At Last Comes Love (21 page)

Turner stopped walking abruptly and blanched.

He looked like the quintessential romantic hero,Duncan thought, looking critically at him while he awaited some reply to his slight greeting. He was tall and well formed, with smooth blond hair, pale blue eyes, a finely chiseled nose, and a sensitive mouth. They had made an extraordinarily handsome couple, he and Laura, who had shared his coloring.

Normandid not wait for his brother-in-law to reply. Instead, he came striding up to stand between Turner and Duncan.

“Randolph,” he said, “I tried to persuade Sheringford to leave quietly before you were forced to come face-to-face with him. I understand how unspeakably painful this encounter must be to you—and in such a public place too. But he has refused to leave, and so on his own head must be the consequences. There are numerous witnesses, all of whom no doubt share your outrage and mine. No one will blame you for speaking your mind here and now and demanding satisfaction. All will attest to the fact that you were given no alternative.”

Duncanregarded Turner with raised eyebrows. The man's already pasty complexion acquired the color and consistency of chalk. He stared back atDuncan , his jaw set hard, his eyes inscrutable.

What
did
one say to the man one had allowed to run off with one's wife without making any attempt to pursue him and run him to earth and throttle the life out of him on the one hand, or to spurn and divorce the faithless wife on the other?

What did one say to the man one must suspect knew all one's deepest, darkest, nastiest secrets?

“I loved my wife,” Turner said, “more than life itself.”

The two young ladies drew closer to his sides. One of them gazed worshipfully up at him. The other twined both arms about his.

Duncannodded.

“Yes, she told me all about that,” he said.

“You had
no right
,” Turner said, “to interfere between a man and his lawful wife.”

Duncandid not turn his head to look, but he would wager a sizable amount that more than one lace-edged handkerchief was being raised to more than one feminine eye in the room behind him.

“No
lawful
right at all,”Duncan agreed.

“Randolph,”Norman said sternly.

Turner glanced at him uneasily and licked his lips.

“You will wish to demand satisfaction from the scoundrel,”Norman said.

There was a collective feminine gasp from the room.

Miss Huxtable's hand tightened onDuncan 's arm.

“A duel?”Duncan said. “Have duels been made legal since I was last inLondon , then, Norm? That is an interesting development. Do you
wish
to challenge me, Turner? With so many witnesses? Even ladies?”

“I—” Turner began.

“Of course you do,Randolph ,”Norman said briskly and firmly. “I will be your second. There is surely not a person here present who would not applaud you for taking such a firm stand with the villain who exposed your sister to public humiliation and destroyed your happy marriage.”

Someone really ought to findNorman a seat in the House of Commons if he did not wish to be an actor. He would sweep all before him with his oratory.

“There is at least one person present who would
certainly
not applaud such a childish way of settling an old quarrel,” Miss Huxtable said. “What on earth will be settled if one of you blows out the brains of the other? I would suggest a rational discussion of your differences—in private.”

The pervading silence suggested that hers was a minority view It was not an entirely unilateral one, though.

“Miss Huxtable,” Turner said, fixing his eyes on her. “I presume that is who you are, ma'am, though I regret never having been introduced to you. You are quite right. Mrs. Henry's home is
not
the place for such a distasteful confrontation. And it has never been my belief that violence settles anything. Besides—forgive me, ma'am—I do not believe the Earl of Sheringford worthy of the honor of a duel. He has chosen his path to hell and will be allowed to tread it to the end as far as I am concerned. I feel no compulsion to speed him on his way.”

Now
both
young ladies were gazing worshipfully at him. Someone in the library stifled a sob. Someone else sniffed quite audibly.

Duncansmiled, his eyes fixed on Turner's. “It has never been your belief that violence settles anything,” he said softly. “One can only admire and respect such pacifist views. If you should change your mind, you know where to find me, I do not doubt, though I must caution you that Sir Graham Carling may not be overly delighted to have his home invaded by two belligerent gentlemen—an aggrieved husband and a man who is his relative, though not his brother.”

