Charlotte's was not the only heavy heart at the party that night. Mr Edridge had prepared himself for the ball in high spirits. He intended to dance as many sets as she would allow him with Miss Milverly, and whenever she had to dance with another he would lean against the wall, scowling romantically and watching every move she made. If this did not adequately express his devotion he had every hope of reciting to her a sonnet he had composed in her honour while reclining in a hot bath that very afternoon. Alas, poor Mr Edridge could not come anywhere near his lady, so surrounded was she by enterprising young bucks. When he was able to speak to her she smiled upon him enchantingly, but quite failed to return the pressure of his hand.
Dejected and disappointed by his beloved's capricious behaviour, he made his way to a small salon where drinks were being served, and asked the waiter to bring him a glass of champagne cup. He then threw himself down upon a sofa and indulged in his misery. How long this would have gone on is unknown because, after about five minutes, he was joined by an equally despondent Carlington, also in search of refreshment.
‘Oh, hello, Carlington. You here?’
‘Yes, I'm here. Devilish, ain't it?’
‘Devilish,’ agreed Mr Edridge, gloomily.
They both sat in meditative silence until the soothing beverage appeared. The healing properties of champagne are well known, and after only four or five glasses each the two young men were talking animatedly.
‘Women!’ began Carlington by way of introducing his subject. ‘Women are the very devil’.
‘True, damned true,’ nodded Mr Edridge, wisely.
‘Women are at the root of all men's troubles. Take me! Is this any life for a man? Is it? Do you know where I should be? I should be at home at Beauchamps, putting my estates in order, not chasing round after a petticoat!’
‘Do you have an estate?’ demanded Edridge, peering at his interlocutor, owlishly.
The Viscount appeared exasperated by this simple question. ‘Of course I do, you silly chucklehead. What's the point of being a dashed Viscount if you ain't got an estate. You'd look pretty silly, wouldn't you?’
''I'd like to have an estate,’ announced Mr Edridge. ‘Then I wouldn't have to go up to Oxford. I could do all the things I wanted, like introducing new crops and getting in a threshing machine; and the drill. Do you have the drill?’
Sober suddenly, the Viscount looked up, his interest caught. ‘No, not yet, but I hope to introduce it when I get control of my land. It's in damned bad heart at the moment!''
What is it?’ asked Mr Edridge sympathetically. ‘Bad luck or bad management?’
‘Both, from what I can make out. Beauchamps has been in the hands of an uncle of mine since my father died, and a dashed bad job he's made of it! If you could see some of the cottages my tenants are living in it would make you sick. Time and again I've begged him to do something for them but he just smirks and tells me to wait a few years until I know what I'm talking about. Well, I do know! I've been studying some of Mr Coke's methods and I know they would work at Beauchamps, but— Oh, damn it! It all seems pretty hopeless.’
Both young men sighed heavily and relapsed into their former gloom. Suddenly, the curtain screening them from the ballroom was pulled aside to disclose the mischievous face of Amelia Milverly.
‘Why, there you are, Mr Edridge. Have you forgotten that this is our dance?’
‘Our—our dance, Miss Milverly?’
‘Of course!’
‘But I thought—?’
‘If you do not wish to dance with me, sir, I am sorry that I bothered you,’ she pouted naughtily.
‘I do! Of course I do, Amelia, I mean Miss Milverly!’ exclaimed Mr Edridge, and left the room precipitately.
Carlington had approached Miss Wrexham earlier in the evening and had secured two dances with her. The first, a quadrille, had been a disaster, as Charlotte was far too well bred to discuss intimate affairs on the dance floor, and was annoyed with Charles for making them conspicuous. The second, supper dance, was to begin shortly. Charles sauntered out of the salon into the ballroom in excellent time to see Charlotte circling gracefully in the arms of some unknown but palpably enamoured gentleman, smiling up at him the while. The Viscount gritted his teeth and when the time came for him to claim Miss Wrexham, he was in no humour for dancing.
‘I want to talk to you!’ he hissed as soon as he had detached her from her mama.
