Devil's Match

by Anita Mills

  Her spirits considerably lowered by the finality of her own letter, she folded the paper and sealed it with candle wax. It was over, it was done, and she was ready to get on with her life. She had not the time for regrets just now, anyway, for she could not depend on his being gone above another hour. She’d overheard him tell Bascombe that they were pressing on to catch the Wanstead party as soon as he’d taken care of a business matter. Secretly she’d suspected that he meant to buy her another gown for the trip back to London.

  She propped the letter up on a chest, checked her reticule for her money, and slipped down the stairs. There was no sight of him or of Albert Bascombe. She breathed a sigh of relief as she gained the innyard undetected.

  Walking briskly, she followed her nose to the bustling docks, where she inquired as to a packet bound for Dover. Directed insolently by a fellow who promised her a better offer, she made her way to where a small ship was taking on passengers. She clutched her reticule nervously and took her place at the end of the line while hoping fervently that she would be under way before the Viscount discovered her note.

  Dividing the line two people ahead of her, the ship’s officer announced that there was no more space. She stared for a moment in dismay and then pushed forward.

  “Please, sir, I have to get back to England—’tis of paramount importance—please.” She reached into the reticule and drew out her purse. “I have the money—I can pay extra, if need be.”

  He took in her expensive dress and looked around for a companion. Finding none, he pushed her back. “ ’Tis full.”

  “But you cannot be! I have to get to England—I have. to!”

  He looked her up and down with new interest, much in the way DeVere had done. “And you’d be grateful, wouldn’t you?”

  “I have money,” she reminded him.

  “ ’Tis full then.” He shrugged insolently and turned away.

  “But… you don’t understand. I—”

  “I believe the young lady is with me, aren’t you, my dear?” An elderly gentleman far in front had turned around to watch them. “I am sorry for the misunderstanding, but I had expected my granddaughter to be taking a later packet. Come, my dear,” he addressed Caroline, “we’ll send back for your luggage.”

  “But, your lordship,” the officer expostulated, “there’s no room!”

  “Nonsense.” The elderly gentleman dismissed him with the air of one used to being obeyed. “She will share my room, of course.”

  Caroline was taken aback by the sudden turn of fortune. A quick appraisal of the old man convinced her she had nothing to fear from him. He smiled a thin smile of encouragement and motioned her forward. “Well, do not be standing there, child—come give me an arm to lean on.”

  “Yes, Grandpapa,” she murmured obediently.

  Grasping her elbow with a decidedly frail hand, he balanced between her and his cane. “You had a pleasant journey here, child?” he asked kindly. “You really must tell me all about your trip.”

  She waited until they were safely aboard and in the privacy of his tiny cabin before she addressed him. “Your pardon, my lord,” she began, “but you must think—”

  “At my age, my dear, I am not overly given to quick conclusions,” he interrupted with a twinkle in his faded blue eyes.

  “But you must wonder how it is that I have no baggage and no maid, and—”

  “And I am sure you will provide me with a most edifying story, no doubt, but first I must sit down, my dear.” He pointed with his cane to the nearest chair. “Over there.” As soon as he was seated, he looked up not unkindly and indicated a nearby seat. “Now,” he told her as she pulled it up and sat down, “you will find me all ears, my dear. I trust you will enlighten me.”

  She was suddenly at a loss for words. “I am Caroline Ashley, my lord, and—”

  He nodded his head politely in acknowledgment. “And I am Milbourne, Miss Ashley.”

  “The Lord Milbourne?” she asked incredulously. “But you must be—”

  “A hundred years old?” he supplied with a faint smile. “Only seventy-five, child, and definitely no threat to your virtue. But do go on.”

  “ ’Twas not my meaning, sir. I meant who has not heard of Lord Milbourne, my lord? I own I had not expected to find you standing on a French wharf—I mean, I should expect you to be attended.”

  “My servants discreetly drew back when I intervened on your behalf. They know not to get involved unless it concerns my safety, Miss Ashley. As for my reasons for being in France, they need not concern us.”

