Edith Layton (17 page)

Little Miss Probisher was pretty and quaint, and almost on the shelf. That fact did wonders for her, giving her a vivid personality she hadn’t had when she was younger. It also gave her jests a bitter taste and an acid edge. Margaret DeWitt was a rich man’s daughter, and had the most sumptuous bosom Drum had seen in a long time, but he couldn’t see much else about her that was half as fine. Violetta Vesey was dark and interesting, with flashing eyes. Olivia Carter was pale and interesting and wore a constant half smile. Drum suspected they were only interesting because of what they didn’t say, and that was because they didn’t
have
much to say. But they were good to look at.

Little Miss Meacham, youngest of an enormous brood, was the pick of that litter. She watched everything with fascinated eyes, making Drum realize she was doing the same thing he was. He wished he could talk to her and hear her impressions.

He couldn’t, of course. If he made overtures to any of them, it would be noticed by all of them. He had to
watch, then decide which to pursue when he was on his feet again. They knew that too, so they performed for him. It was amusing, it was annoying, and it was necessary, and he devoutly wished he could get up and run out of this perfumed bower his salon had become.

Drum felt a breath of fresh air as the door in the front hall opened again. “Major Eric Ford,” his butler announced.

Drum smiled widely and honestly for the first time that day.

“You saved me,” Drum said an hour later when he and Eric were finally alone in the salon. “They had someone else to preen for. Thank God for that face of yours.”

“Saved you? You looked like a pig in clover.”

“A nice description, but inaccurate,” Drum said wryly. “A pig on a platter with an apple in his mouth, more like.”

“Annabelle looks more tasty,” Eric said with a sidewise glance at his friend.

“If your interest lies in that quarter, please tell me, and I’ll kidnap her for you, or do whatever I can to see you two blissfully united. She’s not so bad, but she’s not for me. Or who can tell, she may be,” Drum added hastily, because he still didn’t know where fate would land him and it would be wrong to say cruel things, even to a friend, about a lady he might have to take to wife one day.

“How’s the leg?” Eric asked, pouring himself a glass from the decanter on the sideboard.

“It itches madly. I’m tempted to rip off the splints and scratch myself to ecstasy. But it doesn’t hurt or
even ache as much as my poor bottom does now,” Drum complained. “I’m exercising in my rooms so I don’t turn to a pile of aspic, but I still can’t walk.” He closed his hand to a fist in frustration.

“I’m sorry the rain stopped,” he went on. “I rejoice when I see storm clouds because I don’t miss going out so much then. But I hate sitting here with the sun out while all the world walks by. It’s even worse being pushed around London like a babe in a pram. I’m waiting for my crutches the way I watched for signs of a beard when I was a boy—as though they’ll prove my manhood. God, I’m getting to be a whiner as well as a curmudgeon. Sunny days make me feel cheated and bitter, but then everything does lately.”

Drum paused, thinking of all the things that made him feel that way lately, if they didn’t bore him to oblivion first. Ever since he’d returned to London…His expression suddenly changed to one of avid interest. “At that, my leg’s better than my head! How’s Alexandria? And the boys?”

“The boys are fine. Alexandria’s here in London.”

“No!” Drum said, his eyes alive with light. “Tell me, when did she get here?”

“This very morning. I just left her with Gilly and Damon. She was excited about going there, but terrified when she arrived. They’ll settle her down. She wanted to know when she could visit you.”

“Now, an hour from now, any time she pleases!”

“I’ll tell her. Now, would you like to know what I found out about your accident?”

“God! I think it
was
my head and not my leg that got the worst battering. Of course. Please, what did you discover?”

“Nothing specific. Everything suspicious. I couldn’t find a hint of any boy with a borrowed gun. I did find a reason someone might be vexed with seeing you in the district, though. It seems Alexandria’s charming father was a Bonapartist as well as a miser.”

Drum nodded. “I’m not surprised. From what I heard, you could tell me he abused kittens for his Sunday sport. What of it? He’s long dead.”

“He had like-minded friends in the vicinity.”

“Ah!” Drum said. “But they couldn’t have known I’d be there any more than I did. And what would be the point? The war’s done. Napoleon’s dead. A disgruntled revolutionary might as well take a gun, stand in the middle of any village green, or London, for that matter, and start shooting at random. Improbable. I still favor the theory of that idiot boy and his stolen gun.”

Eric stared at his friend. “I’m thinking of a more specific revenge. A madman who fixed on you for reasons only another madman would understand. Don’t doubt it’s possible. You worked for the War Office and everyone had guessed all your jaunts to the Continent in past years weren’t pleasure trips.”