‘Not now!’ she whispered back, convinced that every eye was upon them.
‘Yes, now!’ he insisted, and ruthlessly forced her out of the ballroom and across the entrance hall, past dozing footmen, into the library.
‘Now we can talk quietly,’ he said with satisfaction.
Charlotte, however, was furious. ‘How dare you! What do you want to do, make us both laughing stocks?’ she demanded, seating herself with a little flounce upon a leather armchair.
‘No one noticed a thing. Besides, what if they did? Does it matter?’
‘Yes, it does! I have my reputation to think of!’
‘You know, you sound so prim and proper that I can't believe you are the same girl I saw falling off her seat with laughter the other day. What's come over you?’
‘Nothing has come over me! I simply do not appreciate being dragged— What are you doing?’
‘Nothing, Charlotte, go on!’ replied the Viscount, advancing.
‘Keep away from me or I'll—’
‘What will you do?’ he asked, his hands touching her shoulders and gently caressing her neck.
‘Oh, Charles,’ she breathed, and lifted her face to be kissed. Her arms slid around his neck as he crushed her to him, his mouth bruising hers. Charlotte had never been kissed before like this. She knew that a lady should never permit it, but still she felt that if he were to stop she would die. He was kissing her neck and bare shoulders now, murmuring her name as he pressed her close to him. Then, quite suddenly, he pulled away from her. He strode over to the fireplace and leaned against it, breathing heavily.
Charlotte dropped into her chair and buried her head in her hands.
‘Charlotte, my darling, I'm sorry. I should never have— I've frightened you, haven't I? But, my sweet, I'm so in love with you that I don't know what I'm doing. I promise not to do it again until we are married.’
‘Frightened? Charles, how could I ever be afraid of you! But you see, we are not going to be married. That is what is so hopeless. We cannot ever be together, my darling, and I love you so very much. What are we to do?’
‘You mean, you won't marry me? But Charlotte, why not? You are not going to tell me that Ruthin was right!’
‘Ruthin!’ exclaimed Charlotte. ‘What has he to do with us?’
‘Nothing. He warned me, however, that you were bent on marrying a fortune. I didn't believe him. Charlotte, you couldn't!’
‘Charles, you do not understand. I promised Mama that she should be comfortable. She had such a wretched time after Papa died, I could see how unhappy and worried she was. This seemed the only solution. I never dreamed that I would fall in love like this. I've never have before, and I used to believe that I never would. That is why I suggested the scheme. You see we sold everything we possessed, even Mama's annuity, just so that I could have one season. If I fail Mama will have nothing!’
‘Damn it, Charlotte, I'm not a dashed pauper. I can support a wife and any number of in-laws too. My own mother lives off the estate comfortably enough!’
Charlotte gazed at him in amazement. ‘But Aunt Letty said that you had nothing but a pile of debts. She said you could not possibly support us both!’
The Viscount snorted ‘What she meant is that you could set your sights a lot higher than me. Perhaps you could, but if you love me and we can be comfortable together, why should you?’
‘Why indeed? Oh, I could kill Aunt Letty! I have been so unhappy these last few days and it is all her fault. Mama would have given us her blessing days ago but for her.’
‘Then you will
marry me, sweetheart?’ demanded Carlington, anxiously.
Smiling, she held out her arms to him. ‘Of course I will, Charles. I do not know how I could ever have doubted it!’
SIX
Miss Wrexham and Carlington were agreed that it would be unkind as well as unnecessary to announce their engagement that night. Charlotte could picture only too well her Aunt's shocked reaction, and she had no desire to bring down that wrath upon her head any sooner than was absolutely necessary. They were, therefore, to keep their secret until Charlotte's total lack of interest in her other suitors should have convinced her relative that the Viscount's suit should be reconsidered.
They parted, therefore, in the library and, while Miss Wrexham returned dreamily to the ballroom, the Viscount left the house. He was feeling far too elated, however, to return home. He decided instead to look in at Watier's. He had, in the first flood of happiness, promised Charlotte that he would eschew heavy gambling, but it would do no harm, he reasoned, merely to watch the play and exchange a few words with his intimates.
