David

by Grace Burrowes

  And yet, Douglas had had the strong suspicion the quiet, withdrawn Mrs. Banks was hiding something.

  Fairly swiped a small carved elephant from an end table. “Some women have few signs early on.”

  Fairly was a physician, and yet he was also a man in love. “You are hoping.” And wasn’t that interesting?

  His hopeful lordship buffed the little elephant with his palm. “Letty and I parted only a month ago, and without such foolish hopes, I would lose my reason.”

  He lowered himself to the hearth across from where Douglas was comfortably ensconced on the couch. The morning was warm, the windows open, the scent of honeysuckle wafting through the library.

  Honeysuckle, which, according to Guinevere, symbolized the bonds of love.

  Fairly was apparently focused not on the fragrant breeze, but on mental machinations he wasn’t about to share with even his best friend. “I am nigh certain I know whom she’s protecting, but hearing your suspicions is reassuring.”

  Never had a reassured man looked so tired and dolorous. “At the very least, she’s protecting you,” Douglas said. “She’s protecting you from the scandal of having a former madam as your viscountess and the mother of your children.”

  Fairly rose and half-tossed the elephant onto the mantel beside a small silver angel.

  “I was raised the illegitimate son of an impoverished, bigamous lord, and my eyes are different colors. I have been the butt of Society’s unkind impulses since birth, which I now regard as the greatest possible blessing. If I say I am willing to take the risk of censure on behalf of our children, Letty should believe me. My sisters both married into a wealthy family whose scandals make Letty’s past a mere peccadillo, and I’m convinced that family would receive us.”

  “Of course we would, which is why I am all the more convinced other interests weigh on Mrs. Banks’s decision to part from you.”

  Fairly scrubbed a hand over a tired countenance. His cuffs were turned back, his cravat limp, and his hair tousled. On the sideboard, a single white rose was beginning to lose its petals.

  For the first time in Douglas’s experience, David, Viscount Fairly, looked less than exquisite—also entirely human.

  “A fellow in Little Weldon assumed liberties with her,” Fairly said, reciting the exact tale Guinevere had conjectured might apply. “The blighter—a damned curate, no less—then confessed their misdeeds to her father, the vicar. As an attempt to coerce Letty into marriage, that ploy failed. Nonetheless, Letty must have been viewed as the sole malefactor, because this despoiler of innocents now holds the living as vicar in Little Weldon, while Letty ended up in your brother’s bed.”

  Tangled webs were tedious in the extreme, and yet Fairly was Douglas’s dear friend, of whom he was prodigiously protective, as was Guinevere, as was, for that matter, Rose.

  Douglas had not consulted with Sir George or Mr. Bear on the topic, though they were decent fellows and would likely concur.

  “Mrs. Banks would have married this curate if she were in love with him.”

  Fairly picked up the fireplace poker and tried to balance the handle end of it against his palm, the way a callow young swain tried to balance his damsel’s parasol.

  “Perhaps, had she married him amid scandal, this lusty Christian soldier might have lost his post. Or maybe he was promised to another, or maybe she refused him in a fit of pique then regretted it, too late. I do not have the details from her, but Val Windham went scouting out to Little Weldon. The vicar is esteemed by all, and no hint of scandal attaches to his name.”

  The poker tilted, nearly drubbing the viscount on his noggin.

  “Could the vicar be blackmailing her?”

  Fairly set the poker on the mantel, where it did not belong and might roll off to rap his toes. “In what sense? She ought to be blackmailing him.”

  “Maybe she has cousins or a grandmother in the country who are ignorant of her former occupation,” Douglas suggested. “The vicar could be extorting money from Mrs. Banks to keep her confidences.”

  “Then the vicar would have to know not only that he himself was indiscreet with Letty several years ago, but also of Letty’s situation with your late brother, and at The Pleasure House.”

