Rivals of Fortune / The Impetuous Heiress

by Jane Ashford

  He slammed the door and faced her on the pavement before the house. “How dare you use such language to me?”

  “You are acting like a fool. It is not my choice of words.” They glared at one another. “What do you mean to do?” she asked again.

  He turned and started off along the street; Alicia had to half run to keep up with his long strides. “Who will act as your seconds, if you persist in this folly?” she continued. “You have no close friends in London. And no one will wish to serve in a quarrel so absurd.”

  “I don’t call it absurd,” he snapped, evading the very real issues she brought up.

  “That is because you are acting like an idiot.”

  “My mother’s honor…” he began.

  “Honor! You have dragged her name through the mud. If you had behaved like a sensible man, the gossips would not even now be speculating about her and Sir Thomas. Indeed, about your whole family. Don’t prate to me of honor. Would an honorable man make arrangements to shoot a gentleman more than thirty years his senior?” Her voice was taunting, and she was so angry with him that she did not even notice the discomfort of cobbles under her thin evening slippers or the chill around her arms and throat.

  Cairnyllan clenched his fists. He could not answer her. He knew she was right—in this, at least—and he could not defend his rash challenge. Yet neither was he ready to withdraw it. He was a mass of confused emotions.

  “The MacClains will be the laughingstock of London,” added Alicia, thinking to convince him.

  This merely added to the flame. “Will we?” he snorted. “That would indeed be a disaster. We have such respect for London’s opinion.”

  “You have none. But what of your mother and sister? Do you believe you can speak for them? Are you truly so arrogant that you think your conclusions must automatically be theirs? Or are their thoughts and feelings of no interest to you?” This question seemed vitally important to Alicia, though if given time to think she might have wondered at her burning solicitude for the female MacClains.

  Cairnyllan saw plainly that he had put himself in an impossible position. But the weakness of his arguments did not alter his determination. Quite the opposite. That Alicia should not only reproach him, but be right, increased his rage tenfold. His face grim, he hailed a passing hackney cab. “I shall call on Sir Thomas tomorrow morning,” he stated as he got in. “And I shall thank you to stay clear of my affairs.” With a signal to the driver, he slammed the door and set off, leaving Alicia alone in the street.

  On the chilly walk back to the ball, Alicia rehearsed the scene just past and cursed her ineptitude. She had allowed her temper to speak for her and of course done no good. If only she were given another chance, surely…this train of thought led to an idea that made her expression extremely thoughtful as she re-entered the crowded ballroom.

  Fourteen

  Alicia found it difficult to think of anything else during the remainder of the ball, even though she did not see the MacClains or Sir Thomas again. Gossip had indeed begun; however, the stories retailed by three people who spoke to her were so divergent, and so garbled, that she was not really concerned. The probable actions of Lord Cairnyllan, and the others’ reactions, worried her far more. If he did insist on fighting, Sir Thomas might become angry enough to agree.

  Her mood did not lighten on the drive home, and Lavinia eyed her warily and remained silent. Alicia went directly to her bedchamber and undressed, then sat down in an armchair to think. The paramount issue was what to do. She felt she could not simply let matters take their course; she had to intervene. But how? There was no one she could turn to for advice. Had her father been at home…but no, he would have laughed, or forbidden her to meddle. She would have to stop Cairnyllan herself.

  He had said he would call on Sir Thomas in the morning, so she must see him before then. Yet that was impossible. It was now very late, and even if a note reached him first thing tomorrow, he was most likely to ignore it, knowing what she wished to discuss. She must catch him somehow—an idea came to her. She would wait outside Sir Thomas’s lodgings until Cairnyllan appeared, and she would convince him then and there to abandon this ridiculous duel. It was a rather unconventional plan, but the more she considered it, the more satisfied she felt. He should not escape her.

