‘When do you expect your brother to come back to Bath?’ she asked Miss Cholmondeley one morning as they strolled together towards the White Hart Inn in Stall Street, where rehearsals took place in an upper room. ‘Surely, he will return in time for the concert?’
‘Oh, Lady Brookenby, if only I could be certain of that. I do not know what made him leave so suddenly. He said he had received a letter calling him home—but I am sure I do not know how that could be, for there were no letters for him from Lancashire that morning, I know. And he had seemed so cheerful when he returned from escorting you and dear Miss Brookenby to the play. We had such a comfortable talk.’
‘Oh?’ Zanthe found it difficult to fain an interest she was far from feeling.
‘Yes, indeed. He admires your sister-in-law so much, you know. I was telling him how I had heard from—my Goodness! I shall forget my own name next—all about Baguely Hall and what a magnificent old house it is, and how very grand. And the huge fortune that Miss Brookenby will inherit—’
‘I beg your pardon, Ma’am?’ Zanthe rounded upon the poor little lady so suddenly that she seemed quite frightened.
‘What—is anything the matter—have I said something—?’
‘What is this nonsense about Margery’s fortune?’
‘Oh, I cannot at all remember—only that—Doctor Thatcher—’
‘I find it hard to believe that Doctor Thatcher has told you any such thing. He must know that Margery is not an heiress. She has her daughter’s portion, which she will receive upon her marriage. The estate is entailed.’
‘Oh? I fear I must have misconstrued. I have no head for business—’
‘Now I understand,’ murmured Zanthe. ‘Poor Mr Cholmondeley—frightened off by a grand house and a non-existent fortune.’
‘What was that you said, dear Lady Brookenby?’
‘Nothing. But, do, pray, listen to me, Miss Cholmondeley. It is of the greatest importance that your brother should return for the concert. Please write and tell him that he must return. It is vital.’
‘But why? What shall I say?’
‘Oh, I don’t know—yes I do—tell him it is his Christian duty, that he cannot desert his post like this. And, indeed, it is quite true that the affair is falling apart since he left. There is considerably more squabbling than rehearsing going on.’
‘Very well, if you think I should,’ quavered Miss Cholmondeley, anxious to please.
‘I do think it.’ She smiled encouragingly and gave the little woman a friendly pat upon the shoulder. Then she caught sight of a familiar figure lounging along the street towards her. ‘Oh, should you mind going on alone? I must just have a word with Lord Launceston about—about—a—horse—yes, a horse.’
‘Oh, certainly.’ Miss Cholmondeley bowed to Lord Launceston, who had come up with them by this time and would have walked past with a curt nod if Zanthe had not stopped him by the simple expedient of clutching his arm as he went by.
They watched as Miss Cholmondeley crossed the street, narrowly avoided being run down by a modish curricle and pair, and bumped into an irritable pedestrian just about to cross in the opposite direction.
‘She really should wear her spectacles,’ remarked Zanthe. ‘One would have thought that, at her age, she would not be so vain.’
‘Never mind her. What do you want?’
‘Must you be so abominably rude?’
‘Yes, I must. Do you believe your credit is so well-established that you can be seen in conversation with me in the open street? You are wrong.’
‘Well, if you will not visit me, or come up to me in the Pump Room, or dance with me at the Rooms, how else am I to talk to you?’
‘You are not to talk to me.’
‘How you do harp on that.’ She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, confident that he could hardly shake her off. ‘Escort me to the White Hart.’
He looked down at her, his eyes narrowing. ‘You are mighty free with your orders, Ma’am.’
‘Oh, with such an old friend, I feel there is no need to stand on ceremony.’ She walked forward and, as she was still clinging to his arm, he had no alternative but to walk on with her. ‘Since we last talked, I have been improving my acquaintance with Sir Marmaduke.’
‘Have you?’ his voice was grim. ‘What game are you playing, Zanthe?’
‘I am sure I have not the slightest idea what you mean.’
‘Did you think for a moment that I would believe you were encouraging Carlyle’s attentions because you liked him? I know you too well.’
