To Rescue a Rogue

by Jo Beverley

  Mara was gaping, but she looked at Dare.

  He met her eyes. “I can bear that, if you can.”

  “Given the alternative, of course I can.”

  She thought they both sighed with immense relief. It was not the life they’d planned, but it would be life together.

  “We must put it to her, then.”

  At the door, they met a footman. “Major Beaumont wishes to speak with you, milord.”

  “Of course.”

  Hal came in looking rueful. “I come bearing a summons from my godmother, Lady Cawle.”

  Dare swore.

  “She’s on her high horse, claiming she agreed to give the nod to Blanche for my sake, and was willing to turn a blind eye to opium eating, but—sorry, Dare—won’t be used as a cover for cowardice. I’ll tell her to go to the devil if you want.”

  Mara longed to do just that. How many more burdens would be tossed onto Dare? But they didn’t need more trouble. “You should go,” she said to Dare, “but I’m coming with you. It might as well be now. Madame Clermont will wait.”

  The Dowager Countess of Cawle received them in her Albemarle Street house, enthroned on a sofa, crimson skirts spread. Seen up close, she was still handsome with excellent skin and sharp, clear eyes that assessed Dare coldly.

  Dare bowed. “May I present my bride, Lady Cawle. Lady Mara St. Bride.”

  “Don’t see why not,” the lady said, assessing Mara. “I know nothing to her discredit.”

  “Then you don’t know as much as you think, Lady Cawle,” Mara said, dipping a curtsy but speaking plainly. If the woman was going to be unpleasant, she might as well know it wouldn’t all go her way.

  A hint of humor showed. “I’ve heard about your family’s hair. There was one like you when I was a girl. A terror.”

  “That must have been Great-uncle Frederick. Fortunately he was able to enter the army and become a hero.”

  “I hope you don’t intend any heroics here.” Lady Cawle’s gaze moved back to Dare. “And your army career, Debenham?”

  “I was never precisely in the army, Lady Cawle, but I believe I acquitted myself well.”

  Mara hoped she’d suppressed a start of surprise. She hadn’t known he’d come to be sure of that, but he wouldn’t have said it otherwise.

  “I agreed to attend the forthcoming ball to add some little support to my godson’s wife. An actress, and not of spotless reputation, but it won’t do to have Mrs. Hal Beaumont excluded. I did not agree to endorse you, sir.”

  “You have been put in an unfortunate position, Lady Cawle, and I apologize for it.”

  The apology seemed to disconcert her. They were waved to seats, which Mara assumed meant they’d passed the first tests. She was struggling against rebellion even so. What right had this woman to judge either of them?

  “You need to be careful, gel,” Lady Cawle drawled. “Your every emotion shows on your face and a warrior needs a shield.”

  Mara colored. “I’d prefer not to have battles to fight.”

  “Then you should have chosen your future husband more carefully, shouldn’t you?”

  “Does one get to choose?” Mara challenged.

  “A believer in Cupid’s arrow, are you? Would you have fallen in love with a pig herder if the arrow had commanded?”

  Mara smiled. “I did once think myself in love with one of the gardeners.”

  “But did not marry him,” Lady Cawle pointed out.

  Dare said, “I thought you wished to joust with me, Lady Cawle.”

  The dark eyes moved back to him. “It’s useful to see how a gentleman will protect his lady. You were somewhat laggard.”

  “Mara can fight her own battles. I was merely feeling neglected.”

  Lady Cawle’s lips twitched, but Mara couldn’t decide if it was with amusement or irritation. “You were always a rogue—and I don’t mean that ridiculous schoolboy association. Mischievous, and at times silly. I assume the silliness has been knocked out of you.”

  “You tempt me to gibber like a monkey and throw fruit around the room.”

  “Wouldn’t do you any good,” Lady Cawle said, glancing at a bowl of plums and pears. “It’s all wax.”

  “Thus I am disarmed.” Dare smiled.

  This time, the twitch was definitely an attempt to conceal amusement. “You are attempting to be disarming. What is this nonsense about you turning coward, and who is behind it?”

