Cynthia Bailey Pratt (29 page)

An hour later, the Misses Massingham called to see Danita. Lucy at once noted how tired her former maid looked and was all solicitous regard. “Oh, they try you too high, Danita. It is too bad of them.”

“Is it true,” Millicent asked, “that Mrs. Clively is now so...unwell...that her son is taking her with him to this island?”

“I believe it is so,” Danita answered slowly. Exhausted after her busy morning, she’d attempted to go to sleep as soon as she’d come in. But sleep, when it did come, was uneasy and she’d been roused in the middle of a nightmare to come down to her friends. She still felt the toils of her horrid dream pinioning her intelligence. “Mr. Clively has had too much to do to confide his plans to me.”

“And you, my dear Miss Wingrove? What will you do when they have gone? Or do you go with them?”

“I don’t know. I can’t seem to think.” The truth would not suffice with these ladies. It would most likely make them ill, if they believed her. That she had gambled at all would have horrified them beyond words.

Miss Millicent silenced her sister’s instinctive outburst of sympathy. “I did tell you that you could come to us in any eventuality. We have come to renew that offer. The hotel belongs to my sister and I outright. Though we have promised to leave it to our cousin, she is not levelheaded enough, I believe, to run it all alone. If you come and be our partner, half will be yours upon our decease. Our cousin is easy to live with, as you will find.” She held up her mittened hand. “Please hear me out. You need not fear that you will be in a subordinate position to Lucy and I. You will have a full interest in the hotel.”

“I thank you, Miss Millicent, Miss Lucy, but ...”

“I told you,” Lucy said. “She has to find out what her own relations want first. Loyalty to one’s family must come before any other consideration, as you and I know. Don’t rush, Danita. If poor Mrs. Clively needs you, you must go with her.”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think Mrs. Clively does need me.”

“Then you will join us?” Lucy said, her hands pressed together.

“You are too kind. I ... I don’t deserve it.”

“Nonsense! You are a good girl,” Millicent said firmly.

Danita blushed as she tried to thank them. Little did Miss Massingham know how ill-timed her approbation was. Danita fancied that she had always been as pure in thought as in deed. It had only been earlier today that she had realized what force passion could wield, when she was locked in the arms of her beloved. She could not very well mention that, either.

Danita said something suitable in reply to the Massinghams’ charity, for that is what she felt it to be. After tomorrow, they would withdraw to the other side of the street upon her coming, as would all decent women. She did not care for the idea. It had been painful enough to be ostracized through only the
appearance
of wrongdoing. The sisters took their leave of her, their offer still open.

The night was long. Unable to find rest, she spent the time from moonset to sunrise in tidying her belongings away into a single valise. The house was very quiet, except for an occasional burst of loud talk from Mrs. Clively’s room. When dawn at last came, Danita knelt on the rag rug and gave her thanks that today, at least, would not encompass the death of Sir Carleton Blacklock; Freely she admitted her love for him and prayed that she might never meet him again, once she had been soiled by the touch of the Duke of Lichoakes.

When she rose, she felt calmer. Yet, it was impossible to stay another day at Number 12 New Bond Street Buildings, to pretend that all was well, to handle the details of the housekeeping, and to listen every moment for the sound of the bell heralding Carleton’s promised visit

The duke had said that tonight she would be his mistress. She could not wait until then. Let her degrading servitude begin today, at once!

A letter to Mr. Clively was quickly written and a note enclosed for Berenice. The bag with her remaining sovereigns fit into the valise. She would not trouble to apply for the rest of her inheritance. Withdrawing one sovereign from the bag, she weighed it in her hand. To wrap it up and send it to Carleton would be the matter of a moment. No, she decided, closing her fist over the coin. From this hour on, she lived by a new set of rules. Repayment of a debt of honor would not enter into it.

Making sure she was neat and clean in her person, Danita then placed her hat with great exactitude upon her head. If she must go to disgrace, let it be without a single cause for reproach in any of her habiliments. She grasped her valise, went down the stairs and out of the house, her head up and her face aglow with shame. She had made her bet and she would keep it.

Walking quickly, she soon reached the Crescent and His Grace’s abode. Putting down her valise, she flexed each set of fingers, for it had become heavy before she’d gone very far. Resolutely, she knocked.

