by Rue Allyn
He glanced up at the sky. The horizon was showing a lighter strip of blue to mark the coming of the sun. The king sent word of his arrival this morning, a fact Tyrone both dreaded and welcomed. Would the king see the truth and take his side in the situation? He couldn’t be sure, but he needed to believe the monarch wise enough to see the evils of the baron’s words. Jamming his hat back on his head, he got to his feet and stealthily made his way back through the bushes to the forest. It was time to go to the inn and clean up before they all met with the king.
• • •
A quick glance in the mirror proved a bath, shave, and change of clothing erased most traces of his two days spent in the woods, except for the lingering dark circles under his blue eyes. Tyrone turned away and waited as his valet knotted the lacy cravat at his neck. When the piece of material was fastened as it should be, he shrugged into his deep blue waistcoat and dove gray overcoat. As much as he took pride in cutting a dashing figure, he would give it all away if it meant marrying Delilah.
Taken unaware by his own thoughts he frowned. Did he love her? Yes, there was no doubt in his mind his feelings were far beyond admiration for the raven haired beauty. Did he ever feel anything but appreciation for the woman whose hand he once sought before he met his violet-eyed gypsy? It was apparent he didn’t, for the woman fled his thoughts the moment he met Delilah, and he was never been able to go an hour without wanting to see her fascinating gaze.
The urge to whistle was strange and out of place considering the serious nature of the meeting to come, but he allowed his whim to take flight. Whistling a jaunty tune he headed for the coach waiting to take him to the courthouse. With any luck he would be returning to Westpoint this day with a wife-to-be.
The journey to the courthouse in the village took less than five minutes. Upon arriving he discovered a large crowd milling about in front of the building. Knowing Delilah’s paranoia would get the best of her if she must brave the gawking bunch alone, he waited on the steps for her carriage. The crowd began to mumble as her conveyance, pulled by a modest two-horse team of bays, came around the corner and drew up at the base of the steps. He hurried to the door, opened it, and took her hand in his to help her down.
She was a sight to behold as she stepped from the carriage. A rose-colored silk dress draped her slender frame, showing off her tiny figure to perfection. The frilled neckline gave a tantalizing glimpse of her ample breasts and showed her flawless skin and swanlike neck to perfection. A light white fur stole nestled her shoulders, disappearing beneath rows of shiny black ringlets. Except for the palms of her hands, still wrapped in white bandages, one would never have known the elegant miss before him was ever in a fire, let alone danced before the flames in a gypsy camp with wild abandon.
He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, wanting to tell her how beautiful she looked, but knowing now was not the time. Her fingers bit into the sleeve of his dress coat, her face pale and her breath coming in tiny gasps. She wobbled as they passed the onlookers and walked up the steps. By the time the door closed behind them and they crossed a less crowded foyer, she was shaking. He patted her hand and they followed a footman to the judge’s private chambers. She showed no sign of being aware of his support. They entered the chambers and found King George III already in attendance. Tyrone leaned close to whisper in her ear, “The king is here, just in front of you.”
A strained smile formed on her lips as she curtsied. Knowing how terrified she was, he bowed without releasing her hand. The baron rose from his seat against the far wall with a sneer when the king addressed them.
“I have been called here today to settle a dispute over the marriage of my ward, Miss Delilah Daysland. Is this correct?”
Tyrone cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Majesty. You requested I go to Miss Daysland’s home and see her properly chaperoned, cared for, and suitably married before the snow fell.”
The king frowned, his thick white brows bunching above his cold, blue eyes. “And I hear tell you have done just that, so what may I ask was so urgent to bring me out in the country during the last week of the London season?”
“The marriage was entered into under false pretenses on both sides, Your Majesty.”
“These pretenses, are they not something that can be rectified among yourselves?”
“No, Your Excellence, we thought the court could decide, but I believe your appointed judge has failed to see the seriousness of the claims.”
