maid, for the lady herself was careful to keep her face turned away. I was just leaving with my friends, and she and the maid were about to accompany Avenley upstairs …”
His voice died away as he realized what he was saying. Dull, embarrassed color suffused his face, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, er, think I had better be going,’’ he muttered, nodding briefly at Lord and Lady Castlereagh before pushing away through the crush.
Lady Castlereagh was immediately at pains to reassure Gerald. “There must be a reasonable explanation, for I am certain that Miss Rutherford would not—”
“Do anything underhanded? Emily, I’m afraid that that is just what she has done. She feigned illness tonight, and then promptly went to Avenley House. Why would she do that? Is this to be a repetition of the past? Is she another Margot?”
Lady Castlereagh put an anxious hand on his arm. “Don’t leap to conclusions, Gerald, for I am sure that you are wrong.”
“And I am sure that your intentions are admirable, but I am afraid that I find it impossible to believe that Miss Rutherford’s actions tonight are entirely innocent. She deliberately deceived me in order to go to Avenley House, and in my view that is totally unforgivable. Now, if you will excuse me, I think it is best if I withdraw from the festivities.”
Lady Castlereagh sighed as he walked angrily away; then she looked at her husband. “Was it really wise to tell him?”
“What would you have had me do? You heard him say that the lady was at home languishing in her bed. Languishing she certainly is not, and so I had to tell him. Come on, Emily, let’s join the dancing, for there is little point in dwelling upon Kane’s difficulties. I pray that Miss Rutherford does indeed have an excellent reason for visiting Avenley’s den, but if she doesn’t, then it is well that Kane discovers the truth about her now, rather than later.”
“As he did with Margot, you mean?”
“Margot was the greatest folly of his life, and the last thing I would ever wish upon him would be a second such folly.” Taking her hand firmly, he led her onto the crowded floor, where another country dance was in progress.
Outside in the square, Gerald walked quickly toward his carriage. The coachman was caught unawares in the middle of a game of dice with some of his fellows, and hastily left them to climb onto the box of the carriage.
A footman from Manchester House had preceded Gerald, and now flung open the door and lowered the rungs before standing in readiness to close the door again once Gerald had climbed in.
The coachman touched his hat as Gerald reached the vehicle. “Home, my lord?”
Gerald nodded. “Yes. Home,” he said shortly.
As the carriage drew away, threading its way very slowly through the jam of other vehicles, the pain, treachery, and deceits of the past were all around Gerald. He could see Margot again, and hear her voice. He could even smell her perfume, that gentle scent of lilac that had pervaded his entire life. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the upholstery. Margot’s face faded and became blurred, changing into Emma’s green eyes and sweet lips. What a fool he’d been. A fool to end all fools.
The carriage drove swiftly to St. James’s Square, where everything was very quiet after the noise and crush of Manchester Square. The wheels and the horses’ hooves echoed pleasantly on the cobbles, and the light from the streetlamps shone on the lake in the center of the square. It was one of the only squares in London to boast a lake instead of a garden, but like all the others, it still possessed the almost obligatory equestrian statue of a monarch, this time of William III.
Gerald’s residence was close to the southeast corner of the square, and was a four-story town house with pedimented windows on the second floor. As he alighted from the carriage, he paused in some surprise, for the windows of the drawing room, which was on the second floor, were illuminated. The house should have been in darkness except for the entrance hall.
The butler opened the door at his approach and hastened to take his hat, gloves, and cloak. “My lord, there is something I think you should know immediately.”
“Yes? What is it?”
“The Countess of Purbeck is here.”
Gerald turned in quick surprise.
The butler cleared his throat awkwardly. “She arrived not long after you left, my lord, and she insisted upon waiting for you. I took the liberty of showing her to the drawing room.’’
Gerald glanced up the sweeping black-and-gold staircase and then nodded at him. “Very well. That will be all.”
“My lord.” The butler bowed and withdrew.