  “Clergy gossip,” Douglas reminded him. “Where else does one hear the most interesting on dits in a small village, if not in the churchyard? The vicar would hear anything anybody in town came across, sooner or later.”

  Some of the distracted quality left Fairly’s eyes. The man was shrewd—even in love and wallowing in heartache, he was possessed of shrewdness. “Where else, indeed? This bears thinking about.”

  “You do the thinking,” Douglas said, rising. “Sir Regis and I must return to Surrey. We’ve had too much pleasant weather for it to last much longer.”

  “Spoken like a man of the land. I trust all is well with your family?”

  Small talk, now? Douglas paused at the door, because before he could return to Guinevere’s side, one more salient point remained to be made.

  “When I called on Mrs. Banks, she was at first reluctant to admit me to her domicile,” Douglas said. “It occurred to her, as it must with every man who even smiles at her, that I might have been interested in getting under her skirts. Guinevere was wounded like that, and it… it breaks something in a man, to see a woman he cares about unable to live fully because other men have stolen her confidence and self-respect.”

  Plainer than that, he could not be when sober, so Douglas made it his exit line, though Fairly accompanied him through the house.

  “Gwen lives fully now,” Fairly said, “and even abundantly. My God, she let me deliver her child, and that had to have been terrifying for her.”

  She had allowed Fairly to attend the delivery of her child, but Mrs. Banks had provided the greater assistance.

  “The child’s arrival was terrifying.” And not only for Guinevere. “But you’re right. She is recovering from difficult years, and recovering beautifully.”

  “Because you love her, even when it seemed she turned from you, you loved her.”

  Finally. “And you love Letty Banks. Love like that should be tenacious as hell. You are tenacious as hell. Slay her demons, even if you don’t marry her. Hell, slay her demons, and then try to keep her from marrying you.”

  Fairly might have offered a deft rejoinder—he excelled at the deft rejoinder. Instead, he handed Douglas his hat, gloves, and riding crop.

  “I must first discover what those demons are.”

  Fourteen

  Douglas’s prediction about the weather turning foul proved accurate. The skies opened up, and three straight days of rain poured down in unrelenting torrents. Several days after David had made a firm decision to travel to Little Weldon, he was still waiting for the roads to dry out enough for travel on horseback.

  The delay gave him time to doubt, to lose his resolve, and then regain it.

  But nobody in his right mind would travel all day on muddy roads. A horse could too easily pull a shoe in the muck, slip and injure itself, or worse, injure horse and rider both. The day wasn’t even fit for navigating the streets of London, so a thumping knock on David’s front door late Wednesday afternoon came as a surprise indeed.

  David’s caller had come on the butler’s half day, so rather than rouse a footman, David pushed away from his desk and wondered which of his family members had been sent to check on him—this time.

  He didn’t recognize the handsome, dark-haired man who stood on his doorstep in the pouring rain, or the small child who shivered beside him, clutching the man’s hand.

  “I’ve come to call on Letty Banks.” A martial light in the fellow’s eye suggested he’d purposely knocked on the front door in broad, if sopping, daylight. The child, by contrast, looked merely sodden and chilled.

  “Won’t you come in?” David stepped back and opened
the door more widely. “And your young friend too?”

  “I’ve no need to set foot in this house. I’ve business with Mrs. Banks.” The man’s tone suggested this business would best be transacted over David’s dead body.

  “Mrs. Banks is not here at the moment, and the lad is about two minutes from catching a lung fever. My guess is he’s already started coughing.”

  The child obligingly coughed.

  “Unless you want the boy’s ill health on your conscience,” David continued, “I suggest you avail yourself of the warmth of the house, Mr…?”

  “Banks, late of Little Weldon,” Letty’s caller replied. At the sight of the boy’s discomfort, some of the starch left his spine. “We’ll wait for her.”

  Which saved David the bother of summoning the footmen to ensure Banks—who could be Letty’s male relation or her husband—availed himself of David’s hospitality. “For the sake of the child, might I suggest you wait in the library, where we’ve a wood fire going and the teapot due to make an appearance.”

