To do him justice, Parry was most contrite, in addition to being very sorry for himself indeed. ‘It won’t happen again. I promise you that. I’ve never had as close a shave, and I don’t want another such.’
‘It would not have happened if you had not been odiously drunk. You must stop this, Parry. You will destroy your constitution, not to mention your good looks.’
‘Well, I will, though I don’t drink near as much as some fellows, I promise you. Duke, Carlyle that is, can drink me under the table and walk away sober as you please.’
He was sitting in a winged easy chair next to the fire, wrapped in blankets, for the loss of blood and consequent fever had left him very weak and liable to be chilled.
Zanthe was perched on the arm of his chair, her fingers laid against his wrist in a very professional way. ‘I can’t find a pulse at all. You are obviously dead.’
He laughed weakly and brought his hands up, clawing the air in front of him, grimacing. ‘I’m a ghoul, that’s what I am! You had better watch out!’
She caught his hands and tucked them back under the blanket. ‘Silly boy!’ The laugh died from her eyes, and she slid from the arm of the chair to kneel on the hearth rug, looking up at him. ‘Parry, is it true that you owe this man, Sir Marmaduke, a great deal of money?’
‘Who told you that? Oh, Launceston, I suppose.’
‘Yes, it was Jarvis. Do you really owe him a thousand pounds?’
Parry shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘All I need is a run of good luck, and—’
‘Parry! You are not going to play with him again?’
‘Damn it! How else am I to pay him off?’
She laid her hand on his knee. ‘I will give you the money you need on condition that you will never, never play at dice—or anything else—with this man again.’
The easy tears of an invalid filled his blue eyes. ‘I can’t let you do that. You know I can’t.’
‘You cannot stop me, my dear. I have asked Launceston to arrange it. He will say that you are still too ill, which is true, and so have asked him to make payment on your behalf. No one need know I have anything to do with it.’ She stared into the fire. ‘Launceston thinks this man is dangerous, that he drew you in deliberately. Is there not a word for such a man?’
‘Oh, certainly—Beau-trap, Captain Sharp, Gull-groper—take your pick. I was a fool.’ He laid his hand over hers. ‘I’m sorry, Sis.’
She smiled up into his face with misty eyes. ‘Stupid—we’ve always helped each other out of scrapes, haven’t we?’ She knelt for a few minutes, staring into the fire while Parry dozed a little. Presently, she said in a thoughtful voice, ‘I wonder if Sir Marmaduke might not be very useful to me.’
‘What—what’s that?’ Parry opened his eyes and tried to appear as if he had been awake the whole time.
A little smile played about Zanthe’s mouth, and her eyes sparkled. ‘I’ve just had the most brilliant idea! Tell me, is he well-born? I mean, is he received?’
‘Who—oh, you mean Duke Carlyle. Well, not by the high-sticklers, but generally, yes. The ladies like him. Very charming fellow.’
‘Jarvis says he’s an ugly customer.’
‘Come to that, a lot of people say the same thing about him.’
She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s just what I was thinking. Parry, why don’t you ask Sir Marmaduke to call? I should like to further our acquaintance.’
‘Ask him to call? Why should I? I mean, what reason could I give?’
‘You will tell him you wish to apologise for keeping him waiting for his thousand pounds. It is only polite, after all.’
He gave her a straight look. ‘What’s going on in that yellow noodle of yours, Zan?’
She laughed. ‘You don’t need to know that, brother dear. Just do as I ask.’
He shrugged and then winced as the movement jolted his wound. ‘Very well. I suppose you know what you’re about.’
‘I do.’
As Parry was now well enough to be moved to his own bedchamber and left occasionally to the tender mercies of his valet, Zanthe resumed her post as Susanna’s chaperone, which she had delegated to her sister-in-law in the interim. Susanna confided that she was glad to have her young mentor returned to her.
‘For, although Miss Brookenby is very amiable and did her best, we spent rather a lot of time with the Cholmondeleys. And they are so very earnest about everything. Everything gloomy, that is.’