  Mara relaxed a little.

  “We suspect it was spread by a Major Berkstead,” Dare said. “He is understandably in love with Mara and resents the fact that she has chosen me. He seems willing to believe any evil of me. My friends have countered the story, but we have not yet found the best defense—someone who actually saw me shot down in action.”

  “How likely is it that such a person will be found?”

  “By tonight? Slight.”

  “So you intend to force the ton to choose without evidence. Including me.”

  “We see no other choice.”

  “And if we all stay away?” the woman challenged.

  “That is why we’re putting up with your foibles, my lady. Where you go, all will go.”

  Lady Cawle’s eyes narrowed. “You plan to spread the word that I will attend?”

  “No one would so presume. But if you do intend to be at the ball, it would be pleasant if you would inform some others.”

  The woman’s lips gathered in what could almost be a pout. “I have little choice. Hal’s wife needs my support, and Arabella Hurstman insists.”

  “Arabella Hurstman?” Mara asked, searching her memory.

  Dare laughed. “Francis’s aunt and doting godmother to Nicholas’s Arabel. Miss Hurstman is a warrior for the welfare of women and has decided to keep a particularly keen eye on the Rogues’ wives. She carries such weight with you, Lady Cawle?”

  “We’ve been friends for forty years, and if I’d listened to her about marriage, my life would have been better. Apparently you cared for little Arabel when she was kidnapped.”

  Dare’s face tightened. “I did little, being weak and in violent need of opium at the time.”

  “You did enough to make the child regard you as some sort of angel. To achieve that when weak and in violent need of opium is most telling.” She seemed to brace herself. “My late husband was an addict. I know the nature of its hold. It tests a person like acid, eating away all but truth. It revealed him to be weak, but you seem not to be. Nor do you seem dishonorable or a coward. I will attend the ball.”

  After a moment, Dare stirred. “Thank you.”

  Mara thought it was more for the assessment of his character than the attendance.

  They rose to go, but Lady Cawle said, “What of this woman who claims your adopted daughter? Arabella is concerned for the child.”

  “We’re seeking evidence,” Dare said.

  “And if the evidence proves her story true?”

  “Then I cannot deprive a mother of the child.”

  “Nonsense. You have the power to do anything, and the child must come first.”

  As soon as they were outside, Mara asked, “What did she mean? What could you do?”

  “Ruthless, isn’t she? I assume she meant that it would be simple to make Madame Clermont disappear.”

  “Kill her? You wouldn’t do that.”

  “Thank you. It would certainly be possible, however. More subtly, I could refuse her access to Delphie while I draw the issue out in the courts until Delphie’s of age. Any money Madame Clermont had would dry up long before mine.”

  “Instead you’re bending backward to make everything easy for her.” His behavior was exasperating, but she’d expect nothing less.

  “I’m doing what’s right, Mara. What I hope is right. But Lady Cawle is correct. Delphie’s welfare must trump legal rights.”

  “So we use Major Hawkinville’s solution.”

  “Yes.”

  They walked back to Yeovil House, discussing the implications. It w
ould not be pleasant to share their home with Madame Clermont, but it would be better than any alternative. It would probably be a hardship for her to live in England, but everyone was going to have to make sacrifices.

  Turning into Great Charles Street, they encountered Nicholas Delaney. “I was coming to see if there was anything I could do.”

  “Gorgons on one side,” Dare said, “krakens on the other. I’m seeking smooth water between, but damned if I can see any.”

  They entered the house to find Delphie sitting on the bottom step of the grand staircase, clutching Mariette. Pierre stood on guard, wearing his sword and looking fierce. One of the nursery maids hovered, wringing her hands.

  At sight of Dare, Delphie launched herself at him. When he picked her up, she clutched him tight.

  “What happened?” Dare asked Pierre, between soothing the little girl.

  “That woman hit her, papa.”

  “Where is Madame Clermont now?” Dare’s voice was cold with fury.

  “Lying on her bed,” Pierre said with satisfaction.

  “One could ask,” Nicholas said, “why madam hit Delphie.” He directed it at Pierre.

