Gayle Buck (9 page)

Lord St. John dropped down on one knee to rest his hand on the unconscious man’s chest. He frowned at the shallowness and irregularity of the man’s breathing.

Captain Hargrove joined the viscount at his shoulder. “How is he?”

“In shock, I suspect. We must get him onto a bed,” said Lord St. John, preparing to lift the man’s shoulders.

Captain Hargrove caught his arm. “Hold up, my lord. Let me feel for breaks in his neck. A fellow I know of was moved too quickly after taking a tumble from his horse. His head lolled at an awful angle and he was dead in an instant.” At the young woman’s horrified gasp, he said, with a fleeting upward glance, “Begging your pardon, ma’am.”

The innkeeper had arrived in time to hear this grim pronouncement. “There now, Miss Pepperidge,” he said, patting the young woman on the arm. “I’ve sent a boy for the sawbones, quick-like. We’ll soon see Mr. Pepperidge his own self again.”

Captain Hargrove gently probed the area and pronounced himself almost positive that there had not been a break. He said coolly, “One can’t be certain, of course. But I think the odds are better than even.”

“Then we shall chance it,” said Lord St. John.

Together he and Captain Hargrove carefully lifted the old gentleman’s dead weight. At the innkeeper’s instructions, they carried the man back up the stairs and through a private parlor. “Ye’ll find the back bedroom straight across,” called the innkeeper, coming close behind them.

At entrance of the party, a stout lady’s maid came out of an opposite bedroom and exclaimed in horror at the sight that greeted her eyes. Miss Pepperidge made haste to give a disjointed reassurance, adding, “My father has suffered an accident, Smith. Pray see whether you can find a hartshorn.”

“At once, miss!” The maid disappeared.

In the bedroom, Miss Pepperidge hastily pulled back the bedclothes and Lord St. John and Captain Hargrove slid the old gentleman onto the bed. They made the man as comfortable as they knew how by loosening his neckcloth and removing his coat and boots. Then Lord St. John and Captain Hargrove withdrew to the private parlor. The innkeeper left, saying that he would go see what was keeping the sawbones.

The maid had returned a few minutes before, hartshorn in hand. With a sharp glance at her mistress’ white face, she said, “I shall sit with the old gentleman, miss. You go out into the parlor.”

Mary left her father in the maid’s capable hands with a sense of relief. She closed the door softly before turning into the parlor. She summoned up a wan but grateful smile for the gentlemen. She advanced toward them, holding out her hand. “I cannot properly express my gratitude, dear sirs. I-I do not know what I would have done without your ready and able assistance.”

Captain Hargrove shook her hand. “It was our pleasure, ma’am.”

In his turn, Lord St. John took her small hand briefly in his own. “I am only glad that we were available to assist you. You must tell me if there is anything more that we can do.”

Mary shook her head. “Thank you, but no. Once the physician has seen my father, I shall rest easier, of course.”

Captain Hargrove nodded. “Your father—Mr. Pepperidge, was it?—did not appear to have broken any bones. I daresay the old gentleman will prove to have been merely rattled by the fall.”

“Oh, I do hope you are proven correct, sir,” Mary said, the shadow of anxiety still in her eyes. Her face suddenly colored in a becoming way as she recalled her manners. “I do apologize. I have not even asked your names, nor told you mine. I am Miss Mary Pepperidge.”

“Captain Michael Hargrove, at your service.”

Lord St. John made the slightest of bows. “Lord St. John. The oversight is as much ours, Miss Pepperidge.” He glanced at his companion. “Hargrove, we have more than likely outstayed our welcome. Miss Pepperidge is doubtless even now wishing us to the devil so that she may return to her father’s bedside.”

“Oh no; not at all!”

Mary flushed under his lordship’s raised brows and the cold surprise in his eyes. She gestured slightly. “Forgive my seeming forwardness, my lord. It is only that—I have no one to stay with me, you see. I have a stupid fear of sickrooms and Smith will not allow me to stay with my father, and quite rightly. She knows my rampant imagination too well. And I-I did not think to ask the innkeeper to send up one of his maids to sit with me until the physician arrives. I-I would take it as a kindness if you could serve for a little while to divert my thoughts.”

