by Edith Layton
“Are you?” he murmured. “I wonder. You see, my dear Miss Winchester, I’ve come here to scold you, and I don’t know a female alive who’d welcome that.”
Her smile grew broader. “Scold” was such a playful word for a gentleman to use with a lady, and he didn’t look at all angry or annoyed. “Whatever have I done?” she asked in a teasing way.
“You’ve interfered in business that was none of yours,” he said coolly. “You’ve hurt an innocent female’s feelings, and I believe that while you were at it, you’ve also traduced my name.”
“I beg your pardon?” she said, as her mother’s head shot up.
“Well, you should,” he told her. “We ended our alliance because you couldn’t endure my family’s past reputation. I understood. We parted friends, I thought. And that, my dear Miss Winchester, ought to have been that. What motivated you to try to end all my future alliances?”
“She was clearly not worthy of you,” Miss Winchester said, growing red-faced.
“She was worthier than I am. Her family’s reputation is spotless. And even if it were not, what business was it of yours? We no longer have a connection, Miss Winchester. What sort of nonsense was it for you to go to Miss Bigod and tell her that I aimed for a future in politics? And what sort of spite to infer that if her name were linked with mine, my plans would fall to dust? All untrue, all surmise, you didn’t even know what my plans were for myself, or for her.”
“Yes I did!” she shot back. “You were seen kissing her!”
“I see,” he said. “And this offended whom? Public morality? In this day and age? I doubt it. You? Why should it?”
“I’d hoped …” she said, and paused. “When I considered matters at length, after we’d agreed to part,” she went on, “I thought I had been too hasty.”
“You weren’t,” he said.
His face became expressionless, but there was a dangerous glitter in his dark eyes that she’d never seen before. He towered over her, and cast a shadow. She suddenly remembered that she had let this man go because of his pirate forebears.
“There’s no question of a reconciliation between us,” he told her. “But I guarantee, Miss Winchester, there is definitely a question of a libel suit, or perhaps one of harassment, or maybe neither, but at least a good deal of gossip about your actions in the highest circles of the ton. I may not aim for a political life at the moment, but I have many friends who are so occupied. And even more flighty fellows who live for rumor. So I warn you, my lady: no more of this. Forget me, my diversions, my life and my plans, or be prepared to have your own life and motivations examined by everyone in London town.
“And ma’am,” he said to her mother, who was standing now, her mouth slightly open, “I beg you to counsel your daughter wisely in this. I don’t care to be the subject of vile rumor, and your daughter, I know, cares for it even less. Good day, ladies. And good luck.”
He turned, and left them standing there. As he reached the front door, and a footman handed him his high beaver hat, he could hear them begin to berate each other. He clapped on his hat, and then, at last, he smiled.
But not for long.
“You’re terrible company,” Blaise said.
“No fun at all,” Kendall agreed.
Constantine waved a hand. “Then go. No one invited you, no one’s holding you here, and I assure you, no one cares.”
His two visitors exchanged glances.
“Stupid insult,” Kendall said. “Not creative or funny. Might be if you were jug bitten, but you’re not. Unless you’ve drunk yourself into the blue sullens, that is. That happens. Get very happy, and then so miserable you could die, and the more you drink, the worse it gets.”
“That, we could understand,” Blaise said. “If you were, we’d leave you in a happy, or unhappy, stupor. But I believe you’re stone sober, and have been for days; in fact, your face even begins to look like a stone. Unshaven stone, that is. Obviously, you haven’t let your valet near you in days. You look ghastly.”
“Thank you,” Constantine said, staring into the fire crackling in his hearth. “Then go away so you don’t have to look at me.”
“Can’t leave a friend in distress,” Kendall said sorrowfully. “Not done.”
“Do I look as though I’m in distress?” Constantine asked, from where he lounged in a deep chair, as he had every evening this week.
His friends gazed at him.
“Actually, no,” Blaise said. “You look beaten, defeated, drowned, and dead. A man in distress has some energy, he at least struggles to live.”
