Love's Promise (36 page)

Fanny awoke to the sound of Mrs. Bailey tiptoeing in. The older woman was in her nightgown and mobcap, clutching a candle.

Fanny lurched up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Master Phillip, I’m afraid.”

“Is he ill? Is he hurt?”

“There’s been some...trouble. Lady Anne Wainwright is here. Will you see her?”

“Yes, yes.”

Fanny threw off the covers, grabbed her robe, and flew down the stairs to where Anne waited in the vestibule.

“Lady Anne, what is it?” Fanny was breathless, trembling.

“Phillip and Michael have had a terrible quarrel.”

“About what?”

“About you.”

“Me!” Fanny gasped, shocked to her very core.

“Yes, and there’s to be a duel.”

“A duel! Why?”

“Phillip is angry about how Michael treated you when you were...his...” Lady Anne couldn’t politely describe Fanny’s affair with Michael. She settled for, “...when you were in the country with him.”

Fanny frowned. “But I asked Phillip not to do anything about it. He swore he wouldn’t.”

“Apparently, he was lying.”

“Ooh, that impetuous fool!” Fanny’s temper sparked. Men! “I don’t want this from them! I don’t want them fighting over me!”

“One of Phillip’s footmen knew the location where it’s being held. It’s not far. Would you come with me? Would you try to stop them?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Let me...let me...”

She turned and sprinted to her room to find that the competent Mrs. Bailey had already retrieved her simplest dress, a warm cloak, gloves and boots. In a few minutes, Fanny raced down again.

“I have a horse for you,” Lady Anne explained. “Can you ride?”

“Not very well, but I’ll make do.”

They sped outside, mounted, and trotted away, with Fanny whispering a prayer that they would arrive in time.

Anne was an experienced horsewoman who’d been raised in the saddle, and if she’d been by herself, she’d have galloped to Marley Field, but Miss Carrington could barely stay seated. When she’d said she didn’t ride
well
, she had to have meant she didn’t ride at all.

The precious seconds ticked by in slow motion, the sky growing lighter and lighter. Finally, Anne saw the low stretch along the river, saw the thick trees and foliage that shielded the spot from the road. They followed the trail through the woods and emerged into the clearing. A small group of men were clustered on the other side.

Michael and Phillip were standing back-to-back. Someone called out instructions, and they started walking in opposite directions, counting out the paces.

“There they are,” Anne shouted over her shoulder to Miss Carrington.

“I can’t believe this!” Miss Carrington muttered, and she dug her heels into the horse’s belly. It pitched forward, its rider holding on for dear life.

Another command was issued, and Michael and Phillip swung around, pistols aimed, as Miss Carrington screamed, “No! Michael, no!”

Before her words could echo across the glen, a shot was fired, and the loud noise frightened her horse. The animal shied with alarm, and there was no hope of Miss Carrington remaining in the saddle.

She was tossed to the ground and landed with a hard thump, her head smacking the dirt. The animal skittered away, leaving Miss Carrington in the grass, not moving, pale as death.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Anne murmured over and over, as she leapt down and knelt beside Miss Carrington. She clasped her hand, patting it, talking to her.

“Miss Carrington...Frances...can you hear me? Can you hear me?”

Phillip rushed up and fell to his knees, too, and Anne’s heart pounded as she noted that his shirt was torn and the sleeve was soaked with blood.

“Fanny!” he cried, and he focused his accusing gaze on Anne. “What happened to her?”

“Her horse shied when the pistol fired.”

“What is she doing here?”

Michael ran up, and on seeing Fanny, he looked stricken.

“Fanny! Fanny!”

He rested a comforting hand on her thigh, but Phillip smacked it away, their animosity not quelled.

“Get away from her.”

“No,” Michael protested. “She’d want me to help her. She’d want me to be the one to...”

“Haven’t you done enough?” Phillip bellowed. “Get away!”

Phillip picked her up and struggled to his feet, Fanny cradled to his chest. He staggered to his carriage, his balance unsteady, but whether it was from Fanny’s weight or his own injury, Anne couldn’t tell.

Anne rose, feeling as if she’d aged a hundred years. Michael watched in agony, as Phillip carried Fanny away, and Anne’s fury soared.

“Are you happy now?” she asked. “Are you proud of yourself?”

“I...I...love her,” Michael ridiculously declared.

“Rebecca is waiting for you at home. I suggest you hurry there and make your apologies. After this farce, you’ll be lucky if she’ll still have you.”

The others were silent, embarrassed. They were men she’d known her entire life, men who’d been friends with Michael and Phillip since they were boys. Dueling was illegal, and the Duke would have to bribe and entice to keep all of them from being arrested.

“How dare you allow this!” She flashed a scathing glare across the group. “How dare you assist them! I’ll remember everyone who participated! You’ll be hearing from my father and from the Earl of Trent. You’re fortunate no one was killed, and you’d all better pray that Miss Carrington recovers.”

With the stress of the moment having abated, she felt as if she might burst into tears, and she couldn’t bear to have any of them to see. She spun and raced after Phillip who was laying Miss Carrington on the seat in his carriage.

“Phillip!” she said as she dashed up. “Has she regained consciousness?”

”No.” He was trembling with anger. “What were you thinking, bringing her here?”

“She didn’t want you to quarrel over her. She was desperate to stop you.”