Turner's eyes bored back into his own.

Yes, of course I know,Duncan told him silently.
Did you comfort
yourself for one moment in the last five years with the possibility that I
did not
?

“Randolph,”Norman said sharply, “think of your poor late wife if you will. Think of your sister.”

Duncanlooked down at Margaret Huxtable.

“Shall we go in pursuit of that lemonade?” he suggested.

“A drink would be very welcome indeed,” she said, and they proceeded into the dining room after Turner and his entourage had stepped smartly out of the way.

It was clear that the occupants of the dining room had been following the encounter as avidly as those in the library. There was a loud silence as everyone gawked at them, and then everyone turned away and rushed back into merry conversation with one another.

“Well,”Duncan said, “I hope you are enjoying your public wooing, Miss Huxtable.”

“If a duel is ever fought,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion,

“and if one drop of blood is shed on either side, I shall personally kill you.”

“That,” he said, “is mildly illogical, is it not? But I did not realize you cared so deeply.”

She looked into his eyes and kept her voice low, though it still throbbed with feeling.

“That poor man,” she said. “Tomorrow, Lord Sheringford, you must call upon him—
if
he will receive you—and apologize. Most humbly and most sincerely. You wronged him, and while you cannot change the past or expect forgiveness for it, you can at least acknowledge that what you did was very wrong, that the suffering you caused was inexcusable. You will apologize, Lord Sheringford.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Or else?”

“Oh,” she said, “do there have to be ultimatums before you will do what is right? You
must
apologize.”

“You advocate lies, Maggie?” he asked her.

“Lies?” She frowned. “No, I do not, though I have told some of my own in the past few days—none of which has done me a great deal of good.”

“And yet,” he said, “you would have
me
lie?”

She continued to frown.

“I am not sorry,” he said. “If I apologize, I will be lying.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and her shoulders slumped.

“Oh, you foolish man,” she said. “You must have loved her a great deal. But love ought not to cause dishonor. Or pain.”

“Can you have lived to the age of thirty and still be so naive?” he asked her.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Let me fetch you some lemonade,” he suggested.

The Earl of Sheringford was taking an empty plate from her hand and returning it to one of the tables before Margaret realized that she must have eaten something—she could not remember what. And her glass was empty. Lemonade? Yes, she could still taste it.

She was smiling. Lady Carling was coming toward her like a ship in full sail, both hands outstretched in front of her.

“The Deans invited us to dinner ages ago,” she said, kissing Margaret's cheek, “
long
before Agatha set the date for her soiree. We have only now been able to get away and come here. And thus we have missed all the excitement. Margaret, my dear, you must be a saint to have borne it all and still be standing atDuncan 's side. I understand Randolph Turner declined to challenge him to a duel, which is surprising really and even slightly shameful, though I am vastly glad he did. My nerves would never have recovered from the strain.Duncan , my love, you have no choice now but to eat a great deal of humble pie and apologize. You ought to have done it long ago.”

“He says he will not,” Margaret told her. “He says he is not sorry.”

His mother clucked her tongue.

“Laura Turner was a very fortunate woman, then,” she said.

“Duncan, you may fetch me some ratafia.”

Another half hour or so passed, most of it in company with Lady Carling and some of her friends, before Lord Sheringford suggested again that he escort Margaret home. She had never been more glad of anything in her life, though she would have died rather than ask to be taken. She felt exhausted.

Whatever had she got herself into? But whatever it was, she had no one to blame but herself.

Ought she to inform him when he took her back to Merton House that she had made a definite decision not to marry him, that she did not wish to see him again? He would still have time to find someone else. And really and realistically—how could she ever agree to marry a man who apparently had no conscience?

But who else would have him if she did not?

That was
definitely
not her concern.

Stephen was in the drawing room, part of a large group of young people who seemed all to be talking and laughing at once. He detached himself from the group when he saw them come in from the music room.