Constantine chuckled. It was such a strange rusty sound coming from a man who had been brooding for days that his friends cocked their heads.
“That’s what I’ve been doing,” he said, sitting up straighter. He ran a hand over his stubbly chin and then through his hair. “Lord! I didn’t realize how long it’s been. Even I’m tired of myself. Gads. I don’t know why you put up with me. Why do you, by the way?” he asked curiously. “And don’t say it’s what friends do. I want to know why you are my friends. Honestly.”
“Honestly?” Blaise said. “That’s difficult for me. But in truth, I suppose because you have a sense of humor. You’ve always been fair, and always been honest with me. I don’t know, Con. I met you years ago, and liked you, and have had no reason to dislike you since.”
“Even though I’m straitlaced, and hard-shelled?”
“Wouldn’t say that!” Kendall put in. “I agree with Blaise. Everyone knows you’re a bit of a stick. But you know? Truth is, not really. I mean, think on. You never ratted on us and our nonsense at school. Never lectured us then, or since. Thing is, you try to live like a parson, but you aren’t one. Not at heart, I don’t think. Couldn’t stand one of those.”
“Kendall has it exactly,” Blaise said. “You’re a good friend, Con, and we hate to see you like this.”
“So do I,” Constantine said. “But how would you feel if you were raised a tortoise, only to discover you want to leap like a hare? Bad analogy,” he said. “The point is that I got to this great age and only just discovered what I am. I wasn’t really happy before.”
“You’re overjoyed now?” Blaise asked.
Constantine chuckled again. He stretched. “I will be. But, I think, at this point, I need your help.”
“Always ready,” Kendall said.
“Be pleased,” Blaise said. “How?”
“I have to do something foolish. Daring. Dangerous. Even stupid. But I have to do it to make a point. Care to join me? But wait! There really may be danger involved, and if I see it coming, I’ll ask you to leave me so you aren’t involved.”
“Going to kidnap Lisabeth!” Kendall crowed. “Capital idea!”
“No, no,” Constantine said. “Nothing that stupid. Anyway,” he said with a slight smile, “she’d kill me if I tried.”
“Are you going to do anything about her?” Blaise asked. “I thought all this had to do with her.”
“Perspicacious of you,” Constantine said with a tilted smile.
“Told you he wasn’t drunk,” Kendall said. “Couldn’t say ‘persip-whatever,’ if he was.”
“I’m not drunk,” Constantine said. “I’ve just been thinking, and now I know what I have to do. I was never happier than when I was with Lisabeth. Only I was too stupid to realize it. I was raised to be prudent and cautious and proper, while all the time my inner self has wanted to be the opposite. My uncle was half right. Morality is next to godliness, and wildness should be shunned. But he was half wrong too. No good can come of being either thing completely. Wildness is not necessarily evil. Morality may only be cowardice, a fear of facing life.”
He rose from his chair and faced his friends. “A man needs balance: wildness and caution, excitement, and time to think. I’m not cut out to be a pirate or a highwayman; I know that. I wouldn’t want to take what wasn’t mine, nor would I prey on the helpless. Though I know now that if I had to, I could. That was hard to accept.
I’m not running from it though. Acceptance of a thing doesn’t mean you have to practice it.
“But now I also know that I’m not the sort of man who’d be happy spending my evenings talking nonsense at Society dos or sitting in a window seat all morning reading the Times until it’s time to go to church. What I need is a chance to be myself at last. What I need most of all is another opportunity, and a woman who will give me one. Damn it all, but I need Lisabeth.”
Kendall clapped his hands. Blaise grinned.
“But I have to make it up to her,” Constantine said. “By God, I let her go! That must have been devastating for her. I know it was for me. She trusted me, and I let her down. I let myself down too, but that doesn’t matter now. The worse of it is that I let her go thinking it was because I doubted her worthiness, when all the while it was because I didn’t know myself, and so of course, what I doubted was myself. Kidnapping her is a lovely thought, my ancestors’ blood races in my veins at the very thought.” He laughed. “But I don’t want to steal her away. I want her to want me. Me, not my ancestors, good or bad. And I want to let her know she matters more to me than any gossip, rumor, uncle, person in Society, or any other female in the land.”
