Code of Honor

by Andrea Pickens

  Justin watched her go with a stricken face, feeling helpless in so many ways.

  "I trust your brother is on the mend?"

  Alex gave a start at the low baritone voice, then turned with a smile from watching the country dance in progress.

  "The doctor finally allowed him out of bed this afternoon. I'm not sure who was more pleased — Justin or myself. I admit I should have been loath to have to listen to his rantings and complaints of boredom for another day."

  Branford smiled. "Youth has little patience. Or little sense."

  Alex looked at him with a mischievous expression. "Were you never young, sir?"

  His mouth twitched. "I can't remember."

  She laughed lightly, her eyes twinkling with humor. The thought occurred to him that in anyone else it would have been broadly flirtatious. "And just how old are you?"

  "Thirty five."

  "Good Lord. Ancient!"

  He took her arm and guided her to a less crowded part of the room. Then he fetched something to drink, a glass of rataffia punch for her, champagne for himself.

  "Here is to good health from now on in the Chilton household."

  Alex's face clouded for a second. "yes," she agreed. "Yes. To no more... accidents."

  Branford eyed her curiously, but let the question on his lips die. Instead he spoke of another matter. "I have been meaning to ask you if you would still like me to take a look at the piece of paper you found in your father's books?"

  "Oh." She was pleased he had not forgotten." If it is not too much trouble..."

  "Miss Chilton," he interrupted. "I have come to expect a more rational conversation with you than with most young ladies. Please do not simper or prevaricate with me. I would not offer if indeed it was too much trouble. I assure you, I am not in the habit of doing things I do not wish to do."

  "Yes. I would."

  "Very well. Shall I call tomorrow at, say, eleven."

  "That would be fine."

  "Good. Now that we have settled business matters, perhaps we might enjoy a dance."

  He placed his hand on her forearm. His touch was surprising light, but for the first time she was aware of the strength in the long, graceful fingers. She found herself enjoying the sensation of them on her bare skin. In fact they sent a tiny shiver up her arm.

  "Are you cold?"

  "No, not at all." she replied, hoping he didn't notice the faint blush on her cheeks.

  The music began.

  She wasn't even sure what they conversed about. Somehow, her concentration seemed to wander. Indeed, she might have been speaking gibberish for all that she was aware of the words coming out of her mouth. The only things that made any impact on her senses were odd — the presence of his hand at the small of her back the movement of his muscled thighs close to the rustling folds of her dress, the scent of bay rum and something she couldn't name.

  She was vaguely aware of the notes ending, of couples leaving the dance floor, of being guided across the room to where her friends were arguing over a monograph on ferns. Before she could roust herself from the strange mood that overtaken her, he was gone.

  He must think her a bloody idiot, she told herself, the earlier blush coming back in full force. Her eyes closed in acute embarrassment. How could she possibly behave in such a..."

  "Alex!"

  Her eyes flew open.

  "I have been looking all over for you," said Charles Duckleigh rather pointedly. However his ill humor could not hold up in the face of his obvious excitement over some matter. "My cousin has graciously arranged for the Duke of Wrexham to invite the members of our Society to view his collection of rare orchids! And he has even offered me use of his carriage for the occasion. Mr. Simpson and Mr. Hepplewith suggest that we go on Wednesday next."

  Oh, how very nice." It was strange. She seemed to have no trouble focusing on things now.

  "May I have the honor of escorting you on the trip. We shall bring a picnic to enjoy on the grounds and be back by suppertime."

  "I shall be delighted," she replied, noting the look of rapture on his face. "How very influential you are becoming," she added with a playful smile.

  It was said lightly, but Duckleigh couldn't help but throw back his shoulders a fraction, causing his chest to puff out.

  Oh dear, she thought, the smile still on her lips. Young men could be so very silly at times.

  "Lord Branford is here to see you, Miss Alex."

  "Oh, do show him in, Givens." Alex unconsciously smoothed the skirt of her sprigged muslin dress as she rose from the sofa in the small parlor.

  "Good morning, Miss Chilton."

  The earl looked as if he had come from riding. He was dressed in snug fitting breeches, which showed off the solid muscularity of his thighs, and polished Hessians. A finely tailored riding coat of claret melton fitted his broad shoulders with nary a wrinkle. His long, dark hair was slightly ruffled by the wind, softening the chiseled planes of his face.

  "Good heavens, thought Alex with a start, the gossips were certainly right on one thing — he was devilishly good-looking. She pushed such notions quickly aside. "Good morning, my lord. If you'll follow me to the library, please." She hoped she sounded business-like. For some reason, her voice felt as if it were catching in her throat.

  He gestured for her to lead the way.

