Lord Wraybourne's Betrothed

by Jo Beverley

  “I believe you must have been indulging in wine, Miss Sandiford,” Sir Edwin said icily, thin lips pressed. “Your sentiments are forward and immodest. Pray be guided by one wiser than yourself, in the absence of your betrothed. It is not for women, particularly young women, to criticize men.”

  Jane suppressed the urge to argue, as it would hardly lead to them participating in the set about to form. Sir Edwin was pleased by her silence, which he interpreted as contrite humility. Actually, she was searching for a conversational topic which would last until the set was formed and would not raise any controversy between them. She was saved the trouble when everyone’s attention was caught by an amazing late arrival.

  The lady was dressed in the extreme magnificence of Versailles fifty years before. Her gown of ruched ivory silk, heavily embroidered, must have been eight feet across at the hem, if not more. She only just managed to pass through the large double doors without brushing them. The tight bodice was encrusted with jewels, as was the fan she waved before her face with a gloved hand. Her powdered hair was swept high and topped by two doves in flight. As she was not a short lady, this gave her the impression of great height. She seemed altogether on a different scale to the rest of the company.

  Jane could not guess who it might be and was amused when the lady drifted over to Sir Marius and persuaded him to give her his arm around the room. Sir Marius was the only man present who would not be dwarfed by her. How did more ordinary-scaled gentlemen and such ladies go on in the past? Jane wondered.

  She and Sir Edwin discussed changing fashion amicably enough until the set was formed and the dancing started. Jane was surprised to find that the music to Sir Adrian’s Passage was being played once again and saw a number of dancers look puzzled and annoyed. She guessed that Lord Wraybourne had made the request of the musicians and wondered why.

  At least Sir Edwin did not repeat his behavior of earlier by pestering her with quotations. But he also ceased to be interested in the Versailles lady, seeming to have his attention on Lord Wraybourne’s partner, instead.

  “Do you know the shepherdess, Sir Edwin?” Jane asked. “I admire her costume.”

  “I? No!” he said sharply and then added, “Perhaps I do. It is difficult to say.” Jane thought there was definitely something strained in his manner and wondered at it.

  “I believe she is a Miss Hamilton,” she said helpfully before she stepped to the middle to join hands with the ladies. She noted that the shepherdess was rather pale.

  “Are you unwell, Miss Hamilton?”

  The lady denied this, but she too looked very strained. Could there be a connection between Miss Hamilton and Sir Edwin? Jane’s imagination leapt to deserted wife, abandoned mistress, betrayed maiden.

  As the dance continued, she was aware of a tension in the air. When she swung round with Lord Wraybourne, she could feel that he was wound up like a spring. Suddenly, the shepherdess, swinging in the arms of Sir Edwin, seemed to trip and fell with a scream. The dance stopped as everyone gathered around the lady, who moaned that her ankle was twisted.

  “She must be got out of here,” said Lord Wraybourne. “Bring her this way, Hever.”

  As he turned and began to clear a way through the crowd, Sir Edwin had little option but to gather up the lady and follow. He looked strangely distressed by the task. Jane picked up the lady’s hat and slipper and followed, most eager to see what was about to happen.

  16

  TO JANE’S SURPRISE, Lord Wraybourne passed by a number of doorways and led the way to a small anteroom to the library. There, he directed Sir Edwin to lay his burden down on the lounge. The baronet turned to leave, but Lord Wraybourne detained him.

  “Do not rush away, Hever. You may be of service.”

  “I was intending to seek out the housekeeper or another person who might be able to offer Miss Hamilton some assistance.”

  Lord Wraybourne was at his most charming. “I knew I could depend upon you, Hever, for practical measures. But I feel Miss Hamilton should rest a moment and then she will be able to tell us how seriously she is injured. Jane is here if she needs female assistance.”

  A decanter and a number of glasses stood on a sideboard, and Lord Wraybourne poured wine for them all.

  “I had forgotten that you were acquainted with Miss Hamilton, Hever,” he said.