The monarch released a heavy sigh and then sat in a chair behind the judge’s desk. “Very well, do explain and do not take all day about it, Lord Frost, for I am a very busy man.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tyrone took a deep breath, grateful to be permitted to tell Delilah’s side of the story.
Delilah released Tyrone’s arm and stepped forward. “Your Majesty, if it pleases you, I would like to withdraw my petition for an annulment of my recent marriage.”
Tyrone stared at her in shock. Did she know what she was saying? He glanced at the baron, who stood there with a smug look on his face.
The monarch’s brow rose. “God’s thunder! Are you saying you have no qualms about your marriage to Baron March, Miss Daysland? Have I been deliberately misled?”
She twisted her hands in her lap. “No, Your Majesty, after careful reflection I see it was nerves making me regret my decision.”
The king turned to Tyrone, bright spots of red forming at his temples. “Were you aware of this, Lord Frost? Is this some kind of jest?”
“No, no … Your Excellence, I was not aware … of this,” Tyrone stammered. Something was not right. Why did Delilah change her story?
She dropped her head. “Please, Your Majesty. Lord Frost knew nothing of my feelings. He did not deceive you, I did.”
The king looked back and forth between them, his eyes narrowing. “The story I was told was all made up then?”
Tyrone grasped her hand. “No.”
“Yes!” she refuted.
Augustus shot him a triumphant leer. “Yes.”
“I am very disappointed in you, Lord Frost. You have deceived me and wasted my valuable time.”
“Your Excellence, I did not deceive you. For some reason I do not understand, Miss Daysland has changed her story. Since I have never known her to be anything but honest and trustworthy, it alarms me. Please, press her further, for I know she is desperate to withdraw from her union with the baron. The marriage was not consummated and therefore it is not too late to undo it.”
The king studied him for a moment. “Ah, Lord Frost, I do see what is going on here. You fancy yourself in love with this innocent you seduced; however, her good conscience has made her see reason and honor the vows she took — ”
“Nay! ‘Tis not true, sire! He has done or said something to make her change her mind. They are half brother and sister and therefore to allow them to marry would be a sacrilege.”
“Enough,” the king bellowed, his face turning an alarming red tincture.
“But, Your Majesty — ”
“I said enough! There is no proof to your claim. You embarrass yourself, and me, with your ridiculous imaginings.”
A despair he never experienced before took hold of Tyrone and clouded his judgment. In desperation he jerked Delilah back against him. “I will not allow this to happen!”
The king stepped back wide eyed. “Guards!”
A dozen royal clad men burst into the chamber and surrounded Tyrone with guns drawn. It was over. Hopelessly, he released his hold on Delilah. “Why, Delilah, why?”
The guards subdued him and dragged him from the room. The last thing he registered was Delilah, weeping.
“I am sorry, my lord.”
• • •
A dream. It is all a bad dream. Numbness enveloped her body and senses. She registered the baron’s lips on hers. The king’s praise of her choice. The baron’s steadfastness in the face of her waiver. It made her want to retch. She moved in a haze. It does not matter. I did what I nee
ded to do. The hurt and bewilderment in Tyrone’s voice stung like thousands of nettles stabbing her flesh. She would have run if she thought she could escape the sound of his pain, but it would ring in her ears forever. I am going to die. Not now, but soon. At least Jester is safe. I have repaid your kindness in this life, my friend. I hope to see you again in the next. Her mind succumbed to a filmy dreamlike state, not sleep, an empty place where she didn’t have to think or feel.
• • •
It was quiet and still when her mind slipped back to her. She was lying on a bed. Was someone with her? She listened for any indication of movement or breath. Deathlike silence made her shudder. I am alone. Or dead. And cold. It was not a bone-chilling cold, just cool enough for goose bumps to form along her arms. Why has Teresa not lit the fire? A clock ticked somewhere nearby, its steady tick-tock lending an eerie and otherworldly feel to the room. She drew a deep breath through her nose. Musty. There was no doubt she was not at home at Westpoint in her own cozy room, which always smelled of vanilla and citrus. This must be the room I occupied before at Augustus’. Bile rose in her throat and she would have retched if she was not too nervous to eat in the morning.