  “My horse—” The fellow gestured to the street, where a large, muddy black gelding was having a fine time spooking himself with the water splashed up by his own undainty feet. An urchin of dubious skill kited around on the end of the horse’s reins.

  “Take him to the mews,” David bellowed through the downpour, “and then take yourself ’round to the kitchen.”

  The boy saluted, flashing a grin as he led the horse off in the direction of the alley.

  Banks took two steps past the threshold, barely far enough for David to close the door behind him. “If Lord Fairly is about, you will please tell him I’d like a word. I insist on it, in fact.”

  The truculent manner had returned, its effect spoiled by the way the fellow’s clothing dripped onto David’s polished wood floors.

  “I am Fairly,” David said, bowing slightly. “And you are sopping wet, Mr. Banks. Whatever needs to be said can be discussed under warmer and dryer circumstances.”

  Banks closed his eyes, and David had the sense the man was praying—honestly sending sentiment heavenward—for patience. With a hand sporting a wet glove bearing a half-inch-wide hole on the palm, he gestured for David to lead on.

  The civilities were endlessly useful as a ploy to allow a man time to readjust his entire concept of the universe. Letty had said she was not married, nor had she ever been, and if Banks was her true name—Windham’s visit to the cemetery suggested it was—then this man could be her brother, cousin, or other irate relation.

  She needed irate male relations, provided they were protective as well, and yet Letty had never mentioned a brother.

  David strove for the appearance of calm while he ushered his guests into the library, rang for tea, and stoked the fire. Silence reigned until the tea tray arrived, at which time David murmured some instructions to the footman, and thanked God he’d listened when Letty had suggested he start offering half days to half the staff at a time.

  “Tea, gentlemen?” David brought the tray to the low table near the hearth and noted that both the man and child were standing before the blazing fire, and the child—a dark-haired, dark-eyed copy of Banks—was still shivering.

  “I’ll not break bread with you,” Mr. Banks said.

  Pride was apparently a familial trait. “Suit yourself, Mr. Banks, but because your fingers are likely too cold to pour yourself a cup of tea, I will do those honors at least. And how about you, young man?”

  David knelt before the silent child, whose lips were losing their blue color.

  “You will note that my eyes are two different colors. This makes it difficult for you to know where to look, but because I can’t see that they don’t match, I will look at you as if you are a normal, sopping wet, shivering little boy. Would you like some tea?”

  The child offered a ghost of a smile, a fey, charming quirking of the lips, and nodded. A glance at Banks the Elder resulted in a terse nod from the adult.

  “P-Please, sir.”

  “Sweet? With a drop of cream, I suspect?”

  The child’s smile grew more enthusiastic. He was an elfin little fellow, with huge brown eyes and a mop of wet sable hair that needed a trim. His complexion was brown too, as if he spent long hours in the summer sun.

  “Mr. Banks?” David asked, rising. “The same for you?”

  “If you please. Danny, make your bow to his lordship.”

  “Danny Banks,” the child piped, “at your service.” He bowed correctly and ruined the sober effect by beaming hugely at his accomplishment.

  “David,” his host replied, “Viscount Fairly. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Master Banks.” David extended his hand, which the boy shook with appropriate manly vigor, though his little fingers were icy.

  Mr. Banks did not comment on this exchange of courtesies. When David passed him his cup of tea, it nearly slipped from Banks’s grasp.

  David took the little cup back and poured the contents into a heavier mug, which he then topped off. When he handed the tea to Banks, he cupped the man’s fingers around the hot mug before he let go.

  He served the child in another mug, then poured his own tea into a mug, too.

  Banks sipped his tea with desperate restraint. “Where is Let—Mrs. Banks?”

  “I’ve sent for my coach,” David said. “I will take you to her, but first I must insist, for the sake of the child, that we get you both warm and dry.”

