Lilith turned towards the sound. A small, thin man was running at them. She blinked. Harris? But this filthy, wet creature, his cap a sodden lump upon his head, could not be Cecily’s groom. He stumbled to a stop before her.
“Oh, missus,” he gasped. “Thank God I found you—”
There was a buzzing in her ears, and an odd, numb feeling in her spine. Lilith clutched Julian’s arm for support as the world about her glared yellow, then faded to black.
Lilith opened her eyes to anxious green ones. A warm, strong hand held hers.
“Do you mean to remain with us this time?” Julian asked.
“I—I fainted, didn’t I?”
“Repeatedly. We’ve had a confounded time bringing you round.”
A pillow supported her head, but the settle she lay upon was narrow and hard. Gingerly, Lilith began to pull herself up to a sitting position. He released her hand to help her. Then he did not take it again.
“I should give your groom a sound thrashing,” he said. “I can’t imagine what he was thinking of, to spring at you in that outrageous way. I’ve never beheld so hideous a spectacle—and stinking to high heaven as well. No wonder you swooned.”
“It was Harris,’’ she gasped. “Is it about Cecily? Is she hurt?”
“Cecily is perfectly well. You may be quite easy. We’ve been off on a precious wild goose chase. The girl never left London.”
“Never left?” she echoed weakly.
“Never left, never eloped. It was all a hum.” Julian rose from his chair. “I mean to say, it was a misunderstanding. From what Harris babbled, I gather Robert intended to run away with her, but your niece must have developed qualms at the last minute. She must have sneaked back after we’d gone.”
He’d not much else to tell her. Harris was exhausted, having ridden hard since early morning. In any case, the groom had not been given many details.
“It doesn’t matter,” Lilith said as the news truly penetrated and relief washed over her. “So long as she’s safe at home. I should have known. I should have trusted her. She has far too much sense to do such a thing. I wish I’d been more confident at the start. I might have spared you—”
“Not at all. I told you I’d keep an eye on Robert, and I failed you. Naturally, I must have gone after him, regardless your confidence in your niece. I only regret that several hours must pass before I can wring his neck.” He moved to the door. “I shall order a large dinner, which we may consume at our leisure. Then, we have but to return you discreetly in the dead of night, bribe Harris to hold his tongue, and all is well with the world.”
“Yes,” she said. No, she thought. Nothing would ever be altogether well again.
Considering he’d expected to be murdered, Lord Robert ought to have been grateful his cousin merely threw him against the library wall and half throttled him before turning away in disgust.
Lord Robert was relieved to escape with so negligible a physical punishment. He was not, however, sufficiently appreciative to keep silent.
“Go home?” he bleated, rubbing his aching throat. “You can’t send me home. You haven’t any authority over me, Julian.”
“Don’t test my patience, cousin. That commodity is in short supply at present.”
“I’m not going home. Cecily needs me. I’m not going anywhere without her. We’re going to be married—I don’t care what anyone says. She doesn’t care, either.”
Julian poured himself a glass of wine.
“In that you are sadly mistaken,” he answered, “Or lamentably ignorant. I’m afraid you don’t understand precisely the sort of predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.”
He dropped his weary body into a large overstuffed chair, sipped his wine, leaned back, and proceeded to explain Robert’s predicament in numbing detail.
When the marquess was done, Robert stumbled to the chair opposite and fell into it.
“Twenty-five thousand pounds,” he said dazedly. “Breach of promise. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t.” He turned a pleading countenance to his cousin. “She can’t, Julian. She’ll ruin everything. I could never marry Cecily. I couldn’t do that to her.”
“Naturally not. Her family wouldn’t let you. In fact, if you have any feeling for her, you’ll not venture into Miss Glenwood’s general vicinity. I warned you the sort of scenes you might expect from your discarded mistress.”
“But Julian, there has to be some way. Surely if you talked to Elise. Gad, give her what she wants—the whole trust fund.”
“She wants a title or revenge, the latter in the form of a scandalous, expensive, interminable, but eventually highly profitable lawsuit.”