  This settled, Alicia climbed into bed. But she did not sleep. The immediate problem solved, she was now free to wonder why she was so intent on interfering. Repeatedly, she tried to push the question aside, telling that irritatingly persistent part of her mind that she was merely trying to help her friends, and that she was of course eager to prevent violence and scandal. But it retorted that she had known the MacClains only a few weeks, and that they could hardly be called good friends. Too, she had never become so exercised about the numerous scandals that had rocked the ton since her comeout. What made this one different?

  The image of Lord Cairnyllan rose before her then—his ruddy hair and brows, his piercing blue eyes, the strong planes of his face. She pitied him, she told herself. He was about to make a dreadful mistake because of his own unfortunate childhood and unfamiliarity with London. Anyone would wish to help him.

  But that annoying part of her again protested. Very few would care to help. Indeed, most would not. Moreover, the man had treated her shockingly. He was arrogant, hidebound, and infuriating, and he had made it clear he had no regard for her opinions or her feelings. She was mad to continue the acquaintance, let alone to rush to his aid.

  Alicia shut her eyes and bent every faculty to stifle this inner debate. She knew she had to act. If she was not completely easy about her motives, it did not change that certainty. So agonizing was fruitless. Far better to simply go ahead.

  With this eminently sensible resolution, Alicia strove for sleep, but it was some time before it finally descended.

  As a result, she woke rather heavy-eyed, and only just in time to dress and breakfast before ordering her town carriage and setting off for the street where Sir Thomas Bentham resided. Fortunately, she knew the address; one of her cousins had once stayed nearby and mentioned with some chagrin meeting Sir Thomas and being subjected to a lecture on the evils of overindulgence in alcohol. The cousin had been careful to avoid the house after that, and had described to Alicia the maneuvers necessary to do so.

  She directed her coachman to stop almost directly opposite the door, ignoring his raised eyebrows, and settled down to wait. Cairnyllan could not approach the place without her seeing. And she would use the time to marshal her arguments.

  This proved more taxing than she had expected. It was all very well, she thought, to decide to convince Cairnyllan he was wrong, but she had very little idea how to do so. She had not had much success in this line up to now. Frowning and putting her chin in her hand, she pondered. She must try not to get angry, first of all. That was invariably fatal. And she must not use the accusing tone she had employed before. What would appeal to the man, she asked herself, and realized that she must come to a better understanding of his character if she were to answer that question.

  Her frown deepened. Ian MacClain was obstinate, she knew, and remarkably confident that his own opinions were correct. He was also blindly prejudiced in at least one area—the very one where she must attack him. Yet he was not completely unreasonable; she had seen him give way over several points when they had gone around the stables at Tattersalls and she or William had disputed his pronouncements. He had, in fact, seemed very fair on that occasion. Yet where it concerned his family…Alicia realized that she must approach their discussion through his family, for only thus could he be swayed. Leaning her head back against the carriage cushions, she considered various possibilities.

  She was so engrossed that she nearly missed Cairnyllan’s arrival. Not until he had climbed out of a hack and was walking toward the house did she see him. She had to scramble out and run across the street to catch him before he rang the bell.
“Lord Cairnyllan!”

  He turned, astonished.

  “I must speak to you. Will you come and sit in my carriage for a moment? Please?”

  He found his voice. “No. We have nothing to discuss.” He rang the bell.

  Alicia strove to keep her temper. “I believe we do. If you will only listen to me…”

  A servant opened the door. “Sir Thomas Bentham,” said Cairnyllan.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Sir Thomas has gone out of town.”

  Both Alicia and Cairnyllan stared at him. This was one outcome they had not expected.

  “Out of town,” echoed the earl. “But he knew I…where?”

  The servant looked taken aback by his harsh tone. “I don’t know, sir. He informed me he would be away until next week.”

  “I shall write him a letter,” decided Cairnyllan. “Have you pen and paper?”