“Huzzah!” Kendall cried. But then he frowned. “Good idea. But not easy.”
“Hellishly difficult at this point, I’d imagine,” Blaise said.
“Yes,” Constantine agreed. “But the thing is, my vanity is such, or my instinct, or my faith in her, that I believe I can convince her. I just need to do something so different from what she’d ever think I’d do that she knows I’m finally accepting my true self, asking her to forgive me, and risking myself in order to show her I want her to join me as my wife, for life,” he said, grinning. “What I want to capture is her attention, her interest, and make her laugh. And then I have to plead with her to forgive me.”
“Excellent,” Blaise said happily. “What do you want us to do?”
“Be accomplices,” Constantine said.
Chapter Twenty-One
The only clouds were shredded ones, scurrying across a waning sickle moon. The night was dark and filled with fading stars, the sea was calm, the hour was as close to midnight as it was to dawn. Three ragged, desperate-looking men, dressed in black and breathing hard, stood near some brush where the rocky beach began to tilt down to the sea.
“Perfect,” Constantine said, drawing a deep breath. He looked around the deserted beach. There were no shadows, no ships, not even a row-boat on the shore.
“You sure this is the place?” Kendall whispered.
“He’s right,” Blaise said, low. “How can we be sure? We must have walked through miles of forest. This place is all bracken and stone, puddles, beach and hidden inlets. Gad! I’m glad you talked me into wearing these rags and oversized boots. Nothing fits, but when I think of the sand and earth and damp! It would have ruined my good clothes.”
“It would have ruined you if you’d come waltzing through looking like a gent on the strut on Bond Street,” Constantine said. “Even the foxes around here would have known you didn’t belong. Now you look like every other fisherman in the village. Better still, you’re all in black, and so the hope is you don’t look like them, or anyone. The idea is not to be noticed.” He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from an inner pocket and studied it in the scant light. “No doubt, this is where we’re supposed to be.”
“Where are those others who are supposed to be here too? And the boat?” Blaise said, shivering.
“That is a problem,” Constantine said, frowning.
“Didn’t trust that Frenchie above half,” Kendall said darkly. “That oily Henri. He didn’t like you above half neither, Con. Just like him to send you to the wrong place and make a fool of you.”
“It was William who drew the map, and he’s honest as the day is long. And, I might add, he was delighted to see me,” Constantine said.
“Yes, he and Francis. They like you, and thought it was a jolly good idea,” Kendall said. “But that Henri was giving you a cold and fishy eye.”
“They’re the only ones he has,” Constantine said. “Still, if they don’t arrive by sunrise, we’ll leave.”
“Another tramp through the underbrush,” Blaise groaned in hollow tones. “At least a fishing smack, however odiferous, would have been preferable.”
“If they let me down I’ll think of something else,” Constantine said, as he settled himself, crouched on his haunches, looking out to sea. “Arriving unexpectedly on Lisabeth’s doorstep, tossing pebbles at her window to wake her, taking her for a sunrise ride on the sea, was a good idea. Still, if it can’t be, there’ll be something else. But we’ll have to act quickly, before word of my arrival spoils the surprise.”
“William was right though,” Blaise said, hunkering down beside him, careful that the damp sand didn’t touch anything but his high boots. “She might be so angry she’ll refuse to go with you.”
“I don’t think so. She’s a reasonable person. But if she is, I’ll carry her back with me anyhow. Not quite a kidnapping. Not quite an invitation either. I’ll let her go when the sun rises, and I’ll tell her that too. That’s what you’re here for. You, Kendall, steer the craft. You, Blaise, assure her of my worthiness. I’ll do the rest.”
“And if she denies you?” Blaise asked.
“I don’t know what I’ll do,” Constantine said, all laughter gone from his voice.
There was a sound, not of the sea, at the edge of the beach. All three men stilled, and tensed. They heard an eldritch cry, not human, or any animal they knew. And then they heard it again. They waited.
