Love Alters Not (39 page)

Otton dabbed a handkerchief at his mouth. “A fair summation,” he drawled, and with a slight bow walked away, leaving Chandler staring after him in stupefaction.

Breathing hard still, Farrar caught Otton's arm. “You may believe I don't like being obliged … to you. But I'll own I am. My thanks.”

Roland Otton seldom allowed himself the luxury of anger. He indulged it now and turned on Farrar, his black eyes glittering wrath. “Do not delude yourself! I found I liked Green and his methods less than I like you, is all. You're a damned fine swordsman, but you're a fool, and I've neither time nor use for fools.” Warming to his theme, he shook one slim finger under Farrar's nose and declared, “I shall be blasted well glad when this whole confounded business is over, one way or the other! I have
never
encountered such an infuriating set of dimwits in my life! You're cut of the same cloth as that chawbacon Delavale, may he rot! And Merry Carruthers! Could I but afford it, Farrar, I'd wash my hands of the lot of you here and now! From start to finish you consistently interfere with my plans and turn me aside from my objective. Well, you'll not succeed, and so I warn you! I shall
win
! In spite of the whole miserable and misguided lot of you!” He turned on his heel, fuming.

“I have struck you!” raged Chandler. “I have challenged you to a duel! A gentleman cannot walk away from a challenge!”

Otton checked. “Then you may be grateful that I am no gentleman,” he sneered, “for I could cut you to ribbons without half trying.” As Chandler, infuriated, opened his mouth to respond, he raised one hand in an oddly compelling gesture. “Besides,” he went on, “you know perfectly well I cannot fight you. I am most fond of your sister-in-law, which forbids I should bring grief on the sweet lady.”

“Bring …
grief
?” gasped Chandler. “Wh-why, you devious mountebank, you nigh killed her husband!”

Otton said reasonably, “Well, there you are, then,” and wandered over to where Rumpelstiltskin grazed among the trees.

Glancing up, Dr. Steel murmured, “You've some strange friends, Anthony.”

“He is no friend of mine.”

“Hum. Would that I had such enemies. Why is he so enraged with you?”

“Do you know, I rather think he is not. Are you all right, Gordie? I thought he had you for a minute.”

“He could have, easily enough, but—” Chandler tore his baffled gaze from Otton's retreating figure. “Ecod, Tony, you're the one was almost spitted! Be dashed if I ever saw such a fight!”

Farrar said dryly, “You saw very little of it, I'd have thought.”

Flushing, Chandler admitted, “Let you down, didn't I? Quite unforgivable, I know.”

“Oh, go to the devil!”

Chandler grinned. “Yes, but how is that shoulder?”

“A scrape, no more. What about Cranford?”

“His head is cut. Not too bad, I think. Our noble Ellsworth knocked him down and came to help Green put a period to you.”

“Not the upstanding, all-around sportsman, are you, cousin?” drawled Farrar, contempt in his voice. “How much lower would you stoop to be rid of me?”

Ellsworth glared at him sullenly. “You can prove nothing! We
did
nothing.”

“To the contrary,” said Dr. Steel, winding a bandage about Green's chest, as Chandler obligingly lifted the injured man, “I was witness to an attempt at deliberate and cowardly murder.” Over his sagging spectacles he threw a grim glance at Ellsworth. “And I shall so testify. Besides the three other witnesses. That young fire-eater who goes snarling off yonder might well testify also, for I seldom saw a man look more disgusted.”

Chandler observed judicially, “You've put yourself outside Society, Ellsworth.”

Paling to the awareness that he was ruined, Ellsworth snarled, “We'd have done Society a favour! Do not pretend Farrar's death would have been mourned.”

“You'll find the road of the dishonoured a grim one,” said Farrar. “Will Green live, Roger?”

Tightening his bandage, Steel answered, “If he does, you'll do well to have an investigation of this whole business. You never think all these dark doings and desperations sprang purely from a loyal desire to avenge Harding's death?”

“He's perfectly right!” exclaimed Chandler. “Ellsworth—”

But Phillip Ellsworth had slipped away.

“A fine thing when both a man's seconds desert him,” said Steel irritably. “And he's taking Green's carriage, the cur! Give a hand here, will you, Chandler? We'll put him in my coach.”