“I won’t marry her. I can’t believe I ever thought I loved her, when all this time she’s only been planning how to ruin me.”
“Yes, you were a great help to her in that.”
Robert groaned. “How could I have been so stupid-—stupid, stupid, stupid, and blind? Gad, I wish you had killed me. What am I going to do?”
The marquess stared into his wineglass. After a moment, he asked, “Are you quite certain you wish to marry Miss Glenwood? Are you positive you’re truly in love with the girl?”
Robert’s sinking head shot up. “How can you ask?” he demanded indignantly. “I adore her. I’ve been crazy about her since the moment I met her.”
“You never mentioned it.”
The younger man squirmed. “I didn’t realise at first. I only thought of her as a... well, a friend, I suppose. Then, when I finally figured it out, I did come to you. Don’t you remember? That day when I told you about the curricle?”
Julian only stared at him.
“I tried after that, but you were never home. Or when you were, you stayed locked in your room, or in the library, or somewhere. And you just ignored me, even when I pounded on the door. Or you told me to go to blazes. Well, it was obvious enough what your—” He caught himself up short. “That is to say, a man has to deal with his own problems. You’re not my nurse, as you’ve told me a hundred times.”
“Indeed. You’ve dealt with your problem marvelously, I see.”
“I never pretended to be as clever as you,” Robert shot back angrily. “You can sneer if you like. You don’t know what it is to be half crazy about a girl—while everyone else makes it completely hopeless for you. It’s all right if you go into the ugliest sulk there ever was and treat me like a pesky infant. But I’m not. I’m a grown man. I’m sorry I’m not as wise and blasé as you—but I couldn’t just sit down to a card game and brandy and forget. I had to do something.”
“So you did,” was the dispassionate answer. “What amazes me is Miss Glenwood’s consenting to such a hare-brained plan.”
“Well, it was her—that is to say, I had a devil of a time persuading her.”
Julian eyed him consideringly. “Why, I wonder, do I suspect it was the other way round?”
Robert squirmed again. “What nonsense.”
“Naturally, you will not betray your beloved,” said the other with a sardonic smile. “I know you’re lying to me. Still, she is your beloved, evidently.” He stood up. “I’m going out for a while.”
“Now?” Robert shrieked.
“There’s no need to agitate yourself, cousin. You and Miss Glenwood have made your point. Attention has been called to your plight—though I’m not certain what you think Nurse can do with this unmitigated disaster. Really, Robin, you have quite the knack. Thank heaven you never went for the military. England could not possibly have withstood the blow.”
With that, he left the room.
***
The sun shone brightly in the neat, tiny parlour. Its beams shot through the sparkling decanter, turning the wine to a glowing garnet. Elise handed her guest his glass.
“A toast,” Lord Brandon said, touching his goblet lightly to hers, “to your victory, mademoiselle.”
Her fine, dark eyebrows rose a fraction.
“Our wager,” he explained. “You’ve won. I congratulate
you.”
“You are precipitate, milord. More than a week remains to you,” she answered cautiously.
“By that time, I shall be gone,” he said. He moved to the plain, shabby mantel to examine the two small silhouettes displayed there. The profiles—one of Robert, one of Elise— faced opposite directions. “To Paris,” he added after a moment.
“Ah, the pursuit palls. You are bored.”
“No, I’ve failed. You chose your champion well.”
“I had no doubt of that.”
He turned back to her. “I agreed to cease troubling you on Robert’s account and honour demands I abide by our terms. On the other hand, honour demands I do no injury to innocent persons. If I keep silent, I do such an injury.”
“English honour,” she said. “Such difficulties it makes.”
“I think you are aware of this particular difficulty,” he said quietly. “You know Robert wishes to marry a certain young lady. You know, then, you can’t keep him. That you can make trouble for him I won’t deny. His future is in your hands. Perhaps that’s no more than he deserves. All the same, the young lady—”
“Yes, the young lady who has destroyed my future, milord. Do you come to plead on her behalf? Do you think to soften my heart towards my rival?”
