The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (17 page)

"Oh, no, wouldn't live somewhere else when you have plenty of room here," said Lady Greyston.

"Couldn't leave you unprotected anyhow." Her father cleared his throat. "After attending my club, I realized how much jeopardy you are in."

Felicity rubbed her forehead. "I'm not in any jeopardy."

Her father rocked back on his heels. "Afraid you are. They are placing bets on your outcome."

"My outcome?" Sounded like she was a race about to be run.

"The fortune hunters think you're the most promising filly to hit town in a score of years." Sir Edmund rocked forward on his toes. His color had grown high. "Tried to dissuade them from mentioning your name in the betting books, but I'm afraid I only changed the odds."

"Well, since I shall not marry a fortune hunter, I can't see that it matters."

"There are fortune hunters who will resort to terrible tactics," whispered Lady Greyston.

"Yes, there are." Sir Edmund shook his head. "All sorts of havey-cavey plots hatching. I saw two bets in the book on whether or not you'll be carted off willy-nilly to Gretna Green."

"Even in Scotland a woman must consent to marriage."

"But you would already be well compromised, what choice should you have?" Her mother cupped a hand to her mouth as if sharing a scandalous secret, although whom she might be excluding from the secret was hard to tell, since the room's two other occupants could hear her plainly. "Or one could hold Charles for ransom."

"With no man here to protect you, you are far too vulnerable."

All stuff and nonsense. Felicity rolled her eyes.

"Lord Brumly has been asking after you." Sir Edmund picked a piece of lint from his sleeve.

"I'm far too young to interest him."

"Then there's Lord Algany." Her mother's horrified expression said what she thought of him.

"I'm far too old for him. I don't think he's looking for a wife, anyway. Why does any of this matter when Major Sheridan will be watching out for me? We
are
to be married."

Her mother and father exchanged a look.

Felicity felt her stomach churning most uncomfortably. "What?"

"Apparently he doesn't think so."

"What do you mean?"

"He told Charles that nothing is decided yet."

After a sudden sickening moment, Felicity tried for nonchalance. Why would he be telling Charles anything after making it clear to her mother that Charles wasn't to be told—unless, of course, Charles had asked him? The little devil had undoubtedly been eavesdropping again. "He just means we haven't decided when we shall announce our engagement, or go through with"—Her parents exchanged another look—"the...cere..."Felicity's voice trailed off.

"It is quite a good thing you haven't announced your engagement yet," said Lady Greystone.

"Yes, we are quite sure that Major Sheridan is not the thing."

Good gravy they thought Tony was going to abandon her again, when in truth she was the one refusing to consider marriage. She flushed. "I am a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions." Why, oh why, though, did her parents reduce her to the same quivering piece of reprimanded jelly as when she was seven, covered in dirt, wearing a torn pinafore, following a triumphant adventure of burrowing under a stone wall by the abandoned haunted abbey and rescuing a lost ball?

"Talk of murder and mayhem: did you know he fought in a duel?"

"I know he has undoubtedly killed men. Frenchmen. That is what soldiers do." She shot to her feet. There was no way Tony would commit murder or fight duels or...do anything less than honorable...unless it concerned women...or just her. He'd been despicably badly behaved with her. Why did she always believe him honorable despite all evidence to the contrary? For heaven's sake he'd proposed an affair, nay demanded one.

"We shall just have to cast about for someone else for you to marry."

"I'm marrying Tony, and that's final!" Felicity felt as if she had been slammed against a wall. Had she just shouted to all the world that she was marrying, when she'd sworn she'd never marry? And marrying the last man on earth she'd ever consider—if she had the slightest inclination to enter the parson's pound ever again.

Her head hurt from the conflagration of thoughts.

She stalked across the room even though her heart pounded at the thought of brushing by her parents. But they parted and let her pass without incident. A feat she would have found quite remarkable had she reflected on it.

Instead, she headed straight for her desk, wrote a furious missive demanding that Tony escort her for a drive in the park at exactly five, then sent it out with a footman. She would know precisely what he had said to her son. Had her parents decided upon Tony's unsuitability from the prattling of a not-quite-six-year-old boy?