  “I have that pleasure,” said the gentleman with a small bow. “I am a great admirer of her brother’s work. As they are kind enough to keep open house every week, I have frequently taken the opportunity to mix with minds more gifted than my own.”

  “Ah yes. You have a taste for the company of artists and intellectuals. I appreciate that inclination, for I share it. I too find a concentrated diet of Society can stultify the mind.”

  Both the ladies were quiet, watching the progress of this civilized dialogue. Jane was frankly bewildered, but Miss Hamilton looked very pale and tense. That could merely be the effect of her injury, of course. Sir Edwin had become his usual reserved self, but he seemed ill-at-ease. Lord Wraybourne was the most pleasant and genial of hosts, and yet Jane felt she could still detect that tension she had noted during the dance.

  When Sir Edwin did not return the conversational ball, Lord Wraybourne spoke again. “I understand you also visit the Morris household and Sir William Stone’s. A brilliant physician, is he not? His daughter is quite a beauty. A loss to the town now that she has gone to live in the country.”

  Jane saw Sir Edwin pale and his prominent Adam’s apple jogged.

  “Have you visited the house of Ashley Stanford?” continued his lordship. “Such wonderful music! Miss Stanford has one of the truest voices. It is a pity, I think, that she cannot be persuaded to sing professionally. Do you not agree, Hever?”

  “She has a lovely voice,” replied Sir Edwin, his own rather strained.

  Lord Wraybourne smiled warmly at him in approval of his return to the conversation. “There are so many gifted ladies,” he continued. “Mary Youngman is a very talented miniaturist. She is not so foolish as to hide her gift and is beginning to be in demand. You are acquainted with her, are you not?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah,” said his lordship sadly. “I see what it is. You disapprove of young ladies who seek to make a living from their talents.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” said Sir Edwin stiffly. “It is unbecoming of a lady to deal with business and to put herself forward as she must if she is to make a living from her art.”

  “But what are they to do, Sir Edwin?” demanded Miss Hamilton forcefully. “Not all young ladies are blessed with a fortune.”

  “If they cannot remain under the protection of one of the men of their family,” was the cold reply, “then they should seek a post which places them in a household where they will be protected from a cruel world.”

  “If they need protection, Hever,” said Lord Wraybourne, his voice no longer genial, “then it is from you.”

  “What do you mean?” squawked Sir Edwin, spilling some of his wine.

  “Miss Hamilton has identified you as the man who assaulted her recently.”

  “What?” The baronet jerked as if he would flee but then he regained a modicum of control. “She is deranged, and so are you to believe her!” he exclaimed and stood, showing the intention to leave the room.

  Lord Wraybourne calmly opened a drawer, took out a pistol, and pointed it at the baronet. He was pale but his hand was steady. “As you see, I am prepared. Please sit down, Hever.”

  “Even you would not shoot me here in your cousin’s house,” declared Sir Edwin, looking ready to defy the order.

  “You think not?” was the gentle reply. “It would solve so many problems.” There was such honesty in Lord Wraybourne’s tone that Sir Edwin blanched and sat again.

  “You are quite mad,” he protested.

  “I am certainly very angry,” replied his lordship evenly. “But as for mad, no. Your victims noticed enough about you to make me fairly certain and tho
ugh that valet of yours seems truly devoted, I know he drove your carriage for the attacks. He will break when we put full pressure on him. There have even been a few strange occurrences close to your estate which would bear investigation. I had a little suspicion of Crossley Carruthers, but I think there I was merely prejudiced. He is a fool, but you are a sickening example of humanity. If you could not control your needs, why could you not at least have used the women who will serve a man for pay?”

  “A common harlot!” hissed Sir Edwin. He was in a fury. “That may be your taste, My Lord. It is not mine. Let me leave this room or I’ll have you clapped in bedlam!”

  “Then why not an uncommon one?” pursued his lordship. “There are many high-class Cyprians who would be honored by your patronage.”

  “A harlot is a harlot,” Sir Edwin snarled. “It is a pity you do not know the difference. I pity your wife.” He cast a sneering look at Jane, where she sat, quietly appalled.