He entered the card room to find most of his cronies already assembled. One or two had also been present at Lady Northwood's Ball but, like most young bloods, they voted such affairs dull work and had left as soon as courtesy permitted. Captain Osborne and Fritz were already deep in play at the Faro table and, judging by the expression on Lord Fitzroy's amiable countenance, he, at least, was having a thin time of it.
‘I say Charles, come over here and b-bring me some g-good luck won't you? The d-dashed cards have b-been running against me all night!’
Good-naturedly, the Viscount strolled over to take up his position behind Fitz's chair, and as the night was still young, he was quite soon persuaded to take a hand himself. He had already consumed a considerable amount of champagne that night which, combined with a bumper or two of hot punch, had produced a pleasantly lightheaded effect. Now, as it was clearly impossible to play Faro with a dry throat, he ordered a bottle of Watier's excellent brandy and settled down to make a night of it. Although he seldom appeared the worse for drink, there was a reckless look in his merry blue eyes as he tossed rouleau after rouleau onto the green baize of the table.
By three that morning most of the players had cashed in their winnings and were beginning to think about taking their leave. The Viscount, however, showed no disposition to do so and was eagerly enjoining Captain Osborne to stay for a friendly game of piquet, when a slight disturbance at the door caught his attention. The waiters appeared to be trying to prevent a gentleman from entering the club, but as he was a large and powerful man they were having very little success.
‘Damn you, let me be! How dare you try to turn me out, you damn fools! Don't you know who I am?’
‘Yes, Farnley. They know,’ Carlington broke in, strolling over to the doorway and surveying the scene rather grimly. ‘They have orders from Ruthin not to admit you, however!’ Farnley sneered unpleasantly, ‘Still counting on the noble Marquis to fight your battles for you, eh! When are you going to face me yourself, my Lord Viscount? Or don't you dare?’
‘Call me a coward to my face, would you!’ shouted the Viscount furiously. ‘I'll meet you, Farnley, where and when you will!’
‘This morning, then, my Lord Carlington. Shall we say Islington Green at six?
‘Certainly,’ responded the Viscount curtly. ‘Who will you have, sir?’
Farnley glanced around the room, well aware that most of the assembled men believed, with the Viscount, that he had cheated. To his surprise, however, one man did step forward, saying bluffly: ‘I don't know the rights and wrongs of this affair, but without seconds they can't meet, so I don't mind acting for this gentleman. My name is Dugdale, sir, Major Dugdale, at your service.’
Farnley bowed. ‘Thank you, Major, I accept your offer. Name your own friends, Carlington!’
‘Ricky, Fitz!’ called the Viscount over his shoulder.
Both men stepped forward at once, but they looked very grave.
‘Look here, Charles. I know you want to fight the fellow and I d-don't blame you, b-but you've b-been up half the night. Anyone can see Farnley is sober as a d-dashed judge. D-don't d-do it Charles. Not now!’
‘I am not prepared to await his lordship's convenience. Either he fights me this morning or I call all these gentlemen to witness that he backed out of a fair fight.’
‘Damn you, I don't draw back. Fitz, be quiet and get me some coffee, for the Lord's sake!’
‘At six then, Carlington?’
‘At six, Farnley. Believe me, I am looking forward to it.’ As Farnley departed with Major Dugdale, who was obviously enjoying himself prodigiously, another gentleman, who had entered the club while the altercation was in progress, now stepped forward.
‘Well, Charles, my boy, it seems that I have arrived in London at an inconvenient moment.’
‘Uncle Oliver! You here?'' exclaimed Carlington in some surprise.
‘As you see. I have tired of rural tranquillity for the time being. I foresee a more exciting time than I had anticipated!’
The speaker was a man of medium height and build, elegantly dressed in the first style of fashion. His countenance was pleasant without being handsome and he had an air of great affability. It was noticeable that his nephew did not respond to this; indeed, his hackles seemed to rise slightly as his uncle slapped him jovially on the shoulder.
