Rhyme and Reason (28 page)

“She is distressed. We had a brangle earlier.”

“Is it serious?”

She shuddered. “Miriam refuses to listen to me.”

“Speak sense to her before it is too late.”

Emily had no chance to ask Valeria what she meant, because Valeria hurried to her carriage. Exchanging a baffled look with Damon, Emily went to the door.

“I stand corrected,” he said as she opened it. “Lady Fanning does concern herself with things other than fashion.”

She did not answer. Sending Johnson for her sister, Emily invited Damon into the sitting room. She motioned for him to sit, but he remained on his feet as she paced the room from the garden window to the hall door.

“Give the man a chance to delivery the message,” Damon said with another low chuckle.

“I am sorry.” She realized she was wringing her hands. “I want Miriam to see her folly.”

“Folly is the right name for André de la Cour.”

“I wish you would not call him that.”

“He has given us no other name yet, Emily. If you would offer me some brandy, I would be most grateful to accept.”

“I see one thing has not changed. You disdain the ways of the Polite World.”

“Why should I when you have offered me some of that blasted brandy every time I have called and I have yet to accept as much as a dram?”

She went to the sideboard. Lifting the top from the brandy, she poured a serving. “Miriam may not come. She took offense with everything I said earlier.” She looked up at him as she sat. “Damon, she was so hurt by Mr. Simpkins’s attention to Valeria. Now she is determined to prove she cared nothing for him by being seen with the talk of the
ton
. I fear I shall break her heart anew.”

He perched on the arm of the chair and brushed his hand against her icy cheek. “Emily, you have come to see how dangerous lies can be. If you wish, I’ll tell her the truth.”

She shook her head. “No, I shall tell her. It is my duty as her sister.”

“Duty.” His lips tightened. “You should occasionally think of something else.”

“But not today. I—”

When Damon looked past her, she saw Johnson stood in the doorway. He held out a slip of paper. “Miss Miriam asked that you read this before she saw you next.”

She thanked him and opened the slip of paper.

Emily
, she read,

I can no longer endure your antipathy toward André. He swears he loves me. He knows my heart longs to belong to another, but he accepts that. Is that what love is, Emily? Accepting fault and loving still? André asked me to marry him while we were at Wentworth Hall. I know I shall find no other who wants me as André does. When next we meet, sister, I shall be Marquise de la Cour
.

Wish me happiness, Emily. We will call upon our return to Town
.

Your loving sister
,

“Miriam,” she whispered.

Damon swore viciously. “The girl is mad!” He pulled the page from her hand and reread it.

Emily wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she could do the same to her sister. But Miriam was, by this time, far from Hanover Square on her way to marry an impostor. After all her efforts to protect her sister, Miriam was ruining her reputation by eloping with a rogue.

“How long since you last saw her?” Damon asked as he balled the letter and tossed it onto the hearth.

“I last spoke to her about two hours ago.” She sighed. “I should have guessed something was afoot when everything she owned was spread about her room. She must have been packing to leave.”

“Good!” He strode down the stairs. She followed and paused as he reached for his hat. “They cannot have gotten far in two hours.” His broad hands caressed her shoulders as he kissed her swiftly. “I shall stop them.”

“I am going with you.”

“They must be headed for Scotland. That is the only place they can marry so quickly.”

“But to where in Scotland?”

“De la Cour knows the way to Wentworth Hall. I suspect they will head north in that direction. Emily, the trip is not an easy one.”

She smiled. “I know, Damon, but Miriam is my sister. I have failed her by not persuading her to see de la Cour’s deception. I shall not fail her again.”

The small village on the far side of the Scottish border was peaceful in the early-evening twilight. A few houses clung to the side of a tarn that had become ebony with the night. In the distance, a cow lowed, and the rattle of the sheep bells played a vesper.

A carriage slowed as it approached a farm boy driving a gaggle of geese toward the water. A gap-toothed grin lightened his face as he pointed along the road toward a cottage set apart from the others in the shadow of the tiny church. He caught the coin tossed to him.

