Anne Barbour (17 page)

Sighing heavily, Curle closed the door behind him.

When the brandy arrived some minutes later, David uncorked it, leaving the delicate crystal glass that accompanied it behind on the tray, and sank into a shabby, velvet-covered chair by the fire. Then, for the second time in his life, he proceeded to drink himself into insensibility.

In her own bedchamber, Kate dismissed her maid and stood in the center of the room, staring blindly before her. Dear Lord, she thought in desolation, what hell David must have gone through. The words he had just hurled at her had scarcely penetrated her mind, for she knew they had been prompted by the need to turn her against him, thus providing even more punishment for his supposed transgressions.

To watch his best friend die before his eyes was bad enough, but to suffer the exquisite torture of believing himself responsible for that death must be almost unbearable. No wonder David had nightmares. And she, in sublime insensibility had thought herself competent to probe his emotional wounds!

She lifted her head as a sudden thought struck her. Was it guilt that had driven David to volunteer for the Forlorn Hope himself? Lucius had mentioned the mad risks that he had begun to take. Had he felt compelled to offer his own life in propitiation for the life he had failed to save? She felt sick at the thought.

And was it guilt, she wondered, that had made him give up on his injury? Perhaps he felt he deserved the pain and immobility that would curse him for the rest of his life. She sank onto the bed and rubbed her eyes with a shaking hand. She would give anything she possessed to help David climb out of the pit of shame and remorse he had dug for himself, but she didn’t know how. She raged silently at her own inadequacy.

As she slid beneath the coverlet, another thought occurred to her. She had, without thinking, repudiated David’s guilt in Philip’s death. Her first thought had not been of Philip at all, but rather of the alleviation of David’s torment. Why had she been so ready to believe in his innocence? His explanation certainly held more logic than her frantic, exculpatory theories. What if his assessment were correct? Had he turned coward when his friend’s life was on the line? Her fists curled into balls at her sides. No! To be sure, the David who had whispered his tale of horror tonight was not the David she had grown up with. He was changed—tragically so, but—
no
—she would have sensed such a cataclysmic reversal of character. Something had happened to David in that river of fire, something so dreadful his mind would not allow him to comprehend it.

She raised her eyes sightlessly to the ceiling. “Please, God,” she whispered. “Please.” She turned to bury her face in her pillow, unable to put her prayer into words.

Chapter Twelve

“Good heavens, Kate,” Regina spoke sharply. “Can you not come out of the sullens for just a few moments? One would think you were on the way to the guillotine instead of on a pleasant outing. What on earth is the matter with you this morning?”

Kate withdrew her gaze from the landscape that flowed past the carriage window.

“I’m sorry, Aunt, I was woolgathering.” She glanced at Cilia, who sat by her side. “Do you plan to buy anything in Bath?”

In contrast to Kate, that young lady seemed in excellent spirits.

“I don’t know,” she replied, smiling. “We shall be in our blacks for some time to come, of course, so I shan’t want to be decking myself out, but I had thought to purchase some ribbon, perhaps, and a length of lace.”

“ ‘Ribbons and laces for pretty girls’ faces,’ ” hummed Lady Fred from her seat next to Regina.

“And you, Aunt?” Kate turned once more to Regina.

“No, I, too, have all I require for the present. In any event, I should now fear to purchase so much as a reticule for fear of my lord earl’s displeasure.”

She shot a malevolent glance out the window, where David, in company with Lawrence, Crawford, and Lucius rode on horseback beside the carriage.

“No,” she continued, “I shall probably make a few calls, but my purpose in traveling to town is to assure that David makes the proper choice in clothing for himself. It took the combined efforts of Lawrence and myself as well as Mr. Pelham, and, I understand his own valet, to talk him into this trip.”

Kate, too, watched David as he cantered in remote silence.

She had not spoken to him for two days. Indeed, it was only too apparent that he was avoiding her, for on meeting her in the corridor outside the library the evening before, he had dropped his eyes and merely murmured something unintelligible before continuing hurriedly on his way.

When Regina had suggested in a bright tone of voice at breakfast this morning, that it was high time for David to make his promised foray into the tailoring establishment in Bath favored by the family, Kate’s hopes had risen. For, her ladyship insisted, since the day was fine, they should make a family expedition of the outing. “The servants can open the town house for our use during the day. And,” she added for emphasis, “there will be a full moon tonight, so we shan’t have to worry about getting home by dark.”

