Had We Never Loved (3 page)

“What was he before, then?” Amy looked longingly at a stand where rows of toffee apples shone stickily in the sunlight. “A bishop, p'raps?”

Glendenning chuckled. “He was a guard. A—a sort of bailiff, actually.”

“You mean what does executions in houses when folks can't pay what they owes and isn't allowed to move nothing out 'til it's all sold for debt? Cor! How'd the likes of him get to be a valet? That's
proper
grand, that is.” Her eyes had wandered back to the apples again. “Why don't ye like him?”

His lordship edged through the crowd that surrounded the stand and bought two toffee apples, one of which he gave to Amy. She accepted it with pleasure, and he watched as her pink tongue was promptly applied to the toffee.

“I do like him,” he said, answering her question and regarding his apple dubiously. “It's just that he don't work for my friend now, but for—er, another gentleman. None of which has anything to do with—”

“Oh,” she interrupted, licking busily. “Then it's this here other gent what you don't like. Ain't you going to eat yer apple?”

It had been many years since Lord Horatio had attacked a toffee apple, and he approached it gingerly, but found it delicious. After a minute, he looked up to find Amy laughing at him.

“Don't be so ladylike, mate,” she advised. “Forget as you're a squire, for once, and give it a good lick. Like this…”

‘Ladylike!' he thought. But following instructions, gave it “a good lick.”

“That's right,” said Amy, encouragingly. “Have at it, yer highness. I knew as ye could do it.”

It dawned on his lordship that the note to her voice, the gleam in her eyes, held a trace of mockery. He said, “And you properly turned me from the subject, didn't you? But now I want to know how it is that your kissing friend's watch found its way into my pocket.”

Amy's lashes swept like two dainty fans onto her cheeks, and she said meekly, “I ain't a bad girl, yer worship. But sometimes, when I'm very hungry, the Devil he whispers in me earhole.”

“Ear,” he corrected. But looking at all the demure witchery of her, the very thought of her going hungry appalled him, and he had to struggle to add with severity, “And stealing people's watches is not the way to appease your appetite, Miss Lewis. You could have been transported had we not managed to bring you off. You would do better to obtain a position in—in a shop, perhaps.”

She sighed and the dark silk of her hair swung as she shook her head. “I ain't got the proper gab fer it, milor'. And that young man with the red face, he was a rough bully. The kind a girl's got to look out fer. Deserved a lesson, he did, so I give him one.”

“I see. And since I find that my purse has been moved, I presume you judged that I also deserved a lesson.”

She darted a glance at him from the corner of her eyes. “Still got it, ain'tcha? You been kind to me, yer honour. I don't forget folks what's kind to me. Someday, I'll pay ye back…” A far-away look came into her eyes. She said in a softer voice. “One o' these fine days…”

Curious, Glendenning asked, “What is it? Of what are you thinking?”

“That we'll meet again, milor'. Soon, I think … At the dark o' the moon, maybe.”

He fought to repress a grin, but the side of his mouth twitched.

Amy saw, and bristled. “Think it's funny, does ye? A poor common gypsy girl don't go to balls and routs and the high and mighty opry, where she might meet someone so top lofty as yer lor'ship, eh? And anyway, I ain't good enough for ye to ever want to meet again, is that what you be sticking yer nose in the air at?”

A tall farm worker carrying a long-tined pitchfork, paused and looked with suspicion from the elegant young man to the gypsy girl.

Glendenning lengthened his stride, and said tersely, “Of course not. And I'm not sticking my nose in the air.”

“Yus you is, and you got a long nose if ye want to know it. I wonder some blackbird don't fly down and sit on it!”

Glendenning, whose nose was described by kindly friends as showing strength of character, grinned. “Wouldn't you be surprised if one did.”

“No, I wouldn't,” she said crossly, and with a glance at his eyebrows, which were distinctly auburn, she added, “'Sides, it looks to me like you got a red poll under that there wig. Red hair means bad temper. Always. So ye needn't think I'm making up to you or nothing.”

“No indeed. Though I would be very flattered if you were. And 'tis kind in you to want to repay me for what little assistance I may have rendered. Especially since my hair is indeed red.”

