“Oh, Seelye, well done.”
“But will he approve?” Seelye raised his voice, “Bibendum of Bankside, this is your domain, if you’ll have it.”
The bear stretched his neck to sniff, then picked his way past the two to start downhill.
Stoker joined them only to say, “I’ll stay up here, if I may.”
“I can manage the descent, Seelye.”
He did not insist on carrying her down but did take her hand and lead her there, stopping to point out every possible impediment.
“Please don’t fuss. I’m perfectly capable of walking down a slope.”
She skittered down the slope gracefully ahead of him.
“If she thinks this overcautious, just wait till she’s carrying our child,” he grumbled as he followed her. “Her feet won’t touch the ground. I’ll wrap her in eiderdown. See if I don’t!”
Ahead of them, Bibendum stood on his hind legs, his forepaws relaxed and dangling.
Jane called, “Bi-ben-dum.”
He ambled back to bump her with his head. Jane gently removed the red leather collar from his neck. She spent a few moments fluffing the matted fur beneath it with her fingers and murmuring things meant for the bear’s ears alone.
She stepped back. “Good-bye, dear Bibendum. Good luck and Godspeed.”
To her benediction, Seelye added, “God be with you, little bear.”
Having had her say, Jane leaned against Seelye. He drew her close and they held their breath while the bear ambled forward.
Bibendum examined this new place, mostly with ears and nose, for a bear’s eyesight was not remarkable. He took a few hesitant steps toward the sound of rushing water in the distance but stopped. He swung his brown wedge-shaped head back to look at her, his small eyes alert.
A light breeze made long grass ripple in the meadow. Something finally drew the bear toward the distant woods away from the two people who brought him there.
Chapter 46
In which our hero and his grace nearly come to blows.
London
June 15, 1817
Seelye called on the Duke of Bath in Grosvenor Square the day after returning from Ireland. Wymark directed him to the drawing room and Jane instead. She had returned promptly to London with Mr. Stoker and Cushing as promised, while Seelye caught a slower packet from Galway to arrive days after her.
Jane stood before him, dressed for morning calls, smoothing the kid gloves up her fingers. A bonnet dangled by its ribbons on her wrist. She was lovely in her walking gown, her eyes alive with mischief.
“Must you go out?” He hoped for moral support before his interview.
“You don’t need me. You’re a Horseman of the Apocalypse, for heaven’s sake.”
“I thought you didn’t want me shot,” he grumbled.
“Remember, George shoots wide to the left. His left.”
His sternest look sobered her only slightly.
“At worst, it’ll be a superficial wound.”
“Haven’t I lost enough? A wager with Percy and my entire wardrobe. With my luck, George’ll reject me on sight for dilapidation.”
Yet again, he hid behind clothes, referring to those stained by her affectionate bear’s drool, snot, and scat. The unspoken truth was, he’d lost his heart but could not confess it. Not yet. Even as he quaked in his boots to plead his case to George, compunctions prevented him from revealing his feelings to Jane.
A gentleman had no right to speak up until her head of family approved his suit. And George was bound to be in a pucker over what he’d done for Jane, with Jane, and to Jane.
Seelye closed the door for privacy.
“His grace has a good many reasons to reject me out of hand, as you know. For starters, I let you to travel unchaperoned by industrial canal with me and a bear.”
“At my insistence,” she said and smoothed his waistcoat. “George knows how stubborn I can be.”
“I let you dress like a dock wench and carry a weapon.”
“The first was my choice. The second, well, he disapproves my use of firearms but what can anyone do about me?”
Her smile, shy at first, grew wider and less lady-like. Contagious as a yawn, he found himself grinning back at her.
“I assaulted, drugged, and kidnapped the runner he hired to bring you home.”
“That was your doing, I’ll admit,” she bubbled with amusement. “But Mr. Stoker never complained. With what George and I each paid him, he’s quite pleased, all in all.”
“Last but not least,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “I had my way with you.”
“If memory serves, I overpowered you, tied you to a bed, and stripped you.” She slid her hands up and over his shoulders. “I rather think I had my way with you, sir.”
