“If I’d had him under my command, I would have whipped him into line soon enough. What that young man needs is a tight bit and a short rein.”
The unfortunate metaphor had Deirdre bristling. “He is not a horse, but a boy who was deprived of a father’s guidance when he had most need of it. But this is old history. I beg your pardon for boring you with details of what, after all, concerns nobody but myself. I’d be obliged to you if we could drop the subject.”
To Deirdre’s great relief, the Earl fell in with her wishes, and at her express request put the bays through their paces. He proved to be a notable whip which was no less than Deirdre had expected. She paid him the compliment of telling him so, in an offhand manner, of course, not wishing him to think that she would stoop to flattery. He thereupon casually offered to let her take up the ribbons for a short part of the way, an honor of which Deirdre was highly conscious. She was determined to show him that his confidence was not misplaced, and she was gratified when she acquitted herself, if not with distinction, at least with some credit. Rathbourne said as much, and Deirdre was satisfied.
Nevertheless, it soon registered that the Earl had set her at a distance. His air of preoccupation was feigned, she was sure of it. When he delivered her at Portman Square she wondered if she would ever see him again, except in passing, so coldly formal was his manner as he took his leave of her. Not that such a prospect troubled her in the least, Deirdre told herself resolutely.
Chapter Six
The Earl’s air of preoccupation was to linger till he had flung himself up the steps of the front entrance of Rathbourne House, a spacious, sandstone edifice which stood on the north side of Piccadilly. In normal circumstances, he would have paused on the threshold to look back over his shoulder at the uninterrupted view of Green Park which lay directly across the street, an agreeable prospect in all weathers which never failed to bring him pleasure.
But on this occasion, he rapped smartly on the door with the brass knocker and, as it opened, pushed impatiently past the startled porter, who hastened to assist his master as he shrugged off his driving coat and stripped the gauntlets from his fingers. Rathbourne’s eyes quickly scanned the open doors of several reception rooms leading off the main foyer with its immaculate white marble floor and yellow damask wall covering.
“Is Mr. Landron in, John?”
“I believe he’s in the upstairs library, your lordship.”
“And the ladies?”
“Shopping, sir.”
Rathbourne took the stairs two at a time, leaving a slightly surprised flunky in his wake.
The Earl’s secretary and man of business, Mr. Guy Landron, who looked to be a summer or two older than his employer, was seated at a massive oak desk completely absorbed in the open ledgers and papers which were spread out in front of him. A tray set with cold, pressed meats, thick slices of bread and butter, and a silver coffee pot was pushed to one corner of the cluttered desk. At the Earl’s entrance, Landron looked up, and a slow smile of welcome suffused his face.
His slightly disheveled appearance gave no indication of his many years under strict military discipline. But there was something in the quality of garments tailored with an eye for fit rather than fashion which marked him out unmistakably as no more no less than the true English gentleman. His thick, cropped brown hair, which was beginning to gray at the temples, was worn in the Brutus style, and emphasized the aquiline cast of his chiseled features. He made as if to rise, but the Earl crossed the short distance between them in a few swift strides and restrained him with a firm hand on the shoulder. Fine lines of pain which had begun to etch themselves on Landron’s face immediately smoothed out.
“Don’t stand on ceremony on my account, Guy. Just keep the weight off that gammy leg as the doctor ordered. How are things going?” The Earl indicated the open ledgers with a nod of his dark head.
Guy Landron relaxed against the straight back of the Hepplewhite armchair and looked up at the man who had been his commanding officer for five years. The impulse to stand in the presence of a senior officer was hard to resist, even supposing that officer had been closer to him than a brother since their madcap undergraduate days at Oxford, notwithstanding the wide disparity between them in rank and fortune.