Zanthe laughed. ‘Poor Susanna; I agree with you about Miss Cholmondeley, but I have sometimes suspected that Mr Cholmondeley has a sense of humour, if only someone would encourage him to display it.’
They were walking arm-in-arm along Milsom Street, intent, in light of the much warmer weather, on the purchase of a new bonnet for Susanna. At that moment, they stopped, as one, in front of a milliner’s establishment, which displayed a ravishing chip-straw confection with a low crown and upturned poke, trimmed with large pink silk roses and frivolous bows of ribbon.
‘Should you like to try it on?’ asked Zanthe, smiling.
Susanna shook her head. ‘It is lovely, but really, I am not the pink rose type. Now you would look enchanting in it.’
‘Yes, but we came out to look for a hat for you.’
‘Well, there is no law against buying two hats, is there? While you are trying on that one, I shall see how that gypsy bonnet in the corner of the window becomes me.’ She pointed at a flat-crowned, wide-brimmed plain leghorn hat with broad, white satin ribbons that passed from the crown over the brim and which were tied in a bow, rather daringly, at the back of the neck. Zanthe could not but admit that she was perfectly right. The plain, elegant straw was much more suited to the classic style of Susanna’s beauty. They entered the shop, much to the delight of the little proprietress, who had been watching their discussions anxiously through the plate-glass window. When they departed, each carried a pink-striped bandbox and was in the highest spirits. As they made their way through the genteel crowds, they became aware of a slight stirring of interest among the pedestrians and looked up to see the Signora’s eye-catching equipage advancing down the street towards them. Lounging carelessly against the cushions of the barouche by her side, with his cravat all askew, his coat unbuttoned, and his long legs stretched out so that his feet, crossed at the ankles, rested upon the seat opposite was Lord Launceston.
As the carriage drove by, the prima donna superbly ignored her lovely daughter while bestowing the slightest of bows upon Zanthe. The Viscount merely scowled at his own boots and thrust his thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. Zanthe, a smile quivering upon her lips, returned the bow with equal formality. She heard a little gurgle of laughter from her companion and turned towards her.
‘Does it bother you to be so publicly disowned?’
‘Oh no. She does it for my own sake.’
‘Just as Launceston cuts me for my own sake. How silly they both are.’
‘Silly?’
‘Yes, very silly. For, instead of enjoying the company of persons they love and who love them, they sacrifice us upon the altar of respectability.’
‘Love—?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Do you then love Lord Launceston, Zanthe? I should never have guessed it.’
Zanthe sighed, and her sparkle faded. ‘I have loved him for almost eight years. Like, who was that man in the Bible—the one who toiled for seven years for the woman he loved only, of course, the other way around.’
‘Jacob.’
‘What?’
‘It was Jacob who toiled seven years for Rachael. But, on their wedding night, they gave him the wrong sister, and then he had to serve another seven years for Rachael.’
Zanthe sniffed. ‘More fool him! Seven years is quite long enough to wait for anyone, and so Launceston shall discover before he is very much older.’
‘Do forgive me if I seem to pry, but, how came you to marry Lord Brookenby if you were in love with the Viscount? You do not seem to me to be the kind of young lady who could be forced into a
marriage you did not wish for. You told me once that you thought you had been abandoned by the man you cared for. Was that it?’
Zanthe was silent for a moment, remembering.
‘I beg your pardon,’ said Susanna, misinterpreting her reticence. ‘I should not have asked. It was impertinent.’
‘No, no, I was the one who introduced the subject, after all. And, to be truthful, I should like to talk about it. I never have, you see, and it would help me to get it clear in my own mind. It is such a lovely morning, I do not feel like being indoors. Let us find a bench in Sydney Gardens and enjoy a comfortable cose.’
They made their way along Great Pulteney Street towards Sydney Place and entered the gardens through the Sydney Hotel. They found a bench overlooking the Chinese bridge and watched the rowing boats pass by, carrying ladies in white muslin and gentlemen strenuously wielding the oars.