“Half the men we knew fought that war,” Drum scoffed.

“But uniforms make a man invisible. You went to Elba, and recently, before the little emperor died this year, you visited St. Helena too. Twice, I recall. Someone had to notice that, at least.”

Drum shrugged. “I was a courier, merely.”

“I believe you. But Bonaparte’s English supporters are a strange bunch who followed him for philosophical reasons as well as their own motives. I’ve learned about them. Why would an Englishman work for a for
eign leader? They were men who wanted to overthrow the world they knew in the hopes they’d do better in another one. But they wouldn’t go so far as to show their faces or fight. They’re bookish, ingrown men with no other lives, literally. Those who live through others have no life when their idol is gone. Linking themselves with their god by revenging themselves in his name would be just their meat.”

“Meat, is it?” Drum laughed. “I see. Are you suggesting I hire someone to taste my food?”

“Maybe. There’s even a mad rumor circulating these days that Napoleon was poisoned. I’m not going that far, though. I’m just suggesting you be cautious now.”

“Oh, cautious.” Drum’s smile was rueful. “You don’t have to worry. Be sure I am always and ever cautious in everything I say and do. I’m the most guarded man you’ll ever meet—In everything, unfortunately for me.”

A
N EVEN LARGER COLLECTION OF NUBILE YOUNG
women were gathered in the Earl of Drummond’s salon the next day, posing, giggling, and in general trying anything to be noticed by their languid host. Drum was very grateful Eric was there, because in spite of what their mamas urged, many of the young women were willing to ignore a crippled, bony, sardonic fellow, even if he was an earl, to see if they could make a virile blond giant look their way instead.

Even Annabelle couldn’t resist flirting with Eric, and they had a bitter history. Eric had once tried to lure her attention from Rafe solely to protect Rafe’s new bride from her spite. Or had it been only that, after all? Drum wondered now, watching them as they stood together. They made a striking couple, each a picture of physical perfection. And certainly if any man could heal, or find, that beauty’s heart, it would be Eric.

But it might not mean a thing. Eric was a kind man, the soul of civility, and Annabelle was socially adept
enough to be the soul of artificiality. She flirted the way other women breathed. As she chatted with Eric she still found time to slide knowing glances at Drum, and frequently smiled at him as if to show she understood the nonsense of their set’s mannered mating rituals too well to take them seriously. She looked especially fine today, in a celestial blue gown with a darker blue overskirt. She’d done her curls up high to give her petite figure height. The sapphire pendant she wore showed off her high and shapely breasts. Drum couldn’t help admiring her.

Now that Eric had come to take the focus off him, Drum also couldn’t help but be secretly flattered that he had some of the most sought-after females in Town here in his house, solely for the purpose of enticing him. He allowed himself to believe in that moment that it wasn’t only because of his title and wealth. He wasn’t in the habit of deceiving himself but it was such a comforting thought these days when nothing else seemed to be going right that he allowed himself to feel good about it.

So it was odd that when the butler announced two more guests he felt suffused in a sudden glow of warmth and delight that made his previous content seem feeble in comparison.

Gilly was lovely in white lace, but that was nothing new, she’d be exquisite in rags. Drum’s gaze flew to the woman with her. Alexandria walked into his salon the way a woman might walk alone into a dark basement at three in the morning because she’d heard a noise she couldn’t ignore. Her eyes had panic in them. Her face was pale. She looked as though she might bolt at any minute.

But those eyes were brilliant and her skin wasn’t just pale, it glowed with health, especially in contrast to the wan indoor complexions of the fashionable women of London. He noted with pleasure that she was dressed as well as any of them now.

Someone had also styled her hair since he’d last seen her. She wore it back as usual but not so tightly drawn, so it was softer around her face. Her figure, in her new gown, was magnificent, sturdier than fashion dictated but in no way overblown. She looked like a warm armful of womanhood even though she was modestly dressed. Her gown was dark gold with a tiny pink flower pattern. It flattered, but the material was too thin to lie about what lay beneath it. Drum was expert about fashion but he was so busy noting that the gown suited her exactly, he didn’t notice who had designed it.

Best of all, those brilliant eyes grew brighter when she saw him, and she smiled at last. He stretched out a hand to her. All chatter in the room ceased. He didn’t notice. “Ally! My savior! Welcome. It’s good to see you.”

She came straight to him. “How are you?” she asked so anxiously he knew it wasn’t just a social pleasantry.

“I’ll be on crutches soon,” he said with pride. “And I haven’t had a headache in weeks. And you?”

“I’m amazed,” she said. “London’s more than I ever imagined, and you know I imagined a lot! It was my hobby, in fact.”