  “No, sir,” she murmured.

  “Now, my dear, how is it that I find you alone and unprotected in a foreign city? Everything about you says Quality except the lack of a maid and baggage.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. “I have been abducted, my lord.”

  “And abandoned?” He shook his head sadly. “In my day, Miss Ashley, morals were not so lax, I assure you. An abduction required a marriage.”

  She hesitated, unwilling to tell of Patrick Danvers or of Bertie Bascombe, and yet realizing that she owed Lord Milbourne an explanation. Apparently her thoughts were transparent, for he added gently, “If I am to help you, I must know the whole so that we may best salvage the situation. Anything you have to say will never be repeated outside this room unless you wish it.”

  “Are you to help me?” she asked hopefully. If a man of Milbourne’s impeccable social standing were to come to her aid, all might not be lost.

  “Most assuredly,” he soothed. “But do go on.”

  “Well, I am not precisely certain as to how it all came about, sir, but I shall attempt to tell you what I believe to have happened. I was employed by Sir Max and Lady Canfield to companion their daughter Juliana through her first Season. Through Juliana, I met her cousin, Patrick Danvers, who seems to be hanging out for an indigent but willing wife. He proposed marriage to me with the understanding that he would provide for me handsomely if I gave him an heir within the year. Needless to say, I found the proposal sordid in the extreme and I declined.”

  “Naturally.” Milbourne put his fingers together and nodded. “Sordid in the extreme. I daresay you had not heard of the betting on the books at White’s then? ’Twould seem young Patrick stands to inherit more than Golden Ball if he can produce a respectable wife and a son within a year of the reading of Vernon Danvers’ will. Needless to say, the betting is heavily against him.”

  “I didn’t know, but ’tis most unfair if ’tis so.”

  “He may not know of the wager at White’s, but I understand it came out of a bet he made with a cousin of his the day the will was read.”

  “But it’s not fair! How can he meet such infamous terms, sir?” she demanded indignantly. She caught the arrested expression on the old man’s face and stopped.

  “So you refused his suit,” Lord Milbourne repeated. “His shocking reputation, I daresay, although I have suspected the fault lies with Bridlington’s revenge more than with the boy.”

  “You know Patrick?” she asked in alarm, and then recovered. “No, ’twas not just his reputation, sir, but the fact that I could not live with such an arrangement. I mean, ’tis not as if he offered his regard even.”

  “It is not so much that I know young Danvers, child, but rather that I am acquainted with Lord Bridlington, a mean-spirited, vengeful person if there ever was one. But we wander, I fear. If you refused his suit, am I to collect that he abducted you?”

  “Oh, no! Do you know Albert Bascombe, sir?”

  “Haverstoke’s heir? I have attempted conversation with the boy on several occasions, but no, I do not know him.”

  “Well, he abducted me.”

  “Bertie Bascombe?” he asked incredulously. “Now, that does surprise me, I must own. I should not suppose he had the wits for it.”

  “Oh, not for himself, you understand. I mean, he regards Patrick much in the light of a hero and he would do anything fo
r him. Well, I believe he thought that if he abducted me and carried me off to France, I should be so grateful to see Patrick that I should change my mind.”

  Lord Milbourne leaned forward, fascinated. “And?”

  “Lord Westover—Patrick—was furious. I mistook the matter because I overheard Mr. Bascombe say he did it for Patrick, but now I believe that Lord Westover did not know of it until Mr. Bascombe left him a letter. Anyway, Mr. Bascombe made it quite clear that he’d no wish to marry me.” She met Milbourne’s curious stare and smiled ruefully. “I gave him an awful time on the way over, you see, and he had to drug me to get me on the packet.”

  “He drugged you? The boy ought to be clapped up in Bedlam!” his lordship snorted. “In my day, he’d have been called out for it!”

  “Well, anyway,” Caroline went on, “he gave me too much, and I was heartily sick when I woke up.”