‘It was the spring of the Year Nine, and I had just been presented by my aunt, Lady Forester. Mama and Papa were travelling somewhere, I cannot recollect where, but were to be in London within the month. Parry was still at Eton, of course, and to tell the truth, I was very lonely. I knew no one in Town, and my aunt is not an entertaining companion.’
Susanna pressed her hand sympathetically. ‘I can understand just how you felt.’
‘Yes, I realised that the first day we talked on the way to the Pump Room. We have a lot in common.’
‘How did you meet Lord Launceston? At a ball?’
‘Oh no. It was much more romantic than that. At the time, I had the dearest little dog, a tiny Maltese terrier. He was just a little ball of white fluff with two coal black eyes and a shiny little black nose like a button. Indeed, I called him Button because of it. Well, one morning, I was walking him in the park, Hyde Park, my love, and all at once a great, hairy beast of a dog came bounding up and chased my poor little Button, so that he pulled his leash out of my hand and ran off across the Row. I screamed, for I thought the dog would kill him or he would be trampled by a horse. Then, all at once, a gentleman who had been cantering by pulled up, slid sideways out of his saddle, and scooped Button up in his hand.’
‘And it was Lord Launceston?’
‘Yes, and then he called off the big dog, which was jumping up, trying to get at my dog.’
‘And it obeyed him?’
‘Well, it was his dog, you see.’
‘Was Button hurt?’
‘No, just very frightened. Jarvis explained that his dog had been merely funning and would not really have harmed him.’
‘And you fell in love?’
‘Yes, but I did not realise it. I was very angry.’
She clasped her hands in her lap, remembering how she had berated him like a fishwife and how he had flung himself off his horse and fallen on his knees before her.
‘I will tell you just how it was,’ she said.
Eleven
Eight Years Earlier
He held the little dog up like an offering and bowed his head. But she knew he was laughing at her. She snatched the puppy from his hands and cuddled him to her breast, kissing the little black nose.
‘You have no right to bring a fierce brute like him into the Park. What if it had been a child he attacked?’
‘He is a she. Bess would never hurt a child. Look at her.’ And, indeed, the big dog was now lying quietly beside her master, her tongue hanging out as she panted, tired after all that enjoyable exercise.
‘Oh, well, thank you for rescuing Button, in any event. Even if your Bess did not mean to harm him, he could have been killed running in front of your horse as he did.’ She smiled and held out her hand. ‘I really am very grateful.’
He stood, bent over her hand, and kissed it. ‘Demonstrate your gratitude by allowing me to walk with you a little.’ Without waiting for her answer, he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and they walked on—he leading the big chestnut and followed by faithful Bess, she meekly pulling Button by the leash.
Zanthe tumbled head over heels in love that morning, and Launceston, for all his worldly knowledge and sophistication, soon made it clear that he was just as deeply in love with her.
He had, however, a reputation as a dangerous blade. The tale of his losses spread among the gentlemen in the clubs, and they shook their heads to see a promising young man going to the devil. Careful Mamas forbade their daughters to stand up with him at Almacks, for he was known to be a desperate flirt, and more than one young lady had suffered a decline upon his account.
But Launceston did not flirt with Zanthe. From the first, there was such a bond between them that flirtation would have seemed cheap and rather pointless. Every fine morning, Zanthe took Button for his walk and, by seeming chance, she encountered the Viscount on her way to Green Park, or Kensington Gardens, or any other patch of green where they might talk of everything under the sun, oblivious to the knowing glances that followed them.
Lady Forester, an indolent and stupid woman, was a very bad chaperone, as it was her practice to retire to the card room whenever she accompanied Zanthe to a ball or assembly and remain there all night. And so, for one glorious month, Zanthe waltzed in his arms unchecked, and upon her lovely face, there was such a glow of happiness as rendered her beauty dazzling.
‘Who is that young lady?’ demanded Lord Brookenby of his host, having returned to Town after an absence of some months.
The Earl of Stockport, whose ball it was, glanced across the room to where Zanthe was seated, sipping lemonade, and laughing at something an admirer had said to her. ‘Oh, that is Zanthe Sidney, Rothmere’s daughter. Lovely creature, ain’t she?’
