A Curious Heart (Love Vine: A Regency Series)

by Diane Davis White

  Before he could open his mouth, however, she turned a cold shoulder to him, and addressed Lady Eleanor, without so much as giving him a look. "You are quite right, my dear, to be upset. Although Allie was a trifle indiscreet in her behavior, she is young and we all need to remember that."

  Lady Alana scowled at Gordon, her final comment strident as she rose from her chair. "As for me, it has been a long day and I'm quite ready for my bed. Shall I call for the carriage to drop you at home, Eleanor?"

  Nodding her assent, Lady Eleanor rose and turned her back fully on Sir Gordon, who took the snub with a frown, grumbling under his breath about women's vapors and foolishness—which she heard all too clearly. With a stiffening of her spine, the lady started across the room, only to stop short when Rothburn tried once more to smooth the moment.

  "I only meant, of course, that it is foolish to be upset with a man for doing his obvious duty by the females of his family. Men are supposed to oversee the behavior of younger sisters."

  Rothburn made his voice even more reasonable, which only served to irritate both ladies. He continued, however, on his oblivious way with a further comment, directed this time to Sir Gordon. "Shall you apologize prettily to the ladies, sir, that we might have an end to this silliness?"

  "Silliness?" Both women exclaimed together and looked at Rothburn as though they might throttle him.

  Lady Alana finished him off with a quelling glance and a chilly manner. "You have behaved boorishly Lord Rothburn and owe Lady Eleanor an apology. Perhaps you need to remember that things that are none of your business should remain just that."

  She motioned to Allie and Lady Eleanor to accompany her and headed for the stairs.

  The two men watched the ladies departure, a limp and cast-down Allie between them. Sir Gordon spoke up when they were well out of earshot. "Really, Rothburn! Have a care. My aunt is a chilly one when her back's up and you've just about ruined me with Eleanor as well."

  "Not you too, surely, old fellow? I thought you'd be pleased to have at least one person take your side." Rothburn was astounded that the whole episode had deteriorated into such a fiasco at a few innocent words.

  "I know you meant well, of course." Sir Gordon reigned his temper. "No sense taking it out on you. Lets away to my study for a brandy and perhaps we can reason with the ladies when they come back."

  That said, the gentlemen repaired to the inner sanctum for a libation, with a quick word to March to alert them when the women returned.

  After seeing the girl to her room and giving her over to her maid, the two ladies descended to the foyer where the butler stood ready to direct them to the study.

  Reluctantly, they went through the door and stood together just inside, looking thunder at their respective suitors. When they did not come forward immediately to be seated, Sir Gordon came to them, and taking each by an arm, led them to the couch, where they sat, mute and stormy.

  Clearing his throat, Rothburn started to speak, but was forestalled by Sir Gordon who felt the earl had said more than enough this evening. Raising his hand for silence, he looked sternly at his friend and then turned his gaze to his beloved, his voice gruff with ill-concealed irritation. "Eleanor, you must believe that I have every intention of defending Allie's honor. I will send 'round Rothburn to call him out this very night."

  From the corner of his eye he saw his friend sit up straight and stare at him, open-mouthed, but he went on, "Think you that I would leave such a deed undone?"

  In truth, Sir Gordon had no real intention of dueling with the young squirt, but he felt that Lady Eleanor wanted him to. He knew that Rothburn would move heaven and earth to prevent the incident, so felt safe in his ploy. Anything to gain his beloved's regard.

  "You intend to call him out?" Lady Eleanor sat perfectly still and gazed at him in horror. "I cannot believe you would be so imprudent. This matter must die a natural death and if you take such an action it will only call further gossip down on the girl. How can you be so—so foolish?"

  Calling him foolish only served to anger Sir Gordon, who had thought she wanted this. Had she not said so earlier? He paced to the mantle and leaned against it, looking down into the flames. Reigning his temper failed. When he spoke, anger filled his words. "I don't know what the devil you want from me, Eleanor.

