The Spider's Touch (19 page)

She did her best not to be flustered by the brief exchange, shifting her attention to the game at Dudley’s table. The interruption had not afforded her the chance she had needed to draw Mrs. Hobbes into their talk. Thinking about her again, and how Mrs. Mayfield would scold when Dudley’s proposal was turned down, Hester did not attend to the gentlemen’s conversation, until a sudden change in Dudley’s tone brought her instantly alert.

“You blackguard! I saw you play that card before!”

The accusation—for it
was
an accusation and not the jest she had thought—had been uttered in a furious voice. As Hester moved her eyes to her cousin’s face, he fixed a belligerent glare on Sir Humphrey, whose round, little mouth fell open in stunned surprise.

With alarm, Hester saw that her cousin’s mien, normally fairly cheerful, had taken on a vicious cast. The alteration was so sudden and extreme as to leave her speechless.

She struggled to recall something that might account for the change. Then she realized that, as distracted as she had been, first by Lord Lovett, and then by her concern for Mrs. Hobbes, the unoccupied portion of her mind had still recorded things she should not have ignored. While Sir Humphrey had been speaking, Dudley had poured himself two more glasses from the decanter at his side. He had drained them without offering wine to anyone else. His eyelids had begun to droop. His gaze had lost focus. And his expression had changed from amused to morose.

“Ods fish!” Sir Humphrey blustered, once he had found his voice. “What the devil do you mean, sir?”

“You
know
. And you’ll not ge’ away with it.” In spite of a drunken slur, there was no mistaking the menace in Dudley’s tone.

Mrs. Hobbes gave a gasp. She looked nervously towards the other tables, but no one had overheard the exchange. They were still intent on their cards, except for Lord Lovett, who was busy, trying to coax a smile from Isabella.

Hester knew she should do something, but she did not know what. She had not yet recovered from her astonishment. Dudley’s fury had arisen with no provocation at all.

She reached out a hand. “Cousin—”

The fingers beneath her hand balled quickly into a fist. She jerked away, her eyes going wide, as he slammed it onto the table, overturning two glasses, and sending cards fluttering onto the floor.

“You think you’re so clev’r! But you won’ make a fool out o’ me! I won’ let you get away with it!” He struggled to rise, fortunately hampered by dizziness. His chair fell backwards with a crash.

Now, everyone turned. Their eyes flew to Hester’s table, and a range of emotions played across their faces.

Mrs. Mayfield, who had been studying her cards with the avidity of a confirmed gamester, gave a cry of alarm mixed with annoyance, making Hester aware that her aunt had witnessed such drunken scenes before. She stared daggers at her son, before turning a venomous gaze on Hester. Seated farthest from them, she had not noticed Dudley’s descent into moodiness. It was too late to pretend that his outburst was somehow Hester’s fault, though Hester made no doubt her aunt would try, if it became even remotely possible.

“What
are
you going on about, Mayfield? Have you lost your senses?” Harrowby’s outrage betrayed his embarrassment. He had not been an earl long enough to be indifferent to others’ opinions. But when Dudley swerved to face him, Harrowby’s bug-like eyes grew round in fear. “Ye gods! Dear me—!” He strove for authority. “My dear—dear Mayfield! I fear I shall have to ask you to sit down—my dear, dear fellow!” he ended in a quiver.

Dudley’s turn had thrown him off balance. He staggered two or three steps to one side before recovering his equilibrium. Then, he swore, gazing blearily down at the floor, as if forgetting why he had stood.

Sir William jumped to his feet, uncertain if his family were in danger or if his host had staged a sort of tasteless theatrical performance. His conclusion quickly reached, he narrowed his shrewd, tradesman’s eyes and shifted them from Dudley to Mrs. Jamison, Dudley’s mother, and finally to Harrowby, before addressing the last.

“So that’s your game, is it, my lord? To foist a madman onto me. Well, I’ll have you know that I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve never been taken for a fool, and I won’t be taken for one now. You’ll have to find someone else to take this young gentleman off your hands. I’ll not have a lunatic’s blood mingling with mine. You can keep your fancy titles—I’ll not sell my daughter or my name for tainted blood.”

“Sir William, please! I knew nothing about this.” Mrs. Jamison’s cry broke the ominous silence.

He ignored her. As he stepped around his table to collect his wife and daughter—both plainly eager to depart—Mrs. Mayfield let out a screech that drowned Harrowby’s feebler protests.