The young gypsy, meanwhile, was bending over Peregrine. “What a fight!” he exclaimed, his big dark eyes glowing. “Sir, is your head feeling very poorly?”

“Head?” groaned Peregrine. “Is it still on the end of my neck, then?” Clutching it, he swore. “That black-hearted rogue! What did he hit me with?”

“The hilt of his sword, milor'. And tried to murder the tall, fair gentleman.”

Starting up, Peregrine gasped and sat down again. “Oh, burn it! Who's dead?”

“The fine Gorgio in the olive coat, maybe. Sir—you wish to see the horse?”

“Not … right at this minute,” sighed Peregrine, content to sit and wait until his head fell off and rolled past the foot Florian was tightening.

“He is a very fine horse, milor'. There, I've done. We could—”

“Devil we could. Help me up.” Florian obliging, Peregrine muttered curses but began his painful hobble to join his friends.

Supporting him, the gypsy boy persisted, “This is not comfortable for you, sir. Only give me a shilling and I will buy a piece of oak and carve you a wooden peg you will go along with much nicer.”

Very far from comfortable, Peregrine halted. “Oh, all right, blast it. Reach my purse from that pocket and find your confounded shilling. How long will it take you to make me a peg leg?”

The thin face brightened. “An hour, milor'. Two, perhaps. But I would have to fit it properly.” He saw Peregrine's hesitation and said eagerly, “I could stay outside, sir. I wouldn't prig nothing, I swear!”

“Oh, stow your clack,” said Peregrine.

*   *   *

Having endured one of the most miserable nights of her life, Dimity rose early, dressed herself, and crept into the hall. Lady Helen's door opened as she approached it, and my lady came out and waited for her.

“Have you breakfasted, my dear?” she asked gently.

“I think I could not eat a bite, ma'am.”

“Nor I. But I have ordered some coffee.” She took Dimity's arm and they went down to the breakfast room, not speaking.

Because of the chill in the air a fire had been lit and the room was pleasantly warm. Lackeys hurried to pull out chairs and the two ladies sat down, saying little until coffee was steaming fragrantly in their cups and the servants had departed.

Helen searched the wan face opposite, and murmured, “Is pushing, I know, to ask but—you have become fond of my nephew, I think.”

Dimity flushed but answered proudly, “Extreme fond, ma'am.”

“He is a handsome young fellow and can be very charming, but,” Lady Helen sighed, “I do hope he has not attempted to fix his interest with you.”

“I only wish he had.”

Dismayed, my lady took Dimity's cold hand. “My dear, you must realize—he cannot.”

“I own that—that his future is—”

Helen interpolated with heartfelt sympathy, “Miss Cranford—he
has
no future.”

“Good morning, ladies.” Horatio Glendenning, fully dressed and looking much more his customary blithe self, came to join them and, immediately noting Dimity's stricken expression, kept up a steady flow of small talk while the servants came hurrying to bring him slices of cold pork, mustard pickles, and hot muffins. When they were alone again, he said, stirring his coffee, “D'you know, I'd never realized what this waiting is like. You poor creatures have the worst of it at such moments, be dashed if you don't. Though I suppose—” He was interrupted by the sound of carriage wheels and Carlton's voice upraised in excitement.

Dimity had managed to regain her composure, but now her heart gave a great jump of fear. She was scarcely aware she had moved but found herself standing at the top of the steps leading to the lower hall, clinging to the rail with hands clammy and icy cold, her breath fluttering in shallow, nervous little gasps.

Chandler's voice, angered, said, “…may believe that between Dr. Steel and Cranford and me, the whole
ton
will hear what those murderous varmints attempted!”

Two men were entering the house, but Dimity saw only Farrar. He looked tired, but his eyes lit up when he saw her, and he halted, the very special smile that she now knew was hers alone, softening his mouth. “All present and correct,” he said lightly.

Relief was making her feel dizzied. She tried to be sensible. “Thank heaven! Where is Peregrine? Was he able to second you?”

“Very ably, ma'am.”

Chandler grunted a shamefaced, “Compared to some. Your brother went off with a gypsy lad, Miss Cranford, who offered to sell him a horse.”