  “Well, yes, sir, but…”

  “Good.” Cairnyllan pushed past him, forcing the man to step aside and then conduct him to a pleasant sitting room on the ground floor. Alicia hesitated, then followed.

  “I shall write a note and leave it here,” added the earl, seating himself at a small writing desk. “I require nothing further.”

  The serving man moved uneasily from foot to foot, clearly reluctant to leave this alarming gentleman in possession of the sitting room.

  “Well, go on, man,” said Cairnyllan.

  With a worried grimace, he withdrew.

  “You could have written from your own house,” pointed out Alicia.

  “I am in the mood to have this thing settled. As Bentham has been so disobliging as to run away—”

  “He has probably been planning this journey for some time!”

  Cairnyllan gazed at her contemptuously. “Indeed? I imagine rather it is an admission of guilt.”

  “Oh, you are impossible!”

  He shrugged and turned his back, picking up the quill pen. “You will not wish to linger here, I suppose. I certainly do not encourage it.”

  She was, Alicia realized, in an extremely unconventional position—in the rooms of one single gentleman, alone with another. A lesser girl might have quailed. But Alicia had determined to talk to Cairnyllan, and she refused to abandon her mission for propriety’s sake. “I will speak,” she insisted.

  Cairnyllan merely hunched a shoulder and kept writing.

  She gathered her faculties, keeping her temper well in check. “You really are making a great mistake,” she began. “You seek to protect your mother—your family—but in fact you are hurting them more than any Londoner possibly could.” Seeing his pen hesitate, she pushed eagerly on. “No one pays much heed to the gossip of strangers,” she told him. “Oh, people listen, and no doubt enjoy the stories, but it is rather like a game. They do not judge the subject solely by the careless talk of outsiders. I know this. I have observed the process numerous times.”

  Cairnyllan’s lip curled. “A fine sort of ‘game.’”

  Alicia ignored him. “But, if a family member, or close friend, lends credence to the gossip, then it is believed, and it can be very damaging. Don’t you see that for you to fight a duel to defend your mother’s honor—a quite unnecessary duel—will make everyone think there is something behind it. You don’t understand the consequences. People will cease to call; there will be no more invitations. Marianne will lose any chance of—”

  “From what I have heard,” Cairnyllan burst out, “the haut ton is riddled with scandal. And far worse than this.”

  “Not open scandal,” replied Alicia. “As this would be.”

  He turned back to his letter. “We will go home again.”

  “Marianne will be bitterly disappointed.”

  “I don’t care a damn what Marianne thinks,” he cried, goaded.

  Alicia raised her eyebrows. “And are you also indifferent to your mother’s feelings?” she asked. “Do you not think she deserves a little happiness after the misfortunes of her life?”

  “She was perfectly happy at home.”

  “Was she? Odd. When I first met her, I thought her a melancholy character—so subdued and shy. She seems much changed since she arrived in town.”

  “I can’t dispute that,” he said bitterly.

  “And for the better,” added Alicia. “Have you ever seen her so gay and eager?”

  He looked down at the letter paper, his mouth set.

  Seeing this as a sign she was making an impression, Alicia continued, “Sir Thomas is a very good man, you know. I have been acquainted with him most of my life, and I have never heard a serious complaint. He had an excellent record as a soldier, and he is known as a progressive landlord as well. He has a large estate in Kent. He is not a pink of the ton; he does not participate in any of the pastimes you find so degraded. He is intelligent, honorable, and very well-liked.”

  “A veritable paragon, in fact,” sneered Cairnyllan.

  “As close as one may come, perhaps. Your mother is very lucky to have captivated such a man.”

  “She is lucky?” He glared at her from under jutting red brows.

  “And so is he, of course,” added Alicia hurriedly. “They are a splendid match.”

  “Match?” This possibility did not seem to have occurred to him before. He fell into a daze.

  “Well, why not? Is it so unthinkable?”

  “Yes!”

  “I don’t see why.”