Bits and pieces of the meeting with the king surfaced. Oh God. Jester. Where is he? She forced her sluggish body to sit up. How long did she lay there? Was it day or night? An owl hooted outside her window answering her unvoiced question. A vague memory returned of a glass being held to her lips and the command to drink the bitter brew it contained. Was she drugged to keep her quiet? Sliding from the bed, she tried to recall the setup of the room. Chairs in the center. Fireplace on the far wall. Window … across from the bed? She held out a hand, shuffling forward until she met a wooden ledge and then cool glass. Turning left, she carried on, trailing her fingers along the wall to guide her steps. Two dozen and she came to the corner, another dozen steps and her hand touched a wooden frame. She smiled. The door. Lowering her hand she groped for the knob, finding its brass surface with ease. It didn’t budge when she tried to turn it.
Imprisoned to await death. I never even got a chance to meet my mother. What words of wisdom would she have shared with me? Did she too possess the power of past, present, and future sight? Tears she didn’t bother to brush away trickled down her cheeks. What would happen to Jester after her murder? Would he be turned loose to fend for himself, or sold at market to pull a coal cart for some cruel master somewhere? Why did she not confide in Tyrone? Perhaps he could have taken her far away where Augustus couldn’t harm them. Would the king have believed her? Maybe not since the first judge doubted her story.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Why did she do it? As callous as any butcher, Delilah ripped his heart out and stomped it into the dirt. Did the woman have some kind of death wish? It was only a matter of time before the baron would find a way to “accidentally” rid himself of her. Until then the despicable lecher would make her pay, make her sheltered life a living hell. No matter how many times Tyrone rolled her refusal to have her marriage annulled around in his head, he couldn’t come up with an explanation for her about-face.
He shifted on the lumpy prison cot. Locked in here there was no way he could protect or save her from the baron’s evil. Though part of him wondered why he still cared. It was obvious she had no feelings for him. It was all a lie. Served him right for falling in love with a deceitful gypsy. A beautiful gypsy. He shook his head. Maybe she put a spell on him, made him think he was in love with her until she no longer needed him. Groaning, he sat up. It didn’t make sense. She needed him more now than ever. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and stomped to the little barred window in the door.
“I demand to be released!” He slammed his fist against the rough wooden surface as his voice echoed down the narrow passageway beyond. It was futile. No one was going to come along to hear his ranting. Who knew when he would be set free? Did his message reach Perry? Even so, he doubted Perry would be able to secure his release. For all he knew the king left orders to leave him in the dingy little cell until he rotted. He paced the tiny confines of his prison for lack of any other way to vent his frustrations.
Why did this happen to him? He did what the king commanded. Well, a little more than the king asked. Though he didn’t regret deflowering Delilah, not entirely anyway. What was the baron doing to her now? For the first time in his life Tyrone experienced helplessness. Unable to stop loving the little wood nymph, understand her motives, or do anything to save her.
Footsteps echoed down the corridor outside his cell, mixing with the steady drip, drip of water. These were the constant sounds for the two days of his incarceration. He pulled his fob watch from his pocket. A glance proved it too soon for supper. The footsteps slowed and then stopped. He focused on the cell door as a set of keys jingled. The loud click of the tumblers heralded its opening. He shielded his eyes at the intrusion of light from the guard’s lantern.
“Lord Frost?”
“Yes?”
“Come with me.” The guard stepped back, allowing him to exit into the dank corridor.
He followed a second guard down the narrow passageway. “Where are you taking me?”
“Your release has been secured.”
Tyrone heaved a sigh of relief. Good old Perry did get his message. He could always count on his childhood friend. They paused at the end of the corridor and waited while the door was unlocked and opened from the other side. At the end of a second passageway he was shown into a small office. Sure enough Perry sat, in all his finery, in a crude wooden chair facing the warden across the desk.