“If she dies, I swear to God, I’ll drag your brother back here and finish what I started.”

He whipped away and climbed into the coach, and it seemed wrong for him to depart without her. The tears that had threatened splashed down her cheeks, and she reached out to him.

“Your arm, Phillip. You’re bleeding.”

“Go away.”

“Let me come with you,” she implored. “Let me tend your wound.”

“
Tend
my wound?” he scoffed. “For pity’s sake, go away! Leave me in peace.”

“Phillip, please,” she begged.

He ignored her, rapping on the roof to signal his driver. A footman slammed the door in her face. His outriders jumped on board, and the coach rolled away, moving faster and faster, and in a matter of seconds, it vanished into the trees.

“Master Phillip?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bailey? What is it?”

“She’s finally awake, and she appears to be all right—except for a fierce headache.”

“Good. And the baby?”

“Should be fine.”

Phillip breathed a sigh of relief. On the trip home from Marley Field, he’d been so afraid that she might miscarry.

The stitched gash on his arm throbbed like the dickens, and he downed a glass of brandy to blunt the pain. Mrs. Bailey waited for instructions, but he was so bereft, he simply had nothing to tell her.

Ultimately, he glanced up and said, “My thanks to you. It’s been a terrible day. You’re excused. I won’t need you further this evening.”

“Would you like me to sit with her?” Mrs. Bailey offered.

“No, I’ll do it.”

“But if I may say, sir, you’re in a sad state yourself. The doctor left you some laudanum. You should drink it, then take to your bed.”

“Don’t worry about me. You go on.”

She dawdled, looking as if she might protest, then she tiptoed away.

He stood and trudged toward the stairs, and as he entered the foyer, there was a knock on the door. His butler was hovering, a question in his eye as to whether he should answer. As rumors of the duel had spread, there’d been a constant stream of visitors, but they’d all been turned away with no comment.

It was very late, and Phillip wondered who would still be curious enough to inquire. Pathetically, he wished for it to be his contemptible father, even though he knew Charles had sailed for France at first light.

He nodded, and the butler peeked out.

To Phillip’s amazement, Michael was standing there, and Phillip was stunned by the man’s audacity.

Phillip had assumed the tedious hours—of having his wound sewn and wrapped, of fretting over Fanny’s condition—would have quashed his fury, but apparently not. He was still so enraged that if he’d been holding his gun, he’d have raised it and shot Michael through the center of his black heart.

“What do you want now?’ Phillip seethed.

Michael acted as if he might step inside, and Phillip stormed over and blocked the threshold so he couldn’t.

“Are you all right?” Michael actually seemed concerned. “I had to check.”

“I’m just dandy. Now get the hell out of my house.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

“Go away!”

“I’ll be sorry until the day I die,” he contended.

Phillip peered over at his butler. “My pistol is on my desk in the library. It’s still loaded. Would you fetch it for me?”

“Phillip!” Michael exclaimed, exasperated.

Phillip glared at him. “If you’re here when he gets back, I’ll kill you.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Go now, so I don’t have to show you that I most certainly do.”

“May I see Fanny?”

“No, you may not.”

“Would you at least advise her that I’m here?”

“No.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“Well,
she
doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I don’t believe you. Let me ask her myself. If she tells me the same, I swear I’ll go and never return. But I have to hear it from her own lips.”

“She’s not receiving guests. Especially you.”

“Is she conscious? Is she...”

“The baby’s fine—if that’s what you’re trying to learn.”

“Oh...” Michael breathed. “I’m so glad.

“But don’t worry. I’m taking her away from London, so you’re free, Michael. Free to marry with impunity. Free to forget all about her.”

“I’ve decided to set up a trust fund for the baby. I want to do the right thing. I want to be sure their situation is stable.”

At Michael’s clueless pomposity, Phillip was aghast.

“A trust fund? That’s your idea of doing the
right
thing?”

“Yes.”

“You think you can buy away your misconduct?”

“I loved her,” Michael insisted. “I loved her, but I never told her until it was too late.”

The butler was marching down the hall, the pistol on a tray, and when Phillip had threatened to shoot Michael, he hadn’t been joking. He really thought he might.

“Get off my stoop,” he said, “and don’t ever come back.”

He shut the door and spun the key in the lock.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Anne stared at the bedchamber she’d occupied for most of her twenty-five years.

The shelves and drawers were crammed full of her favorite things. An old doll. Her mother’s hair brush. A cameo necklace that had been a gift from her brother John.

She’d always assumed her paltry chattels meant so much to her, that they were the foundations of who she was, so she was extremely surprised at how easy it was to leave everything behind.

She hoped that, eventually, she’d be able to send for it all, that she would reconcile with her father and he would give her her belongings, but she wasn’t counting on it. The Duke was a vindictive man. Very likely, she’d never see him or her possessions again.

The maid fastened the buckles on the traveling trunk Anne had packed. She hadn’t been sure of what to take, so she’d selected what seemed most useful: day dresses, warm shawls, a heavy coat. She felt as if she was perched on a cliff, about to jump over the edge, and any landing was likely.

If she wound up living on the streets, at least she’d have some comfortable shoes to wear.

“Will that be all, milady?” the maid asked.

“Please check on the hackney I requested, to see if it’s arrived. Have one of the footmen carry the trunk down and load it.”