Gerald’s steps echoed on the staircase as he went slowly up to the floor above. What did Raine want? Indeed, why was she here, and not guarding her interests at Purbeck’s country seat?
He flung open the doors of the drawing room, and Raine rose swiftly from a sofa close to the fireplace. She wore a shimmering pale-pink silk gown that clung to her figure and plunged low over her bosom, and there were diamonds in her bright golden hair. Her lips were parted a little, and her hand crept nervously to her throat as she faced him.
He closed the doors behind him, and then looked at her. “Raine?”
“Hello, Gerald.”
“Why have you come here?”
“You know why I’m here,” she murmured, coming slowly toward him. Her gown whispered in the quiet of the room, and the diamonds in her hair flashed like stars. “I love you, my darling,” she said softly, the ghost of a smile touching her lips as he did not move away. She linked her graceful arms around his neck, pressing her body against his as she raised her lips to kiss him.
For a moment he did not respond, but then his arms were around her and he crushed her close as he returned the kiss.
*
Emma’s bedroom was in darkness, except for the dim light of the fire, and she lay on her bed, her face hidden in the pillows as she wept. Her troubles appeared to be insurmountable as she lay there, for it seemed that whatever she chose to do would prove her undoing.
If she defied Lord Avenley and told Gerald what had happened, Lord Avenley would lie about her and seem to be able to prove he was telling the truth. If she did Lord Avenley’s bidding, he would either hold her fall from grace over her head in the future or tell Gerald immediately. All roads led to the downfall of Emma Rutherford.
Dolly came hesitantly into the room, pausing for a moment to look sadly at her weeping mistress. “Miss Emma?” she said gently.
“Please leave me alone, Dolly,” Emma sobbed wretchedly, for there was nothing the maid could do.
“I don’t like to leave you like this, miss,’’ Dolly said, moving hesitantly toward the bed.
Emma sat up slowly. “You can’t do anything, Dolly,” she said, her voice low and shaking.
“You must tell Lord Kane, Miss Emma,” urged the maid.
Emma was silent for a moment, and then she accepted that this was indeed her only honorable course. “I know, but I also know that I’m going to lose him. Lord Avenley will see to that.’’
“Lord Kane may believe you, miss.”
“I don’t think so, not once Lord Avenley has lied about me.’’
Dolly felt close to tears herself. “Oh, Miss Emma,” she whispered. “I’m so very sorry.”
“It isn’t your fault, Dolly.”
“If there was anything I could do, I would do it for you.”
Emma managed a small smile, her eyes tearstained in the feeble light from the dying fire. “Thank you, Dolly.”
“Can I bring you a warm drink? Some hot milk, maybe?”
Emma shook her head. “No, I don’t want anything. You can go to bed, Dolly, for there is no need for you to stay up because of me.”
“If
you’re sure, Miss Emma?”
“I’m quite sure. Good night, Dolly.”
“Good night, miss.”
“Oh, Dolly … ?”
“Miss?”
“Has my father returned yet?”
“No, miss. He sent word a short while ago that he intends to stay overnight.”
“And how is my brother?”
“When I came a moment ago there was a light under his door, Miss Emma. I know that Frederick went to him a short while ago. I’m sure all is well.”
“Thank you,” said Emma, twisting her handkerchief in her hand.
“Good night, miss,” the maid said again, going quietly out and closing the door behind her.
Dolly paused outside the door. She felt desperately sorry for her unhappy mistress, whose troubles were not of her own making. Trying not to cry, the maid began to walk away along the passage, but as she passed Stephen’s door it opened suddenly and Frederick emerged.
“Dolly Makepeace? Still up and about at this hour?’’ he said with a grin, but then his smile faded as he saw how upset she was. “Here, what’s the matter, girlie?”
“Nothing,” she replied, swallowing because there was a lump in her throat.
“You look mortal upset for someone who’s all right,’’ he said.