He raised his eyebrows and gave Tyrone a crooked smile. “You look like hell, Ty.”
“Thanks. I feel like hell.” He sat in the chair next to his friend. “What took you so long to spring me?”
“That is gratitude for you.” Perry grinned. “I was out of town and just got your message.”
Tyrone surveyed his friend’s appearance. “And you dressed to the nines to come bail me out?”
Perry tossed a sack of coins on the desk. “Nope, unfortunately your untimely arrest interrupted my betrothal ball.”
“Damn, sorry to be such a trial, my friend.”
Perry shrugged. “No matter, as long as we get out of here before anyone notices my absence.” He cast a meaningful look at the warden, who was testing the gold pieces in front of him with his teeth. When the man nodded his ascent Perry got up. “Come on, let’s get out of here. This place makes me nervous.”
Tyrone laughed as they left the room. “Why? Have you done something you are not proud of you might have failed to tell me about?”
His friend shrugged as they stepped onto the dark street and hailed a passing hackney cab. “No, but I have the feeling I am about to. You have ten minutes to tell me what we should do about your lady love.”
“Delilah?”
Perry raised an eyebrow and they climbed aboard the coach. “First name basis. I see you have it bad, my friend.”
“Is it so obvious?” Tyrone settled back against the worn cushions.
“It was already painfully obvious when your intended betrothed left you at the ball and you did not call out her new suitor.” Perry leaned out the window and gave the address of Tyrone’s townhouse before sitting down opposite him. “I have booked passage on a vessel bound for France for my sister’s grand tour at the end of the week.” He fished a paper from his pocket and handed it to Tyrone. “Here is the extra ticket. We will sneak into the baron’s house, rescue your lady love, and ship her to France as my sister’s spinster companion before the baron realizes she is gone.”
Tyrone shook his head. “She will not go. She chose to stay with the baron of her own free will. Besides, she will not leave the pony, claims he is her protector from her past life or some such nonsense.”
“Do you believe it?”
Tyrone snorted. “I do not believe in any of that past lives drivel.”
“No, I mean do you believe Miss Daysland returned to the baro
n of her own free will?”
Doubt ate at Tyrone. “No, but I have no idea what he might have held over her head to make her go back.”
The interior of the coach was cloaked in silence while both men contemplated the situation.
Even if Delilah wanted to flee to France she would not go without Jester. Jester. No one visited Delilah while I was on watch, except a stable boy the one night. Could the baron have held the pony as hostage to ensure Delilah’s cooperation? He turned to Perry. “I think I know what happened. Before we rescue Delilah we have to find the pony.”
They pulled up in front of his London townhouse. “I will come by tomorrow afternoon and we can plot our rescue mission.” Perry placed a hand on Tyrone’s shoulder. “Find the pony and leave the rest to me.”
“I hope I can repay your kindness one day, Perry.”
Perry grinned. “Just try to stay out of trouble, all right?”
Tyrone nodded and stepped down from the coach. One couldn’t ask for a better friend.
• • •
Tyrone rode into the clearing surrounding the little pool a day after his release, surprised to find a shaggy piebald horse hitched to a gypsy vardos. A small fire burned underneath a black kettle hanging from a structure. The fragrance of stewing vegetables mixed with herbs and spices reached him, and he savored it with appreciation before announcing his presence.
“Hallooo, the wagon.”
At his call the door to the vardos swung open. A middle-aged woman peered out, an old musket in her hands. She leveled the piece at him with a frown. “Who are ye, and what do ye want?”
He raised his hands to show he was unarmed. “The name is Tyrone Frost, Earl of Merryweather. Who are you and what are you doing on Westpoint land?”
Her gaze narrowed. “Ain’t Westpoint land. What do ye want with me?”
If she knew this side of the pool was not on Westpoint land, she was familiar with the area. Tyrone lowered his hands. “I did not expect anyone to be here.”
