A Wager for Love Page 7
“Charles, it’s gvood to see you,” greeted Richard warmly.
Charles, although only some six months older than Richard, was far better versed in the Ton and its ways, due in the main to the endeavours of his older brother, and was consequently the ideal companion for a young man desirous of entering into all the pleasurable pursuits of the Upper Ten Thousand.
“Lord, Richard, you look devilish fine. I swear if I didn’t know you, I wouldn’t recognise you for the same person.” He stood back admiringly.
Richard grinned a little bashfully as Charles took in the splendour of his cream small clothes and maroon velvet coat, lavishly embroidered with silver peacocks. He waited anxiously as Charles surveyed him first from this angle and then from the other.
“Perhaps it is a little …?” he ventured at last.
“No … No …” Charles looked up consideringly. “No, Richard, it is very well. Perhaps a touch more lace at the cuffs,” he added thoughtfully, “and you must have a snuff box of course, but we shall attend to that this morning.”
Richard could find nothing to cavil at in this excellent plan. Feeling that he had passed an extremely difficult test with flying colours, he turned to instruct the footman to tell Lady Elizabeth of his plans.
“Oh by the way, Richard, I nearly forgot. I have a note here for you. It was in the hall so I carried it up with me.” Charles turned it over, looking at the inscription in startled surprise. “Why, ‘tis from the Earl, I didn’t know you were on writing terms with Saltaire, Richard?”
Richard flushed, took the note and slowly opened it feeling puzzled. Charles had made many mentions of the Earl’s exploits to his cronies at University, and Richard had conceived something akin to hero worship of the older man, although he had never actually met him. He could hardly believe his eyes; the letter dropped from his fingers, to be hastily rescued by Charles, who scanned the lines, giving a soundless whistle. “So that is the way of it is it …”
Richard swallowed, stuttering, “There must be some mistake … why, Lavinia doesn’t even know him.”
Charles glanced at him. “Saltaire wouldn’t let a little thing like that stand in his way, especially with what he had at stake.”
“What?” Richard was too bemused to pay very much heed to his friend’s words, so great was his shock.
“Well, ‘tis obvious he has married her to win his bet,” pointed out Charles, helping himself to a generous portion of beef, and thus missing Richard’s bewildered expression.
“What bet?”
“Oh didn’t you know?” Charles was surprised. “Ah, no, now I remember, it was after you had left White’s the other night. Ordley bet the Earl that he could not marry within the week a girl of good family and possessed of a fortune. Apparently he had to marry anyway, something about his grandfather’s Will. He left Saltaire his money only on condition that he married within a certain period.” He chewed reflectively for a second and then frowningly remarked, “But I didn’t know your sister had a fortune.”
Richard, his mind still trying to assimilate the information that his sister. Lavinia. was married to the Earl of Saltaire, murmured, “What? Oh yes.” He bit his lip, pale but resolute … “Charles. you don’t think Saltaire has forced Lavinia to marry him against her will?”
“Must have done. I suppose,” said Charles reasonably, instantly regretting his words when he saw Richard’s face, and hastily tried to make amends. “That is he may have, but it’s not definite. They might have conceived a violent attraction for one another.”
“But I don’t think Lavinia has ever met him,” said Richard slowly. “She has only been in London a matter of days.”
Charles, seeing that the conversation was getting out of hand, offered palliatively, “But you don’t know that, Richard, they could have met abroad.”
“Yes.” Relief showed on Richard’s all too transparent face. “Yes, that could have been the way of it.” The uncomfortable thought suddenly struck Richard that he was perhaps not showing the indignation expected of him, after all he could not be sure that Saltaire had not forced Lavinia against her will. His hands clenched a little, his eyes kindling as Richard contemplated his duty.
Charles, who had been congratulating himself on his diplomacy, for in his opinion it was plain that Saltaire had made off with the chit, observed the new determination on Richard’s face with unease.