  “You insist?” Banks snorted. “You?” He didn’t give up his tea for all his righteous indignation, and the child was discreetly pinching a biscuit from the tray.

  “Mr. Banks, you are no doubt holding your unpleasant sentiments barely in check, and for that, I am appreciative. If we have adult matters to discuss, then we can do so when we have the necessary privacy.” David glanced meaningfully at the child, and Banks had the grace to nod once in understanding.

  “Does my—does Mrs. Banks reside here?” The tone was marginally more civil.

  “She does not,” David said as the boy tucked a second biscuit into his coat pocket. “She was a guest here briefly while recovering from a knife wound, because I am a physician and rendered her aid at the time.” Aid and a broken heart. “She has since returned to her own dwelling, where I understand she has continued a successful recuperation.”

  Banks set his mug down with a clatter. “A knife wound? Letty was stabbed?”

  “Is Aunt Letty all right?” the boy asked, his eyes filled with concern. “Papa? Is Aunt Letty going to die?”

  “She will not,” David answered the child. “Though she did need a few stitches, but she was very brave about it. She is well, and you mustn’t fret about her.”

  A discreet tap on the door summoned David, who conferred with a footman and then returned to his guests.

  “These”—he held up a stack of boy’s clothing—“have been borrowed from the bootboy, though he’s a bit bigger than you, Danny.”

  Danny took the dry clothes from David.

  And now for the more stubborn fellow. “You are of a height with me,” David informed Banks. “I will offer you a change of clothing. Everything in your saddlebags will take a good while to dry, though I’m sure it’s being hung up in the kitchen as we speak.”

  Banks glanced around the library, his gaze lighting on the little silver angel David had had cast from mended porcelain as part of a celestial pair. “My thanks. The loan of dry clothing would be appreciated.”

  “The first bedroom upstairs on the right is available to you both,” David said, “and I’ve had a tray sent up, for the boy if not for you, Mr. Banks. Though as to that, if you’ve ridden any distance in this weather, your health is jeopardized as badly as the child’s. I humbly ask you to partake of some sustenance—you’ll need it for the coming discussion, if nothing else.”

  Banks looked like he might take exception.

&
nbsp; “It’s all right, Banks,” David said. “I don’t much want to like you either, but I can hardly fault a man for being concerned for Letty’s welfare, can I?”

  Looking even more uncertain, Banks herded his son out the door and into the keeping of the footman. The library door closed behind him just as the child whispered to his papa.

  “He’s a viscount, Papa! And he shook hands with me. Is a viscount like a duke?”

  A lively child, for all that he’d been subdued in unfamiliar surroundings. David sat back and poured himself a second cup of tea, giving his guests time to get dry, and himself time to collect his reeling thoughts.

  Some pieces of the puzzle had fallen into place, but others weren’t arranging themselves as neatly. Where did Mr. Banks fit, for example? Had the old vicar tattled on Letty to her brother? Banks was clearly aware that David had trifled with his sister. Was he also aware that others had more than trifled with her?

  David finished his tea, though his fretting was not nearly done. What if this man wasn’t Letty’s brother? What if she’d had a husband after all? What if Mr. Banks, whoever he was, had come to offer Letty a miserable sanctuary in the judgmental arms of her family—the family about which David knew very little?

  He changed into attire appropriate for a morning call, then rapped on the door of the guest room.

  “Gentlemen? The horses have been put to. I’ll await you below.”

  Five minutes later, Mister and Master Banks came down the stairs, the one a miniature of the other. The elder polished up quite nicely. He had the same dark, compelling eyes Letty had—a reassuring observation, that—and his features were beautifully designed, strong enough to be masculine, but not a one of them—not nose, eyes, lips, chin, jaw, eyebrows—was in any way disproportionate to the others. If the man had any charm, he’d be a lethal addition to the best ballrooms.

  Provided, of course, he learned how to tie a cravat.

  “Hold still.” David untied his guest’s neckcloth.