Falconer's Heart

by Janice Bennett

  She peeked up at her companion to find his gaze resting thoughtfully on her face. She looked down quickly. “How should I behave? What will be expected of me?” She rushed into speech, unaccountably—and uncharacteristically—embarrassed.

  “You will do very well, have no fear. But be somewhat reserved. If you think you have made a mistake, do not appear uneasy. No one could possibly guess the truth about you, and you may be very sure that any peculiarity of manner will be ascribed to your being an American.”

  “What a delightful reflection on my country. Tell me, are all Britishers so insular?” She smiled sweetly at him, hiding her touch of irritation at his unintended slight.

  His frown faded before a sudden smile. “Worse,” he admitted. “With luck, though, you will only meet my mother and sister.”

  “What are they like?”

  “My mother likes to be thought of as a gorgon, but don’t let her frighten you—it is all an act, for her amusement. And Felicity is much like Hillary.”

  With that, Riki had to be satisfied. A few questions provided her with the facts that Prince George currently reigned as Regent, that appearances were everything, and that a lady was expected to think of nothing but her gowns, the upcoming season and other frivolities. Riki felt revolted and lapsed into moody silence.

  The countryside, though, soon enthralled her. Fields, hedgerows, farmhouses and forests slipped past. In the distance, she glimpsed an occasional church steeple or rustic village. After two hours, they pulled through a bustling town and into the yard of a busy inn. Riki watched, fascinated, as three uniformed boys ran forward and began unhitching their horses.

  Belmont consulted a pocket watch, apparently borrowed from Sir Julian. “We’re making excellent time.”

  “Are we?” For one accustomed to cars, this seemed a rather slow way to travel.

  “Provided the new team doesn’t boast any bo-kickers, we should reach the next stage in just over an hour.”

  The ostlers harnessed four fresh horses into position. The lads ran clear, the postboy mounted and collected his team, and they rolled forward out of the enclosed yard. Riki looked back to see another carriage taking their place and the ostlers once more engaged in their swift work.

  A steady, fine sleet began to fall after they passed Hastings. The horses, perforce, slowed, and Riki hugged herself against the chill wind that penetrated the carriage. Her wrists had begun to throb again.

  Belmont muttered something beneath his breath and promised at the next stage to order a hot brick, a carriage blanket and coffee.

  Delicate flakes of snow began to touch the carriage window, melting at first, then clinging, creating intricate patterns. A thin, filmy blanket of white covered the ground and the hoofbeats became muffled as the horses’ iron shoes struck the cushioning substance. Bare tree limbs donned their icy wintry foliage as the world filled with swirling flakes. The postboy reined the team to a walk.

  Belmont peered ahead, but the air was thick with flurrying snow, vision almost nonexistent. “It appears we will be somewhat delayed.”

  To Riki that sounded like an understatement. It looked suspiciously like a blizzard in the making out here. Still, and despite the postboy’s suggestions that they find a likely inn, they kept doggedly on. Suddenly the carriage lurched to a stop.

  “What happened?” She leaned forward but couldn’t see anything blocking their path. The postboy, in fact, stared hard back over his shoulder.

  Belmont let down the window. “Is something wrong?”

  “N-no, m’lord.”

  The horses started up once more at a walk and the vehicle swayed on. About a half-hour later they stopped once more, and the postboy again seemed more concerned with the road behind them than with whatever lay ahead.

  Belmont threw open the door and hopped down to the snow-covered ground. “What the devil is going on?”

  “There’s someone followin’ us, m’lord.”

  Belmont’s brow creased and he cast a swift glance behind them, but the air was thick with swirling white. “What do you mean? I don’t see anyone.”

  “I can ‘ear a carriage, m’lord. It slows and speeds up right along with us. So I tries stopping, and so does it. Every once in a while I gets a glimpse o’ the ‘orses, then they drops back, like.”

  Belmont drew a deep breath. “Can you lose them?”

  The postboy chewed his lower lip. “I don’t knows as I dare try, m’lord. The footin’ is slippery, like.”

