Secret Nights

by Anita Mills

  "And in good health?"

  "And in good health, aye. Though he is not at home at the present." "Still hunting grouse?"

  "I believe he has gone to London to attend to a pressing matter," the butler answered. Stopping before another ancient door, he rapped sharply with gloved knuckles, then went in, declaring tonelessly, "A Mister Hamilton to see you, my lady." Withdrawing to allow for passage, he murmured low for Patrick's ears only, "Her ladyship has been a bit out of curl lately."

  Jane did not turn around, forcing Patrick to lay his hat upon the table, then walk across the long, dark-paneled room to face her. When she looked up at him, her expression was mulish.

  "So you have finally come," she said.

  "Yes."

  "You have been with your trollop," she declared matter-of-factly.

  "I don't have a trollop, Jane."

  "The murderer's brass-haired daughter, then."

  He could have denied it, but he didn't. The sooner the interview ended, the better for both of them, he decided. "I should rather count it copper than brass, I think."

  "Then you admit it?"

  "Yes. Do you wish to hear of her?"

  "No, of course not," she snapped. Rising from the chair, she walked to the tall, narrow window, where she stood staring out into the gray mist. "Mama told me I should expect this, you know," she said finally. "But I would have thought you could have the decency to wait until we were married, Patrick." Settling her shoulders, she spun around. "But as you have not, I shall have to accept it, I suppose. Mama said I should not refine too much on such things."

  "Your mother is wrong."

  "Is she? What would you have me do—cry? Plead? Beg for your constancy? I assure you, sir, that I shall not."

  He felt an intense relief, for she was going to make it easy for him to cry off. "I am glad for your understanding," he said simply.

  "Yes—well, such things happen in our class, Papa says, so I have decided I can live with what you have done, Patrick, and if you have no wish to give her up, I suppose I can live with that also." She took a deep breath, then raised her lovely dark eyes to his. "You see, I shall have what she does not, for I shall wear your wedding ring, and it will be my son when she reads the christening notice in the papers. She can have all she wants of you, but I shall have your name."

  He stared at her, too thunderstruck for speech at first, then he found his voice. "You do not care if I share myself with another woman?" he asked incredulously. "It means nothing to you?"

  "I am civilized enough to know you will tire of her one day."

  "I see. And if I find yet another?"

  "I can bear that also. I will have my house, my parties, and your consequence to sustain me. I shall make a life for myself so long as you are discreet, Patrick."

  She was going to hold him to the damned bargain, he could see it now, and it had nothing to do with him at all. "I see. You are an incredibly understanding female, Jane," he said dryly.

  "Thank you. I have hopes I am, in any event. Mama says if I am to succeed amongst the tabbies in London, 1 must be,"

  The only thought that ran through his mind as he looked into her lovely face was that a gentleman could not in conscience cry off without the lady's consent. And Jane knew it. No, by fair means or foul, he would have to find the means to make her break the connection.

  "Do you still love me?" he asked her bluntly.

  She regarded him coolly for a moment, then inclined her dark head slightly. "But of course—we are betrothed, after all."

  "What a sham you are, my dear," he managed while trying to control the impotent anger he felt.

  "Then we shall suit each other admirably, I expect."

  "Very well," he said tightly. Then he began to gamble. "I shall have to remove Miss Rand from Barfreston before I take you there."

  "There is no need, I assure you. You see, I have not the least intention of living in a small house in Surrey—or is it in Sussex?"

  "Kent"

  "In any event, I don't mean to live there. When you are wishful of rusticating, I shall merely come to visit Mama—or perhaps we shall discover a place more suitable to your position, in which case I shall like presiding over the neighborhood.''

  "You make it sound as though I have a tide."

  "You will have."

  "Probably not after Rand's trial, Jane." He had the satisfaction of seeing her dark eyes widen. "Did not Dunster tell you? I mean to see that to the end— whether Rand hangs or not, I mean to be there."

  She lost her carefully cultivated control then. "But you cannot!" she cried. "If you are so foolish as to defend him, the party will disown you! For God's sake, Patrick—think! We shall be outcasts!"