No one came. Perhaps it was too early.

She knocked again, expecting to hear footsteps on the other side of the door. No one came.

Frowning now, for her grand gesture could very quickly become farce if action were not taken, Danita put her hand to the shining doorknob and turned it. The door opened soundlessly, yet if it had squeaked like a herd of mice no one would have heard it over the shouting.

“You’re a scoundrelly dog, Your Grace, even if your pedigree is as long as my arm. And you’ll fight me now, man, whether with steel or lead! Choose, damn you!”

“This Hibernian passion, sir, quite overwhelms me. Nevertheless, there will be no duel. I have made other arrangements and you accepted my apology.”

Danita pushed open the door to the drawing room and looked in. The duke was in dishabille, a gaily patterned robe over his nightgown. Pale hairy legs terminated in red plush slippers. His nightcap lay on the ground as though knocked there by some strong arm.

Carleton had his fists planted on his hips, his coat off, the linen sleeves rolled back from his wide forearms. His dark hair was rumpled up on his head and he thrust his face forward at the slighter figure before him. Both men were oblivious to her entrance. On the table between them was armament, foils and pistols.

“Excuse me,” Danita said. They did not seem to hear. Sir Carleton was roaring now, something about the duke’s ancestry— robbers, ravishers, and anti-Reform bill reactionaries all.

“Pardon me,” Danita said, waving her hand. Purple suffused the duke’s haughty face as he replied in terms of violent scurrility. He pounded on the table and the rapiers rattled with a noise like hot cinders extinguishing themselves in water.

“Enough!” Danita shouted.

They turned and looked at her, blind with rage until they blinked. “Miss Wingrove?” the duke said. He turned and looked at the tall-case clock behind him. “You’re early.”

“Danita? You shouldn’t be here, damn it.”

“Kindly don’t swear at me, Carleton. Yes, Your Grace, I am early. I couldn’t bear to wait until nightfall.”

Self-congratulation passed over the nobleman’s face. “I had no notion you liked me so well.”

“I despise and abominate you,” she said calmly, and felt satisfaction when his face fell. A look almost of horror widened his eyes. “But,” she continued, “we have made a wager and, having lost, I shall pay what I owe. That is the way of a gambler, Carleton, is it not?”

“Ambrose, what is the meaning of this?” said a voice from behind Danita. Turning, the girl beheld a woman, short and stout, of approximately sixty years of age. Her hair could not have been natural, in either texture or color. Enveloped in yards of lace-trimmed green wrapper, she resembled a naturally untidy parrot in full molt. Her sharp voice added to the illusion.

“You know how I require my morning rest if I’m to travel today. And yet here you are carrying on with this loud gentleman at this ungodly hour. And in front of a young lady, too.” The duchess peered at Danita, yet did not apparently recognize her as a scandalous female.

“I beg your pardon, Mother. It won’t happen again. Go back to bed.”

“I shall. If I have your promise not to make another sound. It’s far too early to be entertaining, anyway.” She sniffed, bestowed a semi-censorious frown on Danita, and withdrew.

Danita said, “I didn’t know your mother would be here.”

The duke sank down onto a tufted armchair. “She is supposed to leave tonight. That is why I made our appointment for this evening. If she knew what I planned...she’d never go.”

“Yes, what about this appointment?” Carleton asked, and moderating his tone with a glance at the door, said, “Danita, what have you done? This apology Framstead delivered ...”

Danita had meant to be very blasé about the business. But then again, she’d never thought to see him again in her life. “I ... I ...” she began, blushing to the eyebrows. “I gambled,” she said at last, her voice very low.

“Gambled? For money? How much do you owe him?” Seriousness marked every word, and disapproval, too.

Stung, she glanced up. What right had he to disapprove of her after the sums he’d won and lost? “No,” she said, chin firm. “Not for money.” Turning her attention to the duke, she said, “If it is not convenient for you to receive me now, I shall return later on. Five o’clock?”

“You’ll do no such thing!” Carleton cried out, stepping forward. “I won’t let you throw away your honor for my sake. I’m not worth it!”

“I say, old man, keep it down!”