The door was opened behind him, and Stephen was sitting up in bed sipping another cup of broth. He heard the brief exchange. “What it is, Frederick?” he asked, looking toward them.
Dolly looked urgently at the valet, shaking her head, but he turned to his master. “It’s Miss Emma’s maid, sir. She’s very upset about something.”
Dolly gave him a furious look, but it was too late now.
Stephen beckoned to her. “Come here. Now, then, what’s wrong?” He smiled kindly.
His gentle tone was the last straw. Dolly’s face crumpled and she burst into tears.
Stephen was taken aback, and put the cup of broth down quickly. “Whatever is it?” he asked, lying back on the pillows, for any effort taxed his strength. “Tell me, Dolly. Maybe I can help. Are you in my sister’s black books, is that it?”
“Oh, no, Master Stephen, it isn’t that. I just feel so unhappy for her.”
Stephen looked at her in astonishment. “Unhappy for her? Whatever for? At this very moment she’s dancing the night away with Lord Kane—”
“No, she isn’t, Master Stephen, she didn’t go to Manchester House this evening.”
“Didn’t go? But—”
“Oh, Master Stephen,” the maid wailed, “it’s all so unfair, and I don’t know what to do!”
Stephen stared at her in dismay. “Oh, Lord, please don’t cry like that.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Dolly sobbed, searching for a handkerchief.
Frederick produced one, and ushered her to a fireside chair. “Sit down, girlie, and tell us what’s up,” he said gently. He’d always had a soft spot for Dolly, and was quite upset to see her in such a sorry way.
“I … I can’t tell you,” Dolly sniffed, wiping her eyes as fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.
Stephen hauled himself up in the bed again, fixing her with a stern look. “Tell us all about it, Dolly. That is an order.”
She blinked miserably at him and then nodded a little. “I know I should not tell you, Master Stephen, but I think you should know. It concerns Miss Emma and Lord Avenley.”
Stephen’s face changed. “Avenley?”
“Yes, sir.” Haltingly the maid told him everything she knew, and with each word his eyes became more and more incredulous and angry.
When she finished, he was silent for a moment. “Are you quite sure about all this?” he demanded then.
“Yes, sir, for I could hear everything through the door.”
Stephen flung the bedclothes aside and got up, hesitating for a moment as everything in the room began to spin. As he became steady again, he nodded at the valet. “My clothes, if you please.”
Frederick was dismayed. “But, sir—”
“My clothes!” Stephen snapped.
“You aren’t well, sir, you must not leave your bed.”
“Allow me to be the best judge, Frederick,” came the short reply. Then Stephen looked at Dolly. “You may leave the matter to me, Dolly.”
“But, Master Stephen—” she began.
His eyes flashed. “Lord Avenley cannot be allowed to get away with such monstrous behavior, and I intend to call him out. No one else need know what my intentions are, indeed I forbid either of you to say anything, is that clear?”
The maid nodded unhappily.
“That will be all, Dolly.”
“Sir.’’ Wishing that she hadn’t blurted everything out, Dolly withdrew from the room.
Stephen then returned his attention to the valet. “Is it equally clear to you, Frederick?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, then, my clothes, if you please.”
Without another word, Frederick hurried to the adjoining dressing room, and a short while later Stephen was dressed in a mulberry coat, a silver silk waistcoat, a frilled white shirt, a starched muslin neckcloth, and a pair of cream cord breeches. Then he sat on a chair while the valet eased on his top boots.
Stephen winced as another searing pain lanced through his burning chest. The room revolved again, and he clutched the arms of the chair.
Frederick looked up anxiously. “Are you all right, Master Stephen?”
“I’ll do. Bring my astrakhan greatcoat, and then go for a hackney coach from the rank around the corner in South Audley Street.”
The valet was appalled. “A hackney coach, sir? Surely you will use the town carriage?”
“I can’t wait for you to arouse the coachman, then for him to harness the team and bring the damned drag to the door. Just get a hackney coach and have done with it.”