“Don’t quibble over details,” he said, caught her wandering hands. He pressed them to his galloping heart. “George would be right to refuse me, which will necessitate an excruciating conversation full of euphemisms about the last point.”
“Everything will be fine,” she said. “Except your waistcoat, that’s ruined. I mean your chat with George.” Next, she leaned against him and tilted her face up. “I have always had faith in you, Lord Seelye, even when I most disliked you.”
“Stop that,” he said, with no conviction.
She lay her cheek against his chest with a low sigh, “I am trying to reassure you.”
“You’ve overshot the mark,” he said. “Only imagine how well it will go with your brother if I present myself tumescent.”
That earned him an unladylike peal of laughter. For several more thunderous thrums of his heart, he stood still, fighting the temptation to return her embrace.
“Jane, you’re incorrigible.”
“Common knowledge,” she said and snuggled in.
“It bears repeating.”
“Still, there is something you haven’t repeated to me, Seelye. At least, not when you’ve known I was awake.”
He frowned down at her. “Haven’t I almost gotten mauled, drowned, and shot just to bring a bear to Ireland for you?”
“One might attribute that to your compassion,” she said.
“Oh, no. I liked Bibendum but I most certainly did not relocate him for his sake.” He let his arms steal around her. “I did it because I’ve become a cork-brained idiot. And a saint.”
“Yes, both,” she said. “But I’ve changed, too. Not so long ago, I’d’ve held Mr. Daly at gunpoint to save you.”
“You may’ve moderated your worst tendencies,” he leaned down to whisper, “but you’re still very dangerous, Jane.” He landed a light peck on her nose. “Determined. Resourceful. And unpredictable.” He kissed her cheeks, right and left, in the French manner. “And that—” He held back from her offered, upturned lips. “—is why I—” She waited for him to say the words. “I can’t say more for now, but when I can, I will with all my heart.”
He pressed his own smile to hers.
She slipped from his embrace and he loved her more for her blushing discomposure.
“Much as I’d like to stay,” she said unsteadily, “I have errands to run.”
“Such as—?”
“You’ll see.” She tied her bonnet under her chin and held her hand out to him. He turned it over to kiss her palm. “Will you wait for my return? I’d like to show you something before we call on Lady Abingdon with our happy news.”
“Don’t jinx us, Jane,” he said. “Or it’s off to Gretna Green under a cloud of scandal.”
“No matter, I enjoy traveling with you.”
She was long gone—and her untoward effect dissipated—by the time Wymark returned to escort Seelye to the duke.
With Bath, things were not so cordial. Seelye explained the reason for his call briefly.
“What?” his grace exclaimed, incredulous. “Are you serious?”
“You needn’t say it,” Seelye cut in, “I realize you couldn’t want this, Bath. Don’t pretend otherwise. I’ve no debts b
ut next to nothing to offer in a settlement. What can I say that will change that?”
“Absolutely nothing,” the duke said. “So why bring it up?”
“Bath—”
“Blast it, Seelye,” the duke expostulated, “call me George. Tryin’ to discuss matters of grave import here and if you keep calling me Bath, I’ll lose my train of thought.” Diverted by a passing thought, he snorted, “Didn’t we enjoy referring to my pater His Hip-tub-of-copper out of earshot? I tell you, it’s less amusing now that I’m the plumbing fixture. I may have to take ‘Bath’ from acquaintances, but from you, by Jupiter, I won’t.”
“Could be worse, the Duke of Crapper for instance,” Seelye pointed out, as diverted as George at the memories.
His grace considered this dispassionately, “True. Should count my blessings. Point is, I’m George to you or I’ll be vexed.”
“Yes, George.”
“Right, I know that tone. That’s Gert’s tone. Must run in the family,” he said. “I am not to be humored, nor am I above giving you a facer for impudence. Now, where were we?”
“I only meant to acknowledge and accept your justifiable qualms—”
“Qualms ain’t the half of it! After her first Season, I just prayed she’d be broken to the saddle. But no, not our Jane. So, here we are. It’s a hell of a spot you put me in. I wouldn’t be truthful if I didn’t admit being reluctant to do what I must.” George’s brow furrowed. He paused to inhale, exhale, and continue with more resolve, “Dashed if I don’t regret having to say this, ‘pon my word, I do.”