“Lunatic! How dare you call my son a lunatic? Why the Mayfields’ family tree goes back to Edward I—which you would see, if you was ever to go to Mayfield Park! Not that an upstart like you would ever be admitted to my house! How dare you insult a family so superior to your own?”

She turned to Harrowby. “Make Sir William apologize to me and to Mayfield right this instant!”

But Dudley had recalled the object of his ire and was lurching towards a frightened Sir Humphrey, ignoring the tables and chairs in his way. Until Hester saw him throw the furniture aside like so many twigs, she had not realized how strong her cousin was.

She was not big enough to stop him, unless she could find something to subdue him with. She glanced about for a hard object, but quicker than she, Lord Lovett darted to put himself in front of Sir Humphrey, directly in Dudley’s path.

Dudley swung.

Hester let out a cry. Isabella did, too—but neither was needed, as Lord Lovett gracefully ducked the blow before returning a well-placed punch to Dudley’s jaw. Hester saw her cousin’s head snap back. He wavered for a moment, then crumbled unconscious to the floor.

The silence was tense, as they all held their breaths to see if Dudley would rise. Then, as it became apparent that Lord Lovett’s blow had done its work, everyone stirred at once.

“My dear, dear Adrian!” Sir Humphrey clapped his saviour on the back with breathless relief. “That was very well done! I am in your debt, my very dear fellow. I cannot imagine what came over the lad!”

Confusion dimmed his baby features, as he stared down at Dudley, who had started to snore. “But a minute ago, he seemed as merry as you or me. An’t that right, Mrs. Kean? Mrs. Hobbes?” Unaware that the second young woman he addressed was being bustled out the door to the stairs, he went on, “The very next moment, he had turned so nasty that I was too startled to defend myself. I tell you—” Sir Humphrey’s relief overwhelmed his tongue.

“Think nothing of it.” Lord Lovett straightened the deep red cuffs to his blue silk coat. “If my memory serves me, you performed a similar act for me, not so very long ago. We shall call ourselves even.”

The reference escaped Sir Humphrey, who looked even more puzzled. Then, with a flush of pleasure, he recalled, “You are talking about that day in the carriage. But indeed, dear Lovett, I was not—”

“Please, do not be modest, or I shall accuse you of fishing for greater praise. I suggest we take our leave and give our hosts some peace, so they can recover from the evening’s excitement. Don’t you?”

Mrs. Mayfield had not been noticeably upset to see her son knocked to the floor, but had immediately turned on Harrowby to share her injured feelings. Now, as their guests made ready to leave, her voice carried to them all, saying, “I fail to see what right they have to be offended when a gentleman gets a bit too deep in his cups! And to call my son a lunatic—!”

Isabella, who had been holding back, with expressions ranging from annoyance to dismay—but neither surprise nor shock—spoke impatiently to her mother. “How can you say that, Mama, when you’ve always known what Dudley’s temper is! He should never be allowed to drink, when he is likely to spoil our fun.”

Even Harrowby, whose wits were not the sharpest, understood by this speech that Dudley had behaved in a similar manner before. With a look of betrayal, he started to berate Isabella and her mother for involving him with such a troublesome young man, even to the point of extracting an exorbitant sum to pay for a position at Court.

He had not got very far when Lord Lovett, with his customary sangfroid, managed to stem the bitter flow without appearing to have interrupted. “I trust you have no concerns on our account, my lord,” he said, including Sir Humphrey in his remark. “There was no real harm done. You have none but friends here now, and nothing Sir William says will spread very far where it counts.”

Ignoring the offence on Mrs. Jamison’s face, he took Isabella’s hand and, raising it to his lips, said with a secretive smile, “Shall we say goodbye, then, until tomorrow? We have an engagement at Vauxhall, I believe.”

“Lovett is quite right, my lord.” Magnanimous, now that he was feeling safe, Sir Humphrey said, “There was no harm done at all.”

Dudley made a noise in his sleep, and Sir Humphrey jumped. With a new wave of fury, Mrs. Mayfield rounded on Hester, saying, “What can you mean by standing there, when your cousin is clearly ill! Go fetch the footmen to carry him to his room.”

Hester would have left the drawing room gratefully, if she had not heard the two gentlemen and Mrs. Jamison taking their leave, which meant that they would descend the stairs behind her. She was feeling weak in the knees, and was afraid that a reaction to Dudley’s violence was about to overtake her.