“An oversight, indeed. Hargrove, we cannot abandon the lady in her distress,” said Lord St. John with the faintest of smiles. The expression in his eyes did not quite match the seeming affability of his words.

“Of course not,” said Captain Hargrove, throwing a quizzical glance at the viscount’s face. “Miss Pepperidge, you should sit down. You have sustained quite a shock. I see a decanter on the sideboard. May I fetch you a small glass of wine?”

She shook her head, sinking down into a wingback chair. “No, I could not drink it. But do pour some for yourself and his lordship.”

Lord St. John accepted the glass that Captain Hargrove offered to him. He did not sit down, but instead stood at the mantel. Swirling the wine in its glass, he listened idly to the polite conversation that Miss Pepperidge and Captain Hargrove indulged in. He sent an occasional glance in the lady’s direction, his hooded eyes enigmatic.

He judged from Miss Pepperidge’s abstracted returns that her mind was not completely absorbed with Captain Hargrove’s amusing anecdotes. She had not misled them, then, in claiming that her imagination was particularly engaged in times of stress. Still, she managed to convey enough interest that proved her experienced in officiating as hostess.

Lord St. John studied the lady. She was of a sort who had not before come in his way. Miss Pepperidge’s manner and her tone of conversation were nothing out of the ordinary, evidencing a proper social instruction. However, her dress was decorous in cut and fabric compared to the attire worn by the fashionable ladies of his acquaintance. Even if he had not met her in a hostel that catered to those of a different social distinction than his own, it did not take great powers of deduction to recognize that she was a genteel, well-educated lady from a prosperous trades family.

By birth and by upbringing, Lord St. John had no reason to doubt the superior qualities of the ladies of his own class over those of the females from the trades. However, Miss Pepperidge was proving to be pleasant company even though it was patently obvious that her concern for her father overrode everything else. In any event, she had remained unaffected when she had learned that he was a nobleman. When he had made it plain that he had no desire to indulge in conversation she had not pressed the issue, nor pushed herself upon him in that annoying way that many members of the lower classes thought to be ingratiating.

It was borne in upon the viscount quite swiftly that though Miss Pepperidge had acknowledged his greater social position, she had not toadied to it. Her undemanding company proved soothing to his over-taxed pride and he appreciated the unusual respite.

The parlor door opened and Miss Pepperidge broke off in mid-sentence, springing to her feet. All semblance of the proper hostess was flown as she greeted the sight of the innkeeper, accompanied by a gentleman carrying a black bag. “Oh, thank goodness!” she exclaimed.

“I have instructed one of my girls to come up and attend to any needs of your own. Miss Pepperidge. I should have thought of it before, but with my own worry over Mr. Pepperidge—” The innkeeper shook his head over his laxness.

Lord St. John perceived that the time had finally come for himself and Captain Hargrove to part ways with Miss Pepperidge. He set the wineglass down on the mantel and turned to Miss Pepperidge. He saw that Captain Hargrove had already risen and was making his good-byes. When Miss Pepperidge turned to him, he took her hand in a light clasp. “You will be well taken care of now, Miss Pepperidge.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you, my lord,” she said, a smile warming her eyes.

He felt a momentary regret. Strangely enough, he would have liked to have prolonged the restful period that he had experienced in this lady’s company. Again he realized that his feelings must have had a great deal to do with the anonymity that he had enjoyed. Miss Pepperidge had known nothing about him and therefore there had not been any undue curiosity in her eyes or her manners.

Lord St. John and Captain Hargrove emerged from the inn and climbed up into the curricle that had been brought around to the door for them. Once up behind his beloved horses again, Lord St. John did not long dwell on Miss Pepperidge. In fact, he forgot the lady almost as soon as he had driven out of the inn yard.

The return of Lord St. John and Captain Hargrove to London was one of triumph. They went at once to the club, where it had been agreed that all those interested in the outcome would meet. There it was made known that the viscount had beaten the requisite time by a quarter hour. Those who had heavily favored Lord St. John’s chances raked in substantial sums and congratulated him most heartily. For a brief time, it seemed that Viscount Weemswood had back his old standing. But Lord St. John had grown too cynical to believe that it was but a momentary flash of acceptance that would cool as quickly as the memory of the day’s victory.

