by Jo Beverley
“For both of them,” Eleanor replied. “Didn’t you do anything, Nicholas?”
It would seem a strange thing to say except that Thea had grown up with stories of Nicholas Delaney.
“He would have been an ideal candidate for the Rogues, yes,” he said, “but we’d agreed twelve was it. Magic number and all that. And he was a year younger. Looking back, I’m sure there were things we could have done to help, but we were schoolboys and mostly absorbed with our own lives. I confess, once poor Dog Cave left school I never gave him a thought.”
No pity!
“How it must have festered,” Eleanor said. “I remember one school cruelty to this day, and if I met Fanny Millburton I would be hard-pressed to be polite.”
“So would you go out of your way to do Fanny Millburton a favor?” Thea asked.
Eleanor looked at her. “I’d like to think so, but I’m not sure.”
“What do you suspect, Thea?” Nicholas demanded.
Thea hovered on the brink of telling him everything, but speaking of her promise would make it more real and she knew now that she must find a way of wriggling off the poisoned hook. The man might have suffered unkindness, but had clearly been wild and vicious from the cradle.
“My parents are very grateful to Lord Darien and I suspect that was his aim. Mara’s warning made me wonder if he means us some harm, and now you tell me he has reason.”
“A very convoluted revenge,” he pointed out. “Simpler, surely, to let Dare stew in scandal.”
Thea considered that. “But that way his situation wouldn’t be changed. Lord Darien’s, I mean. Last night, the ton showed clearly that they were not willing to accept a Cave in their midst. Perhaps he seeks to change that. My family’s support would be powerful.”
“The ton at its vicious worst can be worse than any mob,” Nicholas agreed. “If he seeks your family’s support to overcome that, what harm in it?”
“Once he’s gained his end, he might intend some subtle malice.”
Nicholas’s brows rose. “Been reading Minerva novels, Thea?”
“People do plan and execute evil,” she protested.
He instantly sobered. “I apologize. Indeed they do. Eleanor, I fear we’re going to have to stay in Town a little longer.”
Eleanor sighed, but said, “Yes. You failed to help Dog Cave a decade ago, so now you must make reparation.”
“You know me too well.”
“Of course, and I agree, except that it’s really Dare’s job. He harmed him. Without malice, that goes without saying, but he did.”
“Dare won’t be up to it for some weeks, so I and the others must hold the fort.”
“And do what?” Thea asked.
“Put right the wrong. If Darien wants to be accepted in society, we’ll make it so.”
Just like that. Thea put her cup and saucer on the table because her hands were trembling with relief. She’d come here for information, but now it seemed she was saved. With the Rogues on his side, including the honorary Rogues like the Duke of St. Raven, plus some assistance from her family, Lord Darien could have no need of a mock betrothal.
What’s more, she now had a threat to hang over his head. Pester her and she would tell all, turning all these allies into enemies.
“I gather he’s still known as Canem Cave today,” Eleanor said to her husband. “Why, if that was the problem?”
“Perhaps he was clever enough to turn it to his advantage.”
“Is he clever?”
“Really good officers generally are, and his military reputation is remarkable. So, what’s our plan?” He seemed mainly to be consulting the wallpaper. “Darien must have friends from the army, but many will be like him, away from England until recently. We need people who carry weight in the ton.”
“That absolves me of duties,” Eleanor said.
“Try to hide your glee, my love.” Nicholas took Eleanor’s hand, perhaps without even realizing it. Thea was a little embarrassed by the physical connection between the couple.
“Good thing the Rogues are already here to support Dare,” he carried on. “They’ll have to stay a while. The Members of Parliament are stuck anyway as long as the debates go on. We have a lot of firepower, but even so, we can’t shove Darien down throats by force. We need to seduce the ladies and convert the men.”
“I gather he’s handsome,” Eleanor said.
“Oh, do you?” Nicholas teased.
“In a threatening sort of way.”
“Often the most dangerous with you foolish women….”
In their teasing they were taking something for granted. “But what if he is a true Cave?” Thea asked. “What if he’s evil? What if he plans some vile attack on Dare and my family because of a petty incident over ten years gone?”
Nicholas turned to look at her. “Then,” he said, as if discussing the weather, “we destroy him.”
Thea left the house relieved of some of her burdens, but wondering what force she had unleashed. Against all her will, the story of schoolboy torment had stirred pity for that misfit boy.
She’d never gone to school, and Dare’s stories of Harrow had made it seem like fun. She’d heard enough different versions, however, to know that a boy’s school could be hell. Sometimes the boys even rose in armed rebellion against their cruel oppressors. That was why Nicholas Delaney had formed the Company of Rogues.
For protection.
Horatio Cave had lacked all protection.
A runt.
Poorly prepared for school.
Grown up needing to be a vicious fighter.
She hardened her heart. This all made him more of a threat to her, not less.
Thea returned to the house to find a message asking her to visit her mother’s boudoir. Fearing bad news about Dare, she shed her outer clothing and hurried. When she passed a certain mirror, however, she paused.
