To Rescue a Rogue (16 page)

“A lady would not wish it, and one day you must be a lady.”

“I do not
want
to be a lady if it means I cannot be a dragon!”

“Delphie, Pierre!” The maid swooped down in a flurry of French, scolding and calming at the same time. Then she said in English, “Now you must apologize to Lady Mara for your bad behavior.”

They did, but anger clearly simmered. Mara sympathized with Delphie, but sought a deflection. “Why don't you show me the soldiers now?” she said to Pierre.

Delphie grabbed at her skirt. “You will prefer my dolls.”

Mara freed her skirt from clutching fingers and took the girl's hand. “Come with us to the soldiers, Delphie. Soldiers are little dolls, really.”

“Now you've torn it.”

Mara looked up to find Dare there, amused. She'd already seen the shock and horror on both children's faces at her careless comparison.

After greeting Dare, Pierre turned back to Mara in combative mode. “Milady Mara—”

“Pierre,” Dare interrupted. “A gentleman never contradicts a lady.”

“But, Papa, what if a lady is wrong?”

“A lady is never wrong. And Delphie, a young lady never argues with an older one.”

Delphie wrinkled her brow and looked to Mara. “Truly?”

Mara burst out laughing. “It would be very tedious, wouldn't it? But arguing is hardly ever worth the trouble. Unless it is an issue of conscience, and then we must stand firm. I apologize for offending you both, and if your papa agrees, I will first inspect the army and then the dolls.”

Delphie reluctantly agreed to this, but would not go to the toy soldiers with them.

The soldiers were detailed representations of French and British regiments drawn up, Mara was told, as if for the battle of Salamanca. “Papa was not in the army in Spain,” Pierre informed Mara, “but Riggs was, and he tells me exactly how it was.”

“Riggs is one of the grooms,” Dare supplied.

Mara admired the detailed models and watched a little action, but she couldn't help think of lives lost. Pierre played the English side forcing Dare to take the French, but he didn't seem to mind, or be experiencing any shadows from Waterloo.

When she let Delphie tow her away, neither male seemed to notice.

Delphie took her to a rocking chair, which held three dolls. Mara admired Lucille, a baby doll with a perfect porcelain head and a lacy layette, then Belle, a fashion doll with a wax head, elaborate hair, and a silk gown in the style of the past century.

The third was…well, to call it a rag doll would give it too much credit. It seemed to be made of twigs with scraps of cloth wound around it to form a crude body and suggest a skirt and bodice. The head was only a stuffed ball of rag with inked-on features.

Delphie picked it up. “This is Mariette, my special friend. Say
bonjour
, Mariette.” Pretending to be the doll, she said in a squeaky voice,
“Bonjour, madame.”

Then she addressed the doll in French. “No, Mariette, this is not a madam. This is a milady. Milady Mara, a friend of Papa. Her brother is a Rogue, so you may trust her.” Resuming the squeaky voice and turning the rag head toward Mara, she said, again in French, “Good day, Milady Mara. You may hold me if you wish.”

Mara found herself holding the assembly of sticks and rags and fighting tears. These innocent children had shared Dare's terrible captivity. This doll must have shared it, too.

“I'm honored, Mariette,” she said in French. “You must be happy here in this lovely schoolroom.”

A conversation followed that might have gone on forever if Dare hadn't interrupted. “I came to invite you on an expedition, children.”

Attention fixed on him. “
Oui
, Papa?” Delphie grabbed Mariette without seeming to realize it. “Where do we go?”

“To the exhibition of things made of cork.” When the children cast a dubious glance at their cork models, he added, “The real ones are much larger and better. You'll enjoy them.”

“We will see the volcano explode?” Pierre asked, his eyes lighting. “You said it exploded, Papa!”

“Erupt,” Dare corrected. “If you are quick.”

Pierre ran into the next room. Delphie paused long enough to give Mariette to Dare, and then raced after. Dare stood looking wryly at the doll, a finger stroking the rag head.

“You made her, didn't you?”

He started. “There were no toys. I made some for Pierre, too—small swords and even boats if we could get away with it. But Pierre doesn't cling to any of those things. I don't know why Delphie treasures this.”

“Because it's not ‘this,'” Mara said, “but Mariette.”

“I suppose so. Pierre would sometimes hold her, too. He'd pretend to be protecting her, but really, he was cuddling her. I don't think he does that anymore.”