“You are leaving, Meg?” he said. “May I escort you?”

“No, thank you, Stephen,” she said. “Lord Sheringford will do that.”

“Let me at least call the carriage, then,” he said.

“No.” She smiled at him. “It is a lovely evening—or was the last time I looked out a window.”

The earl did not own a carriage, and she had rejected his offer to hire one for the occasion. They had walked the short distance to the soiree.

They took their leave of Mrs. Henry, who shook her head at her nephew, kissed his cheek, and told him that he had made her so famous that simply everyone would clamor to attend her next entertainment.

“Everyone who refused an invitation to this one will bitterly regret it,” she said.

13

A FEW minutes later they were out on the pavement, Margaret shivering slightly beneath her shawl. The air seemed loud with the silence.

Lord Sheringford offered his arm and she took it.

“What are your thoughts?” he asked her after they had walked for a little while without talking.

“I scarcely know,” she said. “I feel as if my whole life has been turned upside down.”

“Would you rather,” he said, “that I ceased courting you? Your reputation would recover very quickly and leave you quite unscathed.

Gossip soon dies when there is nothing to feed it.”

“I think,” she said, “that what I
would
rather, Lord Sheringford, is an explanation of why you are not sorry, or why you refuse to apologize to that poor man. Is it just stubbornness? Or is it really love? Was Mrs. Turner the great passion of your life, worth everything you gave up, including your character and honor? And worth your refusal to do the right thing and admit that you caused irreparable suffering to her husband?”

She shivered again. Her shawl had slipped off her shoulders and exposed them to the cool air of late evening.

He stopped walking and lifted her shawl, wrapping it more closely about her and keeping one arm about her shoulders to hold it in place. He was looking very directly into her eyes, though she could scarcely see him in the darkness. She could smell the wine he had been drinking.

“The great passion of my life?” he said. “It would be a terrible insult to you if I were to continue to woo you and allow you to believe that to be a possibility. I did not love Laura at all, Maggie—not in any romantic sense, anyway.”

She gazed at him, baffled. They were beneath a straight row of trees that had been planted along the edge of the pavement, she realized suddenly. That was why it was so dark despite the fact that the sky was bright with moon and stars. The street was deserted. There was not even a night watchman in sight.

“Then it is only stubbornness?” she said. “An un willingness to admit that a fleeting passion ruined lives, including your own? And you think other people, including me, will respect you for your steadfast stubbornness? You believe it to be unmanly to admit that you did something so dreadfully wrong, its effects quite irreversible?

Admitting you were wrong, asking pardon, is the only decent, manly course of action remaining to you—surely?”

He sighed.

“I ought to have apologized profusely to you when we collided in Lady Tindell's ballroom,” he said, “and allowed you to hurry on your way to wherever it was you were going. I ought to have chosen someone with far less firm opinions to save me from penury. Maggie, there are many kinds of decency. Snatching a married lady from her husband and running off with her is sometimes the most decent thing a man can think of to do. Even when he is forced to leave behind a bride of his own, almost literally waiting at the altar for him—though Caroline Turner was not treated quite as shabbily as that.”

“Then tell me what.” She turned to face him fully and was forced to spread her hands across his chest when he did not take a step back.

His one arm was still about her shoulders. “How can such a sin be
decent
?”

She gazed up into his face, barely visible even at this distance.

And then she had a sudden inkling of the truth and wondered that it had not occurred to her before.

“Randolph Turner is a coward,” he said. “You may have noticed it a short while ago. Any other man in his position would have felt that he had no option but to slap a glove in my face, even if only a figurative one. He found a way of wriggling out of doing so and appearing rather heroic into the bargain—to the ladies, at least.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “he abhors violence and understands that it is no solution to any problem.”

“And perhaps,” he said, “any normal husband whose wife had run off with another man would scour heaven and earth to find her and punish her abductor—or else would publicly spurn and divorce her.