  "The man deserves a defense, Jane."

  "The man is a murderer of the worst order!" Collecting herself with an effort, she attempted reasoning with him. "If you would have what Papa can give you, you will have to abandon Mr. Rand. Otherwise, Papa says you cannot be elected anywhere." Reaching out to him, she clasped his hands in hers. "You have always wanted this, you know. One day you could hold a portfolio like my father, Patrick. One day you could have it all," she coaxed. "Power," she said softly. "Papa can offer you power."

  "I gave Rand my word."

  Her nails dug into his hands. "You gave me your word! You pledged to marry me"

  "All right," he said suddenly, playing his last card, thinking she must surely throw him over if he could make her believe him serious. "If you are still determined to have me, let us make it today."

  Her face went blank for a moment, and she dropped her hands. "Today? Oh, but—"

  "You may stay wherever you like until the trial is over, and then we shall perhaps leave the country," he said calmly. "If you prefer, we can go to France, or if you would have greater distance between us and the mobs, we might take ourselves off to America."

  "America?" she gasped, disbelieving her ears. "America? I should think not! Patrick, have you completely lost your senses? I wish to live in London!"

  "Well, I daresay everything will be forgotten within the year," he allowed.

  "The elections will be over! Patrick, this is insane! You cannot want to throw your future away for the likes of Bartholomew Rand! Have you not read the papers? Can you not know what he has done?"

  "He is paying rather handsomely for his defense, Jane," he countered. "And every English citizen deserves to be tried in a court of law rather than the papers."

  "I cannot believe this! You have lost your mind, haven't you?"

  "No, I have found it." This time, he caught her hands and held them. "Come away with me, Jane. We shall take Rand's money and live like royalty in America."

  She jerked her hands away. "Patrick Hamilton, if you persist in this nonsense, we are at an end!" she said furiously. "I did not choose you so I could live at the ends of the earth, I assure you! I did not spend months gaining your attention so I should be disgraced either! Papa told me you were a man on your way up, Patrick!"

  "Do you want to wed me or not? Tell me now, and I shall ride for a Special License." Moving closer, he turned her around and took her stiff body in his arms. Bending his head to hers, he kissed her thoroughly until she began to struggle. "Come away with me," he whispered hotly against her ear.

  "Don't do this to me—Papa—"

  "He will be glad enough when we get our heir, which ought to be quickly enough if we apply ourselves to the task."

  "But I don't want to increase! At least not yet!" Righting herself, she ducked beneath his arm and put a safe distance between them. "I think you are a madman, Patrick Hamilton! And what of your Miss Rand?"

  "Oh, I mean to keep her also."

  "Jane, whatever—?" Lady Dunster's eyes swept the room until she saw him. "Mr. Hamilton," she said faintly.

  "Jane and I are determined to be wed as quickly as possible," he announced baldly.

  "Well, I am sure we—oh, dear, but this is rather sudden, isn't it? But I daresay we can contrive somethi
ng—that is—"

  "Mama!" Jane wailed. "We are not at all decided!" Drawing herself up to her full height, she pointed an accusing finger at him. "He has not the least intention of standing for election," she announced awfully. "Nor does he wish to live in London."

  "Oh, dear—but—"

  "He wishes me to go to America! And it would not surprise me if he means to take Miss Rand also!"

  "America?" her mother echoed feebly. "Whatever for?"

  "He is determined to defend Mr. Rand! Mama, you must tell him he cannot!"

  Lady Dunster sank into a chair. "Oh, but you must not, sir-—the Tories have no need of a scandal—not just now."

  "I gave my word," he said quietly. "But regardless of that, I shall still be able to provide for your daughter, so you need not worry on that head."

  Both women stared at him, then Lady Dunster found her voice again. "But you will not to able to stand for the elections, Mr. Hamilton. Surely you must know that."

  "I do, but the trial will not be held until January."

  "January, sir, is too late. I thought my husband said—well, I thought he meant to persuade you away from this foolish notion." She looked helplessly toward her daughter. "Jane, you must reason with him."