‘Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think. Are you jealous, Jarvis? Is that what makes you so cross?’
He laughed out at that. ‘Jealous—of that fellow? Don’t be insulting.’
She shrugged, a gleam in her eyes as she joined in his laughter. ‘Well, if you must know the truth, I am protecting Parry.’
‘Protecting Parry?’
‘Yes, for really I cannot expect you to be there to watch over him all the time. You told me Sir Marmaduke’s plan was to bleed me dry, through Parry. Well, I have given him a much better alternative. Instead of ruining Parry, he is attempting to win me and my fortune quite honourably.’
‘Honourably? Don’t be such a ninnyhammer. The man does not know what the word means.’
‘Well, there you are wrong, for if he did not know what it meant, he would not be able to counterfeit it so well as he does. He is really very gallant, very charming. Much more than you are, I must say.’ She thought she heard him grind his teeth and smothered a smile.
‘Have you thought what will happen when this gallant and charming gentleman realises you have no intention of marrying him?’
As it happened, she had given the matter considerable thought, but she had no intention of admitting this to the Viscount. She laughed lightly, ‘Well, what can he do, after all?’
He stopped and turned to face her, holding her by the shoulders, quite forgetful of their public situation. ‘Don’t make any mistake about Carlyle, Zanthe. He is not a comic villain in some silly melodrama. He is a brutal, ruthless bully, and he will not take kindly to being gulled by a chit of a girl like you.’
‘Oh, pooh!’
‘Zanthe—for God’s sake—listen to me!’
‘Why should I, Jarvis? You are not my father or my brother or my lover—or indeed my anything. Remember? You have no right to tell me what to do.’
A look of understanding dawned in his eyes. ‘I see. Very clever. So I am to be blackmailed into marriage, am I?’
She opened her blue eyes in a wide, innocent stare. ‘I do not know what you are talking about. I simply pointed out that you have no responsibility for me or my actions. I thought that was what you wanted.’
They had arrived at the Inn all too soon for Zanthe’s taste. Susanna’s voice could be heard caroling through the open windows of the upper storey, accompanied by a badly played pianoforte. As they entered the hallway, he drew her into the shelter of an inglenook beside the empty fireplace. She went willingly enough, lifting her face in invitation.
‘Stop that! Now listen to me. I will not marry you. Get that through your silly, little head. But neither will I allow that blackguard to harm you or Parry. Do you understand?’
She smiled up into his face. ‘I understand, darling Jarvis. And you said you didn’t love me.’
‘God forgive me,’ he muttered under his breath, and then she was crushed in his arms and his mouth covered hers in hot, hungry kisses. Presently, he lifted his head and gazed down into the face that was still raised to his. Her eyes were closed, her reddened lips parted, her cheeks radiantly flushed. ‘I swore this would not happen!’
She opened her eyes then and drew his head back down to hers, ‘And I swore that it would.’
Seventeen
Zanthe returned to the Royal Crescent very well satisfied with her morning’s work. Launceston could say what he liked, but that kiss proved that he still wanted her. He was weakening and soon would s
uccumb to the only natural, inevitable conclusion.
When she arrived at the house in Royal Crescent, she found Sir Marmaduke sitting with Parry. He rose when she entered the morning-room and bowed before shaking hands.
Zanthe was all smiles. ‘How kind it is of you to sit with Parry, Sir Marmaduke. He gets sadly bored confined to the house as he is for the most part. Don’t you think he is looking much better?’
Sir Marmaduke smiled, showing far too many gleaming white teeth. ‘With such a nurse as you, dear Lady Brookenby, who would not get better?’
‘Well, that is a pretty thing to say, but I don’t think Parry agrees with you. He complains that I’m a bully.’
‘Well, so you are. She allows me nothing but thin gruel and porter, Duke, I give you my word.’
‘From your sister’s hands I would accept even gruel with gratitude.’
‘Well, you can have it with my goodwill.’
‘Never mind, Parry, Ma’am, I came to ask if you would care to drive out with me.’
