Miss Antiqua's Adventure (14 page)

“No, there is not,” Antiqua agreed with heartfelt sincerity, thinking of her own unaccountable taste in the matter.

“And you know, Miss Greybill—or may I call you Antiqua?—I cannot
quite
feel that Jack was the one who shot at you. I know he seems to have acquired a habit of shooting people, but he assured us he did not, and whatever else may be said of him, my brother does not spin Banbury tales. Most likely it was a poacher whose gun misfired, or some such thing.”

Antiqua saw the concern in the warm blue eyes and at once agreed, though she knew it was no such thing at all. “I daresay you are right. I was so afrightened, I lost my wits.”

Her concurrence restored the smile to Lady Julianne’s eyes, making Antiqua perfectly glad to have said it. With that smile still shining, Julianne bid her to rest well and floated from the room.

Despite Lady Julianne’s assurances, Antiqua lived in hourly dread of seeing Vincent fling open her door. He, however, forced himself to keep well away from his sister’s house, causing Antiqua’s confusion to continue to mount during a long and rather tedious day. She seemed unable to unravel the tangled puzzle of Vincent’s behavior.

No blackguard would bring her to this house, she was certain of that, yet she knew Vincent had shot someone. Who? Had it not been Allen, after all? And if he were not the traitor who shot Allen, then why had he whisked her out of France? Why had he misled her as to the identity of Balstone? Why had he insisted on marriage, particularly when he freely admitted the notion did not amuse him?

This latter thought depressed her to no little degree. She gave up trying to discover any answers and fell to considering her next course of action. In the end, she decided to send Lucy to call upon Sir Arthur with the packet and a letter of explanation. Then, at last, the truth would be known.

Why did she not feel more cheered by this prospect?

Chapter 12

Vincent’s reaction, when told the following morning that the Lady Julianne was not in to callers, was profound. He turned as if to leave, swung swiftly round and punched the door wide to stride past the thoroughly shocked butler.

“Jack!” Julianne cried, bolting upright as he walked purposefully into her sitting room.

“I’m sorry, m’lady, but—”

“It is all right, Fillmore, I
quite
understand,” she cut in with a nod of dismissal.

Looking much relieved, the aged servant bowed and closed the door upon what he was certain would be a scene of great interest.

“You should know better, my dear,” Vincent said with deadly sweetness, “than to remain at home when you deny yourself to me.” He stood still, his gaze sweeping the room. “Where is Miss Greybill? I will see her now, if you please.”

“It’s all very well for you to be pushing your way in here, Jack,” Julianne replied in much the same tone her brother had used. “But Miss Greybill does not
wish
to see you, and I won’t have you doing so if she does not wish for it.”

“What the devil makes you think that you can for a moment stop me?”

His soft question daunted her only briefly. Raising her chin, Lady Julianne matched his coolness with a chill of her own. “I’ve no intention of stopping you, Jack. If you wish to be so stupid, I suggest you go directly upstairs. But for a man whose reputation is one of light hands, I cannot think how you came to be so cow-handed with the reins of this affair.”

“I do not recall asking for your advice, my dear, or for your opinion.”

“And I do not recall seeking to be embroiled in your affairs, but you have hurled us into them just the same,” she returned in an equally blunt tone.

Vincent paused, a sudden smile shining in his eyes, bringing an unexpected warmth to them. Seeing this, Lady Julianne carried home her advantage. “If you truly wish to engage the girl’s interest, you must consider that she would do well for a little neglect. Solitude and time for reflection would win your case far better than another round of argumentation with her. Why not post up to Sedgwick Abbey and spend a day or two with Father? You know it would delight him to see you and it could only serve your cause to meet Miss Greybill again under calmer circumstances.”

She had spoken persuasively, but she held her breath as she awaited her brother’s response. He played absently with the end of his watch fob before replying slowly, “You were ever one to bend men to your will, Julianne. Poor Giles.”

“As if I don’t have your very interests at heart!” she exclaimed in an affronted tone.

“I make no doubt, dearest sister, that you are hoping instead to serve quite your own interests, for I can see you have no wish for me to marry Antiqua. But while I shall bow to your wishes—for the time—by going up to the Abbey, keep in mind that I shall not let this matter drop. Antiqua Greybill will marry me, come hell or—”

“Really, Jack, there is no need!”