“It says in the note that Saltaire has taken Lavinia to his country seat. I shall go after them and see for myself that Lavinia is all right.” Feeling that perhaps in terms of righteous indignation this speech left something to be desired, Richard added portentously, “And if he has so much as hurt one single hair of her head, I shall kill him.”
Charles, whilst applauding the sentiments of these words, felt constrained to point out, “You can’t do that, Richard. Not for marrying the girl.” He shook his head gravely. “Now if he had run off with her, and not married her then …” Seeing the infelicity of the direction these thoughts were taking, he added, “You can’t kill him anyway, devilish fine swordsman is Saltaire, one of the best. He would spit you in a flash and then there would be an outcry. You can’t go round killing off your own brother-in-law. Devilish bad ton.” A fresh thought struck him. “Besides, your sister might be glad to be a Countess, odd creatures women.”
Richard was torn between his admiration of the Earl and his desire to protect his sister. Hearing about Saltaire’s exploits was one thing, but knowing his sister to be involved in one of them was different altogether. Richard sighed, his mind made up. He would go after them. Having made the decision, he was all impatience to be gone, as he now felt uneasy for his sister’s safety. “Charles, I’m leaving immediately,” he announced, cutting short his friend’s ramblings. “You can come with me or not, as you please.’”
Startled by this new show of force, Charles objected, “We can’t leave today, Richard. You must recollect that we promised to dine with my brother, and then there’s Lady Summerton’s drum.”
It soon became obvious that nothing he could say would change his hot-headed young friend’s mind. For several minutes Charles persevered, explaining the inadvisability of such a course and begging Richard to give it further thought, but all to no avail. There was a set look about Richard’s mouth that several persons would have had no difficulty in recognising as the Davenham trait of. stubbornness.
There was no help to be gained from Lady Elizabeth either. Having spent the most miserable evening of her life, wondering what dreadful fate had befallen her cousin and worrying distractedly what to tell Richard (for she held out no hope oh the highwayman keeping his word and advising Richard himself), she had at last given in to her maid’s pleadings and swallowed a few drops of laudanum in water, and was at that very moment heavily and deeply asleep.
Richard, having taken a stand, could not be coaxed or persuaded to change his mind, and Charles decided to do what he always did in times of crisis-seek the advice of his brother. Taking his leave of the now extremely unhappy Richard, he pondered a little on the problem, but could find no solution. In his own heart of hearts he had no doubt that Saltaire had abducted the chit, although prudence made him retrain from confiding his suspicions to Richard. Still, he thought to himself, Ware would know what ought to be done. Devilish astute was old Ware. Comforted by this thought Charles sped his footsteps in the direction of Albermarle Street.
Handing his hat to the footman, Charles addressed him with all the familiarity of one who has been known to the household since he was in short coats. “My brother, James, is he in? I have a matter of great importance to discuss with him.”
“Indeed, Master Charles, he is in the study. I take it that it is no … That is I trust …”
Comprehension suddenly dawning and momentarily diverted, Charles eyed the footman “What? Oh no, James,” he reassured him, “Nothing like that, I ain’t in River Tick or Jew King’s hands.”
“I am most relieved to hear it, Master Charles.”
With scant respect for his brother’s dignity, Charles burst into the room. “WeIl, brother, and here is a pretty mess, Saltaire has run off with Arnedale’s sister. and Arnedale is swearing he will go after them-worried in case the chit has been forced to the match.”
Lord Ware, used to the exigencies of the youngest member of his family, put down his paper and surveyed him mildly. “Unfortunate, I agree. I already knew that Saltaire had married the girl.”
Stopped in mid breath, Charles sank down into a chair. “Lud, Ware, can’t tell you anything. How comes it about that you do know anyway?” he complained, a startled expression on his face.
Correctly interpreting his thoughts, Lord Ware smiled slightly, “No, Charles, I didn’t have a hand in it if that’s what you’re thinking.” He picked up a piece of notepaper, waving it before his brother’s bemused eyes, “I was the recipient of a letter from Saltaire this morning.”