She stared at him. “At a
duel?
”

“This was not your polite, well-conducted affair of honour,” he remarked dryly.

She turned to Farrar. “And—you are quite all right, sir?”

He had determined to be calm, but when his eyes met hers he found there such a tender look of concern that words failed him, and he could not tear his gaze away.

A small hush fell and deepened. Glendenning had to turn from that silent embrace, the knife in his breast the sharper because the lady he had loved for so long could find only heartbreak with the man to whom she had so obviously given her heart.

Lady Helen had come to the top of the steps, and Farrar drew a deep breath and forced himself to go to his aunt.

“Is Rafe killed?” she asked.

“No, ma'am.”

She nodded gravely. “And you are not hurt at all?”

“He'll tell you no,” said Chandler. “But the truth is—”

“That I took a small scrape,” Farrar interrupted. “So if you will excuse me, I'll let my man maudle over me for a minute or two.” He bowed and left them, studiously avoiding Dimity's eyes.

My lady said that now all the male dramatics were done with, perhaps they might return to normality, and that she must consult with her housekeeper about items to be donated to the bazaar for the restoration of the church. “Farrar will bear the lion's share of the costs, of course, Miss Cranford, but the people like to think they help, and it is good that they should do so. An I know men, they will have much to discuss that cannot be said in front of ladies, so perhaps you would care to join me?”

Longing to find out more about what had transpired at the duel, Dimity knew she could not properly refuse, and accompanied my lady to the kitchens.

XVI

A dressing taped over the cut across his shoulder, and wearing a clean shirt, Farrar hurried downstairs. He was turning towards the breakfast room when he heard a woman's shrill voice speak his name in anger. With an uneasy premonition of her identity, he walked to the front doors.

Leonard's quiet but frigid tones were drowned by the strident response. “No least use for you to deny him! I know he's here, and you may tell him that the hussy who is passing herself off as me—”

Farrar intervened coolly, “Is there some difficulty, Leonard?”

The butler turned a troubled face. “Sir—this person—”

“So you are my poor sister's brother-in-law!” A handsome dark lady, wearing a gown that might more properly have been donned for an afternoon social event, elbowed her way past Leonard and the footmen. The butler exclaimed angrily, but at a nod from Farrar led his minions away, the ears of all three straining to hear what transpired.

“No matter what you may have been told,
I
am Mrs. Catherine Deene,” announced the new arrival, her rather hard brown eyes sparking. “And fine Turkish treatment I have had from you, sir! I wonder you are not ashamed to stand there and look me in the eye, with all that has been going on in this house.”

“Indeed?” Farrar bowed her to the music hall. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me. Although,” he went on, following as she flounced past, “to the best of my knowledge I have no sister-in-law. Nor can I perceive why the running of my household need concern any but myself.”

Mrs. Deene's eyes narrowed. A regular top-lofty article was this noble deserter, but he'd soon find he'd not come it over her! “Hoity-toity, aren't we?” she sneered, settling herself into the chair he indicated. “You may be sure I am concerned as to the morals of a house into which my sweet nephew has been kidnapped!”

Farrar infuriated her by laughing softly. “You are talking nonsense, Mrs. Deene, as you are perfectly aware. However, I am glad that you have found the time to come and take the boy away.”

“Why should I take Carlton from what is rightfully his?” she riposted, the picture of abused innocence. “Do you think to bully a poor defenceless widow, Captain Farrar, I must say 'tis conduct unbecoming an officer and—” she paused and finished with a faint sneer, “…a gentleman.”

Silent, Farrar looked at her. She flushed, fidgeted, and her eyes fell before that steady gaze. To be disconcerted was an unfamiliar emotion, and she said plaintively, “I'd think you would be kinder to a lady who has been very ill.”

He went over to tug on the bell pull. Leonard appeared almost at once, and was instructed to send in a glass of ratafia for the lady. “And find Master Carlton so he may accompany his aunt.”

“Accompany me where, pray?” she demanded, mustering her forces once more. “You have given house room to that scheming trollop who kidnapped my nephew and impersonated me, and I—” She paused, drawing back a little in her chair, alarmed by the sudden steely glint in the green eyes.