Landron absently smoothed the soft knit fabric of his pantaloons over his lame leg. It had always been his intention to pursue a military career. Not that a younger son of a younger son had much choice in the matter, but a French shell had put paid to that ambition. His future prospects had looked bleak indeed till Rathbourne had come to the rescue with the offer of his present position. Theirs was not the typical relationship of employer and employee, but of two comrades who had survived the grim necessities of war by their combined cunning and unwavering loyalty to each other. Their converse could never be, after their shared experiences, anything other than free and easy, and on occasion, frank to the point of rudeness.
“I’m beginning to get the hang of it, but I still think you would have been better served had you employed a bona fide accountant when Mr. What’s-his-name moved on to better things.”
The Earl grinned. “Your recommendation could not come higher.”
“Which was?” asked Landron quizzically.
“My dear Guy, anyone who can keep a marauding band of undisciplined savages well provided with supplies and mounts when the main army is half starved and on foot must be something of a genius. Besides which,” the Earl continued with a derisive grin, “I’m not forgetting that if it had not been for you and O’Toole, I would not be here now.” Mr. Landron’s look was blank and Rathbourne said in a wry tone, “What? Don’t you remember last summer, at Belmont, when the Little Chapel went up in flames?”
“Oh that!”
“Yes, that! You needn’t sound so disparaging! I assure you, in my poor estimation, the service you rendered then was quite remarkable. You saved my life.”
“I shall never understand how you came to be so careless.”
The Earl’s smile held a suggestion of apology. “True. I can’t think how I came to let that crossbeam fall on my head. And as for the thunderbolt which ignited the fire, well, I should have caught it and thrown it right back to Zeus on Mount Olympus.”
“The gods had nothing to do with it! Two coincidences in one night is one too many to swallow.”
“We’ve been through all this before, Guy. It was an accident. No one knew that I had gone to check on the roof the workmen were repairing. Besides, who, in my own home, would wish me ill?”
“You’ve made many enemies in the last five years.”
“Yes, but they were French, and they don’t know my identity. Besides, the war is over.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“Forget it. I tell you it was an accident.”
As Rathbourne brushed aside some papers to balance one hip on the edge of the desk, his eye was caught by the platter of cold meats, and he began to nibble on a thick slice of smoked gammon. “Have some, this is delicious.”
“Thank you, no. I have had sufficient. But don’t stint yourself on my account.”
“I’m starving,” Rathbourne admitted between bites. He poured himself a cup of coffee, but set it aside when he found it too tepid for his taste.
“As for my affairs,” he went on idly as his eyes scanned the room for the decanter of brandy which had been displaced by the luncheon tray, “I have no doubts of your ability to handle them.”
“Your confidence is staggering,” said Landron with mock gravity. “Naturally, I am grateful for your patronage. I only hope you will never have cause to regret the generous impulse.”
“I? Generous? You can put that notion out of your head. Self-interest has always been the driving force behind my every action.”
Landron raised one disbelieving brow. “Does that apply to Maria Dewinters also?”
Rathbourne frowned, but Landron’s mocking expression only deepened.
“You know the circumstances as we
ll as I do,” the Earl returned cautiously. “How could I abandon her? She would never have been accepted into Spanish society after the war.”
“No, but you might have pressed His Majesty’s government to give Maria her just desserts for services rendered to the cause. Instead of which, you foolishly set her up in one of your own houses. Now that is going beyond the call of duty, unless, of course, the lady has come under your protection once again?”
“In a manner of speaking only! That part of my involvement with Maria was of very short duration, as you well know. But I still feel some responsibility for her welfare. I cannot forget, as others seem determined to do, that she was an invaluable agent behind French lines when we most needed one. I owe it to her, Guy.”
“I’ll not deny your words. I simply used Maria as an example to show that self-interest is not always the primary force which motivates you, as you assert. In fact, Maria Dewinters may well prove to be an embarrassing liability.”
“Don’t I know it!” Rathbourne pushed himself to a standing position and strode to one of the long windows which looked out over the busy thoroughfare of Piccadilly and to the park beyond. Landron sensed the sudden change in the Earl’s mood and waited patiently for him to continue.