He had spoken with saintly meekness, and his green eyes were properly solemn. Very nice eyes, she thought. And he was truly a fine-looking man. But that telltale quirk hovered beside the humorous mouth again, wherefore, “You needn't try to turn me up sweet, Hoity-Toityness,” she said, scowling.

“It isn't hoity-toity to know that stealing is wicked, Alice, and—”

“Me name's not Alice.”

“Oh. But you said—”

“Never mind.” A twinkle dispelled her wrath. She said mischievously, “And if you think stealing's wicked, then ye'd best shoot that pretty gry o'yourn, 'cause she's eating yer apple all up!”

Lord Horatio jerked his head around in time to see the apple disappearing between Flame's jaws.

Laughs went up as he shook his fist at the unrepentant mare, and told her she was a scamp. And clearer, sweeter, purer than all the rest was a silvery trill of mirth as Amy clung to his arm and pleaded that he not beat his gry.

“Well, I should,” he argued indignantly. “Bless it, one might think—”

“Tio! Hello! Tio!”

Recognizing the musical voice, he turned, his eyes brightening. “Katrina!”

Miss Katrina Falcon's maternal grandmama, exquisitely beautiful, had been the product of a union between a Chinese mandarin and a Russian princess. Miss Falcon's ancestry was revealed only in her eyes which, although large and of a rich midnight blue, had a slight Oriental slant. If anything, this feature added mystique to a lady of rare loveliness, for Katrina was blessed with a clear if slightly olive complexion, her features were dainty, her rather tall figure slender and graceful. Now three and twenty, she had a gentle and affectionate disposition, and would have long since made a brilliant match save for two obstacles. One was her mixed blood, which was viewed with horror by much of the
haut ton.
The other was her brother, a deadly duellist who despised London's Society and declared contemptuously that he had yet to meet the man worthy of his lovely sister. Katrina was a considerable heiress and, despite her unfortunate birth, was much courted both by fortune hunters and by the many gentlemen who genuinely admired her. Mr. August Falcon dismissed them all. Often with a lack of tact that had led to several duels.

Aware of this, and aware also that the lady's deadly brother stood nearby, Lord Horatio was undaunted as he kissed Miss Falcon's outstretched hand. He acknowledged her beauty, he admired her amiable nature, but she did not touch his heart. He was fond of her, however, and was perfectly sincere when he exclaimed, “What luck that I should find you here! I'd fancied you to have gone down to Sussex after the Rossiter wedding.”

“So we did,” she answered merrily. “But I knew the Mop Fair would be held today, and—”

“And she could not resist it.” August Falcon sauntered to join them. Her senior by six years, he was as handsome as his sister was beautiful, and so like her that there could be no doubt of their relationship. His eyes were not as large as hers, but of the same blue that was so dark as to seem almost black. In expression, however, they were very different; August's eyes were hard, and cold, and reflected a deep cynicism that was echoed in the uncompromising line of the thin lips. He offered a languid hand to Glendenning, and murmured, “A Mop Fair, God bless us! That I should have allowed myself to be bullied into mingling with such a sorry collection of yokels!”

“I did not bully,” objected Katrina laughingly.

Glendenning asked, “What the deuce is a Mop Fair?”

“It is a day in which those seeking employment bring some tool of their trade and walk about hoping a prospective master will hire them,” explained Katrina. “But if you did not know, then why are you here, Tio? I'd thought you were remaining in Town.”

They moved out of the crowd and into the cool shade cast by a tent, and Glendenning answered, “I was, but—well it seemed rather dull after our little tussle with the League of Jewelled Men. So I decided to pop up and see how Mama goes on.”

“Do pray alleviate our intolerable suspense,” drawled Falcon. “How does dear Lady Bowers-Malden go on?”

Glendenning grinned. “Not a bit of use your trying to be obnoxious, Falcon. I know dashed well you like my mother. And I don't know how she goes on, because I haven't got there yet, as you see.”

“I see,” said Falcon, looking bored, “that your lordship is taking an extraordinarily circuitous route. Eton failed you, dear boy. Upon departing the Metropolis it is not necessary to ride through Basingstoke so as to reach Windsor. Not,” he added dulcetly, “that it is any of my bread and butter.”

