In the Brief Eternal Silence

by Rebecca Melvin

  Ryan was laughing, all the concern now washed from his face as she had intended, stretching the good points and squelching any doubts in her voice. Now he told her, “By Gad, but you are a good little trooper, Miss Murdock. If any one is able to come out of this the better off, I am sure it shall be you. Why having your season could be the making of you, and I for one, will look forward to seeing you. You shall certainly lighten the mood of what has become, I'm afraid, a bit of a bore.”

  He took her arm in his. “Now, we should probably assist my brother in helping St. James to his feet and readying him to go. How ever he shall drive his curricle, I do not know, and I for one, am not about to attempt driving those wild beasts of his that he calls horses.”

  “Oh, they are really not so bad,” Miss Murdock said with just a little pride in her voice that she had managed them well enough earlier that morning, when apparently they were well-known for their hard to handle temperaments. They turned then to assist with his lordship, found to their surprise that he was already upon his feet, coat on and buttoned and although he was conferring with Bertie, he interrupted his conversation with that man at the sight of the two of them returning from the far corner of the room. He gave them both a quizzical look and then raised one silky eyebrow at Miss Murdock. “Discretion, Miss Murdock. I only require discretion. And an heir that I can confidently claim as my own, first, if you please.”

  Ryan dropped her arm, his face flushing, and he stammered, “I say, St. James! That was entirely uncalled for.”

  To which his lordship bowed. “Perhaps,” he admitted. “And if I have put the wrong connotation upon your little tête-à-tête, I apologize.”

  “I would not interfere in your business, milord, even if I do not agree with it,” Ryan hasted to say.

  “You misunderstand me, young Ryan,” St. James told him in a smooth if somewhat drunken voice. “You may interfere with my business all you wish. It is the interfering with my betrothed that I would look so unfavorably upon.”

  Ryan appeared to take offense at this glib response, but Bertie stepped between them. “No harm done, St. James. Ryan is aware of his responsibility, that he must look higher than Miss Murdock if he is to secure his own future. Very well for you, milord, do not get me wrong. You have money you see! But for Ryan, t'would not do at all, as well he knows it, so there is no call blustering at the boy when I am certain he was merely showing a courteous concern for Miss Murdock's welfare.”

  St. James nodded. “Ah, yes. The old 'slights where there are none, and insults where there are only slights' speech. I remember. Well, can not hurt to let him be warned, but I will not badger him further.”

  Miss Murdock, who had been somewhat taken aback by the little scene being played out in front of her, realized now that Lord Tempton seemed to have his lordship well in hand, so she turned to gather her cloak, tie on her bonnet and again pick up her reticule. Her valise had remained with the curricle, so she did not have to concern herself with it.

  They left the salon, waited as St. James settled his account, asked that his bag be brought down, and called for his curricle to be brought around. Then they left the inn and went out into the welcoming sunshine, although there was still a good deal of chill in the air, to await St. James' conveyance. Bertie had evidently already spoken with his groom, who had remained at the inn while he and Ryan had gone on their hunt, for a barouche with the Edison crest was already drawn up and waiting.

  “Are you well enough to drive, St. James?” Ryan asked, being of good nature and more inclined to let the small unpleasantness of before die in peace. “For as I was telling Miss Murdock, I would as lief not try to drive your bays.”

  “I will manage, young Ryan, do not fear. But I have been thinking that it may be rather better for Miss Murdock to travel with you and Bertie in your barouche rather than have her arrive in London in my company. It will be after dark when we arrive as it is, and even with a chaperone, I fear it will draw attention to her before I really wish it.”

  “That makes good sense,” Bertie agreed. “And I needn't fear for Miss Murdock's safety if you drive yourself into the ditch in your condition, either.”

  “I've never driven into a ditch yet, Bertie, as you very well know it. But all the same, I am sure Miss Murdock will be more comfortable with you. I shall ride ahead and attempt to intercept my groom, who I will in all probability meet somewhere upon the road. You may deposit Miss Murdock at my grandmother's home, as I have already written her a letter telling her of a coming visitor. I shall be there before you to let her know that she will be arriving a little sooner than I had anticipated, and will see you there.”