  Belmont looked ahead. “Do you know this stretch of road?”

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  “Would you know if we were to approach a side lane? In time to spring the horses and get far enough down to get out of sight? I’d like to follow our friends for a bit and see if this is just coincidence.”

  The lad nodded, pleased with the idea, and Belmont returned to the carriage. They plodded on for another quarter-hour, then abruptly the carriage jolted forward. Riki grasped a hand strap and Belmont’s strong arm swept out, holding her safe against the squabs.

  “Can you see anyone behind us?” Belmont peered out the window, his narrowed gaze searching.

  Riki shook her head. “If they really are following us, they’d have to be keeping us in sight, wouldn’t they?”

  “Not necessarily. If they know who we are, they’ll have a good idea where we’re going. We’re not likely to delay on the road. Whoever they are, they were probably biding their time until we came to a long deserted stretch of road to overtake us.”

  Riki shivered. “What delightful thoughts you have. Any idea why?”

  “My journey to Portugal seems the likeliest, doesn’t it? Word leaked out about that, thanks to the ineptness of my brother-in-law—and possibly others. There is always the chance I was spotted in Rottingdean or Brighton.”

  Riki turned from the window to fix him with a fascinated eye. “You sound quite accustomed to being followed.”

  Belmont shook his head, never looking away from the road behind. The carriage swung sharply, the wheels skidding through the snow, and they headed down a lane so narrow it would have been possible to miss it altogether. Here, tall evergreens screened the road so that little snow impeded their path. The horses broke into a gallop and Riki clutched her hand strap even tighter. Behind them, on the main road, a carriage swirled past in a spray of muddy slush, heedless of the treacherous footing.

  Abruptly their own horses slowed to a walk, and Riki nearly flew from the seat. Belmont steadied her as the vehicle turned laboriously in the narrow confines of a country crossroad. They started back at a brisk canter the way they had come.

  “It’s madness to spring horses under these conditions,” Belmont remarked, his tone purely conversational. He drew his flask from his pocket and offered it to Riki.

  She took a sip and handed it back. “You think they were following us, then?”

  Belmont nodded. “Why else keep pace like that? A normal carriage would have passed us when our postboy stopped.”

  “And now we follow them.”

  “If we can.”

  They emerged once more onto the main road and the horses leaped forward. This time, Riki was prepared and held on tight. But no carriage came into sight before them. At last, for the sake of the blown team, they were forced to slow. At the next posting house they stopped for a change.

  Their lad came to the door of the post chaise while the ostlers backed a fresh team into harness. “No one’s stopped ‘ere for the past hour or more, m’lord. They weren’t prepared for us, with the snow fallin’ so ‘ard.”

  Belmont nodded. “Either our friends have gone ahead searching for us, or they pulled our trick and are once again behind.”

  “Do you want me to keep tryin’ to race ‘em?”

  Belmont shook his head. “The snow’s too heavy. You were only hired until this stage. Do you want to go the rest of the way with us?”

  “That I would, m’lord.” An impish grin crossed the lad’s unprepossessing features.
“Adds a bit of excitement, it does.”

  Belmont nodded. “Then have the landlord supply us each with a pistol. It doesn’t pay to take chances.”

  Locating the pistols caused some delay, but the guns duly arrived, along with steaming mugs, blankets and hot bricks. The latter helped to alleviate Riki’s discomfort of body, if not of mind. Mostly she appreciated the dollop of brandy Belmont added to their coffee.

  They started forth once more, and would have been much more comfortable except for the shadow of uneasiness that now hung over them. Riki cast frequent, darting glances out the window, but no other carriages could be seen venturing forth in the heavily falling snow. Her alert vigil gave way to tedium as they plodded along.

  One glance at Belmont’s face discouraged her from asking questions. Deep lines creased his brow and the firm set of his square jaw bespoke his preoccupation as clearly as if he had voiced his concerns aloud. She couldn’t blame him. Even if their mysterious follower never caught up with them, journey’s end wouldn’t be any picnic for him either. He still had to present her to his family.