She did her best to hold herself up as she walked down, but she was obliged to hold tightly to the banister. The guests had nearly caught up with her, when dizziness dimmed her vision and her legs gave way.

A pair of long, strong arms prevented her fall. Chagrinned to find herself in a gentleman’s embrace, she struggled to find her legs. She murmured an apology, but Lord Lovett, who had caught her, refused to let her go. He pulled her close by the waist, causing her blood to heat for an entirely different reason.

In a cool voice, he said to Sir Humphrey. “You had better attend to your sister, Cove. Ladies are unaccustomed to violence. It can be too much for their nerves. See that Mrs. Jamison is settled, and I shall look after Mrs. Kean.”

Wakened from their posts by the sound of voices, two sleepy footmen had started to climb the stairs. Lord Lovett ordered them to attend the family in the drawing room, before half-leading, half-carrying Hester down to the small antechamber, where he forced her to sit.

“Pray do not disturb yourself on my account, my lord.” Distressed by the unaccustomed attention, Hester tried to convince him that she was perfectly all right. “I am fully recovered. Indeed, I do not feel the slightest bit faint. It was just that my knees failed me for a moment, when I was fine only a moment before.”

Looking down at her, Lord Lovett nodded, with an amused but sympathetic smile. “Shock, I should imagine. You have undoubtedly never seen a gentleman turn violent before.”

On the contrary
, Hester thought, she had once witnessed a duel to the death with someone much dearer to her at stake. But that was a secret, so she lowered her lashes and gave her head a little shake. “I suppose it was. I do not know my cousin Dudley very well, but he has always seemed perfectly affable until now.” Concern over what Sir William had said made her raise her gaze to Lord Lovett’s handsome face. “You do not think—?” She caught herself before saying anything she ought not.

He had read her mind. “Do I think he’s mad?” His lips gave an ironic twist. “Not unless one gentleman in fifty is. He is not the first person I have known to lose his temper in his cups.” Then, he sobered. “That does not mean that this tendency will not pose problems for his family, or that he might not do something he will regret one day. I take it that you were unaware of his propensity for violence?”

Hester could not miss his implication. She felt a flush of discomfort for Mrs. Mayfield and Isabella, who had obviously been aware of Dudley’s tendency. She looked down at her hands. “As I said, I am only recently acquainted with him.”

To her astonishment, Lord Lovett cupped her chin and forced it up until she met his gaze. The warmth she saw there made her gulp. “You must not feel responsible for the faults of your family. Do you think I have not noticed how superior you are to every one of them?”

Hester’s mouth nearly fell open when he released her jaw. She could not have spoken for the life of her, so it was lucky that he did not wait for a response. He stepped back, gave her his most respectful bow, and then left, before she could recover enough to wonder if she had heard him aright.

She had been aware of Lord Lovett’s intelligence ever since meeting him and had formed a favourable impression of him because of his wit. His attentions to Isabella both in front of her husband and in his absence had bothered Hester, even as she had excused him for courting their influence. Her own attraction to him could no longer be denied, not when her pulse had raced at his touch, but that he should have noticed
her—

Afraid that someone might find her in this incoherent state—unable to sort through her feelings—she gathered herself and started up the stairs. As she passed the door to the withdrawing room, she heard raised voices, telling her that Dudley’s performance would be the first source of friction between the new earl and his bride, with Mrs. Mayfield providing the tinder for a fire.

Hester had no wish to become a party to their squabble. She had enough on her mind to be grateful for the cover it afforded her, though, for they had obviously forgotten her in their fury. She took herself off to bed where she spent a good many hours contemplating what Lord Lovett’s attentions could mean. They so confounded her that they almost took her mind off her coming meeting with St. Mars.

* * * *

On Friday Harrowby brought home the news that Parliament had voted to impeach Robert Harley, Lord Oxford, and Henry St. John, Lord Bolingbroke, of treason. None of the Tories had dared to protest the charge against Bolingbroke, who had already fled to France, but Mr. Foley, Harley’s brother-in-law, and Mr. Jekyll did try to defend him. It would, perhaps, have been wise for Lord Oxford to seek safety in France, too, but he was indisposed with the Gravel and too ill to flee. He would be a given a chance to defend himself in the House of Lords on Saturday. Their lordships had not yet issued any charges against the Duke of Ormonde.