“You mistake, Julianne. There is without doubt every need,” he contradicted quietly.

“But—” Julianne stopped short. She recognized the gleam in that half-lidded gaze. Disbelief slowly lit her own eyes. “Oh, Jack, are you
sure
?”

“Quite indubitably, my dear.”

“But—but I thought—Susannah Aylward . . .” she faltered.

A slanted smile touched his mouth. “Have you been imagining me languishing in a Parisian garret, Julianne? Perhaps, had I actually loved Susannah—”

“But you did! You must have! Else, why would you have fought that duel with Balstone?”

Vincent once again raised his gaze to meet hers and Lady Julianne drew in a sharp breath. “You quite mistake the matter, Julianne. It was not for love that I met Balstone.”

The statement was devoid of any emotion, yet the Lady Julianne found it difficult to swallow. She had never before seen her brother look so dangerous, so inimical, and she could not help but feel a sudden sympathy for all the men who had faced him from twenty-five paces. It was obvious he lost no love for the Viscount, but it was equally obvious he lost none on Susannah, either. His dealings with her young guest must cut far deeper than she had previously suspected.

Realizing this, Julianne abruptly reversed her position, saying perhaps he should have a moment with Antiqua. But Vincent would have none of that. He felt, he said, it would be most impolite to ignore the advice she had offered so freely. With that, Jack left, once again frustrating his elder sister.

* * * *

Antiqua, on the other hand, was relieved to have been spared seeing him. Encouraged, she began to think perhaps, in this at least, she had definitely misjudged him. Libertines did not put one into a sister’s keeping and most particularly not a sister like Lady Julianne Winthrop.

Fresh hopes rose that Vincent could not, after all, be the traitor she feared him to be. But try as she might, she could not ignore the attempt on her life, for she well knew it had been no poacher. Nor could she ignore the fact that only Vincent had the knowledge and opportunity to make such an attempt. If only, she thought sadly, she could discover the truth of the matter, then she could let herself see him again.

But she cut that dangerous line of thinking short and concentrated instead on how she should get the leather packet into the proper hands.

She had not yet reached the point of trusting the Winthrops wholeheartedly, certainly not enough to trust them with the packet. Inquiries of Lady Julianne with regard to her grandfather led to a setback, for she learned Sir Arthur was currently in residence on his country estate. She wondered if she ought to go to the Foreign Office and just hand the packet over, but was stymied by her present immobility. It seemed a hopeless case whichever way she turned, and her spirits sank to a new low.

They were revived somewhat later that morning when an austere lady’s maid brought an armful of colorful gowns. The woman had measured Antiqua the day before, sniffing her disapproval throughout, and had taken in and refurbished a number of castoffs for the young guest. The number and variation of dresses—gowns for morning, day and evening wear of all occasions—left Antiqua gasping at Lady Julianne’s generosity. She spent a pleasurable half hour sorting through them all and exclaiming with Lucy over the kindness of their hostess.

That afternoon, decked out in the jonquil gown Mme. Benét had so thoughtlessly forced on her client, Antiqua was carried to the sitting room she had first seen from the vantage of Vincent’s arms. It was well decorated and had the same light and airy quality that distinguished her own chambers. Several elegant chairs and tables were scattered over thick patterned rugs. Antiqua noted an exquisite taste bespoken throughout the room, from the few oils on the walls to the tall carved corner candle stands.

She was stretched across the grey satin of the rosewood sofa and left with a book, a plate of macaroons, and a promise by Lady Julianne to check in on her shortly. Antiqua was in the process of popping one small macaroon into her mouth when the door behind her abruptly opened. Fearing it was Vincent, she jerked upward and promptly choked.

“Oh, I say! Are you all right? Should I fetch Julianne?” inquired a fresh-faced youth, dashing forward.

Antiqua shook her head and wildly jabbed a finger toward a pitcher of water on the sofa-table. The young man hurriedly poured, then shoved the glass at her. She gulped in water until she’d washed the cookie down.

When she had calmed, he said with consternation, “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to startle you! That is to say, I didn’t even know you were in here. So naturally I could not mean—”

“You needn’t apologize. I’m fine now, truly,” Antiqua assured him.

