Georges sipped his port. "And Lord Mountheathe's letter?"
Amberley gave a bitter laugh. "Lost! Somewhere on the road between London and Carlisle. So much for proving my innocence!" Sighing, he slumped in his chair. "I've told you more than I've ever told anyone else, Georges. Do you still consider yourself my friend?"
"More than ever."
Brown eyes met grey. Amberley saw neither pity nor contempt in Georges's gaze and was satisfied. "In my youth, my friends called me 'Rogue Robin' because of my wild escapades," he said after a long silence. "I've not heard myself styled thus since." His jaw clenched. Calming his temper with a deep breath, he smiled. "What say you to England, then?"
"I still don't understand why you must go. I should think it would be a distressing experience, considering..."
"It will be! But along with the ducal lands that are my legal inheritance, my grandfather, enigmatic to the end, left me his personal fortune, which I shall have if I meet certain stipulations. I must be married to a lady of good family, to Grandpapa that meant aristocratic family, naturellement, within one year of his death and produce a child from that union within two years."
Georges gave a low whistle. "And if the conditions are not met?"
Lynkellyn's laughter cracked like breaking glass. "That's the cream of the jest, mon ami! The anniversary of Grandpapa's death is only a fortnight away. If I do not have a properly blue-blooded bride within that time, the entire fortune, a hundred thousand pounds a year, goes to that blackguard, Mountheathe. I don't need the money. I can live comfortably on my winnings for the rest of my life, but I'll be damned if I let Giles Bridland profit from his treachery again." All the anger, pain, and resentment that Robin had masked for so many years was suddenly naked in his smoldering eyes. "Will you come to England and help me find a wife, Georges? I must be a married man by the twenty-eighth of March."
"But already it is March thirteenth. Even if you leave tomorrow, the journey will take at least a sennight, Etiénne -- Robin, I mean. You'll only have seven days in which to find a lady, woo her, and wed her. Why do you not court a Parisienne?"
"If I fail in this venture, I want to be able to return to Paris as the Chevalier de Châteaugris. If I marry a French lady, all of Paris Society will know of my new title and my previous deception. Living here would become unbearable."
"But you've only a fortnight, Robin! C'est impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible, mon ami. I'm sure there must be one gentlewoman in England who would not object to marrying a hundred thousand pounds a year and a ducal coronet, slightly tarnished."
"très bien," Georges sighed. "When do we go?"
Robin sat down at his desk to write. "We'll travel to Calais in the morning. I'll have a packet waiting for us there."
"Then I'll take my leave to prepare for the journey. Will I see you at the Comtesse de la Tournaise's ball tonight?"
"Most assuredly." Lynkellyn's eyes fell to his letter. "And Georges...to Paris I'm still the Chevalier de Châteaugris, n'est-ce pas?"
"Certainement. I will find my own way out. Until this evening, mon ami."
"Until this evening." Amberley's mind was already on travel details, but he raised his head with a slight smile. "And I thank you, mon vieux, for standing with me rather than against me."
"Any time." Georges bowed and was gone.
***
"Mr. Gleason! You are returned from Paris at last. I vow I had almost given you up!" Lady Amaryllis Blayne said as the solicitor bowed to her on the threshold of her salon.
"Rough weather delayed my journey, my lady. I must confess I did not care for the Channel crossing either way."
Amaryllis ushered him to a seat and settled on a divan across from him. She leaned forward, twisting a pale gold ringlet. "How was my cousin?"
"In excellent health, Your Ladyship."
"He -- he has enough to eat, then, and a place to live?"
"He has amassed a comfortable fortune, my lady, and lives in a manner befitting a man of his station."
Relief flickered in her eyes. "'Tis only that I worried lest he should have sunk." She drew herself up sharply. "When is His Grace coming home?"
"I don't know, my lady. I assumed that, when I found him, I would be throwing a rope to a drowning man, but His Grace expressed very little interest in his legacy."
"Is he willing to let Giles have it, then, without a fight? I cannot credit it! The moment that creature gets his hands on Grandpapa's money, he'll usurp Lynkellyn Castle and all the other ducal estates. He'll run them into the ground just as he has his own lands."