  "First you take my head off for not calling him out, then you come down hard on me for wanting to do so." He lifted his eyes at last and looked straight at her. "Just tell me, if you would be so kind—" he spaced his words out carefully, as though speaking to a child, "—tell me just what you wish, and I shall endeavor to do it and put an end to this whole affair."

  Lady Eleanor stood abruptly, offended beyond measure by his tone. "I want only to be gone from here immediately. I never told you to call anyone out. I only suggested that you should beat that monstrous young man to a pulp for attacking your innocent sister. That is not dueling."

  "Wait, please." Rothburn stood and made another grave mistake, over the protest of his friend, whom he ignored. "I shall see to it that no duel is done here. I will talk to Gordon, and I will see you home also. No sense taking two carriages when one will do just as well."

  He would have done well to stop there, but Rothburn being who and what he was, often carried the thing further than he should, and this time he was in up to his neck. "As for beating Beasley to a pulp, surely you cannot expect a gentleman to brawl in the streets like a commoner."

  He turned to Sir Gordon, whose face had gone a brilliant red, and finished himself off. "But then, ladies will think with their emotions rather than using their heads—no logic, I suppose. Right Gordon?"

  "Pray tell me, sir—did I hear you correctly? I vow you said we have no logical thought processes." Lady Alana stood abruptly, fixing Rothburn with a glacial stare. "Are we so short of brains that we cannot think at all, perhaps? Would you like to expound on that theory?"

  Not waiting for an answer, she flounced from the room, sweeping her guest before her and left the two men staring after them. Lady Alana, stung to the quick that Rothburn could be capable of such idiocy, raised her chin haughtily as she passed him.

  Sir Gordon, thoroughly incensed and unable to keep a cool head, was ready to do battle, if only to ease his anger and humiliation.

  First she says fight, then she says don't fight.

  Thinking of the rash young man who had accosted Allie he fell into an insensible rage, growling, "I shall call that young devil out right now. Will you act as second?"

  "Just let me see Eleanor home and I'll come back. Don't do anything rash until I return." Rothburn hurried across the room and out the door, seeking to undo the damage. He truly could not appreciate that his poorly chosen words had started this brouhaha and he felt put upon by them all.

  In the foyer, the ladies refused him an audience, and he was left on the step as one went out the door and the other up the stairs. Hurrying to catch up with Lady Eleanor, he barely managed to climb into the carriage as the horses sprang forward. Once his eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, he smiled engagingly.

  "Eleanor, surely you can see these matters are better left in the hands of men." He drew back startled as she glared as though she might hit him.

  "Rothburn, if he dies at dawn, it will be your fault unless you prevent this travesty." She looked out the window, blinking back sudden tears.

  "My fault?" He stared in disbelief. "My dear Eleanor, I am not the one who urged him to take up the mantle of violence in defense of his sister's honor." Satisfied with his dramatic verbiage, he settled back and fell silent.

  The carriage bowled along the dark street and the skirmish continued between the pair, Lady Eleanor giving her one-time suitor a cold shoulder as he continued to make her look the villain, as she put it.

  Rothburn finally persuaded the obdurate lady—because she wanted to be convinced—that she must see Sir Gordon's position a little differently.

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~~

  Rothburn, weary
beyond belief, arrived at his townhouse wanting only his bed. Having finally persuaded Lady Eleanor she would do better endeavoring to understand Pendleton's motives instead of plowing in with such a diatribe, he had exhausted himself. He'd spent the remainder of the evening dissuading Sir Gordon from challenging Beasley to a duel.

  Lady Eleanor was not speaking to Sir Gordon or him either, at this point. It did not help that Lady Alana was miffed with him as well. Seems Rothburn erred by taking the part of his best friend against Lady Eleanor.

  Alana had given him quite a setdown for impugning Eleanor's sensibilities. Sighing with exasperation, he concluded that the entire event had been a fiasco and he could not win an argument with the ladies, no matter what. Feeling quite sorry for himself he went straight to his study, intent on a nightcap. Finding Griffin ensconced in his favorite chair, feet upon the desk, swilling his best brandy did nothing to brighten his mood.