  Miss Murdock, feeling like a package being passed from one hand to another to be finally deposited at her designated destination only bowed her head as these instructions were being made known and had the vague thought that she would miss riding with his lordship, for surely the trip would have gone much faster if she only had someone to argue with.

  To her surprise, St. James stepped forward, lifted her down turned chin with one slender finger and told her in a teasing voice, “Goodbye, Miss Murdock. I shall see you in London. And as we have thoroughly exhausted each other, I am sure you shall welcome the opportunity to recover without my presence.”

  Bertie gave a little harrumph and Ryan gagged a cough, and Miss Murdock came to realize that quite a bit could be read into his lordship's statement. She colored up furiously and it did not help when milord added before releasing his finger from her chin, “You have very fine eyes, Miss Murdock, especially when you are blushing.”

  Then he turned and sauntered away, unsteadily mounted his curricle which had made its appearance in the interim, and took the reins from the groom who had been leading his team.

  Chapter Eight

  Lady Lenora Larrimer, Dowager Duchess of St. James, unsealed the letter that her aging butler, Ashton, had brought in to her. She had just finished her evening meal, eating at the hour of eight o'clock, and had settled herself in her most favored chair in the drawing room. Her daughter-in-law, Lydia, joined her, doing petit point, her blonde head with the few strands of white through it bent over her work and reflecting the light of the fire from the fireplace.

  “Thank you, Ashton,” Lady Lenora said, and then, as she scanned the signature at the bottom of the short missive, added, “It is from Dante.”

  “Yes, milady. His groom, Tyler, delivered it just a few moments ago.”

  Lady Lenora read the short missive, one of her silver brows raising higher as she read each succinct sentence. She reached the end, turned the letter over in her fragile, arthritic hands in futile attempt to find further information. “What is this, Ashton?” she asked her butler, who, of course having no knowledge of the contents of the letter, was unable to answer. “Is Tyler still here?”

  “Yes, milady. The cook was giving him a plate in the kitchen. He looked rather done in as well as hungry.”

  “Well, you had better show him in, Ashton, for this letter is only mystifying me rather than enlightening me. Hardly unusual for my grandson,” she added on a dry note.

  Ashton left to procure Tyler and Lady Lenora once again skipped from sentence to sentence in the letter, her faded eyes bright with interest. A charming young lady from Chestershire. . . daughter of a Squire. A Squire. Lord help her, Lady Lenora thought. Still, for Dante to show an interest in any young lady, in a respectable way at least, was quite remarkable. Quite remarkable.

  As she is already in her twentieth year and has never had her coming out, and knowing, dear grandmother, how you are always looking for some activity to lighten your boredom, I shall be sending her to you in a few days. I trust that between you and Aunt Lydia, you will make her welcome to stay for the season and help her with any little adjustments that may need made in her wardrobe.

  I shall finance her, of course.

  Until I see you again

  Your loving grandson

  Always

  St. J.

&nb
sp; It was the last sentence that seemed to be the crowning touch on the whole disturbing letter. Finance her? St. James could not be so blind as to think that if this were made known, there could be any chance of the girl making a proper alliance with anyone else. Not that the Dowager would not enjoy spending his money, but it would have to be kept carefully under wraps. Which meant that the Dowager would have to find some reason for this—this Miss Murdock having been invited to her home for the season that had nothing to do with her grandson.

  Surely he must know this. Knowing her grandson, he knew it very well, and had been laughing to himself as he penned that line, already foreseeing the ancient wheels of his grandmother's mind starting to spin. He knew her too well, that one did, and he knew very well she would enjoy the touch of intrigue that wafted from the letter like a faint perfume.

  And whatever was possessing her grandson to take an interest in this young lady? Quite, quite unlike St. James to expend any time or energy in trying to assist some one else. Not unless he were after something himself.