He stood expectantly, searching her face with puzzlement in his blue eyes. His long narrow face and aquiline features reminded her vaguely of Vincent, and Antiqua sized him up cautiously. She decided he had to be about her age and was about to inquire as to his identity when he spoke.

“The thing is, what
are
you doing here?”

“I am a guest of Sir Giles and Lady Julianne.”

“Oh, well, that explains it then,” said the attractive boy, sprawling into a nearby chair. “I must say, I think it’s dashed shabby of Julianne to keep such an out-and-outer hidden away like this.”

The engaging smile presented with this irregular compliment quite cleansed it of any impertinence. Antiqua found his air of friendly charm irresistible. Without quite meaning to, she returned his smile and confided, “Yes, but I’ve hurt my ankle, you see, and cannot yet get about properly. You mustn’t cast any blame upon the Winthrops, for they’ve been all that is kind.”

“I did wonder about your foot, you know—well, I mean to say, who wouldn’t have, with it all wrapped and propped up like that?—but I didn’t think it would be the thing for me to mention it.” The young man tipped his head in curiosity. “Since you’ve brought it up, though, what happened?”

“It was the stupidest thing,” Antiqua admitted with a sheepish look. “I fell into a rabbit hole, you see. It’s not broken, only twisted, and I daresay I’ll be right as rain in another day or two.”

Silence fell while each openly examined the other. While he saw a dark, sparkling beauty with enchanting brown eyes, she saw an obviously wealthy, well-dressed youth whose cheerful countenance had much to recommend it. Both thought the other someone worth meeting, but neither knew how to say so without sounding awkwardly forced.

They said nothing at all and conversation may have remained at a standstill had not Lady Julianne chosen to look in upon her guest. She glanced surmisingly from one to the other, then entered, crying, “Archie!”

The handsome youth stood to receive a kiss upon his cheek, and with a shy glance toward Antiqua, planted one upon the lady’s before Julianne continued in an airy tone, “I had
no
idea you’d come to call!” With a swish of her flounced green gown, she sat, encompassing them both with her smile. “Have you introduced yourself to Miss Greybill?”

“Er, yes—well, no,” he replied, again taking his seat. “That is to say—”

Lady Julianne took matters into her own hands. “Dear Antiqua, may I make you known to the Marquis of Rosewarren? Archie, this dear girl is Antiqua Greybill, and I beg you will both regard one another favorably. Now, Archie, to what do I owe this
unusual
honor? You are not much given to calling upon me now that you’re upon the town.”

“Julianne, you can’t spread such a bag of moonshine about! Miss Greybill will have to learn not to be taken in by such fustian!” Rosewarren saw the laughter in Julianne’s eyes and matched it with his own. “Well, to own truth, I came about Jack. I was never more happily surprised than when he and Giles came round to Half Moon Street.”

“His return was certainly unexpected,” Lady Julianne agreed with rare restraint.

“I’m sure no one’s ever had such a deuced good brother,” he said with feeling.

“Vincent’s your
brother
?” Antiqua couldn’t keep the shrill edge of shock from her tone.

“Oh, yes! You know him then?” the Marquis asked without noticing Antiqua’s sudden consternation.

“Miss Greybill traveled from France with Jack, Archie,” his sister explained quickly.

“Oh, did you? Well, of course, you know what I mean then. He’s a great gun, isn’t he? Never looks down his nose at one or makes one feel childish or—”

“He
doesn’t
?” Antiqua broke in with patent disbelief.

“I think, Archie,” Lady Julianne said, firmly steering the conversation away from dangerous channels, “you should know that Jack has gone up to the Abbey to make his duty call to Father. He should be gone a day or two only.”

This last did not appear to comfort Lord Rosewarren, who looked absurdly crestfallen, as if denied a special treat. In tones of deep regret, he said, “I was hoping to go round to Gentleman Jackson’s with him.”

“You’ll go boxing another day, Archie. You know how important it was for him to call upon Father.”

“Lord, yes!” Laughing, the boy jumped to his feet and made a graceful bow to each of the ladies. “I shan’t linger any longer, then. May I call upon you again?”