Lord St. John himself took home a small fortune, having been completely confident in his own chances. He gave over the funds to Mr. Witherspoon, who was quite happy to see the monies. However, Mr. Witherspoon was wise enough to know that the viscount would not want to be told the particulars of how it was to be spent. It sufficed for his lordship to be assured only that the monies would go to good account.

Chapter 9

A week later the Earl of Cowltern chanced to meet Lord St. John as the viscount was leaving the club. The older gentleman hailed the viscount in a friendly fashion. “I am happy to have met you, Lord St. John. Pray join me for a bit of brandy.”

“I beg that you hold me excused, my lord. I have a previous engagement,” said Lord St. John.

He had no desire whatsoever of enduring amiable conversation with Lady Althea’s father. His pride had been flayed by the ruthless treatment he had received from that quarter. The day following his interview with Lady Althea, a brief announcement had appeared in the
Gazette
retracting the betrothal. Its timing left him in little doubt that the announcement had been sent round to the printer before he had been given his marching papers by Lady Althea. If he had returned to town one day later, the first hint he would have had of his broken engagement would have been through the newspaper or from the lips of acquaintances. The singular lack of courtesy afforded him by Lady Althea and her family was not to be easily forgiven or overlooked. Even now the smoulderings of anger stirred in his breast and it was difficult to accord the Earl of Cowltern the polite bow required of him.

        “Indulge me, Weemswood.” There had come a frosty look into the earl’s eyes and his mouth had lost its curve, tightening to a thin despotic line. “I have a spot of business exercising my thoughts that I wish to discuss with you.”

Lord St. John saw that he had no choice but to acquiesce, short of thoroughly offending the gentleman, and he could ill-afford to make an enemy of the earl at that point. His reputation was extremely shaky as it was and it would be humiliating to find himself blackballed from his own club through the earl’s greater influence. He was grimly attempting to retain as much respect as was left to him in society and to lose in even this, because of the earl’s pique, was a wasteful gamble.

“Of course, my lord. I am at your disposal,” he said with a negligent shrug, deliberately feigning for any sharp-eared parties the impression that it was a matter of free will that he should indulge the Earl of Cowltern in a few moments’ conversation.

Lord St. John wondered briefly what possible business the earl could have with him. Their men of business were at that moment jointly negotiating the termination of the bridal agreement and undoubtedly Lady Althea’s dowry settlement would be returned to her father within the week. Whatever else the earl had to say to him on the matter would be superfluous.

The earl nodded as though there had never been any doubt of the outcome of their short contest of wills. “Pray join me across the room where we may be assured of convivial quiet,” he said.

Lord St. John silently followed the earl’s lead, threading his way through the sparsely occupied chairs and tables. He was aware that the company he was in was engendering some speculative glances and he kept his expression carefully neutral.

The gentlemen seated themselves at a small card table against the wall. The earl signalled a waiter and requested the brandy. While waiting to be served, his lordship maintained a flow of pleasantries to which Lord St. John responded with cynical civility.

The waiter returned and served to each gentleman a measure of the club’s excellent brandy. The earl and Lord St. John had both tasted the wine and the Earl of Cowltern had commented favorably on it before he finally broached the topic uppermost on each of their minds.

“I regret the necessity of that interview with my daughter earlier this week, Weemswood. Of course, you understood.”

“But naturally, my lord. The matter was made abundantly clear,” said Lord St. John, somewhat bitingly. It still smarted his pride that he had been deemed of such insignificance by the lady whom he had thought to honor with his name. However much he blamed the lady, though, he knew that Lady Althea’s overweening sense of self-importance had been fostered and encouraged by the gentleman who sat opposite him. Lord St. John could therefore scarcely look upon his companion with any sort of friendliness.

The earl nodded, quite insensitive to the harsh undercurrents in the viscount’s drawling voice. He sighed heavily, swirling the brandy in his glass. “I knew your father. Excellent man. You remind me much of him, St. John. I was quite pleased when Althea’s choice fell on you.”

Lord St. John smiled, but his eyes did not reflect anything close to amusement. His voice came very soft, very ironic. “Indeed, my lord? That is a high compliment. It is a pity that circumstances became such as to alter your good opinion.”