  At the next stage Belmont obtained a pack of playing cards, and the atmosphere inside the post chaise lightened immeasurably. He poured them each a brandy from his flask, shuffled, and his pensive mood faded as he introduced her to the intricacies of piquet. Only occasionally did he cast a searching glance behind them.

  Increasing darkness put an end to both the watching and the cards. Riki returned her attention to the countryside and noticed the snow had let up to a light fall.

  “We’ve reached Canterbury,” Belmont announced as the outline of a large town came into view. “Not much farther now.”

  When at last they turned off the road onto a narrow lane, a couple of stars peeped out from between the clouds. A few miles later they slowed for a turn and the crunching of gravel beneath a thin layer of snow announced they now traversed a private drive. Riki peered ahead but could not see their destination.

  “Around the next bend. There, you can just make out the outline of the chimneys.”

  Falconer’s Court looked to be a massive house of low, rambling design. Riki found herself more interested in the lights that illuminated the multi-paned windows on the ground floor and their promise of warmth and comfort. She shivered and wondered what Belmont’s mother and sister would think of her.

  They drew to a stop before the front door, which opened as Belmont jumped to the ground. A man in somber black waited, stiffly correct, apparently not impressed by visitors who arrived under cover of darkness without warning. Belmont strode forward and the previously impassive face of the butler crumpled in amazement.

  “My lord?” He hurried forward.

  Belmont handed him their borrowed valises. “As you see, Newly. Have Mrs. Wicking prepare a room for my mother’s guest.” He offered Riki his arm and led her toward the house.

  The butler bowed them into the hall then took Riki’s pelisse and Belmont’s topcoat. Appalled, the man stared at his master’s unusual attire.

  “Shall I send Mr. Pervis to you, my lord?”

  Belmont fought back a smile. “Later. I will see my mother first. Is she in the Blue Drawing Room?”

  “She is dressing for dinner, my lord. If the young person will—”

  “Young lady, Newly. Have Mrs. Wicking assign a maid to assist Miss van Hamel.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  Riki remained poised under the butler’s curious stare, returning it with only the slightest smile touching her lips. Newly bowed to her with dawning respect, and Riki turned to take Belmont’s offered arm. They started for the stairs.

  “Mr. Sylvester is with us, my lord.” The butler added the ominous words in the accents of one long inured to disasters.

  Belmont stopped dead. “The devil he is.”

  Newly bowed slightly. “As you say, my lord.”

  “When did he arrive?”

  “A little more than an hour ago, my lord.”

  “Traveling, in this weather?” But he murmured the words to himself.

  “Mr. Sylvester?” Riki whispered as the butler made his stately way toward the back of the house. Not even in the presence of the smugglers had she seen Belmont so taken aback.

  “0 my prophetic soul! My uncle.” His mouth twitched into a wry smile.

  “0 villain, villain, smiling, damned villain?” Riki murmured back.

  “So a number of young ladies not of our order might say. He has been a source of entertainment for my mother and chagrin for my father for as long as I can remember. It was, in fact, upon the occasion of one of Sylvester’s visits that my father was taken off in a fit of apoplexy.”

  The last was said without any trace of tragedy or grief, so Riki accepted it as a statement of fact and offered no condolences. “What brought him out in such a storm?”

  “0 villain.” Belmont’s eyes narrowed.

  Riki gasped. “You don’t think…?”

  “It’s ludicrous.” Yet still, obviously, he had thought it. “He has no reason to follow me.”

  “No, he could quite easily just meet you here,” Riki agreed. She met his frowning gaze but could find no answer to the unspoken question she read in his eyes.

  “Let us—”

  Belmont broke off, for a slightly built gentleman with silvered hair and an elegant manner appeared on the landing above them. His green velvet cutaway coat fit him to perfection, showing an elaborate brocade waistcoat shot through with gold thread beneath. The gentleman waved a delicate white hand on which an overly large emerald sparkled, matching the one nestled in his cravat.