One should know better, thought Glendenning, than to try and flim flam August Falcon. “Well, it ain't,” he said without rancour. “But, if you must know, I thought I'd drop in on the Cranfords first.”

“Whereby one assumes your mission to Glendenning Abbey is not an urgent one.”

Lord Horatio tensed, his green eyes darting to Falcon's bland expression. “Why should it be?”

“Exactly so,” replied Falcon obscurely. “To resume this enchanting tale, you detoured again to come to a fair you'd not known was in progress, eh?”

Katrina scolded, “Now August, you must not be such a tease. He likely decided to take luncheon here, is that not the case, Tio?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Glendenning smiled at her gratefully. “Although had I known 'twas like Bedlam, I'd not have come near the dratted place, I promise you.”

“You surprise me,” said Falcon. “I'd have guessed you'd—ah, hired that pretty piece you were flirting with just now.”

“Jupiter!” Glendenning jerked around guiltily. “I quite forgot—” He broke off. Miss Alice Lewis was nowhere in sight. Her purple kerchief should be easy to find, but although he scanned the jostling crowd narrowly, there was no sign of her. He thought, ‘Damnation!'

Watching him, Falcon chuckled. “Properly bewitched you and then tipped you the double, did she? You'd best look to your purse, my poor dupe.”

“Nothing of the kind,” said his lordship. “But I wish you might have met her, Katrina. She was the most enchanting little—” His earnest words ceased. He'd slipped one hand into his pocket, just to make sure. His purse and the red-faced man's watch were gone.

Falcon uttered one of his rare laughs. “An enchanting little female prig, eh? You may count yourself blessed that she didn't make off with your horse as I am very sure she longed to do.” He patted Flame's glowing shoulder. “A damned fine animal you've got here. Did you find her at Tattersall's?”

“No. In point of fact, my brother gave her to me.”

Falcon's flaring brows lifted. “Did he now? I saw Templeby last week.” He added idly, “At the Cocoa Tree.”

His lordship shrugged. “Michael's two and twenty. Old enough to be on the Town.”

“True. And such a generous fellow. This fine mare to you; a diamond necklace for his sister, a tiara for Lady Bowers-Malden. Fowles tells me he's been on a winning streak.”

Recalling Piers Cranford's veiled warning, Glendenning suffered another pang of unease, but he said with his pleasant smile, “I cannot allow my baby brother to outshine me. Come. I must find an ostler to take charge of Flame, and then I shall stand the huff for a magnificent luncheon at the Spotted Cat.”

“How lovely,” said Katrina, ever the optimist.

“Provided,” murmured her brother, “Glendenning can reclaim his purse.”

“Oh, Jupiter,” groaned Lord Horatio, mortified.

Katrina laughed. “Poor Tio. Never mind, we shall take you to luncheon instead. 'Twill be our pleasure, won't it, dear?”

“Joy unsurpassed,” grunted August Falcon.

CHAPTER II

Glendenning Abbey was an enormous house. The original pile, dating to the fifteenth century, had consisted of one long structure, now the rear wing. Subsequent owners had thrown up additional wings on each side, so that the modern abbey was in the form of a square with the south side left open, creating a huge entrance courtyard. Built of creamy-grey stone blocks, and a uniform two storeys in height, the abbey stood with dignity, if not warmth, amid gently rolling hills and lush meadows. It had a colourful history, and was widely admired. It was not, however, a comfortable house. To travel from the east wing, where were the bedchambers, to the west wing, which housed kitchens, sculleries, pantries, and the various breakfast parlours and dining rooms, took quite some time, unless one went outside and crossed the courtyard. Michael Templeby, the son of the earl's second wife, claimed that this rather irreverent procedure trimmed seven minutes from the journey, but the shortcut was impractical for much of the year, England's weather being what it is.

It had sometimes seemed to Horatio Glendenning that the very size of the vast pile had contributed to the fact that he had so little acquaintance with his sire. “The fact is, ma'am,” he had once told his stepmother, whom he adored, “that I seldom can find the old—er, Papa. And when I do, 'tis an eagle to a ladybird I won't recognize him!”

The countess, a tall and statuesque matron, had uttered her booming laugh and advised the heir that he was being facetious. “This is a splendid heritage, Horatio, and one you should be proud of.”