At length the Earl turned. “I have a job for you, one that is more in line with your specialized training.”
“Cloak and dagger stuff?”
“If you care to put it like that. Nothing dangerous. This is peacetime, remember? I merely want you to find out all you can about a certain Giles St. Jean. He is the guardian of Armand St. Jean.”
Landron gave the Earl a keen look. “Isn’t that the brat whose name is linked with Maria’s at present?”
“Yes, but that’s not the connection that interests me.” The Earl seemed reluctant to say more, but finally went on with slow emphasis. “He is half brother to Miss Deirdre Fenton.”
At Deirdre’s name, Landron’s head went back and his expression became guarded but he said nothing. Rathbourne caught the sudden restraint in his friend’s manner, and his smile became faintly self-mocking.
“What? Haven’t you anything to say? No grim warnings about avoiding the vixen who left your friend a shell of his former self?”
Landron’s voice was dry and chiding. “I’ve said it all before. I don’t know why I bother. But I thought, in five years, you would be over her. Was I mistaken?”
The Earl answered with perfect affability. “Just because I happened to let slip a few details of my courtship of the lovely Deirdre whilst I was in my sickbed under the influence of laudanum does not indicate that I have, or ever had, any intention of taking you into my confidence in this matter.”
“So you’re not over her!” replied Landron flatly. “Pity.”
“Why do you say that?”
Landron busied himself sorting the numerous bills and receipts which littered the desktop. “It’s none of my business, of course,” he said brusquely, “but from what you let slip…”
“I was delirious!”
“…she sounded like a cold fish, one of those ungenerous types, of whom, thank God, we have generally managed to remain in ignorance.”
“A prude?”
“If you say so.”
“If it’s true, and I don’t admit it, that can be remedied.”
“You’ve contrived to meet her again, haven’t you? I’ve been expecting it. But why this interest in Miss Fenton’s half brother and his guardian?”
“An unexpected complication which merits a thorough investigation before I decide on what tactics to employ. I want to be filled in on both the boy and his guardian; where their money comes from and so on, outstanding debts…”
“And any weaknesses that may be exploited as a last resort? Yes, I’m familiar with the formula, even supposing our days with Intelligence are over, or so I had supposed.”
The two men looked at each other for a long, considering moment. The Earl spoke first. “If you find the task distasteful, I can handle it without your assistance.”
“That’s not what troubles me.”
“No? What then?”
“Your singlemindedness of purpose. In wartime, such a trait is invaluable in a soldier. The prize…”
“Is much higher this time. I’d be a fool not to use every means at my disposal to secure it.”
The Earl’s words won a reluctant smile from his companion. “Rathbourne, I hope you know what you’re doing. Is Miss Fenton so exceptional then?”
The Earl shrugged. “You are asking me why I am partial to Deirdre, and I can’t explain it. These things defy logic.”
“You do realize that there are dozens, scores, of unexceptionable girls who would need little encouragement to pick up the handkerchief you care to throw down.”
“Why do you dislike her so much?”
“I was the one who picked up the pieces after she had put the boot to you, or had you forgotten?”
“I hadn’t forgotten how you coddled me, if that’s what you mean. But that is beside the point. I never told you what happened between Deirdre and me, nor am I ever like to. If I hadn’t been knifed in that low Spanish tavern…”
“Bordello,” corrected Landron scrupulously.
“…you would never have discovered any of this, and I would be feeling more comfortable.”
“Yes, your tongue did rather run away with you at your first taste of laudanum. But what if the girl still refuses to have anything to do with you?”
“I am in no mood to accept a refusal. Shall we say that by fair means or foul, Miss Deirdre Fenton shall be persuaded to become the next Countess of Rathbourne?”
Rathbourne stalked to a side table where he had at last spied the brandy decanter and glasses. He returned with two generous goblets and thrust one at his amused friend.
“Shall we drink to it?” asked the Earl.
“Oh I have no objection to drinking to the next Countess.”