David, however, had maintained his detachment from her, agreeing to the journey, but making it plain that it was no wish of his that the ladies of the house be included in the journey. This, of course, held no weight with her ladyship, thus a full complement of Merritts, and their guest, jangled along the road to Bath.

“Have you any errands in town, Aunt Fred?” asked Kate.

“As a matter of fact,” the old lady replied, smoothing her silken skirts, “I would like to stop in at Godwin’s to purchase some writing paper, and I must go to that place in Stall Street for some of their lovely green wool.”

“Kate,” interjected Cilia, “we must go up to Mrs. Vivier’s confectionery shop. It’s in Brock Street—number thirty-two, I think, and she sells the most scrumptious meringues. When I was at Miss Sedgewick’s seminary, we used to scamper up Gay street and positively gallop across the Circus to buy them.” She shot a glance at her mother. “That was, of course, before I grew to be a young lady.”

Regina smiled and tapped her daughter’s hand. “I’m not sure I should allow you to jaunter about the town without your maid, but since there will be the two of you—and since we are, after all, in Bath, I suppose it will be unexceptionable. Be sure to return to Falworth House in time for luncheon, however. Afterward, perhaps, you might like to show Mr. Pelham around the town a little—the Pump Room, of course, and the Abbey, with Lawrence and Kate to keep you company.”

“Oh,” replied Kate quickly, “but perhaps Aunt Fred will require some assistance. Milsom Street is quite steep, after all.” She shot the plump little woman an anguished glance.

“Nonsense.” Regina’s voice was calm and authoritative. “I shall accompany her, of course, and we shall hire a chair. Will that be all right with you, my dear?” Her question was directed at Aunt Fred, who opened her mouth as though in dispute. The countess continued quickly. “We shall have a footman with us to carry any parcels we may accumulate.”

Aunt Fred shrugged apologetically at Kate, then settled back in her seat and popped a morsel of toffee into her mouth.

“But, Aunt Regina,” continued Kate in some desperation. “Won’t Lawrence be busy? I mean, he seems particularly anxious to assist in the selection of David’s attire.”

“Nonsense,” repeated her ladyship. “David has informed me that he does not intend to ‘rig himself out,’ as he puts it. As I understand it, he merely wishes to dress as modestly as possible while still maintaining his new station in life. They will have assuredly made all their purchases by lunchtime. If not, I’m sure Mr. Pelham’s advice can be trusted.”

Cilia’s brown gaze traveled outside the carriage to Lucius’s impeccable form. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “Mr. Pelham dresses exquisitely.”

Regina smiled fondly at her daughter.

“Yes, his good taste is always evident,” she said.

Kate caught Aunt Fred’s eye, and turned her head to hide her own smile. It was amazing how Lucius had risen in her ladyship’s estimation since she had discovered the existence of a wealthy father in his background.

The Avon could be seen now, flowing in its ancient course beside the old Roman road, and it was not long before the carriage pulled up before the front door of the Falworth town house in Henrietta Street. Disembarkation was accomplished, and after fortifying cups of tea for the ladies and tankards of ale for the gentlemen, the group dispersed, each to their own pursuits.

Kate watched David disappear in the company of his half brothers and Lucius, noting with disappointment that, though he had bade farewell to Aunt Regina and Aunt Fred—even Cilia coming in for a nod, he had not so much as looked her way before setting off.

A flicker of anger began to stir within her. Why was he treating her this way? She had done nothing but offer her sympathy, and he had lashed out at her like a wounded beast. She was not responsible for his pain, yet it was she who was being punished for it. Why would he not let her help him?

The next moment she chastised herself for being childishly insensitive. A human being in pain was just as likely to lash out as was a wounded animal, and could no more be held responsible. Her own hurt feelings faded to insignificance beside David’s anguish. She would help him, she vowed, but she must be patient.

With a sigh, she turned to Cilia, who was burbling in her delight at being away from the dismal confines of a home in mourning.

“Come
on,
Kate,” she cried. “Don’t be such a slowcoach. Let’s go first to Mrs. Vivier’s!”