All this time his face had been its customary bored, impassive mask, his voice cool, expressionless. Nonetheless, there was a shadow upon him. Elise perceived it in his eyes and in the set of his mouth. She had suspected. Now she was almost certain. She waited while he turned the wineglass slowly in his hand.
“You have no more heart, my dear, than I do,” he answered. “We are two of a kind, untroubled by heart or conscience. I will speak to your intellect.” He met her gaze. “Lawsuits are time-consuming, expensive, and often exceedingly unpleasant matters. I can spare you the ordeal. I am prepared to settle an annuity upon you. In addition, I have a comfortable house in Kensington. You are welcome to inhabit it until such time as you find a replacement for my cousin. The annuity, naturally, would continue regardless. One thousand a year is not twenty-five thousand in a lump, but you know as well as I what will remain of a court’s award... if, that is, you win.”
She had expected an offer. She had not dared imagine one so generous. She said, “Two thousand.”
A pause. “Two thousand, then.”
“I begin to think you have a conscience after all,” she said smiling.
The green eyes flickered. “I have a responsibility,” he corrected.
“Oh, certainement. To your family. To your honour.”
“To the girl. I should be happy to let Robert pay for his mistakes. I cannot permit an innocent young lady to pay for mine. Had it not been for our wager, I doubt she would have met my cousin, let alone fallen in love with him.”
“Ah, love. The English are so romantic—and the men worse than the women.” She shook her head. “Pauvre homme, I think she has dealt you the death blow, the proud widow. I was wiser than I guessed.”
His face had frozen, but he made no answer.
“A moment, milord, if you please.”
She stepped out of the room briefly. When she returned, she carried a small enameled box. She handed it to him.
“Robert’s letters,” she said. “All of them. On top, you will find the letter you so much desired from me. It suits the purpose, I believe. One does not require many words to refuse one’s hand.”
He opened the box and read the topmost letter. Then he refolded it and tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you,” he said. “You are most gracious, mademoiselle.”
She laughed. “I am merely a common slut, not gracious at all. I have but lost a lover. I will find another—and better. When one has money, one may be more selective. Your generous recompense will ease my little pride’s ache.”
“I am gratified to hear it.”
“But there will be no ease for you, I think,” she went on, not troubling to conceal the triumph she felt. “You say you have no heart. But my champion, she has found yours—and cut it to pieces—has she not?”
He smiled faintly. “Now it is you who wax romantic.”
“I see what I see.”
“Do you? What is it you see, I wonder? Is my neckcloth askew? Perhaps a dust mote upon my boots leads to the conclusion I am in romantic extremity?” He placed his wineglass upon a small table. “Naturally, one cannot be altogether pleased with failure. That is a new experience, but not so amusing that I plan to make a habit of it.”
“Of course. To lose is not agreeable. Still, you will go to Paris, and you will forget.”
“Yes.” He took up his hat and gloves and walked to the door. Then he paused. “We are two of a kind, you know—a pair of precious knaves.”
“So we are,” she said. “Ames damnees. Fortunately, we are beautiful, and still young enough.”
“I leave for Dover on Sunday,” he said as he drew on his gloves. “Perhaps you would join me. It has been many years since you visited the land of your birth, I believe.”
Elise eyed him with critical appreciation. He was a beautiful man. Not golden, like Robert, but far more striking was the marquess, with his dark, arrogant looks. Tall and strong, his hair thick and black, and his eyes—ah, they were calculated to make a woman’s heart drum to wild music. But not hers.
“Merci, milord, but I think not.”
“As you wish. If you change your mind, feel free to send me word.”
When he’d gone, Elise walked to the table and picked up the glass he’d left there. He’d scarcely touched it. She shook her head. “I will not pity you,” she said softly. “The revenge is too sweet, my great and powerful lord. You would have crushed me if you could. No, it is just as you deserve.”
At four o’clock Bella Martin arrived, to show off her new chaise and patronise her less fortunate friend with a drive in Hyde Park.