She hesitated for a moment. She was still aglow with the excitement of her encounter with Launceston, and she did not want to spoil the day. But Sir Marmaduke must continue to believe he had a chance with her, for Parry’s sake. ‘I should like that very much, Sir. If you would allow me to run upstairs for just a moment, I shall be with you directly.’
Half-an-hour later she was being driven in a very dashing high-perch phaeton along country lanes that were decidedly not designed for such a vehicle. Before long, the inevitable happened—one of the tall back wheels hit a boulder; the carriage bounced, teetered for an interminable moment, and then fell on its side. The horses plunged in their traces, terrified. Sir Marmaduke’s groom ran to their heads, uttering soothing noises, which they seemed to understand and appreciate. They dropped their heads into his hollow chest and were quiet.
Zanthe had, most fortunately, fallen on top of Sir Marmaduke and so was not at all hurt. She was, however, annoyed and extremely suspicious. It seemed to her that Sir Marmaduke had driven deliberately over that boulder. Whether it had been his plan to overturn the phaeton she could not say, but that he had intended damage to the wheel, she was convinced. She was still crushed to his chest in arms of steel, and in a muffled voice, demanded to be set free. She thought he was rather slow to release her; but he did so, and she struggled to her feet.
He was half-lying with his head and shoulders on a bank at the side of the road, blood dripping down his cheek from a cut upon his forehead. In an anxious voice, he said, ‘You are not hurt? Please tell me you are not hurt?’
‘No, not at all, I thank you, Sir.’ She fished in her reticule and brought out her handkerchief, which she handed to him. ‘You are though, I think.’
He shrugged. ‘It’s just a scratch.’ He pulled himself out of the wreck of his carriage and strode over to inspect his horses. ‘The leader is lame, I fear,’ he said, passing a hand down the horse’s foreleg. ‘Collins, you will have to ride the other nag to go for help. I’ll stay with this one.’
‘But surely there must be an inn nearby where we could hire another carriage?’ said Zanthe, by no means anxious to be left alone in the gathering dusk with Sir Marmaduke.
‘Oh, no need for you to walk all that way. Collins will be back in no time, and he can bring the horses home later.’
‘You seem very familiar with the countryside here about, Sir. Where, pray, is the nearest inn?’
‘About five miles further on. We could hardly reach it before dark.’
‘I see.’
As Collins rode off along the lane, Sir Marmaduke spread his cloak upon the bank and begged Zanthe to seat herself upon it. She did so, spreading her skirts around her to discourage her companion from sitting down at her side. It did not work. The gentleman placed himself next to her so closely that he actually sat upon the crisp, taffeta skirt of her pelisse.
‘Excuse me, you are sitting upon my coat,’ she said in a scolding accent. He lifted himself slightly, and she pulled it out from under him, smoothing the fabric. ‘See what you have done. It is quite ruined.’
Sir Marmaduke flushed angrily but forced a smile. ‘A thousand pardons, my dear Zanthe.’
She turned and looked at him. ‘I do not recollect asking you to use my name, Sir.’
He grasped her hands and held them between his own. ‘How else can I name you in my heart? It is not Lady Brookenby but Zanthe, lovely Zanthe, that I adore.’ He slid to his knees before her, still clasping her hands to his breast. ‘I bless this accident that has allowed me to be alone with you for long enough to ask the question that has trembled upon my lips ever since I first laid eyes upon you.’
‘The same could have been achieved by asking me for a private interview.’ She removed her hands and clasped them upon her lap. ‘What is this question?’
From the look of chagrin upon his face, she deduced that the scene was not being played out as he had imagined it. Silly man! Did he really think she would have fallen into his arms?
He gritted his teeth but continued doggedly, ‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’
Without the slightest hesitation she answered, ‘I thank you, Sir Marmaduke, for the compliment you have paid me, but I must decline your very obliging offer.’
