To Rescue a Rogue (13 page)

“I'm somewhat unpredictable. Even to myself.”

“Simon thinks you're trying to reduce the opium too quickly. He tells me not to interfere, but I'm not always an obedient wife.”

“An obedient wife would be a dead bore. However, would you tell a drowning man not to struggle for the shore?”

“But panic never serves. I think you should—”

“Don't!”
It came out more viciously than he'd meant and he closed his eyes. “I'm sorry. But don't. Don't carp at me. Not now. After six o'clock, you can nag all you want. I probably won't care.”

It took effort to open his eyes and look at her, and when he did, her cheeks were flushed with mortification. Simon would kill him.

But she spoke calmly. “I'm sorry, too. Silly of me.”

They both heard footsteps.

“You're loved too much, you see,” Jancy said, then left, closing the door. He listened to faint voices and then the closing of the front door.

Gone, gone, gone.

He roamed the room, unable to remember why he'd come here, feeling more alone, more abandoned, than he could remember. Two brutal desires tormented him—for Mara and for the beast. One he might never have. The other was in every druggist's shop, his for a penny if he only surrendered.

The ticking of the heavy marble clock on the mantelpiece beat in his head. Two hours still to go and the damned thing ticked so slowly. He grasped it as if he could force it to speed. Or could strangle its ponderous pace. He definitely tried crushing it. Pain sometimes helped.

He forced his hands to loose.

Having others here, friends, damned friends, damned interfering friends, was going to be hell.

But then, what wasn't?

A
stroll around St. James's Park was just the thing, Mara decided, after that intense exchange with Dare. That didn't mean she wouldn't rather be in her room, picking with feverish intensity over every word spoken, but that way lay madness.

A footman in Simon's livery walked a few yards behind them. “Do we really need an escort?” she asked as they turned into Duke Street.

“Simon fusses.”

“What harm could he imagine coming to you here?”

“I think he fears I'll get lost. He says there are some rough areas near here.”

“That's true, but I think it's simply that he loves you so much.”

Jancy smiled, but said, “I only wish we ladies were allowed to be as protective of our men.”

Mara squeezed Jancy's arm, knowing how terrified she had been for Simon when he'd been wounded. The thought of Dare being wounded again made her shudder. The thought of him dead…

It was impossible. Mara touched her bodice to be sure the brooch was not there. A talisman. If there was any magic about Brideswell, she prayed she'd given Dare some of it.

“Dare and I were talking about that,” she said, and told Jancy about Anne searching for her imprisoned Canute.

“You're truly planning to publish a novel?” Jancy asked, looking alarmed.

“Oh, no. It's just for fun. Dare needs fun.”

Jancy nodded. “Yes, you're right. Simon tells such tales of him, but now he treats him like a mental invalid, if that makes sense.”

“Yes. Yes, it does, and I'm dragging him out of bed and into races. I might be doing harm, though.”

Jancy touched Mara's arm. “I'm sure you're not. There's something about him that wasn't there a few weeks ago.”

“Breathlessness?” Mara joked.

Jancy smiled but shook her head. “Perhaps more like an invalid who's finally been in the sun a little. Oh, look, there are Dare's little ones. Shall we join them?”

Mara turned and saw Pierre and Delphie playing with a ball under the care of their two maids.

“Of course,” she said, turning to walk that way, but also savoring the idea that she had brought sunshine into Dare's life. “How do you come to know the children? Did he bring them when he visited Marlowe?”

“They go everywhere with him. But I've also met them at Long Chart. We visited there on our arrival. Unfortunately I was in mourning and they're wary of women in black.”

“Why?”

“Their mother dressed in black.”

“The woman who took care of Dare? Do you know anything about her?”

When Jancy said, “Not really,” Mara knew she was lying.

“Not even her name?”

After a moment, Jancy said, “The´re`se Bellaire.”

The children had seen them and were running toward them smiling.

Mara smiled back and used their full names.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Bellaire, Monsieur Bellaire.”

Both children froze. Delphie's face quivered and Pierre's jaw set. With impressive dignity, he said, “That is not our name, my lady.”

