The Mandarin of Mayfair

by Patricia Veryan

  Falcon grinned. "One less, eh? Jupiter! I wish we could spread the word!" His eyes glinted. "We should, Gideon! Be dashed if I don't go to The Spectator this afternoon and take out an advertisement! That'll have the Squire chewing his teeth!"

  Rossiter liked Falcon in this schoolboy mood. "I wish you well," he said smilingly. "Thus far, every time we try for a mention in the newspapers they say we are 'revolutionaries' or trying to embarrass the Horse Guards, or some such rubbish." He took the pistol and examined it. "This is a jolly fine piece. Do you carry it in your coach?"

  "Carry a pair. Matter of fact, I mean to try some targets. Care to join me?"

  "Where? I'm a trifle short on time."

  "Here. We'll have Tummet load and—"

  "Here? You mean—in the garden?"

  Falcon put up his brows. "Did you fancy I'd meant to practice in the ballroom?"

  "But—you madman! You cannot fire off pistols in the heart of London!"

  "Why not? 'Tis my own house and—"

  "And you'd have the Watch here in two shakes of a lamb's tail!"

  "Do not, Gideon!" Falcon shuddered. "You sound like Morris!"

  Although London basked under pale sunshine, and the air lacked the penetrating chill of the past several days, there were few riders in Hyde Park at this early hour, and Lieutenant James Morris dared to guide his fiery chestnut thoroughbred closer to Katrina Falcon's dainty black mare. "Go—away?" he echoed, peering in horror at the lady he worshipped. "But—but—where? I—I mean… why?"

  A vision in a pearl gray riding habit and a gray hat with a scarlet feather flaming against her black hair, Katrina stretched out a gloved hand to him. "Anywhere." She sighed unhappily. "So long as 'tis far from me."

  To his chagrin, the handsome and flighty Windsong decided to be frightened by Katrina's glove and danced back the way they had come.

  Morris applied a firmer hand than usual, and upon hearing a few facts about his probable future, Windsong pretended to be meek and did as he was told.

  The sadness in his love's eyes had not diminished during this brief diversion, and, troubled, Morris led the way to a secluded area behind a clump of silver birches, and reached over to draw her mare to a halt.

  "You may believe I know I'm not worthy of you, dearest girl," he said, trying to see her hurriedly averted face. "If you—I mean, I'll not be surprised if you've found—er, someone more—er, up to the mark, as 'twere. Is—er, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

  He waited, scarcely daring to breathe, through the longest pause in the world.

  "Yes," said Katrina at last, but her voice shook betrayingly.

  Encouraged, Morris made a cavalryman's easy dismount and went around to lift her down. He did not at once release her, but gazing lovingly at the feather of her hat, said, "I think you are fibbing. Just a ladylike fib, you know." Receiving only a smothered sob by way of response, he turned her cheek and, greatly daring, planted a kiss on that smooth warmth. "There!" he said flushed and triumphant. "Now we're betrothed! 'Tis of no use to try to send me away, beloved. You're too much of a lady to have let me do that unless you—er, cared for me." Still she turned her head from him, and, doubt returning, he said humbly, "Just a—er, tiny bit would be enough for me to be going on with, Katrina."

  "Oh… Jamie… !" she wailed, melting into his arms. "You are so very dear!"

  "God be thanked!" he whispered, holding her close to his thundering heart. "When may I approach your father? When may I tell my parents?" It didn't seem possible that he had the right to ask this, and he stammered nervously, "When—when will you m-marry me, most beautiful lady in all the world?"

  "Oh… Jamie … !"

  "Yes." He smiled fondly. "You said that already, love. And if you're worried about that silly duel, pray do not refine on it. When I tell August you've agreed to become Mrs. James Morris—"

  She pushed him away and said almost fiercely, "No! Don't you see? You cannot!"

  "But—but if you are so kind as to have become a little fond of me—"

  Before he could stop her she had seized his gauntletted hand and kissed it. "I am not 'a little fond' of you, my dear, gentle, kind soldier," she said over his horrified protests at such a waste. "I love you! I always will love you! And—I shall never marry you, Jamie. Never!"