“He might. If no one is looking. Perhaps boys need dolls, too, and not just little soldiers.”

He gave her a skeptical look and replaced Mariette with her pretty companions. “You'll be in accord with Nicholas. His daughter has a toy soldier and I'm sure his son will have a baby doll.”

Mara touched Mariette's rag head. “What about your sons and daughters?”

“Other than Delphie and Pierre?”

They're not truly yours, Dare. What if their parents come to claim them?

“Yes.”

“I may not marry.”

“But if you do?”

“Then I hope to let my children be what they will be. As long as they be it with good manners. For there is no civilization without courtesy, and civilization is our greatest treasure.”

She understood as clearly as if he'd said it that for him civilization could not include opium. He would not allow himself children of his own until he'd defeated the beast.

“You promised not to visit the volcano without me,” she complained, but made it clearly a tease.

“Do you want to come?”

“I wish I could, but I'm promised to the silk expedition. Will you take me another time?”

“Of course.”

That eased all her anxieties about him avoiding her. The children returned and the three of them left. Damn silk, Mara thought, but perhaps she could find time later for them to work on Castle Cruel.

She hadn't noticed the cat, but now Jetta slid from behind the curtain to curl up on the chair with the dolls.

“So you like Mariette, too, do you?”

The cat, of course, didn't answer.

Mara left the room, thinking about Dare. She was used to untangling problems and healing wounds, but here she risked doing more harm than good.

He's dead, Mara.

Had the Dare of her golden memories truly been killed by this evil The´re`se Bellaire?

When she reached her room, Ruth said, “There you are, milady! The coach has arrived. Hurry up.”

Mara rushed into her outer clothing, then down to the hall, where Jancy was waiting.

“Come on,” Jancy said nervously. “They're waiting in the coach.”

Mara went, but said, “They're friends, Jancy.”

“I've never met them before!”

“They're friends anyway.”

Indeed, within moments of setting off, Lady Ball and Lady Middlethorpe insisted on being Laura and Serena. “After all,” Lady Middlethorpe said, “we're all Rogues together.”

Mara didn't remind her that wasn't true. It would be, one day soon.

A
n hour's drive took them to an older brick building with only a small sign to identify it as a place of business. Beneath Chinese characters were the English words:
Lee's Finest Silk Emporium
. When the footman knocked on the red door, Mara wondered if such an English group would be denied entry.

After a moment of surprise, however, the Oriental who had opened the door bowed his wealthy visitors in.

They all gasped at the treasure chest of silks. Colorful bolts stacked shelves from floor to ceiling and a dozen Chinese men climbed up and down ladders fetching bolts to tables, where others cut lengths. Sometimes whole bolts were carried through to the back, where presumably they went on their way to the purchaser.

There were other English people here, inspecting and purchasing, but their elegant party, footman in attendance, was clearly out of place.

A man came forward to greet them. He was dressed like the rest in a long robe, his hair in a pigtail, but his robe was of splendid embroidered silk and he wore a black hat.

“We are mostly a wholesale business, honored ladies,” Mr. Lee said, bowing from the waist. His English was accented but excellent. “But you are most welcome.”

They were offered tea, without milk or sugar in very small cups without handles, and also a room for their comfort. Jancy, being pregnant, appreciated that. Then they were taken on a tour of the establishment by Mr. Lee himself.

Mara had no intention of buying anything; she had all the clothes she needed and no home to decorate. She simply enjoyed the abundant beauty and subtle perfumes. Sandalwood. Perhaps incense. Others she couldn't identify.

When Jancy dithered over a length of pale blue figured silk she clearly wanted, Mara took up her duties. “Buy it. It's lovely.”

“Look at the price! I'm increasing, so anything truly fashionable won't fit in a couple of months, and by next year you'll say it's all out of fashion again.”

“You have weeks in society ahead,” Mara said, “and first impressions count. A good mantua-maker will allow for expansion. As for next year, fashion rarely changes dramatically.”

“Oh, yes, it does. More trimming, less trimming. Fringe this year, flounce the next. And color. Remember, I'm a haberdasher's daughter.”

“Celestial blue last year, azure blue this. Jonquil yellow last year, primrose this. The true differences are so slight as to be meaningless and retrimming is easy. She'll have a dress length of that,” Mara told the clerk. “A generous dress length. Jancy, how much?”