  "I have tried, Mama, but he is too thick-skulled to listen!" For a long moment, Jane continued to regard him balefully, then she decided. "It is clear to me now that Mr. Hamilton has preyed upon me to gain his advantage. But I do not mean to stand for it, I assure you." Still looking at Patrick, she declared flatly, "My engagement to Mr. Hamilton is quite at an end. You may write to Papa and tell him I should not wed the lunatic if he were the last man in England."

  "Well, I scarce know what to say, dearest. Your papa will be vexed, I am sure."

  "When he hears of Mr. Hamilton's folly, I am sure Papa will support me."

  "I see," Patrick said, feigning a deep disappointment. "Well, I am sorry, of course, but I cannot very well force you into a distasteful marriage."

  "I should not go as far as the village with you now," Jane said emphatically. "I only hope you know you are throwing a brilliant future away. Papa could have given you everything, Patrick—everything."

  "Yes, well, then there is not much left to say, is there, my dear?" he managed soberly. "Shall I send the notice in, or would you prefer Lord Dunster did it?"

  "I don't care. You may, I suppose. You may merely say we have discovered we shall not suit."

  "As you wish, of course."

  "Well, I must say you are both rather civilized about it," Lady Dunster observed.

  Jane took off her ruby and diamond ring and handed it to Patrick. "All I ask, sir, is that you do not give this to your doxy."

  "Jane!" her mother gasped.

  "It is all right, Mama, for he is going." Spying his beaver hat, she moved to pick it up. Holding it out to him, she said with utter finality, "Good day, sir."

  As he left them, he could hear her mother say, "I fear your father would have wished you to consult him."

  "Not when I tell him what I have escaped," the girl said. "Besides, I shall say I mean to accept Dillingham, after all, and that ought to appease him. Though," she mused somewhat wistfully, "Hamilton is still far more handsome."

  It was all he could do to walk soberly from the house, and when he reached the safety of the carriage, he collapsed against the hard leather squabs, feeling as relieved as if he'd escaped the lion's den. Had he not felt a slight twinge of guilt for deceiving her, he would have been in whoops. But at least it was now over, and he was free to go home to Ellie.

  After he saw Rand. With that thought, whatever euphoria he'd felt ended. There was still Ellie's father left between him and happiness.

  After making the trip back to London, he found a letter from the earl already awaited him. Breaking the wax seal with his thumbnail, he scanned it quickly, reading:

  My dear Hamilton,

  I am in receipt of Jane's letter, which arrived by messenger today, and it is difficult to express the depth of my disappointment in what I can only consider your sad lack of judgment. To defend Bartholomew Rand at this juncture can only be counted an utter folly, something I had not expected of a man of your intellect and promise.

  As you must certainly know, I have no choice but to wash my hands of you. The party is in need of those who can bring victory, not those who must surely carry it down to defeat. I make my decision with genuine regret, sir, for I was not alone in seeing great possibilities in you.

  It was signed, "As ever, Yr. Servant, etc., Dunster."

  Behind him, Hayes watched as he consigned the earl's letter to the fire. "I beg your pardon, sir—is aught the matter?" the butler asked. "I had expected you to remain in Scotland a trifle longer."

  "You behold a jilted man, old fellow," Patrick murmured. Walking to where a decanter sat on the sideboard, he poured two drinks and gave one to the startled Hayes. Taking his own, he clinked the glasses together for a toast. "To Lady Jane Barclay," he said softly. "May she make someone else the perfect political wife."

  "I am terribly sorry."

  "Oh, I assure you I am not repining, Hayes—not at all."

  Thinking his master must have finally snapped beneath the weight of work, Hayes regarded him curiously. "Are you quite certain you are not ailing, sir?"

  Tossing off his drink, Patrick shook his head. "Wish me happy, Hayes, for I am getting married."

  "Well, I am sure—that is, if Lady Jane Barclay has cried off, sir, I fail to see how—"

  "Pure luck, old fellow—pure luck, I assure you. The Almighty has delivered me in the proverbial nick of time," Patrick managed more soberly. "You see, I have hopes of Miss Rand."