  The boy stuck out his chin, but then muttered, “Delphie didn’t want to play with her, Uncle Nicholas.” After a moment, he added, “Delphie kicked her.”

  Dare looked at the boy. “War, is it?”

  Pierre looked worried, but he nodded, mouth set.

  Dare kissed Delphie’s hair and looked at her face, which showed no marks except those of tears. “Perhaps if you kicked Madame Clermont it was not so wicked of her to hit you?”

  “I hate her.”

  “I will not let her take you away from me, but you must try to be kinder to her.”

  “I must?” Delphie asked.

  “You must, or I will be disappointed in you.”

  She sighed. “Then I will try, Papa. But it will be very hard.”

  He put her down. “We will go back upstairs.”

  A child attached themselves to a hand each. “May we not go out, Papa?” Pierre whined.

  “Not yet,” Dare said as they went up the stairs, the banisters of which where already circled by ribbon and artificial flowers. “Some of Madame Clermont’s family might be out there, and they might try to steal you away.”

  “Then we will definitely not go out,” said Delphie. “And anyway, the ball is amusant.” The child’s spirits were returning.

  Dare left the children in the schoolroom and knocked on the door to the nursery. When given permission, he went in and closed the door. Voices soon rose, and then Madame Clermont could be heard weeping.

  Dare came out, his face carefully blank, and spoke to Mara. “I have explained Hawkinville’s solution to her, and that I will use the legal stratagem if she refuses. And, of course, that she is never to hit Delphie again.”

  “A middle way of sorts, but stormy waters.”

  “There are no calm seas and pleasant breezes. I must go.” He touched Mara’s arm as he passed, but that was all.

  “He suggested marrying her,” Mara said to Nicholas after Dare had left..

  “Marrying Madame Clermont?” Nicholas asked. “That wouldn’t serve.”

  “No.”

  “Let’s find somewhere to talk.”

  Mara took Nicholas to the small drawing room, but nervously. She sensed an energy in him and wasn’t sure it promised well.

  “I have a strange notion,” he said when the door was closed. “It offers hope, but rather uselessly, and some unpleasantness. It may not suit Dare, or it might help—”

  “Talk sense,” Mara interrupted.

  He smiled. “You are very like Simon. The sense is this: On seeing little Delphie with so defiant, I saw a distinct resemblance to The´re`se Bellaire.”

  Mara stared. “She could be that woman’s true daughter?”

  “It’s a raw idea I’m still digesting—what a horrible concept. But I’m becoming more convinced by the moment. I’ve glimpsed the resemblance before, but assumed she’d picked up some of The´re`se’s mannerisms. If The´re`se allowed a child to grow inside her—and that’s hard to believe—she would never have cared for it herself. She certainly had no infant with her in 1814. But she might have placed it with a family, then retrieved it for this purpose.”

  “Placed it with Madame Clermont’s family? That doesn’t help. In all ways that matter, she would be madam’s daughter.”

  “The child would no more be a Clermont than a Debenham, but I don’t think that’s it. Before the run up to Waterloo, I doubt The´re`se had anything to do with a backwater like Halle. Her orbit was around Napoleon. When he abdicated to Elba in 1814, she was desperate enough to come to England and plan a move to America, but as soon as he resumed power, she returned to his circle. I wonder…”

  “What?” Mara felt as if her head was spinning.

  Nicholas slowly smiled. “Sheer speculation, but the only reason I can imagine The´re`se bearing a child and paying it any heed at all is that she thought it could be useful. What,” he asked, eyes brilliant, “if Delphie’s father was Napoleon himself?”

  Mara sat down. “This is fantastical. But even if true, what use is that?”

  “I did say it was useless,” he pointed out. “But if we were completely certain that Madame Clermont is not the child’s mother, it would alter things, would it not?”

  “Yes. Yes, it would. But how can we be certain?”

  “We can’t yet, but there is a look of The´re`se, and Delphie has that cleft in her chin like Napoleon.”