“Ten yards, but that silk is almost identical and better value.”

“You mean cheaper. This is a much better quality.” She addressed the clerk. “Isn't it?”

He bowed. “Yes, honored lady.”

“He'd be bound to say that,” Jancy grumbled, but she agreed to the purchase and to another of a moss green embroidered in white and gold.

“It will make a spectacular ball gown,” Mara encouraged. “Everyone will be talking about Lord Austrey's lovely wife.”

Mara saw the result of her calculated words. Jancy would suffer the torments of hell for Simon; paying a little more for silk than she was comfortable with—well, a lot more—was bearable.

On the principle of striking while the iron is hot, Mara said, “And, we hope, Lord Austrey's lovely home.”

“If you mean Marlowe House, it isn't Simon's. It's his father's.”

“As Father hates London, it might as well be.”

“Even so, I have no idea what might need to be refurbished. We were hardly inside before we rushed out again.”

Mara had to grant that. “Take swatches of anything you like. Or that Simon might like.”

“Tyrant!”

“Pinchpenny!”

They grinned at each other and Jancy set about commanding swatches of curtain and upholstery silks. Mara left her to it, thinking about the power of love. What would she do to please Dare?

Anything.

She paused to consider that.

She really would.

She'd even wander the world with him, for to be without him would be worse.

“That's pretty.” Jancy had come over. “Buy some.”

Mara focused on the silk in front of her—a heavy white satin embroidered with garlands of pink roses. Lord, it reminded her of the dressing gown her sister-in-law had given her for her last birthday. She hated it, but wore it anyway. After all, no one but Ruth saw it.

“It's not quite in my style,” she said.

“I didn't think so, but you were smiling at it in such a way. What about this? Or this?” She picked out a number of rolls of silk, all lovely. “You must buy something, Mara, after bullying me into spending a fortune.”

Mara gave in and ordered a length of peach sarcenet. In a while she'd discover a distaste for it and give it to Jancy, whom it would suit wonderfully.

Everyone was satiated, so they took their departure, leaving an even more satisfied merchant behind. It was gone noon, however, and Mara had a very unsatisfied stomach. She saw no sign of an inn suitable for ladies, but when they entered the coach, the footman passed a wicker basket to Serena. She opened it and offered fruit, cakes and cider. Completely content, they relaxed into talk of fashion and society as the carriage set off back to St. James's.

Mara remembered the matter of Hal and Blanche and raised the subject.

“You're right,” Serena said. “We must do something.”

Laura looked doubtful. “Any number of men must have met Blanche with first Lucien, then Hal.”

“The Rogues launched me into society,” Serena said, “even though my first husband had involved me in some less-than-proper matters. None of the men involved stirred the pot. There aren't many willing to offend the Rogues.”

“But you, at least, were married,” Laura pointed out. “Of course I want to help Blanche, but how horrible if it went wrong and the ton publicly snubbed her.”

“It's not as if Blanche went from man to man,” Serena protested.

Mara wondered if Serena really didn't know about Blanche's early career.

“We need a council of war,” Serena decided. “Dinner on Monday at our house for all the Rogues who are in town?”

“Parliament allowing,” Laura said. “The sittings are running very late.”

“Then dinner will run even later. I'll have Francis write to tell Nicholas in case he can come up. Do we invite Hal?”

“How can we not? But I think Blanche is performing that night, so he won't come.”

Mara asked, “Is a Rogue's sister permitted?”

“Of course,” Serena assured her. “This was your idea and we should recruit anyone who can help. St. Raven's in Town. A duke is always useful, and he's almost a Rogue, anyway.”

The carriage had come to a halt outside Yeovil House, but Mara paused before leaving. “Why do you say that?”

Serena laughed. “He was born to be a Rogue, but for credentials he's foster brother to Lady Anne Peck-worth. She was virtually jilted by two Rogues—first Francis, and that was my fault, then by Con, who met an old love. The Rogues felt guilty, especially with her having a limp, so took her under their wing.”

The footman had the door open, and their packages were already being carried into the house, so Mara said her thanks and left.

“How unfair,” she said as they walked in, “that St. Raven can become a Rogue merely by being the foster brother of someone who almost married one, but a sister is beyond the pale.”

“I don't think he's truly considered a Rogue,” Jancy soothed as they climbed the stairs. “Merely a close associate. As a sister, you are closer.”