Mara almost stammered. “I'm so sorry. I thought…”

“Our name is Martin.” He pronounced it the French way:
Martan.

“I will remember. Names can be so very confusing! Last year my father was Mr. St. Bride and now he's Earl of Marlowe. And my brother went from being plain Simon St. Bride to Viscount Austrey.”

“I will always be Pierre Martin,” the boy said, “for I am not an aristocrat, me. But I hope one day to be Admiral Martin.”

“Well, do you know,” Jancy said in a comfortable tone, “I think you should consider becoming Peter Martin.” She pronounced it in the English way. “Only imagine if we fall into war with France again. An admiral with such a French name might have difficulties.”

The boy was clearly struck by this and mouthed, “Peter Martin…Thank you for the advice, Aunt Jane.”

Delphie dropped a curtsy, pretty skirts spread. “Bonjour, Aunt Jane.”

Mara could have wept at the difference between their treatment of Jancy and of herself, especially when she hoped one day to be their mother. She was trying to think how to make peace when Delphie came close to touch the flower-sprigged fabric of her gown. Mara crouched down to give the little girl better access to the ribbon work and embroidered spring flowers on the spencer.

“C'est belle,”
the girl said, little fingers adoring.

“Thank you.” As Jancy didn't speak French, Mara didn't. “Did you know that Lady Austrey and I are staying in Yeovil House for a few days?”

Pierre answered. “Yes, ma'am. We have been told not to bother you.”

“I'm sure you could never be a bother,” Jancy said. “May we visit the schoolroom later and see your toys and lessons?”

“But of course, Aunt Jane. You can see my sailing ship. It was Papa's when he was a boy. It needs repairing, so Papa and I are working on that. Perhaps Uncle Simon would like to help? I will let him help me sail it when it is ready.”

The image of Dare and the boy working together to mend the boat caught at Mara's heart. From there, her mind slid to another picture—of a comfortable parlor in which Dare and the boy worked on the ship while she and Delphie worked on some pretty craft. Of a baby in a cradle, which she rocked with one foot as she'd often watched her mother do. At Brideswell, babies were not restricted to the nursery.

The image was so clear it felt like a foreseeing.

For that reason, she didn't ask the children to call her Aunt Mara. She rose from her cramped position and listened to chatter about lessons and toys—Delphie was particularly fond of a dolls' house—and then she and Jancy left, promising a visit.

“I wonder why Dare hasn't given the children his name,” Mara asked as they walked on. “Peter Debenham would be even better than Peter Martin, and Delphie Debenham, especially with a generous dowry, could one day marry very well.”

“The issue of their real parents must be settled first.”

Mara stopped. “Their
real
parents? Their mother was this Madame Bellaire and she was a widow. And now she's dead.”

Jancy's ready color flared. “Oh, dear.”

“Jancy, tell me the truth.”

Jancy sighed. “They were not her children. They are probably orphans of the war.”

“And Madame Bellaire took them in?” But that wasn't it, either. Mara suddenly recollected Dare's one-word description of the woman.
Evil.
“Jancy, I need to know.”

“Perhaps you're right.”

Mara went to a stone bench and sat. “I am.”

Jancy sat beside her, but pulled at the tips of her cream leather gloves.

“Tell me everything.”

Jancy sighed. “That Madame Bellaire was not a good woman, Mara. Don't ask me for details, for it's very complicated and involves a lot of secrets, but she was close to Napoleon and sometimes spied for him. So after Waterloo she was in a difficult situation. She had lost her access to power and wealth, but she thought she had money in England. She lived here in 1814.” After a moment, she added, “Running a brothel.”

“Oh.
That
sort of close to Napoleon.”

Jancy blushed. “Probably. Anyway, she assumed the identity of the Belgian widow of a Lieutenant Rowland who'd died in the battle.”

“Did he have a wife? Widow?”

“No, but she forged the record of a recent marriage and it wasn't questioned. It would have entitled her to assistance from the army in getting to England, you see, and even a pension if she could keep up the deception.”

“But how did Dare come into this?”

“No one's quite sure. Either she found him on the battlefield and then came up with a plan to keep him in her power, or she found him after she'd woven the Rowland web and adapted it.”