  Mara exhaled. “So when we hear from Halle, it now seems possible it will be news that Madame Clermont is an impostor. I must tell Dare.” But then she bit her lip. “How will he feel if Delphie is the daughter of that vile woman? And of Napoleon!”

  “Certainly an extraordinary mix. He need never know.”

  “I couldn’t keep something like that from him,” Mara protested. “But things are so difficult at the moment and it might not be true.”

  “I leave it up to you,” Nicholas said.

  Mara almost protested, but she would trust this sword to no one else. “Do you know Feng Ruyuan?” she asked.

  “Very well.”

  “I thought so. Sometimes it would be pleasant to be the river rather than the rock.”

  He smiled and it turned into a laugh. “Eleanor has said the same thing. I rather think, however, that if you are a rock, Mara St. Bride, it’s a volcanic one.”

  Mara’s face burned and she rose. “I think you’re amber,” she said, and had the satisfaction of seeing him take a moment to understand.

  “Eternal imprisoner of insects?” he asked.

  She’d meant simply from his amber-colored eyes.

  “Make me coral,” he said. “Built of tiny bits and pieces, but occasionally sharp. Do you return to Marlowe House?”

  “Soon,” Mara said. “But first I need to speak with Ruyuan.”

  Nicholas didn’t try to stop her and the Chinese man was available. Mara sat with him for two hours learning about opium and what would happen when Dare fought the final battle.

  She returned to Marlowe House, her mind swirling with problems but giving thanks because they’d avoided the worst.

  That night, however, when Mara was about to prepare for bed, someone knocked at her door. Ruth opened it and admitted Jancy. A pale, stark-eyed Jancy.

  “What is it?” Mara asked, turning cold.

  Jancy took her hands. “Dare’s been challenged to a duel.”

  “What?”

  Chapter 29

  Jancy drew Mara to the sofa, or Mara drew Jancy, but they ended up there, holding hands.

  “Who?” Mara asked.

  “Berkstead.”

  “What?” Mara exclaimed again. “Oh, the…rat! Dare’s not going to accept, is he?”

  “Simon’s gone to Yeovil House to talk to him. Would you believe it’s over Madame Clermont?”

  “What?”

  “I know. It’s ins
anity. But apparently Berkstead’s decided that Dare is Delphie’s father and must do the honorable thing by Delphie’s mother—Madame Clermont. What’s more, he’s posted the challenge all over Town. You must know the whole question about Delphie has become a matter for public excitement, and some are saying that rank and privilege are persecuting a poor woman deprived of her child.”

  “Oh, no. I had no idea. What do we do?”

  “I don’t know. Dare could refuse to meet him, but then it might revive the idea that he’s a coward.”

  Mara stood. “I have to go to him.”

  “It’s half past ten.”

  “What does that matter? Ruth, my cloak and bonnet.”

  “Milady—”

  “Do not argue. Jancy, can you order a carriage, please?”

  Jancy stood. “Of course, and I’ll come, too.”

  They were soon rattling through the streets, a footman with them as protection, though Mara didn’t think any of this directly threatened either of them. At Yeovil House they threw the attending footman into confusion. Lord Austrey was in the house, yes. With Lord Darius, yes. But in Lord Darius’s bedroom.

  “That doesn’t matter,” Mara declared and hurried upstairs.

  She knocked and Simon opened the door. His brows rose, but he let them in.

  Dare was pacing, and Mara could see how bad a time it was for him to face something like this. She went and took his hands. “The man’s a rat. No, a scorpion.”

  It summoned a slight laugh. “And God knows where the why is in this. I can’t think straight. He’s not entitled to demand that I meet him tomorrow, but if I don’t…”

  “He’ll make it look like cowardice. I think we should go and sort this out, face-to-face.”

  “How?”

  “I can try again to convince him that I would not marry him with a pistol to my head. We can possibly appeal to whatever vestiges of sanity remain in his thick skull.” She turned to speak to the others. “He’s not bad or mad. Not long ago he was a rational man and I enjoyed his company. I can’t believe that’s all been eroded away.”

  “It’s worth a try,” said Simon, looking at Dare. “He’s at the Golden Cross, which is nearby.”