“Dare's sister isn't. In fact I can't think of any sister who is part of the group. Only wives, and I'm not making any progress there.”

“You're too impatient.”

“Perhaps I should kidnap and ravish Dare. Isn't that the way valuable spouses are captured?”

Jancy shook her head. “Wait until he's well.”

“Before kidnapping and ravishing him?”

“No, of course not.”

“I
shouldn't
wait?” Mara teased as they paused outside Jancy's door.

“Stop it!” Jancy said, laughing. “I mean that when he's well all might fall into place. I believe you are special to him. Simon said that no one had persuaded him into society before you.”

“The park and the Tower are hardly society.”

“But he invited himself to join the theater party. Simon wonders why. I think it's because he knew you'd be there. Did he know?”

Mara thought about it. “Yes.”

“See.”

Mara contented herself with an “Oh” before hurrying to her own room. She stood there, grateful Ruth was elsewhere. Could it be true? That he'd spent an evening with his friends because of her? She reveled in that idea like a cat rolling in catmint.

She dreamily removed her gloves and bonnet, but then the clock on her mantelpiece struck two and her stomach rumbled. The light food eaten in the carriage hadn't made a true meal.

If only she could take a late luncheon with Dare. It had been so long since she'd seen him, and they did need to work on Castle Cruel. She rang the bell. When Ruth arrived, she asked, “Is Lord Darius at home?”

“I think so, milady.”

“Do you know where?”

“No, milady. Keeps a lot to himself, or so I hear.”

Mara wanted to reprove Ruth for a touch of disapproval, but it wouldn't help and she'd remembered her resolve not to pester him. Even though he'd invited her to go to the cork exhibition with him and the children, she decided to be demure for once.

She ordered for herself, but couldn't resist asking, “What do they say in the servants' hall about Lord Darius?”

“Well, milady, you know I don't hold with gossip,” Ruth began, then continued. “They're all old family servants so very fond of him, as I'm sure is right, for he was a right merry gentleman and very considerate of others. But…”

Mara had been waiting for the but.

Ruth lowered her voice. “They say as there's strange goings on in the ballroom.”

“In the
ballroom
?”

“Yes, milady. I was warned directly never to go there, and especially at night.”

“Dances?” Mara asked, imagining wild romps with disreputable guests. She rather liked the idea of Dare holding wicked parties. In fact, she'd like to join in.

“No, milady. Just he and Mr. Salter and some others
jumping around
.”

Mara was tempted to laugh, but it wasn't funny. It sounded mad.

“And,” Ruth went on, her voice a whisper by now, “they hit one another with sticks.”

“What?”

“It's true, as I live and die! Tom—he's the second footman—was up there on his proper business one afternoon and heard noises, so he went up into the musicians' gallery—you won't say anything, will you, milady?”

“No, of course not.”

“He was concerned, it being the afternoon, and nothing funny usually happening in the afternoon, you see? And he saw Lord Darius and Mr. Salter fighting with sticks. Long ones. Mostly they hit stick against stick, but sometimes, he said, they hit each other. Hard, too.”

Mara felt as if she'd popped out of a dizzy whirl back to firm ground.

“Quarterstaff,” she said, realizing she could feed some information the other way. “It can be considered a sport. It was a popular weapon in medieval times. It's no more peculiar than boxing.”

“Oh.” Ruth seemed rather disappointed.

“Simon and his friends used to play at quarterstaff. Don't you remember? They'd be out in the paddock whacking, blocking, and hitting. Sometimes they'd hit each other then, too, though they never meant to. I remember the time they did it on a tree fallen across the stream, acting out the story of Robin Hood and Little John.”

Abruptly Mara remembered that that game had been Dare's idea. It formed in her mind as a brilliant summer scene with laughing youths toppling off the fallen tree into water and excited girls cheering them on from the banks. She'd been about eight and Dare a lordly, magnificent sixteen.

Mara came out of the past. “Thank you, Ruth. I'll have my refreshments now, please.”

When Ruth had left, Mara frowned over Ruth's stories.

Quarterstaff wasn't so very peculiar, so perhaps the leaping around at night wasn't either. It felt it, however, and he was such a good actor. Was he really on the brink of some insanity?

No, of course not. But she knew that later she would investigate what went on in the ballroom at night. Delphie had pointed out the musicians' gallery.