The duke was about to refuse him. Seelye felt his hackles rise.
No matter how much higher Jane could look, she was his. No one would deny him, not even George. If need be, they’d marry without his blessing. It was a formality since she was of age and financially independent. And so he cut in, “Now, see here, you cannot—I-I will not—”
“Oh, I bloody well can and you will, I say,” the duke snarled back. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Demme, I didn’t want this to get ugly.” In a tight voice, he continued, “I sympathize with you. It’s a punch to the bollocks, I know. We’re friends. I am truly sorry. It’s not what you deserve—”
“I don’t deserve her?” Seelye struggled to keep his temper in check.
“Lord, no! You’ve always had the noblest intentions, whilst my heathenish sister’s only too happy to foment chaos and toss you in the suds. But this time, without question, you’ve done it.”
“Perhaps you don’t understand, Jane is—”
“—a terrible, willful pest, I do understand. Always said so,” the duke interrupted. “But what did you think would happen if she went with you? Only missed public scandal by a mouse’s whisker.”
“But there was no scandal, was there? We needn’t marry under a cloud,” Seelye insisted, not wanting their engagement to be announced in the wake of controversy. Nothing should sully their joy.
“Needn’t marry? Hold there, scoundrel, you can’t shrug this off. The maid, the runner, all fine and good. But when I got Stoker’s letter from Bristol, we expected her back promptly. After waiting a week, Gert put it about that Jane fell ill to explain her extended absence. Rather fortuitous,” he sniffed and scowled pointedly at Seelye, “given her detour to Ireland and your mawkish, doom-and-gloom letter about her dying.”
“I’ll never forgive myself for alarming you or letting Jane fall ill.”
“Piffle! Dying, my arse, she’s fit as an ox. Only got your letter after she’d returned. Y’always were too melodramatic. Next, you’ll say the tabbies have spread no rumors and all’s well, but it’s the principle of the thing. You and I know that, don’t we?” George fixed him with a belligerent glare.
Seeyle gathered his scattered thoughts to make a more persuasive argument for their marriage.
Meanwhile the duke was saying, “—much as it pains me to—”
“You must refuse consent,” Seelye finished for him.
“Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you?” the duke growled, growing redder. “But you damn well will take her!”
Seelye was about to tell him the lurid truth when George’s last words registered.
“Take her, you say?”
“No weaseling out of it, Seelye,” George said. “And don’t pin your hopes on me calling you out to put you out of your misery, I won’t. Should’ve let that Irishman shoot you when you had the chance.”
The duke stalked over to a table arrayed with liquor decanters, picked one up, and poured himself a drink.
“What are you saying?” Seelye asked, completely off kilter.
“You will take her off my hands. Cart her from my premises. Marry her and spirit her off to some safe remove. You’re supposed to be so bloody clever, am I not making myself clear?” The duke was working himself into his finest House of Lords thundering scold, “No matter how innocent your intentions, however blameless your actions, you can’t go scamperin’ hither and yon with my sister and not end up leg-shackled to her. Till. Death. Do. You. Part.” He thumped the decanter down to punctuate each of the last five syllables. More mildly, he added, “Y’have my sympathies, naturally.”
“You consent to our marriage?”
“Consent, ha, ha!” George roared. “Glad you still have your sense of humor.” He took a sip from his glass. “I see no alternative, Seelye. Racked my brains—truly, I did—nothing came of it. You must marry her.” Watching Seelye over the rim of his glass, he concluded, “I am sorry. Wish you didn’t have to—I like you. Brandy?”
“Please,” Seelye said, stunned.
George poured a second, brimming glass of brandy and thrust it into Seelye’s lax grasp.
“Should’ve known better than to let her catch you up in one of her causes. Ah well, you have my condolences.”
“In that case,” Seelye said in a daze, “I’ll marry her.”