  Ashton tapped on the door, causing Lady Lenora to fold up the letter even as she bade him to again come in. Her daughter-in-law, Lydia, was still sewing, but she saw her blue eyes glance up, curious of whatever was progressing without her knowledge, but reluctant to show it. Oh, she was a dull one was Lydia. Lady Lenora would never fathom what her younger son had seen in her, other than that she had been extremely beautiful those twenty-three years ago when they had first married. Twenty-four, actually, as it was November.

  God help her, although she would love to see St. James married, she hoped he had not fallen for an empty, pretty face. Like Lydia.

  “Milady?” Tyler asked, coming awkwardly within a few feet of her chair. He could not be anything but confident and in-control when outside or in the stables, but bring the man into the house and he was all thumbs and elbows. He shifted some object in his mouth from one guilty cheek to the other and Lady Lenora, not knowing whether to be amused or exasperated, told him, “You may spit your tobacco into the fire, Tyler, and try to remember not to chew again when you are in my house.”

  He did as she asked, wiped an indelicate arm across his mouth. “Sorry, milady.”

  “That's quite all right, Tyler. Though why you insist on that filthy habit, I do not know. Probably from dealing every day with my grandson, I suppose, for one must surely have some vice to keep themselves sane when being constantly in his presence.”

  “Aye, milady. You've hit the nail on the head there, milady,” he told her with certainty, which made the many papery lines about her mouth crease into a smile.

  “Now, Tyler, you will tell me what it is my grandson is up to. Who is this Miss Murdock? When did he meet her and why is he sending her to my home for her coming out?”

  Tyler rubbed one hand along his grizzled jaw. “Well, milady, she is the daughter of a Squire in Chestershire. He met her yesterday afternoon when he went to look at a horse of the Squire's. I gather she has no relatives or acquaintances in town for her to stay with for her coming out, and St. James, seeing her plight, was moved to help her.”

  “Humph!” Lady Lenora said. “St. James has never been moved to help any one in any plight.” She paused a moment, her fingers tapping a delicate tattoo on the gold head of her cane that rested by her side. “Is she enough to turn his head, Tyler? For I have seen St. James pass by some uncommonly beautiful women, or if he became involved with them, drop them without a qualm when whatever business he had with them was at an end. She must be very beautiful indeed, if he has been moved to this.”

  “Beautiful?” Tyler asked with an unreadable expression on his face. “No, milady, t'is not the tag I, for one, would put upon her.”

  Lady Lenora eyed him with some annoyance, feeling she was getting no where quickly, and getting the suspicion that Tyler had distinct orders to make sure that she did not. “Well, what 'tag' would you put upon her?” she asked the groom.

  Tyler considered a moment standing stocky-legged, his shoulders still broad despite being now some fifty years of age. His hand went to his pocket for his pouch of tobacco before he remembered himself and let it be. “Brown,” he answered, causing the Duchess to leave off fingering her cane and to instead grasp it and bang it on the floor.

  “Brown?” she demanded. “That is all you can say about the girl is

  that she is brown?”

  “Very much so, milady. Very brown.”

  And Lady Lenora responded by saying tetchily, “Be away with you, Tyler, you cheeky bugger, for I can see my grandson holds all of your loyalties, as usual.”

  “Yes, milady,” he said, hiding a smile.

  “Well, you heard me, be off, before I take this cane to your

  back.”

  “Yes, milady,” he said again, not in the least intimidated, which caused her to give a reluctant smile. “I will add, milady, that I think you shall like her.”

  “Indeed?” the duchess grinned, finding some satisfaction, at last, in this assessment. “Well, I shall look forward to seeing what St. James has selected to keep me entertained for the coming months.

  For I can see no reason for this behavior other than his ill-conceived notion that I have nothing better to do with my time but follow his vagaries.”

  And Tyler could not resist saying before he turned to leave, “I think you will find the coming months very entertaining, milady, and a good deal at St. James' expense.”

