Passion's Song (A Georgian Historical Romance) (34 page)

“
Is that what she said?” Alexander
sank down in a chair.

“
Among other things. She also told
me about the duke, and, though I know it is not my concern, I am
making it my business. You are a fool, Hartforde! You have been
less than a gentleman when it comes to a woman I consider my best
friend. Perhaps some part of the blame rests with her, but I
suspect, brother, you can be overwhelmingly convincing when it
suits you. I was appalled enough to discover you seduced her while
she was at Hartforde House.” Julia colored but continued: “If you
were going to be so despicable as to not marry her immediately, it
was at least your duty to ascertain the consequences. I truly think
I might never speak to you again. My God, when I think about what
you have done to her—”

“
Julia, I know—”

“
As for the duke,” she interrupted
him, “I wish you had killed that despicable man! You will listen to
the truth: Isobel saved you from disgrace. How could you believe
she would have anything to do with him?”

“
Julia, listen to me,” he said
sternly. “I know about the duke and I know that what I saw wasn’t
what I thought it was. I don’t know why I’ve been so bloody
bullheaded when it comes to that woman, but, though I admit you are
right to berate me, you are also right that it is not your concern.
The primary concern must be finding her, not telling me I am a fool
for not realizing sooner I am in love with my wife. She is not yet
recovered from her wound.” He jumped up from the chair and began
pacing.

“
Wound?” Julia
repeated.

“
An attempt was made on my life,
and in pushing me out of danger, she was shot.”

“
Shot? She was shot?” Julia sat
down on the sofa. “My God, Hartforde, I would never have let her
leave here if I’d known!”

“
She is not at Hartforde House,
nor is she at Redruth. If she isn’t here, I don’t know where to
look for her.”

“
She told me she was at the
Cressington Inn. You must go to her and straighten out this
wretched affair. If I hear from her, I’ll send word to you
immediately. Now, I offer you the suggestion you start by telling
her you love her.” She put a hand on his arm. “I believe she loves
you still, but I warn you she might succeed in putting you out of
her heart. I shall pray it is not too late for you.”

“
And I as well.”

IV

Alexander came into his room and collapsed into a
chair, splaying out his long legs and sighing gratefully when
Peters bent over and removed his boots. He had gone directly to the
Cressington Inn, only to discover that Isobel had departed just the
day before. She had left no word about where she was going. He
sighed and closed his eyes. He was so tired it was entirely likely
he would fall asleep where he sat. Tomorrow, first thing, he would
go to Faircourt to ask if he had heard from her, and if he had no
luck there he would go to his solicitor and have him set about
finding her.

“
No word from Lady Burke, milord?”
Peters asked, concern more in his tone than in his
expression.

“
No,” he replied. “Draw me a bath,
Peters.”

“
Yes, m’lord.” He went out to
order the bath. While the water was being brought, he moved to the
armoire to hang out his lordship’s clothes. After the tub was full,
he helped Alexander undress. “Milord?” Peters said over his
shoulder, pausing at the door with his arms full of Alexander’s
clothes.

“
Yes? What is it?” He was reaching
for the soap.

Peters thought he looked tired. The strain of these
past days was beginning to show in the look of fatigue around his
eyes and the tense set of his mouth. “You won’t be going out
tonight, milord?”

“
No, Peters. I shall stay in
tonight.”

The valet was relieved to hear him say he would be
at home that night. He turned back to brushing out his lordship’s
frock coat and was suddenly reminded of something he had found in
the pocket of another of his lordship’s coats. He pulled out a
dressing gown, and when he went back to drape it over a chair so it
would be within his master’s reach, he said, “I’ve brought your
snuffbox, milord. It’s in the trunk with your other gear. Do you
want me to unpack it?”

“
Snuffbox?” Alexander paused from
soaping his chest to look up. “You know I don’t take snuff,
Peters!”