  “This exceeds the bounds of decency!”

  “ ’Twas then that I realized that Lord Westover had come after us, for they quarreled in the foyer of the inn. I tried to stop them, but I was unwell, and had it not been for Patrick’s assistance, I should have disgraced myself then and there. As it was, he got me back to my room before I was sick.”

  “How awful for you, child.” Lord Milbourne reached a bony hand across to pat hers. “You are safe enough now, I promise.”

  “Strange—that’s what Patrick said too. He said that since Mr. Bascombe abducted me for him, he felt responsible, and that he would give me the protection of his name.”

  “I see—and this is when you suspected he was part of the plot?”

  “Yes, particularly after what I’d overheard Mr. Bascombe say about doing it for him. Naturally, I refused his suit again. But this time, he insisted that it was a matter of honor and that I should not be expected to produce an heir.”

  “How very generous of him,” Milbourne observed dryly.

  “Well, he was generous after a fashion, I suppose,” she admitted judiciously, “for he was certain to lose his wager. Anyway, he informed me that I could go my separate way after the knot was tied, but that I would marry him. There was a small problem, however, since there is a dearth of Protestant clergy in France. Unfortunately, he managed to locate one and set about getting me a dress to be married in. While he was gone, I ran away, but my choice of companions was exceedingly poor. I fell in with a man named DeVere, and he thought … ” She looked away quickly and her voice dropped in embarrassment. “He thought that I was not a proper sort of female. Well, he tried to molest me—and very nearly succeeded—but Patrick had followed us.”

  “Am I to deduce that this DeVere is deceased?”

  “No—he would not meet Patrick.”

  “How very wise of him.”

  “Patrick whipped him rather badly with the coach whip, sir—I thought he meant to kill him with it.”

  “I’m surprised he did not.”

  “I grabbed his arm and held it to stop him.”

  “And then?”

  “He let DeVere escape while he looked after me. My … my dress was torn rather badly, you see.” Her face reddened as she remembered how she’d looked. “Patrick gave me his shirt to wear and took me back to the inn where we’d been staying. Madame Crespin, the landlord’s wife, procured this dress for me with Patrick’s money. It was to have been my wedding dress.” She smoothed the silk twill with her fingers. “ ’Tis quite the loveliest thing I ever have had.”

  “Child, I have the distinct feeling that you are not entirely indifferent to young Danvers. Am I right?”

  “Oh, no … that is … yes,” she finished lamely.

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I can no more accept a marriage of convenience than I can accept a business arrangement designed to give him an heir. There,” she sighed in relief, “ ’tis out in the open, sir. I fear I am a hopelessly romantical female.”

  “Could you not have wed with him and hoped for the best?”

  She shook her head. “What if he never came to care for me?”

  “I see.” He crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair to study her for a moment. “I’d say young Bascombe bungled the matter badly.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “ ’Tis of no import. Well, my dear, ’twas an exceedingly edifying story that gives me an idea or two of my own.”

  “You will not betray what I’ve told you?” She stiffened in alarm.

  “Word of honor, Miss Ashley. But I vow I’ve not been so diverted since my granddaughter led young Tony Barsett such a merry chase. For a time, I thought Rotherfield meant to queer the works before the marriage had a chance to work.” He seemed lost in thought as he closed his eyes. For several seconds Caroline thought he meant to doze off. “No,” he mused finally, “I believe I’ll have to do something about this.”

  “But you said you would not—”

  He waved aside her protest and gave her a sly smile, much like one who had suddenly come up with a new diversion. “I assure you, Miss Ashley, your secrets are safe with me.

  11

  “Oh, my dear, I’d no notion you even knew her! Hurry—you must wear your blue merino—oh dear… no, no … perhaps the lavender muslin would be better.”