“And you!” The duke must have weighed one hundred and sixty pounds, but Sir Carleton lifted him into the air as though he were a sack of empty clothes. The duke’s thin hands scrabbled for the fist that was slowly strangling him.

“If you’re a specimen of a gentleman, then I’m pleased I never was one.” Carleton opened his fist and the duke fell down into his armchair again, coughing and rubbing his throat.

“No...nobody...”he croaked, but the big Irishman paid no mind.

A few of his long steps and Carleton was before her. “Now, Danita, have the goodness to explain to me why you went and sold yourself to his kind?” He looked her up and down, from the roots of her hair to the kid boots peering from the hem of her dress. “It was for me? Or am I making an unwarrantable assumption?”

She couldn’t answer, not even by nodding or shaking her head. Every thought, motion and feeling was paralyzed by the look in his eyes. Would he hate her for meddling? No.

Carleton brushed her cheek with his fingers. Letting his hand lay lightly on her shoulder, he raised his eyes to the ceiling with a shake of his head. “Just my luck,” he said, “to find a woman too good for me to ever let go.”

Danita felt him drawing her near and she resisted not at all. His arms curved about her. She nestled against his wide chest as though fitting into a shelter made for her only. Then, as he bowed his head to kiss her, a sharp report sounded from behind! The big man shuddered in her embrace. Smoke roiled to the ceiling.

Danita let out a smothered cry as Sir Carleton sagged against her. She felt a powerful ripple pass from him to her as he shook himself. Turning slowly, he advanced on the duke. Danita shrank against the wall. Though she searched his back for blood and saw none, she was certain he’d been shot.

The duke held the pistol still, his knuckles white around the butt. Reaching out, Carleton removed the deadly chunk of mahogany from the other man’s fingers.

“Misfire,” he said. Then his left hand shot out, and the nobleman went down.

“Ambrose!” cried an angry voice from the hall. “Really, it is too bad! Pistol shots! At this hour! Oh, are you leaving?” she said from the steps as her son’s strange acquaintances left, the man scooping up a valise as he went.

Before the Royal Crescent, there is a greensward to make the Palladian splendor more magnificent by comparison with rural simplicity. To this lawn and to a bench from which a magnificent view of the entire edifice might be obtained, Carleton lead Danita, very nearly at a dead run.

Scooping her up in his arms, he set her down gently on the bench. He turned to look back. “It’s very fine,” he said. “But it isn’t a patch on Dublin. The more I see of the world, the better I like Ireland.”

Suddenly shy as his eyes fixed on her, Danita said, “I read a very interesting book on your country.”

“Your country now, too.” He sat beside her and took one of her hands. “You like to gamble, my love? Well, it’s a gamble I offer you, for it’s my heart and yours I’m staking. Will you take your chances with me?”

He seemed almost afraid of her answer, and rushed on, “I’ve been resident here more than six weeks, and you have no relations who’ll say you nay. If it pleases you, we can be married almost at once, tomorrow at the latest. I have only to speak to the bishop. That is, if you want to many me.”

Danita was not afraid to answer. It would be no gamble, not when the odds were entirely on her side. Her eyes gave him the reply he most desired. His fingers touched her face, tilting it so that he had only to lean the merest trifle to taste her lips. “How glad I am to love a tall girl,” Carleton murmured.

At his gentle touch, her heart began to beat quickly as all the feelings she had for him rushed together like the joining of two mighty rivers. Reaching out, she pulled his head down to hers and kissed him with long-suppressed passion. For an instant, he froze. Then, his lips quivered as though she could feel him smiling. For a long time, there was no sound but their breath and no awareness save of each other.

Eventually, Danita leaned against Carleton, making room beneath the spread of his arm. “I suppose I really must many you, my darling. After all, I still owe you a sovereign.”

“Oh, yes, I intend to get that back.” With his free hand, he reached into his waistcoat pocket. A glint of gold appeared in his fingers. “Now, you owe me two,” he said, sliding the plain gold band onto her third finger. It fit as though made for her.

“Two?” she asked.

“Aye. One gold wedding ring. One sovereign in any jewelry shop in Bath.”

Copyright © 1992 by Cynthia Bailey-Pratt

Originally published by Jove       (ISBN 0515108995)