  This caused the Duchess to laugh, and she muttered to herself as she watched the groom move to the door that Ashton held open for him. “Cheeky as always. Cheeky as always. Well, Ashton,” she continued when her butler returned to her side, his back rather bowed and what was left of the hair on his balding dome very white. “What do you make of this?”

  “I learned many years ago, Lady Lenora, that where your grandson is concerned, one should always hesitate in making any deductions, for he is certain to confound whatever conclusions one makes.”

  “You are so right, Ashton,” she returned. “As always.”

  “Well,” Lydia spoke up from where she had sat in silence through all, “I think he is up to his usual disgraceful conduct. Expecting you to take on this girl without ever having made her acquaintance.”

  And Lady Lenora banged her cane once for effect. “If she is good enough for St. James to take even the slightest interest in, she shall be good enough for me, Lydia. And for you, also.”

  Lydia pulled her thread through her cloth with more than her usual force. “Of course, Lady Lenora.”

  The door opened then, and a young man with dark hair and blue eyes strode into the room. His face was rather petulant, although uncommonly handsome, and Lydia dropped her sewing, saying, “There you are, Andrew. If you insist on missing your evening meal, you should send word around, as I have told you many times.”

  “Yes, mother,” he said with impatience. “Was that St. James' man I saw leaving?”

  “Yes. It was,” Lydia returned. “But you needn't get excited, for St. James has not, to my knowledge, returned to town. His groom was merely delivering a missive to your grandmother.”

  “Oh,” the young man said, seeming quite a bit deflated. “That is all very well, then, it is just that I thought he may have returned early. Frightfully boring in this town without him around.”

  “Pleasantly peaceful, I should say,” his mother returned. “I have told you before that although he is your cousin, I would not wish for you to put too fine a point upon his behavior, as more times than not it is disgraceful.”

  At which point, Lady Lenora interrupted. “And I have told you before, Lydia, please do not run St. James down in my hearing. Your opinion of him is your own and I can not change it, neither, I admit, has St. James ever done anything to ease your mind in regards to his character, but I will not tolerate hearing his own family speak ill of him.”

  Lady Lydia gave a tight smile. “I apologize, Lady Lenora. It is, of course, inexcusable of me. I only wish that when Andrew is
around that St. James would be a little more considerate of the fact that he is still quite impressionable and is wont to romanticize his lordship's behavior rather than see it as the handicap it actually is. I have often thought that he has not married because his reputation is nearly impossible for those worthy families among our peerage to ignore, rather than that he were merely so choosy. If he has taken an interest in a Squire's daughter, I daresay it is from necessity rather then any thing else.”

  “Nonsense!” Lady Lenora replied with force. “He is a Larrimer, I need not remind you. If he were to merely bow in any baggage's direction they would immediately favor his company over all others, no matter what his reputation. And her father and mother would be quickly, and somewhat joyfully, I dare say, mollified by his worth and his title!”

  “Yes, milady. I dare say you are right. But I only say this and I will say nothing more: he is lucky to be a duke, for if he did not have that protection, every respectable door would have closed to him long ago.”

  “You may be quiet now, Lydia,” the duchess said, ending the conversation.

  Andrew, who had been striding about the room while his mother and grandmother bickered, broke in to say, “Really, mother, he is merely going about the business of finding the murderer of his parents. There is bound to be some fallout from that sort of activity, but you can not simply expect him to stop because it has put a few mars on his reputation.”

  His mother gave a little gasp, her needlepoint forgotten. “Who told you that?”

  “Why, no one,” Andrew said with a vague wave of his hand. “I know it is only what I should do if I were in the same situation. I admit, I admire him for it.”

  “See!” Lydia turned to the Duchess, quite beside herself. “He breaks every rule of society with seemingly no regard for it, and my son admires him for it.”

  Lady Lenora's faded eyes narrowed, and her head shook a little as she responded, “There are some things, Lydia, that are bigger than social standing and who gets vouchers to Almacks. I for one, do not think it will harm Andrew to find this out now.”