  "But—but, my love, he will—"

  "He will not. Ever. And—"

  "That is stupid!" He took her hands and held them strongly, and said with rare eloquence, "Oh, I know there are very many gentlemen who adore you, and who could offer you so much more than I.I know I have no title, nor a great fortune to lay before you, but—"

  "Do you think that would stop me? Oh, my dear, if only that were all!"

  Some riders were approaching. He restored her to the saddle and, after a short tussle with Windsong, mounted up again.

  His heart, that had been so exultant a few minutes ago, was thrown into despair when he noted the resolute tilt to Katrina's chin. He said, "I know what it is. You think August will say I'm a gazetted fortune hunter. But I'm not, my dear! I will gladly sign a statement relinquishing any claim on—"

  " 'Twould make no difference. He knows you're no fortune hunter."

  Grasping at straws, he asked, "Dearest, did you care for— for any of the gentlemen who fought him when he rejected their offers?"

  She shook her head.

  "Then I don't understand. Unless—if 'tis because my father's cousin—I mean, Lord Kenneth Morris is the head of my family, and to our shame seems to be involved with this wretched League, but—"

  "It is," she interrupted sadly, "that I have been unforgiveably selfish and unkind. I am so sorry. I knew 'twas hopeless. I should have sent you away long ago, only… only—" Her voice broke. She turned from him, one hand brushing at her tears. "I am weak and… I could not… bear to."

  "I think I'd not mind it so much," he said miserably,"if you found me repulsive."

  "Oh… Jamie! As if I could!"

  He frowned. "Then you do love me. And you would be my wife, if it weren't for that pepper-pot brother of yours!"

  Startled by the unaccustomedly harsh tone, she said nervously, "Y-yes, but—"

  "Then I will not go away, ma'am," he declared. "I'm not a clever one, but I can tell that you bid me go with your lips, while your eyes say 'please stay.' I will tell Lord Haughty-Snort that I mean to pay my addresses, and—"

  "No! Oh, you must—"

  "Exactly! I must! And I will go down to Ashleigh and ask your father for your hand. Whether August likes it or not! And—and be dashed to the silly fellow!"

  Agitated, she seized his arm. "No! Jamie, no! Even if Papa should give us his blessing—and I am sure he would, for he likes you—I will never marry 'gainst August's wishes! He loves me, and I love him! I could not marry to disoblige him, and—and be cut off from him for the rest of my life! I just… couldn't!"

  "But—he don't approve of anyone, dearest!"

  "Well," she gulped, "perhaps… someday… If only… Oh—Jamie!"

  He took her outstretched hand, and, holding it, muttered helplessly, "Deuce take me, what a pickle!"

  They rode at a walk, hand in hand, silent, seeing nothing of the sparkle of sunlight on wet leaves and grasses, hearing nothing of the exuberance of the busy sparrows, both lost in contemplation of their apparently insurmountable problems. But it was impossible for Morris to be downcast for long, and after a few minutes he said, brightening, "Well, now at least I know you care for me, my dearest! Which is of itself a great miracle. And I know I shall never love another lady. So I shall simply have to try and force August to like me." He paused, then added, "I wish he did like me, you know. Just a little, perhaps."

  She blinked, and asked, "Why?"

  "Oh, I don't know." He said shyly, "I suppose—I mean— Well, the silly fellow has enough pride for a hundred, and he's as hot at hand as a Tartar with the toothache. But—I think he's… rather splendid."

  The tears brimmed over. She said, "Oh, Jamie! I
do love you so!"

  Gwendolyn had not seen Gideon leave, but when she encountered Tummet in the morning room he told her "Cap'n

  Rossiter" had gone, but that his "temp'ry guv" was still at home.

  "Oh, dear," she said.

  "Right, mate. I mean—miss!" With one of his horrendous winks the valet said, "Best if they come back fly-an'-spoon, if you was to ask me," and hurried off in response to a distant shout.

  Gwendolyn went down the stairs and peered out of the breakfast room windows. A greengrocer's cart came rattling around the corner, and two youthful gentlemen astride horses that appeared no more than half broken to the bridle made their erratic way as often along the flagway as on the road, but there was no sign of the pair she hoped to see. She thought absently," 'Fly-and-spoon…'? I suppose it means something and soon, but—"

  The blast of a shot drove every vestige of colour from her cheeks and set her heart leaping frantically. She hurried into the corridor. A shriek from above-stairs undoubtedly emanated from Mrs. Dudley's bedchamber; a pale-faced lackey was hurrying down the stairs, and there came a babble of alarmed cries from the direction of the kitchen. All this Gwendolyn noted as she limped to the dining room, her heart in her mouth and the small pistol in her hand.