‘Rothmere? Oh, you mean the antiquarian?’
‘That’s it; eccentric fellow. Married a Greek lady, or perhaps she is Turkish, something outlandish at all events. But she was a beauty, too, mind.’
‘Will you present me?’
His host cocked a knowing eye. ‘Better watch out, Robert, my boy. You’re at the dangerous age. Won’t do to be losing your head over a pretty face. Besides, the on dit is that she and Launceston will make a match of it.’
‘Launceston? I have heard his pockets are all to let.’
‘Oh, the girl don’t give a fig for that.’
‘No, but her father might.’
A few minutes later, Zanthe was confronted by her host and a tall, distinguished gentleman of perhaps five-and-forty. ‘Allow me to present Lord Brookenby, who very much desires to be acquainted with you.’
Zanthe stood, smiled, and dropped a polite curtsy. She held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Sir.’
He bowed over her hand. ‘All the better for this meeting, Miss Sidney.
She surveyed him, liking the twinkle that lurked in his grey eyes and the kindness in his expression. When he asked her to dance, she accepted readily enough, for she knew she must not stand up with Launceston again that night or it would set tongues wagging and come to her chaperone’s ears. But, later that evening, she stole away from the ballroom to meet him in a little antechamber. He took her in his arms and kissed her, but after a few moments, he lifted his head and said disagreeably, ‘Who was that fellow?’
‘What fellow?’
‘The tall man you were dancing the Boulanger with.’
‘Oh, that was Lord Brookenby. Why?’
‘He’s in love with you.’
‘Nonsense! He has only just met me. And besides, he is quite old.’
He tightened his hold upon her and buried his face in her hair. ‘That makes no odds. I loved you the moment I saw you, and I swear he did, too.’
‘His wife has only been dead a year.’
‘Well, he looks lively enough to me. I’ll wager his heart is not buried in the grave.’
She lifted her hand to caress his lean cheek. ‘Darling Jarvis. You are jealous. But you know you have no need to be. I liked him very well but—but—it is you that I—love.’ Naturally, after this, neither spoke for a very long time, and when they did, what they had to say did not concern
Lord Brookenby in the least.
Zanthe had other suitors, for she was the prettiest debutante of the Season and, although her Papa was not wealthy, she was well-born and very charming. However, it was acknowledged by the Ton that Launceston and Brookenby were the front-runners, and the betting was pretty much evens until Zanthe’s father returned to England.
The first intimation she had of this was when she walked into the breakfast room one morning and found him seated by the fire, reading a newspaper.
‘Well, my dear,’ he said, walking forward to give her a hug, ‘you look very well. How have you gone on without us?’
She returned the hug and lightly kissed his cheek. ‘Very well, just as I always have, Papa.’
‘Aye, you’re a good little thing. I have never worried about you. But, to tell the truth, it is on your account that I decided to return to England. I have to tell you, my dear Zanthe, that I have had a very advantageous offer for your hand.’
‘Oh, has he written to you. I did not—’ she faltered and was silent, as it was born upon her that no one, least of all her Papa, could call an offer from the Viscount ‘advantageous.’
‘Yes, yes,’ chuckled Lord Rothmere indulgently. ‘I see how it is from your pretty colour. Lord Brookenby has written a very handsome letter. You have made a complete conquest of him, you know. He makes no bones about it. Madly in love—and with my little girl! It could not be better.’
The colour he had found so pretty drained from her cheeks. ‘Oh no! No! I cannot marry him!’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Rothmere’s tone was icy. ‘Did I hear you correctly?’
‘Lord Brookenby is everything that is kind and obliging, but I cannot love him. Why, he is your age, Papa.’
This tactless remark did not help her cause. ‘Neither his lordship nor I is exactly a dotard, Zanthe. Brookenby is everything a young woman of sense could ask for in a husband: kind, honourable, and well-looking. I advise you to think well before you authorize me to refuse his offer.’ He looked at her and said shrewdly, ‘There is someone else, is there not? It was not Brookenby’s offer you anticipated when you asked if he had written to me.’
A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance Page 7