How else?

* * *

As it was, Tony was rather uncomfortably ensconced in Lord Carlton's drawing room. Uncomfortable because Lord Carlton found that Tony's suggestion that Mrs. Lungren was anything less that a complete lunatic who suffered from delusions and had even gone so far as to attack one of those, poor, poor girls was, to put it mildly, preposterous.

Since Tony hadn't seen the woman himself, he could only rely on Randy's sound judgment and Bedford's more skeptical agreement that she seemed, for the most part, lucid.

Carlton had less nicely accused Bedford of greed and malice in regard to his idea to sell the estate and give the money to the girls as dowries.

"Why don't you just give the title over to me, and I'll see to it everything is handled nicely," said Lord Carlton.

Randy, who had up to this point escaped Lord Carlton's mettle, suggested in a mild sort of way, "We understand you've been acquiring pieces of the Lungren estate. If Bedford hands over the last piece, so you own the entire estate, could you tell me how that is helping the family?"

Lord Carlton sputtered. "Why, my buying a pasture and a farm here and there gives them money when they need it. Lord knows I've been responsible for the lion's share of meals on the Lungren table for the last decade."

Tony rather thought Lord Carlton's righteous indignation was just a bit over the top. "It also makes the estate less able to support a family. Do you hope to convince Miss Lungren to marry you when she has no option left but dependence on you?"

"She should have accepted my offer long ago." Lord Carlton looked taken aback that he'd admitted so much. "It would have made all this buying a plot here and livestock there unnecessary."

"So are we given to understand that Miss Lungren has accepted your offer?" asked Randy.

"She's considering it now."

Which sounded a bit like she was afraid she had no other choice. Tony studied Lord Carlton and wondered why the man would want to marry a woman past her last prayers, and a bit of a harridan to boot. But then, the middle-aged Lord Carlton with his fubsy figure wouldn't be a considered a prize, either.

"I say, if I am just to turn over the deed to the estate, I might as well just give it to the Lungren sisters directly." Bedford stood.

Lord Carlton looked like he was about to object, but instead cast a sly look in Randy and Tony's direction and said, "Well, sir, you must do as you think best."

Tony stood. It seemed as good a time as any to take their leave. For one thing, Tony wasn't sure they were best served by sharing their suspicions with Lord Carlton, who would denounce them as absurd. "Well, sir, I thank you for your time and for enlightening us about Mrs. Lungren's condition. I'll admit we were all quite shocked by her accusations. I know that you have set my mind at ease, that she is not to be believed."
Of course, her "delusions" about Lord Carlton's myriad proposals to her eldest daughter were dead on.
"I do hope we have not trespassed upon your hospitality with our concerns."

"No, no, of course not. I understand it is difficult to lose a friend, under such trying circumstances, too." Lord Carlton once again seemed his unflappable self, and too complacent to make a fuss about anything that didn't affect him directly.

The three of them found themselves on the front drive, when Randleton suggested they visit the sisters. Bedford groaned, and Tony wanted to be done with the murder investigation for the day—or at least have some time to mull over the developments.

Mrs. Lungren was buying foxglove and laudanum, either of which, everyone knew, could kill when given in large doses. Lord Carlton had seemed almost frenzied when the suggestion of foul play in connection with Captain Lungren's brothers came into the conversation. No one had thought it wise to mention their convictions about the manner of Lungren's death.

"Tomorrow, or we shall be stuck dining at the Boar's Head," Bedford said.

"We really should strike while the iron is hot," Randy said.

"We are in the neighborhood." Tony looked at the angle of the sun, judging the amount of daylight left.

"I shall expire from hunger before this is solved," moaned Bedford. Then he straightened. "I am more confounded than ever, and I think better with a full stomach."

Randy's lips lifted in a half smile. He transferred his amused gaze to Tony, who was taking in Bedford's tasseled and spurred Hessians, cream knit pantaloons, and apple green morning coat.

Bedford scowled. "Very well, I know you two must think I'm a frippery fellow, but I cannot stomach the idea of eating at that awful inn."