“Yes, sir.” With a heavy heart the valet went to bring the greatcoat, together with Stephen’s gloves and hat; then he left the room to go to the hackney-coach rank in nearby South Audley Street,
As he emerged from the bedroom, he found Dolly still waiting in the passage.
“Frederick?” She looked anxiously at him. “Should we tell Miss Emma?”
“Not if you know what’s good for you, girlie. You heard what Master Stephen said. He forbade either of us to say anything. So leave it at that.”
Tears filled her eyes again. “I shouldn’t have said what I did, Frederick.’’
“Well, you did, and it’s done now.” But he smiled kindly. “If it wasn’t that Master Stephen is unwell, you wouldn’t be in such a flap, would you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just get to your room, girlie.”
She sniffed. “I’m afraid, Frederick. Master Stephen is so angry, and when he confronts that horrid Lord Avenley—”
“That’s up to them,” the valet interrupted quietly. “Now, then, I’ve got to get a hackney coach, so I can’t hang about here chitchatting with you.” He hurried away.
Dolly hesitated, still worried that Emma should be alerted, but then she remembered Stephen’s stern orders and slowly walked away. Gradually her steps quickened, and then she fled past the grand staircase and on to the little stairs that led up to the servants’ quarters on the attic floor.
In her darkened room Emma had fallen into a fitful sleep and knew nothing as her brother left the house to enter the hackney coach, which was soon conveying him across London toward Pall Mall and Avenley House.
Chapter Nineteen
The hackney coach was ancient, cold, and damp, and its springs had long since ceased to be effective. There was straw on the floor, the drab upholstery was threadbare and lumpy, and the ill-fitting window glass rattled as the uncomfortable little vehicle jolted over the cobbled streets, its single horse trotting wearily with its head held low.
The coachman huddled on his box with several shawls around his shoulders, and his wide-brimmed hat was pulled forward over his forehead, for the September ni
ght was very cold indeed, and he knew there would be a frost before morning.
Inside, Stephen sat with his eyes closed. His head lolled against the poor upholstery, and he was barely aware of the noise of the coach, for all he could hear was the loud pounding of his heart. His head was spinning sickeningly, and the pain in his chest seemed to reach into every corner of his body, turning his flesh to fire.
The effort of what he was doing was taxing what little strength he had, and it was hard to think clearly, but his anger and sense of outrage spurred him on. He loved his sister with all his heart, and the thought of Avenley’s vile and lascivious blackmail was more than he could endure. Avenley would pay for his monstrous behavior.
Piccadilly was still brightly lit, but there wasn’t a great deal of traffic as the hackney coach reached the corner of St. James’s Street and then turned south. Suddenly there was more traffic, for the small hours of the night always saw a congregation of elegant vehicles as gentlemen sallied forth to their clubs. The hackney coach moved more slowly, sometimes coming to a standstill as it waited for a carriage to turn around ahead.
Stephen opened his eyes at one of these temporary halts. The pain in his chest was almost overwhelming, and his vision was confused as he gazed out of the dirty window. He could see a brilliantly illuminated doorway and a sumptuous entrance hall beyond. Gentlemen were coming and going through the doorway, and when he glanced to one side, he saw a gaming room, with green baize tables, intent players, and interested observers standing watching. He thought he had reached Avenley House.
He opened the coach door and stumbled out, leaving the door open behind him as he strove to maintain his balance and his concentration. The pounding of his heart seemed thunderous, as if the pavement itself were pulsing, and the lights of the gaming club began to revolve around him. There was a high-pitched whistle in his ears, everything began to go dim, as if he were sinking into a bed of black velvet, and then he knew no more as he slipped unconscious to the ground.
The hackney coachman did not realize that he had lost his passenger, and as the way ahead became clear again, he drove on, the coach door swinging idly on its hinges as the tired horse came up to its customary slow trot. The coach vanished at the bottom of St. James’s Street, turning east into Pall Mall and driving on toward Avenley House.