  Another shot blasted at her ears as she crossed the terrace and went down the steps toward the summer-house. Trembling with the terror that she would at any second come upon August's lifeless body, she rushed inside and stopped abruptly.

  He had discarded coat and waistcoat, and stood on the far side of the little house. He held a long pistol steady, and was taking aim at a row of bottles balanced on a plank between two upturned barrels. Tummet sat on the steps, loading another pistol.

  Gwendolyn's almost overwhelming relief at once became fury. "Ooh!" she cried.

  Falcon, who had not heard her impetuous approach, fired and wiped out the centre of Mrs. Dudley's favourite rose bush.

  "Oh, hell and damnation!" he howled, throwing down the pistol and clutching at his hair.

  "Are you gone quite demented?" demanded Gwendolyn, confronting him.

  "Very likely," he snarled. "Why the deuce must you come creeping—"

  "Never mind about that! Do you know that you frightened me—everyone—to death? You cannot fire off that horrid thing in the middle of London Town!"

  "Indeed?" His lips curled back in a savage grin. "Watch!" He stretched out an imperious hand. "Tummet!"

  "Ain't no use waving yer famble at me, Guv. It takes more'n two seconds to load this here deadly wepping. 'Sides, Miss Gwen's right. You'll have the Watch dahn on us, 'fore you can shrink-and-cry—"

  "Blink an eye!" translated Gwendolyn, lapsing.

  Tummet leered at her.

  "I know what it means," said Falcon. "And when I want your opinion, Tummet— Hey! What're you doing with that?"

  Gwendolyn glanced down. She'd quite forgotten she held her little pistol. "It's mine. Now do you see how you scared me?"

  A smile awoke little blue gleams in his eyes. "Rushing to my rescue, were you?"

  "No, I was not!" she lied, feeling her cheeks burn. "I—I thought Katrina was being kidnapped!" Up went his horrid eyebrow in that beastly way that conveyed so much mockery, and she said hotly, "Had I thought you were out here playing—"

  "Playing! I'll show you— Here, give me that little pop!"

  "I will do no such thing!" she cried, whipping the pistol behind her.

  "Why not? You don't know how to fire the foolish article, and even if you did, the ball wouldn't come within a mile of what you aimed at!"

  "Is that a fact?" She flung up her arm so swiftly that Falcon gave a shout and jumped clear in the nick of time. Her shot went straight and true and a bottle exploded in fragments.

  "Gwendolyn… Rossiter!" shrieked Mrs. Dudley Falcon, her voluminous Passionata Blush silk negligee billowing as she panted her agitated way through the summer-house.

  "Has everyone in this house gone stark raving daft?" trumpeted the Dowager Lady Mount-Durward, marching in from the side gate followed by her footman, a gardener, a groom, and two interested urchins.

  "Oh, my heavens!" moaned Gwendolyn, red-faced and red-handed.

  August Falcon leaned on Tummet and laughed hilariously, without—as he was later informed—a shred of conscience.

  "You did nothing!" accused Gwendolyn, reining her polite dapple gray to a walk as they approached the gardens of Bloomsbury Square.

  Mounted on his fiery black, Andante, Falcon said blandly, "Absolute truth. You on the other hand, were fairly caught in the act." He chuckled. "Gad, if ever I saw poor Lady Mount-Durward so shocked!"

  "I was the one to be shocked! She snorted at me like—like a bull!"

  "How harsh! And to speak so of an elderly lady… !" He clicked his tongue.

  "Oh dear. You are quite right, of course. That was very bad." Her eyes kindled. "But—she did!"

  "Yes," he agreed, laughing. "She's a terror. Which is why I walked home with the lady before submitting to your demand that I carry you out of retribution's way."

  Turning to him eagerly, Gwendolyn said, "Were you able to redeem me in her eyes? Gideon will surely take me home if he learns of my shocking behaviour."