“But now you’ll have better things to do,” Drum said with satisfaction. “Give you good morning, Gilly, my love. I see you’ve been busy.”

Gilly preened. “Huh. I did nothing but give Ally a
good night’s rest. The rest is just Ally herself. She’s like a breath of country air in the city, isn’t she?”

Drum nodded. He saw they were as private as actors on stage at the end of Act Three. So he decided to make a moment of drama out of Ally’s introduction to society. “Yes. Let me introduce you to the company, Alexandria. Everyone,” he said, taking her hand, raising his voice and addressing the room, “here is my friend Miss Alexandria Gascoyne. We met in a ditch in May. I’m very glad we did, and that she excused my rudeness at the time. The fact is I didn’t even get up to make my bows to her or so much as tell her my name. She graciously pardoned me and had her brothers invite me into their home. I was rude enough not to scrape my boots before going in, and discourteous enough not to blot up my blood before immediately sprawling on her best bed. Then she called a doctor double quick and by so doing, saved my life.”

The company responded just as he intended, bursting into laughter and applause.

Alexandria smiled. “I was too pleased that you still breathed to ask you to do more. Which was good, because you were so polite you might have tried and that would have been disastrous. At least you were the best houseguest anyone could want. You didn’t ask for special food or drink or make demands, you didn’t make any noise either, and never interfered with our household…at first.”

He smiled back at her. “It’s a wonder you let me wake up.”

The company had been smiling too, but now they looked from their host to his new guest, and some of the young women’s smiles faded, as most of the ma
mas’ eyes narrowed. Drum held on to her hand. She gazed down at him.

Eric coughed. “But what did the fellow do when he finally came to his senses?” he asked. “Why, he built himself the barn of his dreams to house all the servants and friends he immediately summoned to help him. Poor Miss Gascoyne. Her horse was embarrassed and her chickens confounded, and that’s nothing to what her neighbors said!”

The company laughed.

“Yes. A blunder, I admit,” Drum said. “The barn became so inflated the chickens must have felt they had to lay golden eggs. I think I laid an egg myself designing it,” he added with a puzzled frown to make them laugh again. “The truth is it fits Prinny’s gilded palace at Brighton more than Miss Gascoyne’s charming and historic house. Tell me, my dear Miss Gascoyne, have you torn down that atrocity I built yet?”

“The chickens would never speak to me again if I did,” she said. “They’ve been giving themselves such airs they’d feel very no-account in just a plain barn now.”

He laughed and pressed her hand in secret approval of her joke before he let it go, and Alexandria felt the tightness in her chest ease. When she’d entered the room and seen the glittering company she’d almost turned and run away. She knew Drum lived in splendor. But she hadn’t seen enough splendor to actually know what it was before. Now she did.

His town house had impressed her from the outside, but that was nothing to how she felt when she stepped in. The checkered black and white marble entry was more splendid than the local squire’s whole house. A
glance showed her that those were masterpieces of art hanging on walls already covered with stretched silk. The high ceilings had frescoes, their margins done in gold, rose, green, and blue. She realized they might be Robert Adam’s work. A transom over the door let in sunlight that picked out the huge black and white alabaster vases that stood in various niches.

There was a graceful staircase in the center of the hall, carved to resemble flowing water caught in stopped motion. Its gleaming mahogany was better wood than any in her whole house, and his staff was better dressed than anyone in her village. She’d seen two footmen and a butler in uniforms that seemed to be those of a very exalted army.

When she’d gone into the salon, her breathing had literally stopped. The people there looked like they stepped out of fashion plates. Mrs. Tooke had sewn a beautiful gown for her, but Alexandria knew to the penny what a bargain the material had been. These women wore gowns from the hands of masters, light silks and brushed satins embroidered by angels. The fans they waved to cool their faces were more expensive than Alexandria’s whole wardrobe. Their gowns, hair, accents, those faces, everything about them was diaphanous and cool, even the laughter she heard floating like their rare perfumes on the air. And apart from Eric and Drum, there were only women here.

A tiny part of Alexandria’s mind resented that. A larger part was terrified by it. She’d been hoping to see Drum. Instead, she saw the Earl of Drummond in a high-backed chair, his eyes bored, half closed, a chilly smile on his lean face. He was every inch a languid, elegant, rich, and powerful gentleman who could com
mand the finest females in London to dance attention on him—and didn’t care if they did.

Then he’d looked up, and she’d seen life spring into those lucent eyes. He’d smiled at her and spoken to her and she’d seen Drum again. But Mrs. Tooke was right, Alexandria thought; now she didn’t think she’d ever forget who he really was.