  "Comfy?" Rothburn sneered at his cousin and crossed the room with a purposeful stride. His sarcasm was not lost on the younger man, who immediately removed his feet from Rothburn's mahogany desk and bounded from the chair, sloshing the sticky liquid upon his coat sleeve.

  It became immediately apparent that his cousin had made great inroads into the aged Napoleon brandy and was well in his cups. "When did you get here and who gave you leave to get sloshed on my brandy?"

  "Roshburn—er, Rothburn." Griffin stared in an owlish fashion at his persecutor, his muddled senses swimming with disbelief. He had thought himself fairly safe from his cousin, having been told that he'd gone to a card party. Griffin hadn't expected him so soon.

  "You are here," he intoned with a definite slur and barely managed to stay on his feet, dizzy not only from the liquor but from his abrupt rise from the chair. He added lamely, "Thought you'd be gone for hours yet."

  Finally losing his balance altogether, he sprawled half in and half out of a nearby chair, brandy pouring down the front of his clothing.

  A series of emotions crossed Rothburn's features as he watched Griffin fumbling with his cravat, trying with little success to mop at the sticky mess while clutching the empty tumbler. Disgust, anger, trepidation and a small modicum of compassion traded places rapidly on the older man's face as he stepped forward with his own pristine handkerchief and began to mop at the sticky liquid as well. "Have a bit too much, did you?"

  Griffin mumbled something inaudible, looking up with sudden maudlin tears swimming in his eyes. He took the handkerchief from his cousin's hand and waved the sopping cloth about in agitation as he tried to order his thoughts and make something sensible emit from his numb lips.

  Rothburn stepped back hastily to avoid the soggy object and studied his cousin more closely. "Perhaps, Griffin, you should retire and we will discuss your problems in the morning."

  "Can't wait—have to talk now." Griffin, recovering only slightly, was mortified to find tears slipping down his face. "Gotta 'splain 'bout Allie. Don'tcha know?"

  The tormented young man then slipped further down in the chair and began to snore as the alcohol finally overtook him.

  The earl intoned, with much aggravation, "Good grief! What next?" Resigned, however, to getting no answer to that moot question, he hefted his cousin's dead weight over his shoulder and moved him to the couch, where he tossed a light blanket over him and left him for the night.

  Strong though he was, Rothburn was not inclined to carry the man—who weighed near as much as he—up the vast staircase to the bedchambers. Also not inclined to wake his servants for the task, feeling quite rightly, it would be unfair. Griffin deserved no better than the couch.

  Pushing the lad—none too gently—into a different position to allay his snoring, Rothburn retrieved the empty tumbler from where it had fallen. Getting a fresh glass, he settled behind the desk, his own feet now resting upon the escritoire's deep mahogany surface as he poured himself a generous libation. Settling back, he thought about his current dilemma.

  Lady Alana, light of his life, was angry with him for chastising her friend. Sir Gordon was resenting him as well. Lady Eleanor was outright enraged at his so-called interference and considered his well meant advice as a harangue. Allie had returned to being a lifeless chit. He glanced at the sleeping Griffin as he thought of the girl.

  Worst of all, he was certain gossip had already begun amongst the ton in regards that young lady's behavior. Now Griffin—another frowning glance in that direction—had shown up in such a tormented condition the earl despaired of ever bringing him up to scratch with the girl.

  Through the night he watched his cousin, whose face in sleep seemed young and vulnerable, tugging at Rothburn's heartstrings, causing him some distress for his cousin's predicament. He would have to go carefully were he to aid his best friend as well as his relative. Very carefully indeed.

  Near dawn he called for his valet and tried to remove the sleepless look from his person, with little success. A cold compress held over his eyes did remove the puffiness there, and a clean-shaven jaw did much to lighten his appearance. Yet the weariness in his gaze and the depressed slump of his shoulders undid his valet's most gallant efforts.

  He dashed off a note to Sir Gordon, to be delivered at a more appropriate hour and penned a pleading missive to his lady love, which he tucked into his pocket, hoping to deliver it himself.

  Leaving instructions that Griffin be given 'the treatment' by his valet and cook—he wanted Griffin clear-headed and alert for what would follow—Rothburn went for an early ride in the park to clear the cobwebs from his brain.