  Lord Wraybourne seemed taken aback when reminded of her presence but then returned his attention to the attack.

  “You should have married, Hever.”

  “I will,” was the cold reply. “I thought to ally myself with your family, but nothing could bring me to do so now.”

  At this moment the door to the corridor opened. All four people in the room turned, stunned, to see Sophie enter and stand back as a page would, to admit the elegant lady of the ancienne régime, who had to sidle to work her panniers through the doorway. Lord Wraybourne looked nonplussed. Sir Edwin gaped as if this merely confirmed his opinion that the world had gone mad.

  “Do we intrude?” asked the lady in a soft and husky voice.

  Familiarity tugged at Jane’s mind, but she could not grasp the connection.

  “We came to see how the invalid was, being of a period with her, as you see.”

  She seemed totally oblivious of the pistol still in Lord Wraybourne’s hand, though Sophie was staring at it and at Sir Edwin.

  “Miss Hamilton is recovering,” said Lord Wraybourne evenly. “We were conducting some private business, Madam.”

  The upper half of the lady’s face was covered by a visor mask and the lower by her silk fan but blue eyes flashed amusement. “At a ball? How quaint.”

  Jane happened to be watching her betrothed and knew the moment he recognized the lady. Unwilling amusement twitched at his lips.

  “A trifle unusual, I grant you,” he said. “Perhaps you could oblige me, Madam, by escorting the other ladies back to the ballroom.”

  “Most unwise,” said the lady and subsided onto a chaise longue, taking up the whole of it with her skirts.

  Sophie walked to her proper place behind. Sir Edwin had taken the opportunity to move towards the door but hesitated indecisively when Lord Wraybourne raised the pistol again to point at him.

  In a clipped voice, Lord Wraybourne said, “Sophie, you and Jane will leave now.” After a moment Jane rose to obey. Mutinously, Sophie began to walk to the door.

  “David, really—”

  She broke off with a squeak as Sir Edwin seized her and dragged her backwards, one-handed by the hair. Lord Wraybourne moved to rescue her but was stopped by Sir Edwin.

  “Come any closer, and I’ll break her neck. I know how. Put down the pistol.”

  Lord Wraybourne did as he was instructed. Jane marvelled at the control he had over his voice as he spoke, though his skin was bleached with strain.

  “Let me appeal to your logic, Hever. There is no way you can escape your guilt. Though I found you an unlikely suspect when the evidence began to point to you, I had to try this experiment to test out my hypothesis. Miss Hamilton was sure she could identify her assailant if she could be close to him. She has identified you. And you have now obligingly admitted your guilt. Let my sister go.”

  “I have done no such thing,” retorted the baronet, his eyes flashing around the room.

  Jane could see his whole body trembling with fear or rage or insanity, she knew not which.

  “I am defending myself from an armed madman!” he cried.

  “We are not alone,” remarked Lord Wraybourne. “Do you really think I would murder you before so many? If that is your fear, it is pointless. Let Sophie go!”

  There was command in his voice, but Hever’s hand only tightened more compulsively on his captive’s hair. Jane saw Sophie swallow a scream. Jane had to force herself not to call out or leap to some pointless action. She could imagine how much worse it must be for Lord Wraybourne.

  “Who knows what a madman might do?” Hever yelled.

  He must have relaxed his hand a little, for Sophie twisted her head and sank her sharp teeth into his wrist. The next moment, she screamed as he yanked her head back at a vicious angle.

  “Vixen! Whore!” he spat into her terrified face, seeming to forget for a moment the other people in the room.

  Lord Wraybourne took a step then halted as the movement brought the baronet’s attention back to him. Jane perceived a stir of movement from the corner of her eye and she saw the Versailles lady rise smoothly from her seat. “Sit down, Madam!” Sir Edwin snapped.

  “You poor man,” said the husky voice as the lady disobeyed and drifted closer to the center of the room. “No wonder you are distraught. But you should be kind to little Sophie. She has done you no harm.”

  Sir Edwin’s face contorted with rage, and spittle flecked his mouth. Jane suddenly realized that he was insane, and real fear for Sophie chilled her.