The girl waved to her mother and Lady Fred, who were being deposited in their sedan chairs with utmost tenderness by the footmen who had accompanied the carriage on its short journey from Westerly to Bath. Then, she grasped Kate’s hand and drew her away toward Gay Street.

Kate resolutely turned her thoughts away from David, determined to enjoy her rare outing, and it was not long before she found herself strolling along George Street at Cilia’s side, nibbling one of the coveted meringues.

“Good heavens, look at that bonnet,” said Cilia, indicating a shop window with one sticky finger. “Who would be seen in such a creation?”

“Yes,” agreed Kate judiciously, “so very deedy, isn’t it? But look at the one next to it. Quite lovely, don’t you think?”

“Mmm, yes, I suppose. I don’t at all care for the color of the ribbons, although I understand that peach blossom is all the rage now.”

The two young ladies walked in silence for another few moments before Cilia spoke in a hesitant voice. “Tell me, Kate, what do you think of Lucius Pelham?”

Kate glanced at the girl in some surprise. Though only two years apart in age, she and Cilia had never been close. In fact, Kate could not recall ever having been the recipient of a confidence from her young cousin.

“Um, well, he seems like a nice young man,” she replied cautiously.

“I only ask because the two of you seem to be on such friendly terms.” Cilia’s gaze dropped to the pavement. “That is, you and David have always been close, and Mr. Pelham is David’s best friend.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s true.” Now what is all this in aid of, she wondered.

“Have he ever mentioned being—well, involved with anyone?”

“You mean, as in affianced?” asked Kate in some amusement.

“Well, yes—or perhaps an—understanding with a lady?”

“I don’t recall his ever mentioning anything like that, but I have really not had that much conversation with him.”

“Oh. Well, I only wondered.” Cilia’s expression was casual. “I mean, I’m surprised that he isn’t married, or betrothed, or— something.” She trailed off uncertainly.

“That hardly seems surprising. He’s been out of the country for several years.” Kate laughed. “Or did you picture him scooped up by some Spanish belle?”

“It would not be surprising if he had,” returned Cilia seriously. “I’m sure he could have had his pick of any of them. He’s very handsome, don’t you think?”

“Indeed, he’s very well-looking. And charming, too.” And so plump in the pocket, thought Kate, though that particular attribute was no doubt of more interest to Cilia’s mama than to Cilia.

The two ladies turned into Milsom Street and entered a fashionable draper’s establishment, where they soon became engrossed in the selection of ribbons and laces that might be thought proper for the embellishment of mourning blacks.

David, too, was in the throes of choice. He stood among a welter of fabric swatches and pattern cards, feeling very much like a somewhat inferior horse set up for auction. Lucius and Lawrence perused the cards in absorbed silence, while Crawford sat some distance away in bored attention.

“This morning coat, I think,” said Lucius finally, “in the Bath suiting.”

“Mmp,” sniffed Lawrence. “Seems a bit drab, but perhaps with a waistcoat of that primrose figured satin ...”

“Oh, my God,” replied Lucius, wincing. “No. Figured, perhaps, but of a gray or white silk. We’ll save the satin for evening wear.”

Lawrence huffed protestingly. “Lord, you’ll have him looking like a parson.”

“Better a parson than a Bond Street beau. Now, for afternoon wear—for you will eventually have to receive callers, you know, David, this superfine will be adequate. One or two in mulberry, the rest in shades of dark blue.”

“Oh, but can’t you see?” jibed Crawford. “Poor Lawrence has already set his heart on that yaller stuff over there.”

“Fustian!” snorted Lawrence.

“My dear boy!” replied Lucius, deliberately misunderstanding. “Fustian is unthinkable.”

Crawford snickered.

“But...” cried Lawrence, incensed. Lucius, however, had turned his attention to another set of drawings. “You won’t be attending many evening functions out here in the wilderness, David, and I shouldn’t think the family will be giving any large dinner parties in the near future, so for now, I should think three or four evening suits will do.”

Here, David felt it necessary to intervene. “Lucius, I appreciate your efforts, but I am trying to practice a little economy here. I do not require a cupboard full of morning and afternoon coats. I certainly don’t need more than one evening rig, and I already have that.”