“Blast!” a harried voice whispered. “Don’t you London gents know an owl?”
“You shoulda have done a sparrow, Will,” another voice said. “That, they’d understand.”
Constantine rose to his feet. “Welcome,” he said, as he strode down the beach to the two men he could now faintly see. “We’ve been waiting.” He shook hands with the men. “I see you’ve the same fishing smack. Excellent. Shall I pay you now, or later?” The tallest man shook his head, but before he could speak, Constantine went on. “I know I’m taking away a day of your fishing, and I know it’s your livelihood, so please don’t protest.”
“Well, then, later,” William said in an embarrassed voice. “Now, Henri’s still aboard. When your friends have got the smack in hand, he’ll leave. Just set him down after you board Lisabeth. It’s you who’ll be the pilot, isn’t it, Sir Kendall?” he asked as Constantine’s friends joined them. “You know about sailing?”
“I do,” Kendall said. “Just give me the bearings.”
“Done,” William said, handing him a crumpled map. “Now sail close to the shore, hug it without hitting the rocks. I’ve drawn them on the map. Go due north by northeast, five miles, exactly. The wind’s rising, and it’s with you. Two rocks that look like fangs mark the inlet you want. Remember them, Lord Wylde?”
“I do,” Constantine said.
“Good. When you reach them, anchor near the shore. There you can be put down, you know the way to Miss Bigod’s house from there.”
“Yes,” Constantine said.
“And, oh,” William said casually. “We may be there as well, so don’t be surprised. The thing is, we owe the Bigods and I want to be sure Miss Lisabeth takes this in the right spirit. If she don’t, we’ll be there to take her home. Agreed?”
“Agreed,” Constantine said, taking his proffered hand.
“And don’t mind Henri,” William added, before he and Francis disappeared into the stunted trees at the edge of the beach. “He’s always fancied her, much good it did him.”
Henri scowled at them when they boarded the fishing smack. Blaise gasped, and covered his nose with a handkerchief.
“It’s the memory of fish,” Constantine said. “I didn’t think they did night fishing. But maybe they do. What’s under there?” he asked Henri when a cloud tore off the face of the moon to show a heap of tarpaulins at the e
nd of the smack.
“We don’t feesh by night, m’lor,” Henri said with a mocking bow. “But we have got to have that with which to keep feesh in.”
“Right,” Constantine said, as Kendall strode to the wheel.
Kendall instructed Henri to raise the anchor and the sail. Constantine stood at the prow as the sail caught the wind and the smack began to move with the winds that now smelled of incoming rain.
Constantine hoped she’d be amused. He prayed she’d be amazed. He thought of his long-rehearsed speech, and ran through it one more time, just to be sure he’d touched on all the points he had to make.
He was sorry, he’d been a fool; he needed her to forgive him. He couldn’t think what he’d do if she laughed at him, not with him, and stalked away. He refused to consider it. He was no pirate bold, nor any kind of highwayman. But he was desperate, and hoped this foolish escapade would remind her of the men she’d hoped to find an echo of in him.
The fishing smack sailed on up the coast, running silent and smooth even in waters that began to rock, the ship as steady as Kendall’s hand at the helm. Even Blaise was enjoying himself.
“You get used to the stench,” Blaise told Constantine. “Or else, the sea wind brushes it away. No worse, and actually somewhat better, than that of a gentleman’s gaming hell at dawn. At least it’s fresh. And the fish have bathed recently.”
“Shh!” Henri suddenly whispered. “Not another word. I hear something.”
They fell still, listening.
They heard nothing. But Henri was scowling. He peered into the shadows. Constantine saw nothing. But Henri did.
“We go!” Henri shouted. “Spread the sail, we run for it!”
And then he jumped overboard.
Constantine stared at Kendall, while Blaise looked down into the water, dumbfounded. Henri went under, and came up in front of the fishing smack he’d just abandoned. And then, his arms stroking hard, he disappeared into the vanishing night.