With Charles complaining indignantly that he had never for one moment supposed his brother to be involved, it was some time before Lord Ware was able to return to the subject of Richard. “I take it the boy is determined to follow them.”
“Oh aye,” returned his brother gloomily, “When I left he was on the point of sending round to his stables. Mind, I did try to put the matter right …”
“Oh?” Lord Ware surveyed him expectantly.
“Told him that it was probably a love match,” confided Charles, well pleased with himself.
“A love match?” reiterated his brother faintly. “Er, how did Richard take that?”
Charles shrugged. “I fancy he would like to believe it.”
“Umm.” Lord Ware watched his brother thoughtfully, “I think we shall have to take a short trip to the country, Charles, if only to save the young man’s skin. Saltaire doesn’t take too kindly to interference, although it’s too late for him to do anything now.”
“He thinks to challenge Saltaire,” scoffed Charles. “Never fear though, I told him how it would be; Saltaire will spit him as easily as can be.” He shuddered a little, “I tell you, Ware, I wouldn’t like to face Saltaire across the length of a sword.”
“Charles, you amaze me, I almost begin to think there may be some hope for you at last. Some smatterings of intelligence …”
“The devil, brother,” replied that young gentleman with an injured air. “Surely you never thought I would be foolish enough to pick a quarrel with SaItaire.”
There was a moment’s silence broken by Lord Ware saying, “I only hope that by the time he reaches them, young Richard has had time to reconsider.”
Charles nodded gloomily. “Aye, and the worst of it is that Richard don’t even know yet whether the girl went willingly or not.”
Lord Ware kept his thoughts on this particular matter to himself.
At last, having listened as patiently as he could to numerous dire warnings and pessimistic forecasts from his coachman, Richard was on his way in the smart new carriage delivered only a few days before, his valises strapped on the back. It was already well into the afternoon, and by the time they had travelled for a few hours, Richard, lulled by the gentle motion of the coach and the rigours of the previous evening, started to fall into a light doze, pondering quite unsuccessfully on the mystery of his sister’s marriage to the Earl of Saltaire. Whilst even he could not totally overlook the fact that everything pointed to the Earl having abducted Lavinia, and marrying her out of hand, so great was his admiration for the older man that he was reluctant to believe such a thing of him, despite his reputation. As Lavinia’s brother he owed it to her to discover the truth, much as he disliked the thought of his coming interview with the Earl, especially now that his initial dread had begun to fade, being replaced by a feeling of distinct unease at the thought of facing such a very grand personage. However, firmly telling himself that nothing could be gained by idle speculation, his natural optimism soon reasserted itself, and before too long he was nearly convinced that his initial fear had been totally unfounded-nearly but not quite-some lingering unease made him rather anxious to see his sister for himself, but happily his anxieties were not grave enough to keep him awake and soon he was sunk in slumber.
His peace was rudely shattered as the coach stopped with a jolt that all but flung him off the seat and across the carriage. Outside, the shrill whinnying of the horses and angry voices of the grooms mingled in the evening air.
Realising that he was unhurt apart from the odd bruise or so, Richard got to his feet, dusted down his fine new coat and stepped from the carriage, his face unusually grim. If anything had happened to his horses… He could not afford delays, night was already drawing on and he had no desire to find himself at the mercy of some highwayman.
“What is the matter? Why have we stopped?”
The irate coachman came towards him, the reins of a horse held loosely in one hand and the other firmly gripping the arm of a small slim person. Peering through the gloom Richard saw to his surprise that it was a girl, and to all appearances a very young girl.
“Begging your pardon, My Lord, but this ‘ere young person came galloping down the road right in front of us. Fair upset the horse, you know how she is …” The look he bestowed upon his captive was anything but kindly.