Well, good, she thought. And felt bad about it.

“This is the young woman who saved your life!” Annabelle exclaimed with every evidence of delight. “Well done, Miss Gascoyne! The ladies of London salute you. How brave. Taking in an utter stranger! And such a villainous looking one,” she added with a sparkling look at Drum. “How did you know he wasn’t a scoundrel who’d wake in the night, steal everything in the house, and leave you all for dead?”

“My only worry was what we’d do if he didn’t wake,” Alexandria said. “It’s harder to be rid of a ghost than a thief. I’d rather watch for a robber than a dead man, wouldn’t you?”

“What caused the accident?” another young woman asked eagerly, pushing herself forward with a resentful look at Annabelle, who, as usual, was dominating the conversation.

“A rabbit, a squirrel, a bird whirring up to startle my horse,” Drum said with a shrug.

“Whatever it was, it must have been an extraordinary beast,” Annabelle mused, “to have fired a gun.” She waited for the gasps to stop and added, “I asked my father, you see, and he said the government was investigating. My lord Drummond was active for them during the war as a foe of Napoleon, and still has many enemies.”

Drum stifled a groan. He supposed she said it to gild his reputation, because if she was after him she’d want him to look even better in everyone’s eyes. Or, he thought gloomily, she might have hoped what she’d said would get back to his father and thought it would please him to hear her championing his son. It didn’t please Drum.

“Or a boy taking potshots at birds, as everyone in the vicinity thought,” Drum said in a bored voice that warned those who wanted to please him that he didn’t want to pursue the subject. “Now. Since Miss Gascoyne is new to us and London, I have to ask you lovely ladies what sights you suggest she see. She was an excellent hostess to me, I want to return the compliment. Any ideas?”

The room was immediately filled with gabble as his guests competed for his attention, suggesting things that would make him think they were witty or wise.

Annabelle, of course, outdid them all again.

“I have the very thing!” she cried, cutting into all the mentions of the Opera, Astley’s Amphitheater, Vauxhall Gardens, and visits to every cathedral, castle, gallery, civic building, and historical sight in town. “Why don’t I have a ball? One that will introduce your rescuer to everyone? In a few weeks, say? Before everyone leaves town for the rest of the summer. By then, surely you’ll be able to stand up for a dance with her. And with me, I hope,” she added with a charming pout, “as a reward for my splendid idea?”

“Well, that is a good one,” Gilly said grudgingly, speaking up before anyone else could, “but I’m the one to give it, thank you. I’ve known him longer, vexed him longer, and I know Ally too. My husband will be
tickled. He wants to stay in London to finish up some business and this is a fine excuse. What do you say, Drum? I can do it up right—with your advice, of course.”

“If Damon agrees, I think that’s a fine idea,” Drum said. “I’ll ask him, though, if you don’t mind.”

“Huh,” Gilly said gaily, “as if he’ll mind! He likes a good party as well as anyone. What a time we’ll have, Ally.”

“But I don’t need anything so grand,” Alexandria protested, her complexion paler than it had been a minute before, her teeth worrying at her lower lip. “Truly, I don’t need or expect such a thing. I’d be more than happy to see Astley’s Amphitheater. The boys specifically asked me to go so I could tell them about it. I’d be content with that and a visit to Vauxhall Gardens, honestly I would.”

“I believe you,” Drum said. “But it would give me pleasure, so please allow it. You’ll visit the other places too, I promise. I’ll even accompany you.” He held up a hand to silence the murmurs. “I’ve an invalid chair, so I can go anywhere, even without crutches. I’ve been yearning to get out of this house. Of course,” he added sadly, “if Miss Gascoyne doesn’t agree to Mrs. Ryder’s ball, she’ll also deprive me of my outings. Because if she can’t go to a ball, I certainly can’t ask her to accompany me around town. It would be terribly selfish of her, wouldn’t it?”

He saw Alexandria’s frown, and shrugged. “I’m used to getting my way, you know,” he told the company. “And what else can I threaten her with? A fellow must use what he has at hand, and that is our friendship. At least, I thought she was a friend. I believed
she’d want to see me out and about, and happy, but maybe I was wrong…”

“Nonsense,” Alexandria said, flustered.

“No,” he said airily, “blackmail. And you know I’ll do it too. Your move.”

“You’re as bad as the boys when they want their way,” she said. “Did you know they sulked and moped, making the house seem like a funeral? They said if I didn’t go to London they’d stay that way all summer because they’d feel so guilty every time they looked at me, thinking that I had to watch over them instead of having fun.”

“Of course,” he said smugly. “That’s what I told them to say.”