“No, my friend. We drink to Deirdre, Countess of Rathbourne, if you please,” replied the Earl with heavy deliberation.
“Do you know, Rathbourne, I can almost pity the poor girl? But on second thoughts, I shall reserve my pity for you.”
The Earl looked questioningly at his friend over the rim of his glass.
“If she ever discovers how much she means to you, she will make your life hell.”
Rathbourne was to think long and hard about Landron’s glib prophecy.
Chapter Seven
The closed carriage bearing the Fenton ladies to one of the first soirées of the Season rolled to a halt before the blazing lights of Rathbourne House, and Deirdre peeped out. Majestic footmen in impeccable gray livery with silver frogging and epaulettes were stationed on the pavement on either side of the front entrance. As each coach disgorged its profusion of passengers, these vassals of the great house stepped forward as one, and with unflagging patience offered their assistance to the guests of their illustrious lord.
Deirdre threw herself back against the squabs and a low groan escaped her lips. Panic fluttered at the edges of her mind. This was the last door in London she had ever thought to enter. A lamb, she was a lamb daring to broach the lion in his den.
“Aunt Rosemary,” she burst out on impulse, “what on earth possessed you to accept the Earl’s invitation? I can’t, I just can’t go in there.”
“Get a hold of yourself, Deirdre,” the older woman exclaimed. “I told you, the Earl wishes to enlarge his sister’s circle of acquaintances before she makes her formal bow to the world. This is not a grand affair by any means. You won’t have to dance with the man, if that’s what is troubling you. He merely wants his sister to meet some young people of her own age. How could I refuse such a reasonable request? On the contrary, I deemed it an honor to be included in the guest list. Had I known then that your antipathy to the Earl was so immovable, naturally, I would have offered some pretext to avoid his society. I’ve never seen you in such a taking. Now mind your manners, girl, and see that
you don’t disgrace me!”
“I hope you know me better than that,” Deirdre managed, considerably subdued by the reproof in her aunt’s tone of voice.
The carriage door swung open and the two ladies soon found themselves ushered into the wide foyer of the grand house. Deirdre absorbed the elegance of the gold and white color scheme and furnishings and reluctantly conceded that the primary impression was one of discrimination and restraint, although a trifle Spartan for her taste. Every stick of furniture, every well-chosen picture, every silver candlestick and carefully displayed objet d’art indicated that she had entered a house where money was no object. When she found herself surreptitiously examining the quality of Rathbourne’s candles, she decided it was time to take herself in hand.
Comparisons were odious. Nevertheless, as the ladies ascended the wide sweep of the cantilevered staircase in the wake of some new arrivals, and as their feet sank into the thick pile of the Aubusson rug on the floor of the spacious saloon which was to serve as the ladies’ cloakroom, Deirdre found it impossible not to contrast the magnificence of Rathbourne House with Marcliff, her own unpretentious domicile, a snug little Jacobean farmhouse with a hundred acres or so near Henley. She too was the proud possessor of an Aubusson, a diminutive one it was true, but the genuine article for all that. But she would no more think of laying it on the floor for hordes of unfeeling boots and slippers to trample than she would a painting by Holbein. It held pride of place on the dining room wall flanking the massive oak fireplace for honored guests to admire as they parleyed over dinner.
The Earl, as was to be expected, took a more casual attitude to his possessions. But then Rathbourne could afford to be indiscriminate in his use of money. Deirdre had become accustomed to looking at two sides of every penny before she spent it. Nor did she think herself ill-used in having to practice the most stringent economies to support those who were dependent upon her. On the contrary, she took pride in her accomplishments as steward of her small inheritance and put every spare penny into improving the farm. Armand’s education at Harrow and Cambridge had been a drain on her resources for a number of years. That debt had yet to be retired. But with judicious management and the guidance of her guardian, who more or less allowed her a free hand, she could foresee no obstacles to a comfortable if rather lackluster future.
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