"The Lynkellyn holdings are already heavily mortgaged, my lady."
"Well, Giles will find some way to make the situation worse! The man is a bounder!"
"My lady!" said the shocked solicitor. "Lord Mountheathe is highly esteemed and respected! His philanthropy is legendary!"
Amaryllis grimaced. "I've known Giles since he was in short coats. He excels at hiding the most reprehensible deeds behind that angelic facade he's created. I have seen things, heard things, but I am a lady, sir. Suffice it to say that I would prefer to see Robert Amberley take his rightful place in Society."
"But, my lady, during our search for His Grace, we discovered that he may have been involved in some extremely questionable activities."
"Robin was always a hero to me, my good man! Even when we were children, he protected me. Why, one spring when my cousins were visiting Manleigh Hall, he -- " Amaryllis blushed.
It had happened at her fourteenth birthday party. All the guests were playing hide-and-seek in the woods and she was hiding behind a large tree when Giles found her. She tried to run away, but he grabbed her, pressing her against the tree with his body. The rough bark scraped and bruised her skin as he tore at her dress and slobbered kisses all over her face. She screamed, fighting and begging to be released.
Suddenly Robin rushed into the clearing, demanding that Giles free her. Giles glared at his cousin with undisguised venom as Robin took a menacing step toward him, fists clenched. With a grimace of disgust, Giles shoved Amaryllis to the ground and strode away, leaving Robin to escort her back to the Hall.
She thrust the memory away, her voice shaking a little as she addressed Gleason. "Robin was always there when I needed him right up until that dreadful day. I cannot believe it of him! I simply cannot! I never have and I never will!"
"But, my lady, the facts, the circumstances in the case prove his guilt!"
"Facts may be twisted and circumstances misinterpreted, Mr. Gleason. Robin never betrayed my trust and I shall befriend him, no matter what the cost. You may tell him that if you see him again!"
"Your ladyship must realize that, having found your cousin and apprised him of the current situation, my firm can do nothing more," Gleason said. "His Grace must decide whether he will claim his inheritance or not."
Amaryllis twisted one yellow curl in vexation. "Oh, I wish I'd been there when you talked to him. I'd have dragged that wretched boy home by his ear!"
***
Lynkellyn and de Valiére spent four harrowing days on the road, halting briefly for meals and sleep. With the coachman springing the horses at every opportunity, they arrived in Calais on the seventeenth of March, one day ahead of schedule.
Over supper that night, Robin told Georges that once they arrived in England, they would dock at Harwich and travel by coach one more day to Brackenwell Hall, a small estate he owned in Essex.
"We're not going to London?" Georges tore at a bit of chicken with his fork.
"I'd have the devil's own luck finding a wife in London, mon ami. My name, face, and reputation are too well known. No! I shall search among the country misses and hope my title and fortune will impress while my blackened character languishes in anonymity. With any luck, a veritable horde of spinster gentlewomen will live in the vicinity of Brackenwell Hall in Essex."
"This Brackenwell Hall, what sort of place is it?"
"Je ne sais pas. I won the est
ate at cards in Vienna and I've never actually been there." Robin served himself from a dish of glazed carrots. "Since I've been administering the place by correspondence, I've brought the deed with me, lest my ownership comes into question."
"I see that you are prepared for everything."
Robin smiled. "Everything but marriage and fatherhood, Georges."
After an unusually calm Channel crossing the next day and a quiet night at the Pelican in Harwich, the gentlemen left for Brackenwell Hall in a hired coach just after dawn. The carriage stopped in Sudbury for a noon meal and turned into the tree-lined drive of Brackenwell Hall at sunset.
Facing north toward the Stour River, the red brick mansion nestled amidst a lush park like a ruby on green velvet. The house boasted a white marble portico with a flat roof that sheltered stairs leading to a set of polished oak doors.
The coach pulled up to the entrance and the gentlemen alighted. An elderly butler waited to greet them and take their wraps. The servant, expecting a Frenchman with dark hair and eyes, bowed to the marquis, who more closely resembled that image, and said, "Your Grace!"
"Non! He is your master." De Valiére indicated Amberley with a wave of his hand.