  * * * * *

  The 'treatment' was performed with some reluctance by the valet, who could not countenance Griffin's behavior. The cook, though—of whom Griffin was a favorite—outdid herself on his behalf.

  A leisurely soak in a hot bath, while sipping gingerly at a brimming glass of Port to ease his headache, was followed by a soothing rubdown. The valet—venting his displeasure—was not as gentle as he could have been in his ministrations.

  Fresh clothing was donned and a hot towel, fragrantly spiced, was put over his newly shaven face for a length of ten minutes exactly and refreshed the young man tremendously.

  Griffin was then treated to a breakfast of porridge and toast, followed by eggs in cream sauce, hot kippers and a rasher of bacon, crisp and sizzling. Muffins, butter and jam along with strong, hot coffee finished his repast and Griffin was ready to face the day.

  Though he remembered little of Rothburn's arrival the night before, he knew he was in for it and wondered that his cousin had not yet appeared to lambaste him for his behavior. Being appraised by the valet that his lordship had left the house, Griffin relaxed somewhat but dared not avail himself of his host's brandy. Neither did he again enter that private domain—Rothburn's study—he'd so callously breached the night before.

  Wincing at his uncivil behavior as a guest in another's home, Griffin was truly ashamed and retired to the guest room assigned him, there to fret and pace until Rothburn sent for him. It seemed he waited hours, but in fact it was only one hour and forty-five minutes before he was summoned to the presence.

  * * * * *

  Sir Gordon, seated at breakfast, was handed Rothburn's note and now sat with the crumpled page in his fist, ire washing over him at the thought of Griffin George. Not wanting to further alarm the ladies, he told the butler he was going for a ride, but did not appraise him of the destination.

  The less Allie knew of this affair at the moment, the better off she would be. As for his aunt, well, she was so incensed with Rothburn that he dared not mention the man's name, for fear of agitating one of her tempers—something to be avoided at all cost.

  He could only hope that Lady Eleanor would see things differently and he fully intended to call upon her today as soon as he had done with this other—less tasteful—business.

  He arrived at the earl's residence before Rothburn had returned from his ride and was shown into the inner sanctum of the study without hesitation, having often been a
guest in this house. It was as well, for this prevented him from coming into contact with Griffin before the earl had arrived to act as mediator.

  Rothburn found him there several minutes later, comfortably seated by the fireplace, staring fixedly at the flames. Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Rothburn stepped forward with some hesitance, having been scolded severely the previous evening by the knight of the realm and not certain as to his current mood. "Gordon, old fellow, how fare you this morning?"

  "Not as well as I would like, Rothburn. You have managed to ruin me with Lady Eleanor and the funeral pall that has settled over my home is disheartening to say the very least, thanks to your interference."

  Sir Gordon could not sustain his ire, faced with his friend's apologetic countenance. Softening his tone, he went on, "But I suspect you meant well, so I will overlook your meddling. Positive it was meant to aid me—"

  "To be sure Gordon. I only wished to smooth things over. Hadn't intended to get the ladies so riled and you will recall that I'm in the soup with Lady Alana as well. So do not think I've gone unpunished for my misguided attempt to aid you—as you put it."

  Rothburn wanted to get this out of the way and get onto the business at hand, therefore he spoke a bit briskly. His tone put Sir Gordon into a snit immediately.

  "Well, punished or not, you have single-handedly—" Sir Gordon stopped abruptly, realizing that this would get them nowhere, and changed tactics once more.

  "At any rate, Rothburn, we have much to do—what with my sister likely being maligned unmercifully by the ton. And there is your cousin's arrival to be dealt with. Last—but not least—getting back into the good graces of the ladies."

  Then, with some petulance he mumbled, "Should have met that damnable Beasley on the field of honor this morning, would have saved much of our trouble."

  "Yes, no doubt you getting arrested for murdering that young whelp would further our cause greatly, and there is the slight possibility of you being killed instead. That would certainly fix all our problems." Rothburn spoke with a mild countenance, his sarcasm evident, though his tone was not unfriendly.