Richard sighed, nodding his head sympathetically, his eyes fixed on the girl who appeared to be enveloped in a long dark cloak of ancient vintage, only a small heart-shaped face and one or two dusky ringlets gleaming in the dim light. Signs of recent tears were still plain upon the culprit’s face, adding to her general air of disarray, and two beseeching pansy-brown eyes clung to his face.
He coughed a little nervously and turned to the irate coachman. “Well never mind. I take it there’s no actual damage?”
“No, My Lord, just a broken trace. I suppose we can have fit fixed fairly quickly, but it will mean some delay to your journey.” he added, with another dark look at the young person.
Gravely Richard eyed the girl in front of him, noting for the first time that she was clutching a worn portmanteau. The coachman evidently not too satisfied with his young master’s apparent unconcern, broke in, “This ‘ere young person whats caused all the botheration, your Lordship. I reckons as how she is running off or some such thing. T’aint right for a girl to be jaunting about the countryside at this time of night.” he added, with a scowl in the girl’s direction.
The girl, who until this point had been silent, responded indignantly, “I’m not running away.”
And Richard. looking closely at her for the first time, realised that she was not, as he had first thought, about thirteen but nearer to seventeen or even eighteen.
“What are you doing here, then, if you’re not running away?” he asked her. his interest caught despite his own problems, for young ladies of good family, which it was obvious she was, did not wander about on their own. Now that he could study her properly he saw that her cloak was exceedingly muddy about the hem, and the ringlets he had noticed earlier, all untidy.
She gave Richard a considering look, and then apparently satisfied, said candidly, “Well I’m not really running off, that is … Well … “
Listening to this Richard became increasingly uneasy, and when she finished in a burst of honesty by saying, “Well I have to, you see, otherwise I shall have to marry Mr. Walthrope and I shan’t no matter what grandfather says. For he is odious. He’s forty if he’s a day, and besides he wears an old-fashioned wig and all he can think about is farming …”
Richard felt his heart sink. Wondering what to do, he glanced up and, perceiving the interested stares of his entourage, took her by the arm and led her off, saying firmly, “But what about your parents? They will be worried about you.” Richard knew very little about the habits of young ladies but common sense told him that she must have left her home without anyone’s knowledge.
“Oh my parents are dead.” She shrugged carelessly, adding, “I live over there with my grandfather, Sir Gervase Markham.”
“Bu
t your governess? Your maid?” persisted the hapless Richard, “Surely they will be worrying?”
The girl, recovering her spirits a little, tossed back her head, the hood falling back to reveal an entrancing little face, framed by a quantity of dark curls. “My governess! She is asleep. She always falls asleep after dinner.”
Seeing his dismay, she added, “That’s why I had to do it now, you see. So I could get away before she knew. I have put a bolster in my bed,” she added with relish. “It will be hours, probably morning, before they discover I have gone. My grandfather has the gout. It makes him ill-tempered.”
Before Richard could give vent to his feelings, she continued sorrowfully, “I had it all planned, you see. The London Coach stops at the Green Man and I wanted to catch it.”
Richard began to feel relieved. Doubtless she had relatives in London and was on her way to them. However, one thing still puzzled him.
“Well, why aren’t you at the coaching house then?”
His relief was short lived. “Oh the landlord knows my grandfather, and he would be sure to send him some message. No, I was hoping to stop the mail on the main road, but it was further than I thought.”
Richard, feeling himself sinking deeper and deeper into the morass, asked severely, “And when you get to London, what then?”
The clear brown eyes regarded him without a trace of concern, “Oh I shall get a position as an abigail or some such thing. just like a Romance.”
Horrified, Richard was lost for words. He cudgeled his brains in vain for sonic way to make this child, for despite her years she was nothing more, realise the folly of the course she contemplated. This girl let loose in London. It was not to be borne. He thought of the fates that could and probably would befall her. At the very best some rich titled man might take her under his protection, Lord knows she
was pretty enough. At the worst… He frowned grimly. Charles had pointed out to him the stews of St. Giles.