“But why Dare at all? Adding a seriously injured man to her burden can't have helped.”

“She probably would receive more help to get a wounded officer back to England than if she were traveling as a widow. But it was really an act of spite or revenge. She hated Nicholas Delaney.”

“Why?”

“It's complicated,” Jancy said again. “They were lovers once and he left her.”

“That's it? She sounds mad.”

“I'm sure she was, but in a vicious way. And then he dared to reject her a second time and love his wife.”

Mara shook her head, but returned to the main issue. “And the children?”

“It's assumed she scooped them up to support the illusion of a family and garner even more sympathy and aid.”

“She just
took
them? What a carrion crow.”

“Especially as she probably stripped poor Rowland of any identification and left him to be buried in a mass grave. His family has been notified, of course, and what little remained of his possessions has been returned to them.”

Mara considered what she'd learned. “But once she was in England, why didn't she claim her money and disappear?”

“Her money wasn't readily available—and that was definitely the Rogues' doing—but she'd probably always intended to use Dare to make Nicholas Delaney suffer. She even kidnapped his daughter, Arabel.”

“What a monster. I suppose King Rogue killed her, and good for him.”

“Actually it was someone else—a Major Hawkinville. But Nicholas was involved in stopping her, along with other Rogues.”

Mara turned to look at the children playing in the distance, so safe and happy. “How horrible she must have been for them to fear even her name.” Then Mara saw the full implications and turned back to Jancy. “They might have parents somewhere who are looking for them? Oh, no! Poor Dare.”

“There are no reports of similar children missing in the Brussels' area, but with the allied armies gathered to fight the French, they could have come from anywhere, so the search continues.”

“They must be orphans,” Mara stated, wishing stating it could make it so. “If someone was looking for them, they would have found them by now.”

“Even if their parents are simple people? Peasants, even? Pierre remembers a little of a farm.”

Mara raised her chin. “Then they're better off with Dare.”

“Mara! Only imagine if they do have parents who love them and who are seeking them.”

Mara knew Jancy was right, but she was fighting for Dare, perhaps for his sanity. “I'm sorry if I sound hardhearted, but Dare needs Delphie and Pierre. I suspect that at times they have been his reason to live.”

Jancy studied her. “You love him.”

Mara looked away, blushing. “He's been like a brother since I was six.”

Jancy said nothing.

“Oh, all right. I love him.” She looked back at Jancy. “I didn't know. Then it hit me like…like walking into a tree! And now I can think of nothing else.”

“Yes.”

“It was like that with Simon?”

“It was more complicated, but yes.”

“I don't know what to do,” Mara said. “I have the hair, so I want to hunt him down like a panther. I might do it if he wasn't…Oh, it's silly to call him frail or ill, but it wouldn't be fair.” When Jancy didn't respond, Mara said, “It wouldn't.”

“No, probably not.”

“But what if he never is truly well? What if he has to take opium for the rest of his life?”

“Would you mind?” Jancy asked.

Mara thought about it. “No. That's what he's doing now and I love him now. I want him free for his sake, but no, I wouldn't mind.”

Jancy stood. “Then happy hunting.”

“You think I should?” Mara asked as she, too, rose.

“Such love has to be a blessing and strength. But if it all comes to disaster, don't tell Simon I recommended it. Oh, there's Hal and Blanche.”

Mara turned to see a couple strolling along the path, lost in smiling conversation. He was tall and dark, with his empty left sleeve pinned across his chest. The lady on his right arm was petite and lovely, with coils of startling white hair beneath an outrageously pretty straw hat crowned with yellow blossoms, which matched the sunny stripe in her cream colored dress.

Mara went with Jancy toward them. She'd met Major Hal Beaumont and his new wife, Blanche, at Simon's wedding, and Hal had played a significant part in getting Simon home safe from Canada. Not surprising when he was a Rogue.

“Hal, Blanche, how lovely to see you.” She chattered to them about London and gas and Yeovil House, and the dull play at Covent Garden. “I'm sure you'd never act in such a preachy piece,” she said to Blanche.