  She pushed open the heavy oak door. "Forgive the disarray," she said, throwing a rueful look at the massive table covered with papers and piles of books, some opened, some stacked one on top of the other. "I fear both my aunt and I are engaged in projects at the moment that occupy all... our attention," she finished lamely. She hadn't realized things looked quite so chaotic.

  Branford smiled in understanding. "Neatness is, no doubt, the work of idle hands," he remarked as he walked towards a small easel set by tall leaded glass windows that faced north.

  "Really my lord, I'd rather you didn't..."

  It was too late.

  He had already moved around to observe the work in progress. For what seemed like an age he stared at it, not saying a word.

  "It's not nearly finished," she finally stammered. "Truly, it's not meant to be seen by anyone yet..."

  He looked up at her words. "It's the hibiscus from Jamaica. The one you admired at Kew Gardens."

  She nodded.

  "You are doing it from memory?"

  She nodded again. "I find I have a good eye for color and detail, though I wish I could do it from life." A guilty look stole across her face. "I did, however, steal a tiny petal and put it my reticule."

  "It is exquisite." The look that appeared momentarily in his eyes sent a burst of unaccustomed warmth shooting through her. "Do you have some of your other paintings here? I should very much like to see them."

  Alex looked as if to say something, then moved to the table. She cleared a book off of a leather portfolio and untied the silk ribbons. "Some of these are not yet finished either," she began.

  He took the portfolio from her hands and carefully opened it. One by one he studied the delicate watercolors, spending what seemed to her an inordinate amount of time on each one.

  "You are prodigiously talented, Miss Chilton."

  Alex felt herself blushing like a schoolgirl.

  He retied the ribbons and handed the portfolio back to her. The usual inscrutable look was back on his features.

  He cleared his throat. "You have the piece of paper here?"

  "Yes." She went around to the other side of the table and began fumbling through a pile of books. "I made a copy of it, in case you would like to take it with you."

  "I should like to see the original too, of course."

  "Of course."

  She finally found what she was looking for and handed him a single sheet of foolscap, dog-eared and heavily creased. He unfolded it and stood, head bent, studying its contents.

  "Hmmmph."

  "Yes?" she asked expectantly.

  He was silent for a few more minutes. There was another "Hmmm
ph" and then he looked up.

  "Well?"

  "It follows none of the more basic patterns that come readily to mind. I shall need to spend more time with it."

  She hid her disappointment. "It's probably of no matter anyway," she sighed. "As Justin keeps saying, it's most likely just a list of new plants and where he found them — he could be extremely secretive at times, and the use of code was perhaps just another manifestation of that. There is really no urgency to it, sir."

  Branford didn't answer but compared her copy to the original. Satisfied, he tucked her version into his pocket. "Your brother, I take it, is suffering no ill effects from his accident?"

  A troubled look came to her face at the mention of the last word. "No, he is quite fine, thank you."

  Still, the look of worry remained.

  "Is something troubling you, Miss Chilton?"

  She regarded him with a slightly defiant air. "You will no doubt think me a foolish female — Justin does."

  "I shall think you foolish only if your pride prevents you from speaking out on something that is obviously causing you concern. It is not a weakness to seek advice, you know."

  Alex hesitated, then let out a little sigh. "Very well. I am disturbed by the number of accidents that have befallen my brother in the last three months."

  Branford's eyebrow shot up. "This was not the first?"

  She shook her head. "A small bridge collapsed at Aunt Aurelia's estate early one morning when Justin was out riding. Once again, it was only by the purest of luck that he was not seriously injured — or worse." She shuddered slightly at the memory.

  "Was he the only one who rode regularly at that hour?"

  Unconsciously, Alex knitted her hands together. "Yes. And then, just a short time later while on his way to Oxford with his good friend Charles Hartley, the wheel came off Mr. Hartley's carriage. The coachman broke his leg in the mishap."

  "There is a plausible explanation for all these things. Accidents do occur, Miss Chilton."

  "Yes, I know. But the coincidence is troubling, to say the least." Again she paused. "I looked at Justin's saddle. You may think me melodramatic, my lord, but the girth looked tampered with. The break was too clean, as if it were... cut."

  So she had noticed. Her eye for detail certainly saw well beyond her palette.

  His face became very serious. One hand came up to rub along his jaw. "Why do you think anyone would wish to harm your brother?"

  Her hand flew up in exasperation. "That is what makes no sense. I can think of no earthly reason! It certainly isn't for money or title — oh!" She broke off, her face tight with embarrassment.

  Branford gave a little smile. "Do go on, Miss Chilton."

  "He has no enemies, does not run with a fast crowd, gamble or... "

  "Bed other men's wives?" suggested the earl.