It was there Elise spied the widow, riding in a carriage with her betrothed and his relations.
“How ill she looks. The widow,” she explained as Bella peered curiously about her at the parade of vehicles.
“Oh, her. I expect she should. Reggie said she and the girl—that blonde dab of a thing he’s so taken with, you know.”
“Miss Glenwood.”
“Yes. Sick in bed for two days, and the house shut up tight. So Reggie sends enough flowers for six funerals.” She gave the widow another contemptuous glance. “Appropriate, I’d say. I always thought she looked like a corpse anyhow.”
“Her complexion is very fair,” Elise said thoughtfully, “but she never looked so ill before, I think.”
“Maybe someone’s been keeping her up late nights,” was the sly retort.
“Lord Brandon was here?” Lilith said as she took the package from her butler.
“He said it wasn’t a call, madam. He wished simply to leave that for you. He seemed to be in rather a hurry.”
“Yes. Yes, I expect he was,” she mumbled. She turned and headed up the stairs to her room.
She’d hardly taken off her bonnet when Mary appeared.
“There, now,” the maid said disapprovingly, “didn’t I warn you to keep to your bed? You’re tired to death. You’d better take a nap if you mean to go out tonight.”
“I’m not going out,” said Lilith. “I’ve asked Lady Enders to take Cecily to the Gowerbys’. If you’ll just undo the buttons, I’ll manage the rest myself.”
The abigail opened her mouth to protest, then shut it tightly, did as she was bid, and quietly left the room.
Her hands shaking, Lilith undressed and wrapped herself in an old cotton robe. Then she sat in the chair by the window and stared a long while at the package.
An hour passed before she could bring herself to unwrap it. As the paper fluttered to the floor, her lower lip began to tremble.
Mansfield Park. The book she’d been reading that day at Hookharn’s... and dropped, in her agitation.
“Oh, Julian,” she murmured. She opened the first volume to the flylea
f. The handwriting was black and bold, as arrogant as its owner. The words were simple: “May life with your ‘Edmund Bertram’ be, truly, happily ever after. Brandon.”
There was something more, however. In the middle of the volume, pressed between a piece of silver paper and a note, was a small, white orchid, tinged with mauve.
The note informed her that Mr. Higginbottom had been instructed to deposit all her payments towards Davenant’s debt into a separate account at her bank. Lord Brandon hoped she would make use of these funds as she required— as wedding gifts for her nieces, if she liked, or for any other estimable purpose.
Lilith lay note and orchid upon the table beside her, opened to the first chapter, and began to read.
Chapter Nineteen
Though Lord Brandon did not return to his town house until sunrise, he found his cousin waiting up for him. The marquess had scarcely stepped through the front door when Lord Robert burst into the hall.
“Gad, Julian, you’re enough to drive a chap to Bedlam. Where the devil have you been?”
“Oh, here and there.” The marquess calmly strode past him into the library, dropped his hat and gloves onto a chair, then headed for the tray of decanters. He poured himself a glass of brandy and proceeded to make himself quite comfortable in his favourite chair.
“I say, Julian, I do believe you’re doing this just to punish me. I know I’ve lost two stone from the suspense. What’s happened? Have you talked to her? Have you been talking all this time?”
“No.”
“Julian!”
“I do wish you would not jump about like a frantic puppy, Robin. I am tempted to swat you with a newspaper. Really, you are very tiresome. A puppy would be less trouble, I am certain. Thank heaven I shall not have the house training of you.”
“Julian!”
“There is writing paper in the upper left drawer of my desk,” Lord Brandon said, waving his glass in that direction. “You’d be wiser to occupy your time composing a letter to your father-in-law-to-be. No, on second thought, I shall compose it. Your grammar is shocking, your punctuation and spelling execrable.”
Robert gazed blankly at him for a moment. Then he rushed to his cousin and began pumping his free hand up and down. “Oh, good show, Julian. Good show. Gad, but you’re amazing. You can do anything!”
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