  "No he won't. I used my considerable charm to calm the outraged dowager, and you are forgiven. Come, let me lift you down." He hailed a hovering boy and sent him off to walk the horses for ten minutes or so and they went into the gardens.

  In spite of the early hour the unexpected sunshine had lured several people there. A nursemaid was walking with a pretty rosy-cheeked small girl who pushed a little cart, and two elderly gentlemen strolled side by side, embroiled in a heated discussion.

  Taking the arm Falcon offered, Gwendolyn limped along the footpath amid flowerbeds empty of bloom now, save for some chrysanthemums that were beginning to look scrawny.

  "Were you really able to placate Lady Mount-Durward?" she persisted doubtfully.

  "But, of course. Did you think me incapable of bringing such as her ladyship around my thumb?"

  She frowned. "I should have remembered how you charmed poor Lady Clara Buttershaw."

  "That female dragon? Poor? Good God!"

  "Yes, I know she is very dreadful, and that she and her sister are involved with the League. But—I believe she really cared for you, and you just laughed at her."

  "I did no such thing!" He grinned unrepentantly. "Not openly, at least."

  "No, but behind her back—"

  His eyes narrowed, and his voice was ice when he snapped, "I do not make fun of people behind their backs, Miss Rossiter! London is already overburdened with mean-souled sneer artists! I neither like nor admire Lady Clara Buttershaw. She is a selfish bullying harridan, but—"

  "Well, if that is not mocking someone behind her back, I'd like to—"

  "I state facts, which are well known. And I speak to you privately and in confidence. I hope I am not so lacking in gallantry as to shout such remarks in clubs and coffee houses."

  "Well I hope you are not, either." His head jerked around, anger blazing in his eyes. Gwendolyn smiled and patted his arm. "No, do not fly into a pelter. Tell me, pray, how you managed to bring your fearsome neighbour around your thumb. I suppose you flattered her so that she quite forgot how angry she was."

  He shrugged. "All women are susceptible to flattery."

  "At which you, of course, are a past master, besides being quite without scruples. Oh dear. Your eyebrows are knitting again. Now, admit it, August. I'd not be in trouble had you not done so outrageous a thing as to practice your aim in the heart of Town."

  "You are becoming tiresome. I shall take you home."

  "I am not being tiresome. I am trying to come at why you have no vestige of consideration for anyone but yourself."

  He put a hand across his eyes and moaned, "Oh, Lud! Must I endure all this preaching only because I fired a few shots in my own garden?"

  "No, do be serious. Did—"

  "If we are to be ser
ous, I must sit down, for the strain will be terrible. Here—this bench will do."

  He dusted it with his handkerchief, and when she was seated, sat beside her. "Very well," he said with a deep sigh. "Have at me."

  She said anxiously, "Am I being a nag? I expect Gideon would say I am."

  "I have the greatest respect for your brother's opinions."

  "Yes, so do I. But we must help our friends, you know, whether—"

  "I have told you before. I neither need nor want friends."

  "And there you go again. You neither need nor want. Does it not occur to you that I might need you for a friend?" His lips tightened, and he stared at a bent chrysanthemum in silence. "Did it not even dawn on you this morning," she went on, "that your target practice might have really frightened your aunt? She is—well, not so young as she used to be, and she was very upset."

  A frown came to his face. He guided a confused ladybird from his hand onto a shrub beside the bench, and said, "I suppose next you will be telling me there was a lady in the Mount-Durward house who fainted and lost the child she was expecting! Or that the old duffer who dwells in the house behind us and is in a drunken stupor nine-tenths of the time suffered a heart seizure! If it pleases you to concoct such nonsensical dramas, by all means indulge your morbid imagination, and believe me to be, as you have so often said, a hard-hearted, conscienceless, care-for-nobody. If 'tis good for nothing else, it should at least cure you of wanting me for a friend."

  "It would, if I believed it. I do not. August," she said pleadingly, "why must you always try to make everyone think the worst of you? No, pray do not be cross. I wouldn't bother to pinch at you, if I did not care for you so much."

  He caught his breath, and from under his long lashes a tense glance was slanted at her earnest face. Then he laughed and said lightly, " 'Tis unwise to care for sharp-tongued cynics like me, Smallest Rossiter. They have been known to sting."