  "I should think it highly unlikely," she answered, coloring slightly at the earl's subtle self-mockery. "He is quite attached to a Miss Anne Lockwood, a childhood friend, and hopes to pay his addresses to her. So, apparently, does a baronet from Sussex. But she is a sweet, biddable girl fresh from the schoolroom. Her father is quite well off, but no Croesus. His title is minor — she is hardly one to inspire murder."

  Branford could not suppress another smile. "Hardly," he agreed.

  "So you think me an hysterical female?" There was a note of challenge in her voice.

  "I think you are quite observant. And I tend to agree with you that the coincidences seem rather forced."

  A look of relief flooded her face. "At least you don't think me mad. Well, I intend to get to the bottom of it."

  Branford's smile disappeared. "Just what do you mean?"

  "Naturally I intend to find out who is responsible, and why."

  "And just how do you intend to do that"

  Her chin shot up. "I plan to investigate the matter thoroughly I don't intend to stand aside and let someone kill my brother, sir!"

  "I suggest you stick with your painting, Miss Chilton. Let your brother deal with the matter."

  A spark of anger flashed through her. "And stick with embroidery and tatting and the pianoforte as well, no doubt. Of course a female couldn't possibly set her mind to something serious."

  "Don't be bacon brained. That is not what I meant...."

  "Ah, thank you, Lord Branford! At least you acknowledge that I have a brain," she said acidly.

  "What I meant," continued Branford in exasperation, "was it is a dangerous course you are setting..."

  "Thank you for your advice, my lord, but there is no need to concern yourself in my affairs. It is a family matter. And I believe we have finished our other topic of business, so good day to you."

  The earl could hardly believe his ears. The chit was dismissing him! His eyes narrowed. "I think not, Miss Chilton. Finished our business, that is. For if it is business, then surely you are aware that payment must be made for services rendered."

  Alex looked startled, then quickly recovered herself. "You must name your price now, sir, so that I know whether I can afford it."

  His eyes glanced towards the window. "The hibiscus."

  "My painting!" she cried. "My paintings are not for sale."

  He removed the folded paper from his pocket. "No doubt you are already regretting having admitted that you cannot solve every conundrum in the universe." He dangled it in front of her nose. "I'm sure you will eventually figure it out."

  Alex flushed, whether in anger or dismay was impossible to tell.

  "Alright," she said in a voice barely louder than a whisper.

  "What was that?"

  "I agree to your terms, my lord," she replied. "You may have the painting when you have deciphered the letter."

  The slight smile returned to his lips. "You drive a hard bargain, Miss Chilton, but we have a deal. Good day."

  "Wretch!" she muttered as his tall, elegant figure sauntered out through the door.

  Lord Ashton ran his hand down the hock of the big grey, then turned to observe the perfectly matched horse tied alongside. "What think you, Sebastian?"

  Branford ran his critical eye over both animals. "A little narrow in the chest, but not a bad pair for the price."

  At this, the dealer let out his breath. "A very fair price, if I say so myself, Your Lordship. But of course, for any friend of yours...."

  A quelling look from the earl silenced the man.

  Ashton straightened. "Appreciate the help. Lord knows, you have the best eye for horseflesh of anyone."

  "Happy to be of assistance, Henry. Are these all you wish to purchase today?

  His friend nodded. "Doing any business yourself?"

  "No, but if you are finished, I shall have a look around. Thought I'd take a look at the chestnut hunter Bagley was raving about. Here he's up for sale today.

  Ashton waved him on. "Go ahead. I'll settle up here. And don't forget Cecelia expects you to call on her this afternoon."

  "I will do so without fail."

  Branford strolled off. Sale day at Tattersall's was always interesting. He watched an acquaintance from White's, a foppishly dressed, haughty second son of a duke, haggling over a colt and suppressed a grin. The animal was showy, but spindleshanked and would no doubt turn out to be a weak mount with a miserable gait. And the price was nothing short of a fleecing.

  He turned away, but had only gone a short distance before he noticed another deal being discussed. Despite himself, he paused.

  Justin Chilton was examining the teeth of a bay stallion with obvious inexperience.

  "Not more than five years old, sir. A solid horse, and runs like the wind."

  More like twelve and a plodder, thought Branford, who couldn't help but overhear the conversation.

  "I don't know," said Justin uncertainly. "He seems a little skittish to me, and the price... "

  "It's a very good price, sir. You'll do no better, I assure you."

  What concern was it of his, the earl told himself. The pup had no business com
ing to a place like Tattersall's without someone to show him the ropes. He'd learn a good lesson by being fleeced. Still, something kept him from walking away and leaving the young man on his own. Damnation, from the back, he looked just like his cousin, even had the same way of holding his head when deep in thought....

  Justin reached out to stroke the bay's head, but the animal shied away with a snort.