“
There was a snuffbox in your blue
coat, milord, the one with the black lining? You wore it the day
milady—”

“
Unpack it.” He quickly finished
his bath and put on the dressing gown. Peters returned with the
snuffbox and handed it to him stiffly.

He frowned as he remembered the day Isobel had been
shot. Quite frankly, in all the excitement and terror of that day,
he’d completely forgotten about finding the thing. The search for
the would-be assassin had been unsuccessful until one of the
coachmen wondered out loud where Wickenstand had got to. By the
time they realized he had stolen a horse, Wickenstand was long
gone. Alexander turned the snuffbox over in his hands, a curious
expression on his face. It was a finely made box of enameled gold
depicting the duke of Marlborough’s victory at Blenheim and it
belonged to the earl of Donbarton.

“
I shall be going out tonight
after all, Peters,” Alexander said thoughtfully, all trace of
exhaustion gone from his eyes.

V

Alexander arrived at Brook’s at ten o’clock. Unless
Donbarton was already with his mistress, the chances were excellent
Donbarton would show up at the club. He was an inveterate gambler
who often claimed to be at a loss when deciding between the
seduction of cards or his mistress. Alexander took a table and
toyed with the glass and bottle put before him. He had not been
much active in London society since his marriage and he found
himself having to put up with a great deal of fuss about the recent
birth of his sons. Congratulations were offered, toasts to
Alexander’s health and to the health of his sons were proposed, and
he was forced to listen to several lewd comments about the beauty
of his bride and one or two about the rapidity with which she had
given him an heir. Alexander took the banter in the spirit in which
it was meant, and it wasn’t until he saw Lord Donbarton come in
that he excused himself from the group of well-wishers that had
surrounded him.

“
Good evening, Donbarton,”
Alexander greeted him easily. They had never exchanged much more
than pleasantries over cards and there was absolutely no reason to
believe the man would want him dead. Donbarton was a Whig, but when
the earl had vehemently opposed the marquess on the American war,
Alexander had accused him of Toryism. It seemed ridiculous to
ascribe that as a reason to kill him. These days, Donbarton spent
more time with his horses, cards, and mistress than he did with
politics. Still, the possibility that Donbarton was part of some
larger plot could not be discounted. Perhaps he and the duke of
Mallentrye were in league, though it seemed unlikely. Ludicrous as
the idea was, Alexander had found Donbarton’s snuffbox at Hartforde
Hall, and he intended to find out how it had got there.

“
Well, Hartforde!” Donbarton
smiled and saluted him heartily. “I understand congratulations are
in order. A lovely young bride and two strapping sons all in short
order!” He clapped him on the back. “’Fore George, Lady Donbarton
is green with envy. The old warhorse had her nose put out of joint
when she found she was damned near the last one to
know!”

Alexander relaxed a little. He did not believe
Donbarton could be so casual around a man he had tried to have
assassinated. “I believe I have something belonging to you.” He
took out the snuffbox and held it in the palm of his hand. His
fingers closed around it when Donbarton recognized it.

“
Damme, if you don’t! I’ve been
bloody well down about it since I lost the thing. Belonged to my
father, you know. He was going to give it to the duke when he got
back from France, but he liked the deuced thing so well he kept it
himself. How did you come by it?” Donbarton looked wistfully at the
box. It was his favorite and it had been a bitter disappointment to
lose it.

“
I found it in
Hartfordeshire.”

Donbarton looked at Alexander with amazement.
“Hartfordeshire? ’Pon my honor, Hartforde, that’s bloody peculiar!
I expected you to tell me you got it from William Fordham—you know,
that little fellow the duke of Mallentrye took such a liking
to.”

“
What’s he to do with
it?”

“
I lost it to him at
hazard!”

“
When was that?”

“
I really haven’t any idea. A
month or two, maybe. Why does it matter?”

“
Because some weeks ago an attempt
was made on my life, and on that day I found this”—he lifted the
snuffbox in his hand—“in my drive.”

“
Gadzooks!”