The butler turned toward Robin and bowed a second time. "Forgive me, Your Grace. My name is Carter. I head the staff here. Dinner may be served at Your Grace's pleasure."
"The Marquis de Valiére and I would like to change our clothes and rid ourselves of our travel dirt. We will dine at half past six. Pray show us to our chambers. Have our valets arrived with our baggage yet?"
"They are already in your rooms, unpacking, Your Grace."
"Bon! After dinner, I would like to see both you and the steward with the household and estate accounts in the library. This place does have a library, does it not?"
"Yes, Your Grace. I shall be happy to show you the library at your pleasure," Carter said a little huffily. "If you will follow me to your chambers, Your Grace?"
As the gentlemen started up a long staircase behind Carter, Robin turned to Georges, speaking in his usual French. "I fear I must leave you to your own devices this evening, mon ami. Business calls and if I can get through it tonight, I shall have one less thing to occupy my mind while I muddle through this marriage affair. That shall require all my attention and I must needs go quickly. I only have nine days left."
Chapter 2:
In Which His Grace Courts a Bride and Steals a Kiss
"What next, Robin? How will you begin your quest for a bride?" George asked over luncheon the following day.
Robin smiled, sipping his wine. "This afternoon, mon ami, we shall call on the neighbors. Hunting, as it were." He took a paper from his coat pocket and looked at it. "Carter gave me a list of the better families in the neighborhood. Out of eleven families, six know or are connected with mine in some way, if memory serves. They may not receive me at all. The other five - Reverend Stanfield and his wife, Sir Archibald Forbin and his lady, Lord Arledale, Mr. and Mrs. Weymouth and Lord and Lady Saddewythe -- are all unknown to me. Perhaps I am unknown to them. We shall see."
Robin decided to visit his former friends first, thus, he confessed to Georges, getting the worst over at the beginning. At each home, the Lynkellyn carriage waited while the gentlemen were announced. At two houses, they were politely requested to leave; at two others, the residents were not at home; and at two of them, Robin received threats of physical insult in response to his calling card.
Having rejected Lynkellyn's neighborly overtures, Viscount Wranham had sent word to all the gentry in the district, warning them against Rogue Robin and his sordid past. Consequently, amongst those families who did not know Amberley, the Forbins and the Weymouths were not at home and although a reserved Lord Arledale welcomed him, the man was a bachelor and of no use to the duke.
As the coach lurched away from Arledale House, Georges glanced anxiously at Robin who sprawled on the seat across from him. Amberley's jaw jutted forward, his lips compressed into a hard, angry line and his fists clenched in his pockets. Although his eyes were hooded, cold steel glinted from beneath those dark lashes.
"Don't worry," said the marquis, "We'll find someone, Robin."
Amberley swallowed an angry retort, saying only, "Who is next?"
Georges looked at the list. "Vicar and Mrs. Stanfield."
"At least, they should receive me," Robin said. "I am responsible for the vicar's living. It wouldn't do to offend me."
As expected, Vicar Stanfield and his lady received the gentlemen with every evidence of welcome, despite an alarming note from Wranham Chase only minutes before they arrived. When Robin discovered that the Stanfields were older and childless, he chafed at the bit, yearning to be gone, but good manners compelled him to stay the socially required twenty minutes.
Having also received Lord Wranham's message, Lord and Lady Saddewythe were in some disagreement over the prospect of a visit from Lynkellyn. Lord Saddewythe did not wish to receive him, but Lady Winifred nursed a secret desire that her dearest Pamela might be a duchess before her first Season had even begun. Insisting that a duke could not be anything but respectable, her ladyship carried the day.
As his carriage bowled up the drive to Saddewythe Manor, Robin wearily watched the landscaped park pass outside his window. "I will be very glad when all this is over, mon ami," he said. "Already it's a curst bothersome bore."
"Let us hope your new wife is not 'bothersome', Robin."
"It makes no difference if she is. I shall contrive, in that case, not to tarry overlong in her company." Suddenly all the duke's languor ebbed. He sat up abruptly, his eyes widening as he stared out the window. "Mon Dieu!"
A little girl skipped into the path of the speeding carriage as it rounded a curve in the drive. The coachman sawed at the reins, endeavoring to turn the horses. The vehicle shook and rattled as the confused, frightened team reared and plunged.