  “She has sneered at me!” he choked. Horrified, Jane recognized the hoarse voice.

  “I would have married her, saved her, but she laughed at me! Now she prances before the world, showing her body. But would she give me one kiss?”

  Hever’s eyes never left Lord Wraybourne, but Jane noticed that the lady was slowly edging towards the table upon which Lord Wraybourne had put the pistol. But what could she do with it if she reached it?

  “She is a filthy whore,” Sir Edwin whispered, spittle drooling down his chin.

  Jane no longer had a fragment of doubt. Sir Edwin had been her whispering tormentor.

  “She is not worthy of the love of a decent man!” he snarled, with a gloating look at Lord Wraybourne, whose eyes glared murderous rage.

  A thunderous noise filled the room, and it seemed to Jane that everything moved in slow motion for a moment as Sir Edwin let Sophie go. Jane, horror-struck, saw the elegant lady with the smoking pistol in her hand. Then the pistol was thrown down, and she raced, along with Lord Wraybourne, to Sophie, who had fainted. Jane, suspended in shocked disbelief, recognized Lord Randal and realized he had shot Sir Edwin.

  The next thing she clearly knew, she was standing in the breakfast room with trembling, white-faced Miss Hamilton and Lord Wraybourne, who was not in much better condition. Jane supposed, with objective calmness, that she must look the same herself. They were huddled together, both giving and taking comfort from the embrace. Jane had the strange notion that shots were continuing to sound somewhere and wondered if it could be an echo in her mind of that dreadful, thundering moment.

  Lord Wraybourne pulled away. “I must go, Jane. Randal will have got Sophie out of sight, and there were no servants close by. But something must be done before Hever is discovered.” He ran a shaking hand over his face. “I never intended . . . You should not have seen that. . . .”

  Jane quieted him with a hand on his. “We will manage,” she said. “Go and do what you must. He was the whisperer.”

  “Yes.” He kissed her roughly. “My dear delight. You have reserves I never dreamed of. If that had been you, instead of Sophie, I think I would have risked the shot.”

  She touched his cheek gently. “Remember that, David.”

  He was caught by the intensity of her voice. “What do you mean?”

  “I know it isn’t what you would want, David, but Sophie loves Lord Randal. I believe now that he loves her too. I think they may be each other’s only chance for true happiness.”

  “No,”
he protested. “Randal would just lead her into further imprudence.”

  Jane said nothing, merely looked at him. He sighed and rubbed at his face again, as if attempting to draw blood back to his pallor. “Stay here. I’ll return as soon as I can.”

  Stella Hamilton was trembling with shock. Jane, marvelling at her own calm, rang the bell repeatedly until a harried maid answered the summons. She then ordered tea.

  “And, Riddle,” she asked, “can I hear banging noises?”

  “Bless you, yes, Miss. It’s the fireworks. Such a bang there was a while ago. The staff are watching from the side, Miss.”

  Jane correctly interpreted this as a hint of complaint against people wanting tea in the breakfast parlor when there were such exciting goings-on but she hardened her heart.

  “Miss Hamilton is not well. She must have a restorative, Riddle, as soon as may be.”

  As the door closed behind the disgruntled maid, Jane let herself go and sat down on the nearest chair with a thump, to sink her swimming head in her hands.

  Lord Wraybourne returned to the anteroom to find it deserted except for Sir Edwin’s corpse. Randal had carried Sophie away. The urge to follow them and protect his sister was very strong. Yet, David knew he had to handle matters here first. He locked the door from the inside, then went to open the second door which led into the library.

  Mr. Moulton-Scrope looked up from the study of his brandy. “Not quite the dénouement we planned but satisfactory.”

  “I fear Maria is likely to be a trifle cross,” agreed his nephew as he helped himself to cognac and took a healthy gulp. His voice was normal but the golden liquid shivered in his hand. “Thank heaven Randal is a dead shot! The man was completely unhinged. God knows what he would have done.”

  “Must have been a pretty shot. I could only listen, of course. What in the name of Hades was Lord Randal doing in a dress, by the way? Part of the plan?”