It wasn't really that. Tony and Randy had discussed after their years of service on the Continent, how many of the officers arrived as spoiled, pampered young society men, like Bedford. As they had probably been. But it was hard to remember a time when creature comforts had seemed so important.

Then both men looked to Tony to decide. As much as Tony wanted to get back to the city, it didn't make sense to miss an opportunity to gather information. "We'll tell them we are just there for a short social call, as we were in the neighborhood."

"A quarter hour?" asked Bedford hopefully.

"Half hour," said Randy.

* * *

Of course it was neither. They had been at the Lungren estate nigh on an hour. William's stomach was rumbling, and he was freezing, having given his overcoat to a maid and then was stuck sitting on a stone bench in the dead garden while Randleton and Sheridan were at least getting the benefit of the exertion of walking.

In addition to their extended stay, there had been an over-long pause on the ride over, to decide what they meant to discuss with the sisters and how to go about it.

The plan the three men agreed upon was based on the best divide-and-conquer military strategy. Then they'd drawn straws—he and the major, anyhow. Somehow Randleton had gotten out of it by holding the hastily picked blades of dry winter grass—as to who would be paired with the eldest sister, Rosalyn. That would be him, the almost chronic loser in games of chance lately. Even when he won he lost.

Sheridan had suggested that he avoid giving over the deed to the estate, which sat well with William's plan to use the deed to help secure a loan from a moneylender. After that, he'd be glad to be rid of the thing.

However, as the eldest Miss Lungren finally grew indifferent to his banal chatter, William felt guiltier and guiltier by the minute. Rosalyn looked more careworn than the last time he'd seen her, with furrows between her eyebrows that wouldn't go away. She hadn't glared at any of them, which made him wonder if she was off her game. Even as he shared some of his best
on-dits
with her, stolen unashamedly from known wits of the day, the frown lines never completely went away and the corners of her lips only lifted in the narrowest of smiles.

"I say, I don't think I am cheering you in the least, and I assure you that, worthless fellow that I am, entertaining conversation is one of my few virtues."

With that she smiled just a bit more. "I appreciate your efforts, sir, but I am quite burdened with my situation."

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head and looked down.

"It is our intention as friends of your brother to ease your burdens in whatever way we can."

"I know, Major Sheridan has already informed me that you three are willing to escort us about society. However, we can barely afford to eat, let alone dress appropriately."

William checked his cuffs to see that they weren't fraying. He quite understood how important clothing was to a successful season. "Unfortunately, I haven't the means to help you there, but we three could put our heads together and see what solution we might find, if I have your permission to speak on it."

Miss Lungren looked horrified.

"Truly, let us help you. While we couldn't provide you with apparel—that wouldn't be thought proper, perhaps we can find some acceptable avenue."

She shook her head, looking almost as wild-eyed as her mother. "I should not have mentioned it."

"What are friends for?" William patted her hand and swallowed his bitter misgivings. Good Lord, he'd barely thought beyond seeing his own way through society. He'd never considered that he might need to assist someone else's entry, and he certainly didn't want to risk his own standing, but he had been terribly fond of Lungren—the rotter.

She jerked to her feet, forcing William to rise gracelessly, his bones stiff from the cold.

"I hate the idea of having to marry and be dependent on a man. It never was a good thing for Mama."

She strode forward, forcing William nearly to trot to keep by her side. She pivoted, leaving him skidding on the loose gravel of the walk as he tried to turn about.

"Really, it is too late for me, but Carolyn might stand a chance."

"I'm sure Miss Jocelyn could manage a respectable match." William realized belatedly that he had all but agreed with her pronouncement that she was too old. Not a good thing to do, he reminded himself.

"She feels every bit as strongly as I do about the terrible condition of women forced to be dependent on a husband." Pivot. "I'm not sure that she quite understands how desperate our situation is, since I can't find the deed to the estate."

Gravel chinged off his spur as he was once again left heading the wrong direction. The deuce with it. William stepped off the path and folded his arms across his chest. "I understand that you are not without prospects yourself, Miss Lungren. It has come to my attention that a respectable man has cast the handkerchief in your direction more than once."