At the last possible minute, a blur of blue and black hurtled across the drive, pushing the child to the side of the road and scrambling madly after her.
The coachman got his team under control a little farther down the drive and stopped. The passengers alighted, rushing back to the child and her rescuer; a young woman clad in a patched and ill-fitting blue wool dress.
The woman's mobcap lay forgotten in the middle of the dusty drive. Having escaped both cap and pins, her long ebony hair tumbled about her shoulders in a maze of silken curls as she knelt beside the child. "Truly, Miss Honor!" she scolded, helping the girl to her feet and brushing off her clothes. "I begged you to stay with the rest of us. Your mother will not allow us another picnic if she hears about this, as I know she will, from the visitors in the coach. Really! It is too vexing!"
"I'm sorry, Cothy, but the flowers over here are ever so much prettier -- Oh!" Honor fell silent. She stared over Cothy's shoulder in awe, a finger stealing into her mouth.
The woman turned to find the gentlemen standing directly behind her. Her eyes widened and she paled.
Robin was looking at the child. "I trust the young lady has sustained no injury?"
"No, sir. Thank you for asking, sir." The woman curtsied, then returned her attention to the girl. "You may go to the garden and join the others, Honor, and do contrive to stay out of trouble."
Honor ran across the drive, disappearing through the trees. The woman watched her go, then, visibly steeling herself, turned back to the gentlemen. Curtsying again, she focused her eyes on the sapphire that nestled in the lace of his grace's cravat.
His gaze lingering upon her bowed head, Robin wondered if the midnight tresses dancing down her back were as soft as they appeared to be. Quelling the urge to fondle them, he said, "And you, Miss -- er -- may I be permitted to know your name?"
"Miss Lucia Cothcourt, sir. I am Miss Honor's governess. I pray you will pardon Miss Honor, sir. She is adventurous and will go wandering off if..."
"Have you taken any injury, Miss Cothcourt?" Robin interrupted, a faint caress in the deep timber o
f his voice.
Startled, she looked up at him and he glimpsed a pair of magnificent blue eyes before they were swiftly lowered again. "No, sir."
Lynkellyn's glance took in a torn skirt and ripped sleeves. He turned her hands palms up. Georges gasped when he saw the bloody gashes the sharp rocks had cut into them.
Blushing a deep red, Miss Cothcourt jerked her hands out of the duke's and shoved them behind her back. "Indeed, sir, I thank you for your concern, but I must return to the children." Curtsying, she scooped up her cap and ran across the drive, following Honor's path into the woods.
Robin stared after her, certain that face, those eyes, were familiar. Unable to summon any clear memories of such features from his past, he shrugged and walked back to the coach with Georges.
When the gentlemen reached Saddewythe Manor, Lady Saddewythe received them with apparent good will, eagerly introducing them to her daughter, Pamela. Robin bowed over her hand and accepted an invitation to tea.
As he balanced his cup and discussed Pamela's upcoming London Season, Robin studied the young lady. Pamela was a lovely blonde; about eighteen, Robin judged, and without education, save for drawing-room accomplishments. Life with her would be absolute boredom, but then he thought of Giles and his mouth hardened.
"Don't you think so, Your Grace?" Lady Saddewythe inquired.
"Pardon, my lady?"
"I was saying that Pamela will be unrivaled among the London belles, as pretty as she is. It will be a lucky man who weds her!"
"I'm certain she will take the ton by storm!" Robin smiled.
"Oh, do you think so, Your Grace?" Pamela leaned forward, her eyes shining. "I can hardly wait! Beautiful dresses and parties and riding in Hyde Park! It will be ever so grand!"
"When shall you be going to Town, Miss Saddewythe?" Lynkellyn asked.
Lady Saddewythe interrupted. "We leave on Saturday, March twenty-eighth, if all goes well, Your Grace; that is, of course, assuming Pamela has not already accepted an offer." As she gave Robin an arch smile, a sudden movement captured his attention. Lord Saddewythe, who had, until that moment, sat silently in a corner chair, was glaring at his wife.
The Rogue's Revenge Page 2