“Good of you not to whine or beg. Awkward otherwise. You’re a true friend, Seelye, not just family,” George said, becoming jovial. “Take it standing up, brandy in hand, I say. Cheers!” The duke brought his glass against Seelye’s with a ‘clink.’ “Toss that one back and I’ll give you another to help dull the pain.”
Seelye sipped his brandy and asked, “You’ve resigned yourself to Jane marrying down?”
“Egads, you’re better than she deserves. Pockets to let, yes. Nothing outré in that. Jane’s got scads of filthy lucre all her own. And someone was bound to get her dowry, I’m glad it’s you. What’s more, if you’ll have the banns read before she brings the house down around our ears, I’ll double her portion and end my days knowing I’ve tried to make amends.”
“I don’t deserve that.”
“What you don’t deserve is my she-devil sister, but we’ve established you’ll take her so there’s an end to it.
“Yes, George,” he said. “To my bride-to-be.” And tapped the duke’s glass with his own.
“Don’t mind telling you, Gert’s been giving me a daily bear jaw garden about the two of you.” He sipped and suddenly brightened. “Say, we’ll have nice Christmases together en famille, won’t we?” The next moment, his face fell. “Unless your brats take after her.” He downed the brandy and said, “The possibility is too awful to contemplate.”
“Actually, I’d like a few of each to see what would happen.”
“What would happen,” George replied with awful, Delphic foresight, “beggars the imagination.”
Seelye concluded his call on the duke very relieved and somewhat squiffy. He found Jane waiting for him in the hallway.
“What did George say?” she asked, not seeing Wymark nearby. Once she did, she became demure. “He was in a brown study at breakfast, my lord. I didn’t think it wise to mention his mood before you two met. You seemed on edge as well.”
“The duke was all goodness and complaisance, my lady. He has endorsed our match.”
“May I wish you both every happiness, sir?” Wymark said and approach
ed. “How soon will it be?”
“You sound anxious to be rid of me,” Jane teased the butler.
“Not at all, milady,” he replied, “although I cannot speak for Myrick.”
Her eyes danced when she peeped up at Seelye. “The day is lovely, my lord.”
“Will you walk with me?”
They descended the steps together, she leaned on his arm, he moved to make way for her. Like practiced dancers, they descended as one with fluid grace. Once they reached the pavement, they turned together and lengthened their strides. They walked effortlessly in step, unselfconscious in their perfect physical communion.
“Actually, George was in a filthy temper this morning,” she gripped his arm and whispered. “I thought you two might come to blows.”
“Don’t sound so amused, puss, he assumed I would try to wriggle out of my obligation.”
“Were you tempted?” she asked quietly.
“Only out of an instinct for self-preservation. But it passed. The fact is I love you and you’re mine.”
Whatever clouded her expression vanished.
“Is that so?”
“Must I do something improper to prove it?” he said near the brim of her bonnet.
“Would you?”
Her challenge made the skin at the back of his neck prickle pleasantly. He leaned as close to her lovely, upturned face as he dared in public.
“In a heartbeat,” he said, “but George has asked that you postpone new outrages till you are my responsibility.”
“Puddingheart,” she said. “We must turn here, it’s just a few more blocks to Berkeley Square.”
She drew him down the blocks and across the streets.
“Gunters now?”
They passed the sweet shop.
“Don’t be silly. Number 34 is just a bit farther.”
She stopped before a handsome townhouse flanked by equally-distinguished houses overlooking the park and held out a key. He accepted it though mystified by its significance.
“Won’t you open our wedding present, my lord?” she said and followed him up the stairs to the front door.
He fit the key in the lock, gave it a crank, and turned the gleaming brass doorknob to let her in. The entry took his breath away. At his feet lay a floor of cream marble with a delicate inlaid latticework executed in darker stone. They passed between Corinthian columns supporting a vaulted ceiling decorated with floral plasterwork. A magnificent brass chandelier with dozens of unlit beeswax candles hung within the sweep of a curved staircase to the first floor. Natural light from front-facing windows brightened the ground floor’s large public rooms left and right.
His Lordship's Last Wager Page 39