  “Everything was perfectly all right until we left Scotland,” he burst out. “We were happy, the three of us. Oh, Marianne complained from time to time, but she was actually content with her home and the neighborhood society. Mother was herself.”

  Alicia was losing patience. “Have I not heard some rumor of a duel even there?” A thought occurred to her. “Was that you also?”

  “No, it was not!” he replied furiously. “It was a pair of young puppies with cotton batting for brains.”

  “Dueling is ridiculous,” said Alicia sweetly.

  “Will you let me be! What right have you to badger me? You are not a member of our family. You are not even a friend. I know what is best for them, and I shall do it. If they will do as I say and—”

  “You are behaving just like your father, you know,” snapped Alicia. “You must have your way, no matter the wishes and feelings of others.”

  He stared at her, stunned.

  “There is really very little difference between beneficent tyranny and malicious, if one is being tyrannized.” This struck Alicia as debatable, and she hurried on. “You refuse to listen to advice, yet you expect your opinions to be treated as commands. I suppose your father was just the same. His own wishes were the most important thing in the world. Perhaps he even felt that his acts were for the best, too.”

  “How dare you!” The glare in Cairnyllan’s blue eyes made Alicia retreat a step.

  “It is no more than the truth!” But she stepped back again, regretting her lapse of control. She had vowed to keep her temper, and failed. Now, Cairnyllan was far too angry to listen to her.

  Indeed, he had never been angrier in his life. To be compared to the man who had hurt him so early, and whom he blamed for all the family troubles during his youth, was tantamount to being called Satan himself. And yet worse—for that analogy might be laughed off; this one shook as well as enraged him. The suggestion that he might be like his father…he rejected it with loathing. And any inclination to consider Alicia’s points vanished. “Get out,” he said.

  The savagery of his tone made her blink, but she could not quite abandon her purpose. “What are you going to do?”

  “For the last time, that is none of your affair. God save me from a meddling woman!” He turned to the desk once again, his broad back hiding the trembling in his hands from Alicia.

  “And me from a domestic tyrant,” she couldn’t help retortin
g.

  He sprang up. “I said, ‘Get out!’”

  “This isn’t your house. You can’t order me about.” As soon as she spoke, Alicia cursed her inability to mind her tongue. The earl looked goaded beyond endurance.

  “I can throw you out,” was his reply, and he strode forward and gripped her shoulders so tight she nearly cried out with pain. Spinning her about and almost lifting her from the ground, he forced her toward the entrance. When he let go to turn the doorknob, she jerked away, but he encircled her waist with his free arm, pulling her tight against his side.

  “You must have learned this from your father,” she accused, her temper by now out of control.

  Cairnyllan froze, still angry but also appalled at his own loss of control. He had never laid a hand on a woman in his life. Unable to move, he looked down at Alicia. Her pale blue eyes flashed with rage; several of her silver-blond curls had come loose and fallen over her forehead, and her cheeks glowed from the exertion. Something in him turned over at such beauty, and without thought he bent and kissed her full on the lips.

  Alicia struggled against his iron grasp and against a rising tide of response that made her want nothing more than to relax within it. Her sensations were those of their long-ago encounter in the ravine; the events of the intervening weeks had not altered them one whit, seemingly. At last, overcome, she allowed her arms to encircle his neck and gave herself up to the kiss.

  For an endless moment, they remained thus, enraptured by their matching passion, then Cairnyllan stiffened and thrust her away. Alicia, dazed by the strength of her emotions, fell against the wall and rested there.

  The earl stared at her, his brain whirling. It seemed to him that he must be somehow bewitched. This woman had just accused him of unconscionable sins; he had been goaded into a physical attack, and yet had ended up kissing her deeply and passionately. It was mad. And it must be her fault. She was, after all, everything he disapproved of. Thus conveniently forgetting his own gradual change of opinion, Cairnyllan backed several steps into the room. “Get out,” he said again, his voice low.