He stood then, brushing the dust and crushed leaves from his buckskins. She had disliked the counterfeit ardour in his expression while he was upon his knees before her, but infinitely preferred it to the way he was looking at her now. He was angry, but he was also, she thought, relieved from the necessity of wearing a mask. He could be himself now there was no advantage to be achieved by keeping up the pretence. He smiled, and she was irresistibly reminded of a book of fables she had possessed as a child in which there was an illustration of a hungry wolf about to pounce upon a frightened hare.
‘Do you know, I think you may wish to reconsider your answer when you have had time to reflect. We are very much alone here, are we not?’
Determined not to show any fear, she lifted delicate eyebrows and said, ‘Do you think I shall be compromised by being alone with you for the time it will take your groom to return? I hardly think so.’
He laughed, and she winced at the harsh sound. ‘I do not expect to see Collins before the morning, I assure you.’ His eyes narrowed, and he looked her up and down with insolent appreciation. ‘And you can be compromised beyond hope in a very few minutes, my dear. You have been married. You must know that.’
She inclined her head. ‘So you intend to ravish me? You said it yourself—I have been married; my situation is hardly that of an innocent schoolgirl. I should not hesitate to have you arrested.’
‘Bravely said, Lady Brookenby; but I don’t think you would enjoy standing up in court and describing before twelve interested jurors just what had passed between us. And I should deny it, of course, most vehemently.’
She shuddered involuntarily but said in a composed voice, ‘That would not weigh with me, Sir, I assure you.’
He sat beside her and put an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. ‘Why put us both through such unpleasantness? I am not such a bad bargain. I swear I’ll make you a better husband than that old stick you were married to. A little beauty like you needs a real man.’
‘Exactly so, Sir.’
She should not have said it. His face darkened, and he pulled her roughly into his embrace. For the second time in twelve hours, she was crushed against a man’s breast and kissed. But while Launceston’s kisses—hard and ruthless though they had been—had thrilled through every fibre of her being, in Carlyle’s arms, she felt nothing but disgust.
What might have happened next she would never know. Whether he would have carried out his threat or whether he was merely trying to frighten her, his plan was foiled by the sound, most welcome to Zanthe’s ears, of a team of horses being driven at a spanking pace along the narrow lane. Carlyle was obliged to release her as a very smart equipage rounded the bend and drew to a halt beside them.
‘I say, can I be of any assistance?’ called the gentleman on the box of the yellow-sided curricle. A respectable-looking groom sprang down and went to the horses’ heads.
Zanthe jumped up. ‘Oh, Sir, could you take me on to the next post house, where I may hire a chaise to take me back to Bath?’
‘Permit me to introduce myself—Huntington’s the name, of Walton Hall, you know. Take you back to Bath myself, Ma’am, if you will entrust yourself to me. But what about the gentleman?’
‘Oh, the gentleman must wait with the horse for his groom to return.’
Young Mr Huntington caught the bitter note of that ‘gentleman,’ cast a quick look from Sir Marmaduke’s face to hers, and drew his own conclusions. ‘Hand the lady up, Jim,’ he told the groom. ‘There’s a spot half a mile down the lane where we can turn the horses, and I’ll have you back in Bath in time for dinner. My word upon it.’
Eighteen
The young gentleman of the curricle was as good as his word: He deposited Zanthe at her door just as the Christ Church clock struck seven. Margery, within, had by this time arrived at the nerve-wracking stage of wondering if she should alert someone to Zanthe’s disappearance and if so, whom she ought to tell. The fear that Zanthe would tell her she was making a goose of herself, however, made her hesitate to set the wheels of officialdom in motion. Thus, when Zanthe entered the house, she fell upon her neck and wept over her.
‘Oh, my dearest, I have been so worried. I was sure you had been in some accident. What kept you so late?’
Zanthe sank onto a sofa and said, ‘Well, I did have an accident, of a sort. For Goodness’ sake ring for a glass of wine, Margery. I am quite exhausted.’
‘Of course, dear.’ Margery rang the bell and gave the order for refreshments. ‘But what happened?’
‘If I tell you, promise me not to repeat it to a soul.’
A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance Page 11