  "Miss Rand?" Hayes echoed, stunned. "You are marrying the murderer's daughter?"

  "Yes." Pouring himself another drink, Patrick flung himself into a chair before the fire, then stared into the flames for a moment. "God, Hayes, but I very nearly went to hell."

  "I collect you have decided not to stand for Parliament," the old man said.

  "No. Instead, I am inclined to contribute money to the Whigs, for at least they are not afraid to stand for something."

  Hayes eyed his glass dubiously, then sipped it. "Well, I am sure I have always thought so."

  As tired as he was, Patrick still had to see Rand, then he meant to leave for Barfreston and Ellie, taking time to visit the archbishop's office in Canterbury. When he went home, he wanted to present her with a Special License to marry. After that, she would never again have to feel ashamed for letting him love her. After that, she would be his wife of name as well as body.

  He forced himself to sit up. "I don't suppose Banks or Byrnes has sent by any messages, have they?"

  "If they did, the letters probably went to Scotland. Indeed, but I thought you had cleared your calendar for the hunting trip."

  "I did—of everything but Rand."

  "Terrible business about his house," Hayes observed. "The Gazette said the crowd numbered in the hundreds before the Guards came."

  "At least. His neighbors ought to be thankful they are not in the City itself, for then there should have been ten times as many, maybe more."

  "Aye. How many was it as witnessed the last execution?" Hayes asked. " 'Twas nigh eighty thousand as came," he murmured, answering himself. "Aye, but we Brits do love our hangings."

  "With a passion," Patrick acknowledged dryly. "The circus for the masses."

  "Well, I have only gone once, of course, and the pasties I bought did not set well at all. Not to mention that the poor fellow kicked far too long, and the hangman had to pull at his legs to end it."

  "As odd as it may seem, given my profession, I have never been once."

  "Not even when they hanged the doctor as was poisoning his patients?"

  "No."

  The butler stared into the fire also, then finally asked, "Will Mr. Rand go to the gallows, do you think?"

  "Probably." Patrick studied the dregs of his wine for a moment. "Unless he i
s willing to risk his neck, the hangman will break it for him."

  "Poor Miss Rand."

  "I know." Setting his glass aside, Patrick heaved himself up from the chair. "I suppose I shall have to visit him and get it over with," he said heavily. Looking at the curled wisps of fire-blackened paper, he added matter-of-factly, "Two down, one to go."

  Patrick walked outside Newgate Prison struggling within himself. For nearly ten years, he had practiced law more as an art than an instrument of justice, telling himself that the one resulted in the other. But this time, had it not been for Elise Rand, he could have easily walked away from the old man, saying that he had no wish to defend him.

  But did not, by the nature of the judicial system, every defendant require the best counsel a lawyer could give? Or were there some crimes so terrible that every just feeling must demand vengeance? What then? Did one turn one's back on a man like Rand?

  For once, he didn't have an easy answer. Most of what he'd wanted, most of the ambitions he'd cherished were gone now, replaced by the conviction that what he needed out of life was the love of a murderer's daughter. For a moment he closed his eyes, seeing her as she'd looked kneeling in the old Norman church that moment when he'd realized he loved her. Now, if only he could somehow protect her from the anguish that was sure to come, he was convinced he could make her happy.

  "Hamilton! Patrick Hamilton!" someone called out to him. "Wait up!"

  Pulled from his reverie, Patrick stopped and half turned to see Peale hurrying after him, his black robe billowing, his hand holding his wig. Patrick managed to smile wryly, knowing that when the older man heard the earl had abandoned him, he would think him a complete fool.

  "I thought I'd caught sight of you," the prosecutor said breathlessly. He straightened the curled peruke. For a moment he regarded Patrick soberly, then he nodded. "Couldn't take any more of Dunster's managing, eh?"

  "It would seem that gossip travels faster than a coach and four," Patrick murmured noncommittally.

  "All over the Bailey. In fact—" Peale leaned closer as though he shared a secret with him. "In fact, Lord Dunster summoned Russell and myself to attend him earlier today, and I cannot say he was pleased at all."