  “I say, Newly, where—” He saw the arrivals in the hall below. “Belmont?” He raised his quizzing glass and regarded them through it, then allowed it to drop. His face wreathed in a welcoming smile, he hurried lightly down the curving oak staircase. “My dear Nevvy! I thought you out of the country.”

  Riki blinked. Despite the elaborate show, she detected no real surprise in that greeting. Could he have followed them in so odd a manner? It just didn’t seem likely.

  Belmont accepted his uncle’s hand but a sudden frown creased his brow. “Did you, Uncle? Now, why would you have thought I had left England?”

  “Stopped in to visit you at Whitehall.” He twisted the giant emerald on his finger. “The day before yesterday, I believe. Yes, definitely, for I had been playing at White’s all night and thought I’d pay my respects to you on my way home.”

  “By which I may assume that you dipped rather deeply.”

  “Only a slight flutter.” A frown replaced Sylvester Randall’s expansive smile. “I may have been a trifle muddled, dear boy, but I distinctly recall someone saying you were headed to Portugal. I am delighted to see it was not true after all.”

  “As a matter of fact, I was on my way. But an unexpected problem came up and I have returned, as you see. What brings you to the Court, and in such inclement weather—or need I ask? Under the hatches again?”

  “Oh, tol-lol, dear boy.” Sylvester waved the question aside with a grand gesture and beamed once more. “London can be so very dreary in January. I was prompted by an ardent desire to see my lovely sister-in-law once more.”

  “That and the somewhat pressing demands of your creditors?”

  The elegant gentleman directed a look of pained reproach at him and straightened his slight shoulders. “Do I look like a shabster?”

  “Yes.”

  A twinkle entered Mr. Sylvester Randall’s not-so-innocent blue eyes. “How well you know me, my boy. How well you know me. And what of this delightful creature? A maid?” He raised his quizzing glass and directed the scrutiny of the connoisseur at Riki.

  “Not a maid, Uncle—and not fair game for you, either. Miss Erika van Hamel is an emissary from the American government who had the misfortune to be involved in a shipwreck with me. Miss van Hamel, I am sorry to introduce to you the black sheep of our family, my father’s brother, the Honorable Mr. Sylvester Randall.”

 
Sylvester took her hand, bowed deeply over it and managed at the same time to raise her fingers to his lips with an artistry that demanded admiration. “Pay him no heed, my dear. Every family must have a profligate or two hidden away.”

  “And he has been forced to carry the role alone for too long,” Belmont stuck in, unconsciously playing straight man to his uncle.

  “Very true.” Sylvester shook his head in exaggerated sadness. “Until my brother had the good sense to marry Lady Prudence, whose humor, I am pleased to say, she passed on to most of her children,” here he cast a roguish glance at Belmont, “the duty fell solely to me.”

  “And now you have assistance?” Riki couldn’t resist the question.

  “You have already met Hillary,” Belmont reminded her.

  “Has she?” Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “I distinctly remember him saying he was off to Oxford. Devilish flat, I thought at the time. Has he had the good sense to go elsewhere?”

  “You see what we have to endure.” Belmont turned to Riki, his eyes holding a rueful smile as his tension eased.

  Riki inclined her head toward the elegant gentleman. “I understand you have only just arrived. How was your journey from London?”

  “Cold, my dear. Devilish cold.”

  Belmont took her arm. “And so was ours. If you will excuse us, Uncle? I am certain Miss van Hamel would be glad of a chance to freshen up before dinner.”

  Sylvester bowed low once more to Riki. “Forgive me for delaying you. You will have need to make haste. Lady Prudence sets an admirable table but insists on dining at the ungodly hour of six when in the country.”

  He nodded affably to them both and glided toward the back of the house, apparently set upon discovering the butler, who had long since vanished from the hall. Belmont watched his departing figure with a slight frown still creasing his brow.

  “Will his presence complicate our business with my cousin?” Riki whispered.

  “What?” He glanced at her as if he had momentarily forgotten her presence. “Complicate? No, I shouldn’t think so. We will merely take care to keep Warwick out of his vicinity.”