Damon handed Emily and Kilmartin out in front of the stone cottage with its pair of windows glowing brightly onto the porch that slanted to one side. Emily’s knees wobbled beneath her. They had been riding hard since leaving London. When his arm encircled her waist, she was glad for his offer of solace.

“Thank you,” she murmured, but pushed herself out of his arms that invited her to linger. “Look! That phaeton cannot belong in this village.”

He strode past her and peered into the stylish carriage which was filthy, warning it had traveled far. Coming back, he said, “No one in it.”

“Could it be the one André rented?”

“We shall know soon enough. Let’s go.”

As she hurried up onto the small porch, Emily prayed they had reached the end of their journey in time. They had stopped in other villages along the border with no luck. From the window by the door, a light sprayed into the deepening shadows.

Damon rapped loudly. Wringing her hands, Emily found herself wondering if Johnson had delivered her message to Papa. She did not want Papa to fear for the disappearance of both of his daughters.

The door opened. A bulky woman with a dusty apron peered out. Her broad face was lit with a smile while she shoved strands of black hair back beneath her kerchief.

“Be quiet with ye now,” she said in a rich, lowland brogue. “The master’s marrying.”

“Who?” asked Emily.

“Those who come asking.”

Damon cursed under his breath and pushed past the woman. The plump woman called after him, then gasped as Emily followed him into the room, which was crowded with pieces of mismatched furniture around a harpsichord. It was empty.

“They aren’t here!” she gasped. “Damon, we have to find them.”

He put his hands on her shoulders. “I know. If—”

A shout came from behind a door nearly hidden by the harpsichord. Something crashed and broke. Damon ran, tearing open the door. Emily followed and gasped.

Three people stood by a stone hearth that took up the whole back wall. One man was lying on the floor, clutching his nose, in the midst of shards of a vase. A balding man, who was dressed all in black, was speaking to the man who stood over the downed man.

Emily ignored the men as she cried, “Miriam!”

Miriam whirled. “Emily! What are you doing here?”

“It appears we are not the only ones interested in halting this marriage.” Damon chuckled as he folded his arms over his chest.

Emily had not thought she could be any more astonished, but when the man, who had clearly knocked the other down, turned, she stared at Graham Simpkins. And the man on the floor was André!

Mr. Simpkins stamped across the room and stuck his nose almost in Damon’s face. “If you think to keep
me
from stopping this travesty, Wentworth, you shall see—”

“No,” Damon said, laughing, “
you
shall see, Simpkins, if you put on your barnacles.”

“There is no need for those hideous things.”

“Put aside your vanity for a moment. It has nearly cost you Miss Talcott’s affection.”

Emily exchanged an astonished glance with her sister as, mumbling, Mr. Simpkins reached under his coat and drew out a pair of glasses. He set them on the very end of his nose, then pushed them up with irritation.

“Hate the things,” he muttered, “but I am as blind as an owl at noon without them.”

Miriam gasped, “Then you were not always ignoring me when you walked past me?”

He rushed to her and seized her hands. “My dear, Miss Talcott, I had no idea you were looking at
me
until Valeria told me I was a complete block.”

“Valeria!” She sniffed, yanking her hands out of his. “
My
eyes work perfectly well. I see how you stay close to her, hoping for her attention, no doubt.”

“Miss Talcott!” He caught her fingers again. “Miriam, if I may, please heed me. I stay near Valeria because I can always be certain who she is.”

“I don’t understand.”

Emily was tempted to echo the words, but Damon’s laugh halted her. He walked across the room and jerked André to his feet.

Ignoring the fake marquis’s complaints, Damon said, “It is simple. Lady Fanning always wears bright colors to complement her bright hair. Even without his barnacles, Simpkins could not fail to guess who the glorious peacock was among the swans.”

“Enough of this!” shouted André, grabbing a handkerchief from the man in the black coat and dabbing at his bloody nose. “You are interrupting our wedding. Come here, Miriam.”

Emily put her hand on her sister’s arm. “You don’t want to marry him, do you?”

Her lips tightened. “If you have come to try to talk me out of marrying André—”

“I came to talk him out of marrying
you
, for it is clear you will not listen to me.”