‘It seems strange that you should leave the estate at this season,’ remarked the Viscount, rather coolly. ‘Are not the ploughing and spring sowing about to start?’
‘If they are, Carlington, I assure you that your clodhopping friends do not need me to tell them how to go about it.’
Carlington shrugged, and as Fitzroy appeared at that moment accompanied by a sleepy waiter bearing coffee, he made no comment.
There were three hours to pass before they were due at Islington and so all three young men departed to snatch a little sleep. They arranged to meet at the chosen ground at a quarter to the hour and even went so far as to compare their watches, which was just as well, as the Viscount's was several minutes slow. They parted in excellent spirits for they had no real misgivings about the outcome of the affair. The Viscount was a notable marksman.
He had, however no notion of making it a killing matter. Although he was as convinced as ever that Farnley had cheated and, according to the code of his class, doubtless deserved to die, the Viscount was in love and, try as he might, he could not recapture the burning sense of anger that had consumed him. As he lay down to rest just as the dawn was breaking over the roof-tops of London, he resolved to spare his adversary, perhaps winging him just to teach him a lesson.
Lord Fitzroy was already at the ground, stamping his feet and blowing upon his frozen hands, when Captain Osborne arrived. He hailed the new arrival with relief. ‘Thank G-God you g-got here, Ricky. D-Dashed if I wasn't b-beginning to think I'd d-dreamed the whole cursed b-business!’
‘Oh no, Fitz, it happened all right and tight. The worst thing about these affairs is getting up so devilish early! Did you think to bespeak breakfast, old fellow?’
Lord Fitzroy yawned. ‘Certainly I d-did, and I knocked up a surgeon, what's more. He should b-be here any minute. Here, wait a second!’ He fished in the pocket of his caped greatcoat and produced a small brown bottle which he handed to his friend. ‘Have some of this, it should k-keep the c-cold out!’
Gratefully, the Captain took a long pull at the bottle and then wiped his mouth and heaved a sigh of satisfaction. ‘Good stuff that, Fitz. I feel better now. What I want to know is what's happened to Charles. He should be here by this time. It's nearly six.’
The sound of horses' hooves became audible in the thin morning air, and within a few minutes they were joined by Farnley accompanied by the amiable Major. The two men seemed to be upon the best of terms, and Carlington's seconds were obliged to admit that Farnley was conducting himself very well. He was obviously quite unmoved by the prospect of engaging one of the finest sho
ts in the country and spent the next few minutes exchanging rather tasteless humorous stories with his second. By this time it was gone six and Captain Osborne was beginning to wonder what had happened to Charles. Lax though he might be, it was inconceivable that he could have deliberately missed the appointment. His man had strict instructions to waken him, otherwise the obvious conclusion would have been that he had overslept. Minutes ticked by and Farnley became restless.
‘How long does the young fool think I am going to wait for him, I should like to know?’ he blustered. ‘I'm not hanging around here any longer. You may tell him from me that he is a damned coward, and I shall make sure that the whole of London knows it!’
He turned abruptly and, followed by a disappointed Major Dugdale, he strode off towards the tethered horses. Just as he reached them, a shot rang out. He stopped, frozen in his tracks, then crumpled where he stood, clutching for support at the bridle of his terrified mount. Then, muffled by the mist, they heard the sound of hooves galloping away into the distance.
Osborne reached him first. ‘Fitz, Fitz, I say! Where's that damned surgeon you engaged?’ he called over his shoulder. The Major appeared at his side, his pleasant face very grim. ‘There's no need for a sawbones now, Captain. This man is dead!’
‘My God!’ breathed the Captain. ‘Who could have—?’
‘Who? Good God, man, isn't it plain enough who did it!’ snarled the Major. ‘Who was to have met him here? Who hadn't the courage to face him like a man, and shot him down like a dog without any chance to fight? Can you not see? Well, you had better look to your friend because I'm off to Bow Street to tell them what has happened here, and if I have my way he shall hang for this murder, although I'd say hanging is too good for him!’
Gamble With Hearts Page 6