I

“
Well, you’re the last person I
expected to call on me so early in the morning!” Fordham smiled
nervously at Alexander when he stepped into the carriage waiting
for him. He would have backed down, but, unluckily, the footman had
stood in such a way as to make the maneuver impossible. The door
clanked shut after him.

“
I’ve discovered we have some
business to take care of.” Hartforde thumped on the roof with the
carved head of his walking stick, signaling the driver to move
on.

“
Really?”

“
Yes. First, of course, there’s
this letter.” He pulled it out for Fordham’s inspection. “You
recognize it, do you?” A smile curled on his lips. “Then, there’s
the additional matter of your attempt on my life.” His voice was
smooth. “As you can see, the attempt was bungled. However, my wife
was very nearly killed. But perhaps you did not know I was married
to Miss St. James some months ago.”

“
And you think I had something to
do with it? That’s insane!” Fordham stared nervously at Alexander.
“I had nothing to do with any shooting.”

“
I don’t recall mentioning a
shooting.” His green eyes narrowed dangerously.

“
Of course you did!” Fordham’s
laugh sounded shrill when Alexander shook his head. “A lucky guess,
I suppose.”

“
Then, Mr. Fordham, how do you
explain my finding this lying in my drive in Hartfordeshire on the
very day my wife was shot?” He pulled out the snuffbox and set it
carefully on the seat next to him.

“
I don’t have the slightest idea.”
Fordham shrugged. “It isn’t mine. I’ve never seen the damned thing
before.” His eyes darted to the doors.

“
If you try to jump, I’ll shoot
you through,” Alexander said calmly, taking a pistol from his coat
pocket and leveling it at Fordham’s heart with a sincere smile.
“Lord Donbarton assures me he lost it to you at hazard.” He gave a
slight nod downward at the snuffbox.

“
You can’t prove anything!”
Fordham snarled.

“ ’
Tis only a matter of time ’til
I find Wickenstand. But I can prove it without him. Do you know how
I got this letter?” He waited a beat. “From Ian Boxham—who, I
understand, knows a great deal of what went on between you and
Mallentrye.”

“
What’s the point of all
this?”

Alexander crossed his legs, casually resting the
pistol on the top of his knee. When Fordham laughed nervously,
Hartforde smiled and softly said, “Ah, yes, you wanted to know the
point. I am giving you a great honor. Normally I would simply kill
vermin like you. I intend to give you a sporting chance. The choice
of weapons is yours.”

“
You mean to duel?” He was
horrified.

“
I mean to kill you, but you may
call it a duel if you choose.”

“
I haven’t a second!”

“
I’ve taken the liberty of seeing
to that. We’ll be picking up our seconds shortly.”

A few minutes later, the carriage pulled to a stop.
When the door opened, Lord Burke and another man climbed in. “Mr.
Peters, here”—Alexander indicated the man who sat next to him—“has
agreed to be your second. Mr. Peters is my valet, and I assure you,
he is a good man, and better than you deserve. This is Charles,
Lord Burke. He is my second. We should be arriving at any moment.
What weapon do you choose?”

It was not yet six o’clock when the carriage drove
up St. James’s Street, slowed, then turned into the secluded little
court on the east side of St. James’s, where it pulled to a stop.
Pickering Place was the spot preferred for the settling of affairs
of honor because it offered a good deal more privacy than the
parks. A few minutes later a second carriage arrived. A small man
dressed in somber clothes alighted and, after conversing a few
moments with Lord Hartforde, took up a spot on the street well away
from the other men.

“
Pistols,” Fordham
said.

“
Very well,” said
Alexander.

II

Some quarter of an hour later, the small man was
bending over a body, probing with practiced fingers. “Well, will he
live?” Peters cried.

“
No, I expect he will not.” The
doctor ignored the valet’s outburst and peered into the dying man’s
face. “Ah, ’tis over, then.” He sighed and, dropping the wrist he
had been pressing to feel for a pulse, pulled the eyes shut with
the fingers of one hand. Still bending over the corpse, he pulled
out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his fingers.