André laughed, but she saw his apprehension as he looked past her to Damon. He quailed, but declared, “I can think of nothing you might say, Mademoiselle Talcott, to convince me not to marry
ma chérie
.”

She opened her bag and poured out a half dozen coins. “Look at the dowry my sister has.”

He scowled. “What sort of hoaxing is this? That is no more than a guinea!”

“That and a bit of gully-fluff in my pocket are the only things left of the fortune my father inherited. What he did not spendthrift, he gambled away.” Looking at her sister’s colorless face, she knew she must not falter. “My father led our family’s shipping company into ruin.” When the false marquis opened his mouth to protest, she said, “I have spoken the truth. Will you?”

“What truth?” asked Miriam, tears glistening in her eyes.

“Ask this man his name. It cannot be Marquis de la Cour, for that person, if the marquis can be deemed a person, is me.”

Mr. Simpkins gasped, “Can this be true?”

Emily nodded. “I started writing the poetry because I needed money to save our family from destitution. To protect the ones I love from their own folly. Too late I have learned they must, as Damon has put it so inelegantly, fry in their own grease. I shall not pay Papa’s debts any longer, and, Miriam, if you wish to wed this man, I shall do nothing to halt you now that you know the truth.”

“You wrote the poems, Emily?” Miriam choked, her eyes wide. “
You
are Marquis de la Cour?”

Damon said as he slid his arm around Emily’s shoulders, “You should be proud of your sister for ignoring the prestige that could have been hers. She withheld the truth, for she feared it would injure you.”

Miriam turned to André. “Who are you?” she asked in a broken voice.

He did not answer for the length of two heartbeats, then said, “Andrew Montebank.”

“At last you have spoken the truth.” Damon laughed. “It would have been better if you had not tried to pretend you were familiar with that café in the Loire, for it does not exist.”

“You were baiting me?”

“And you swallowed the hook completely. You were bold to try such a charade.”

“Like everyone else,” he retorted, “I believed the fabulous Marquis de la Cour to be French. How was I to guess he—
she
would be English?”

“You should have been wiser to stay on a Covent Garden stage than to try for a grander rôle.”

Montebank flinched, then bowed his head. “My compliments, my lord, on your obviously excellent source of information.”

“I called upon old friends and reminded them of old obligations,” he said with the secretive smile he wore each time he hinted at his duties during the war. “In the past fortnight, they have uncovered much about your past, Montebank.” Turning to Emily, he gave her a warmer smile. “That task occupied me completely, so I could give no time to other matters, such as discovering why you left Wentworth Hall so abruptly.”

She entwined her fingers with his, wishing she could apologize once more for her doubts. He had done more than he had promised to protect her father and her sister and
her
from foolishness.

Damon continued, “There surely must be a law against impersonating another for personal gain.”

Montebank blanched. “My lord—”

“For the sake of Miss Talcott’s reputation, I suggest you vanish. Otherwise, I shall see that you get the punishment at Tyburn you so rightly deserve.”

Montebank looked at Miriam, then fled.

When her sister began to weep, Emily started to go to her. Damon halted her. She glanced at him, and he shook his head, motioning toward Mr. Simpkins.

Emily smiled when Mr. Simpkins gently drew her sister’s fingers down from her face. Damon put his arm around Emily’s shoulders, and she leaned her head against his shoulder as she had wanted to for so long.

Mr. Simpkins enfolded Miriam’s fingers between his palms. “Miss Talcott—Miriam,” he said softly, “when Valeria told me that you were in love with Marquis de la Cour, I feared I would never be happy again, for my heart sank into the deepest pit. I rushed to your house to ask you to reconsider.”

Miriam blinked back tears, but raised her chin. “Why have you spoken to me so seldom?”

“I own to both vanity and shyness. Miriam, I did not dare to speak with one as lovely and dainty as you. I found it easier to speak with my old friend while I pined to ask you to stand up with me.”

As quietly, she said, “I thought you loathed me.”

“Believe me, my dearest Miriam, when I tell you that my feelings are quite the opposite.” He dropped to one knee and took her hand. “Will you consider becoming my wife? I vow I shall endeavor to make you happy every day of our lives.”