  Lady Lenore, when appraised that Leah Barsett, Viscountess Lyndon, had come to pay a morning call on Juliana, was wreathed in smiles. Lady Lyndon, after all, was no less exalted a personage than Lord Milbourne’s only grandchild and therefore a leader of the younger set amongst the ton. Not even that lady’s oft-remarked association with the Earl of Rotherfield could offset Lord Milbourne’s influence. The ton, for all its social snobbery, had long since decided that if the fiery Tony Barsett saw nothing amiss, then surely Lady Lyndon must be blameless.

  “Mama,” Juliana responded with unusual patience, “I have on my best sprigged muslin, after all. I am sure that Lady Lyndon would rather I was prompt than kept her waiting while I changed my dress.” The girl turned over the gilt-embossed card and tried to hide her puzzlement.

  “Well, I am sure that she must have remarked you at the Beresfords’ … or mayhap ’twas the Connistons’— you were in particularly good looks there, my love. But why ever would she pay a call on you?” Lenore Canfield could barely contain her curiosity. “If you wish me to go down with you—”

  “No … no. I mean, she asked to see me, Mama.”

  “Well, do hurry, love,” Lady Lenore admonished her daughter, “for ‘twould not do to keep Lady Lyndon waiting. Oh, I vow .I am at sixes and sevens, Juliana! If she takes you up, you are quite made.!”

  The girl bit back a retort that she considered herself quite made anyway, for had not Lord Barrington applied to her father for permission to pay his addresses? Not that she meant to take him, of course, for he was the most stolid fellow. Besides, she had already quite set her cap for the notorious Earl of Rotherfield.

  “Juliana! Do not be standing there dreaming, love! Lady Lyndon will think—”

  “Stuff, Mama!” Nonetheless, Juliana slipped her mother’s fringed Norwich shawl about her shoulders and headed down.

  Pausing at the door of the blue saloon, she was surprised to hear voices coming from within. After all, Thomas had brought up but one card. She smoothed back a rebellious gold ringlet, tucking it behind her ear, and stepped inside. A gentleman lounging against the mantel with his back to her turned around. She gasped.

  “Your pardon for the subterfuge, Miss Canfield, but I saw no other way. You know Lady Lyndon, of course?”

  “We have been presented.” She nodded politely to where Leah Barsett sat. “Oh, Lord Rotherfield, have you found Caro?” Wiping suddenly damp palms on the skirt of her sprigged-muslin gown, she moved forward.

  “Alas, no.” He shook his head. “ ’Twould seem that there is not a trace of her or Bascombe, and it now appears that your cousin has disappeared also.”

  “Patrick?”

  “I have been to his hous
e twice, Miss Canfield. The last time, I took the liberty of interviewing his servants, all of whom profess to know nothing except that he left late the night we met.” He reached into his pocket and drew out Albert Bascombe’s letter. “You may as well have this back, child. I find that I have reached point non plus in the search.” His black eyes took in her dismay and his expression softened. “I am sorry, Miss Canfield. If there is anything else I can do—”

  “Have you considered reporting her absence to Bow Street?” Lady Lyndon asked suddenly. “It would seem to me that you would have cause to worry.”

  “But I cannot! Mama thinks she is with her godmother, you see.”

  “Well, I am certain that Marcus has made every effort to help, but perhaps he could send discreet inquiries to the ports. Somehow, I cannot quite imagine Albert Bascombe doing anything dreadful, but—”

  “Oh, would you, sir?” Juliana breathed, grateful for anything to further her acquaintance with Rotherfield. The thought echoed in her brain that if she didn’t do something, didn’t make a push for his attention, this incredibly handsome, fascinating man would disappear from her life before she even had a chance to attract him as a suitor. She flashed an appreciative smile at Leah Barsett. “And you are quite right, Lady Lyndon: perhaps Lord Rotherfield could …”

  A flicker of amusement lit the black eyes as the earl recognized her ploy. “Miss Canfield, of all that can be said of Albert Bascombe, he has never been known to molest females. I daresay that the clue is in this letter, but I have not the power to decipher his scribbles. Ten to one, your companion will come about in excellent fashion.”