This corridor received little daylight, so it still held the oppressive atmosphere of the night before, but how different she looked. Her periwinkle blue gown rose high in the neck and was edged with a fashionable white ruff. “Head on a plate,” Dare had teasingly described the style.
Her hair was dressed in a simple knot without any ornament. Her only jewelry was pearl studs in her ears and a silver and pearl brooch.
And yet she glanced to one side, half expecting the Cave man to be there. It was almost as if his spirit lingered to whisper, like Hamlet’s ghost,“Remember me.”
She hurried on, but some trace of him pursued so that she began to wonder if Lord Darien himself awaited her in her mother’s room. This summons wasn’t normal, especially in the afternoon. Her mother should be on her usual round of morning calls.
Darien could not possibly have already approached her father to claim betrothal.
Could he?
Chapter 9
Thea entered her mother’s boudoir braced for trouble, but sunlight shone on elegance and order, and her mother smiled. She was a very ordinary-looking woman for a duchess, of average build and with plain brown hair, but her kindness formed her features into the sort of loveliness that would last her lifetime.
She was sitting at the linen-covered table, china tea service and cups in front of her, and she had a guest, the always composed and elegant Lady Vandeimen. Maria Vandeimen was a distant cousin of her mother’s, but she wasn’t a common guest for tea.
“Thea,” Maria said, smiling, “how lovely you looked last night. That gown was quite wicked.”
“You mean my corset,” Thea said, kissing Maria’s cheek. “I should have changed it when I changed my gown.”
“I mean the cut, dear. If I still had a long, slim figure, I’d order one on the same lines.”
There was no trace of regret in her tone. Maria had remarried last year and given birth in February after years of believing herself infertile. She positively glowed.
Thea sat and accepted a cup of tea, wondering what was afoot here. “I hope Georgie’s well,” she said, sipping.<
br />
“In perfect health.” Maria happily described her daughter’s many charms, but ceased surprisingly quickly. “Enough of that. I came here to talk about Lord Darien.”
Thea’s cup only rattled a little. “Why?”
“He’s a friend of Vandeimen’s.”
After the first moment, that wasn’t surprising. Maria’s second husband—scandalously eight years her junior—was a dashing ex-officer. Though Lord Vandeimen was blond and blue-eyed, and had always been a perfect gentleman in Thea’s presence, she recognized similarities.
“From the army, I assume?” Thea said.
“Different regiments, but they found common complaint in their names. Van had become Demon Vandeimen in the army, and of course Darien was Mad Dog Cave.”
The duchess tut-tutted. “Such unfortunate names. Maria and I are considering what to do for dear Darien. People can be so unkind. Do have one of these lemon cakes, dear. Cook has surpassed herself.”
Thea took one, but tried a warning. “He could be a true Cave, Mama.”
“Oh, no. They have always been wicked and selfish to the bone. The old Lord Darien would never have stepped out of his way to help someone. No resemblance at all, I assure you.”
“He does have the dark looks,” Maria said.
“The Vile Viscount wasn’t dark,” the duchess said.
“No, but Mad Marcus was. That caused much of the trouble last night. If Darien resembled his father, he might not create such alarm.”
“But he looks nothing like Marcus,” the duchess protested. “He was a bloated monster.”
“Not when young. Before the pox set in.”
“Maria!” the duchess protested with a flickering look at Thea.
“I know about the pox, Mama,” Thea said.
“Oh, dear.” The duchess took another cake.
“Why do they have dark eyes and hair?” Thea asked. She knew she shouldn’t indulge her curiosity. It was like sneaking out to visit some scandalous locale, and just as dangerous.
“From their mother,” the duchess said. “An Italian. Magdalen something, I think. An opera singer. Or an opera dancer.”
Thea noted the difference between an artist and a whore. “Was she accepted in society?”
“Oh, no.”
“Opera dancer, then.”
“I don’t know how you young people know about these things,” the duchess complained, but then she added, “I suppose we did, too. But Lady Darien might have been a singer. Merely marrying the Vile Viscount would put her beyond the pale, and she was a foreigner as well. One wonders why she married him. He was never handsome and always unfit for decent company. His brother was worse, believe it or not. Richard Cave had to flee the country. Cheating at cards, and then he killed someone. Not like Mary Wilmott. Some person similar to himself in some back alley. I believe he fled right into the French Revolution and ended up guillotined, which could be seen as some sort of divine justice.”
“And wasn’t a previous viscount called ‘Devil’?” Maria asked. “It really is a sorry saga and won’t be easy to overcome, especially with Sweet Mary Wilmott hanging around Darien’s neck like the albatross.”
“Then we must cut it off,” the duchess said. “Such a silly poem. Opium, they say.”
She fell silent, and Thea knew she wasn’t thinking of Coleridge’s “Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” but about Dare. It was only afternoon. They wouldn’t be at Brideswell yet, but the effects of being without the drug would be biting him. At his worst, in the early days, he’d been tormented by wild visions.
The duchess shook herself. “I’m sure Darien is an excellent man. His military record is exemplary.”
Maria coughed.
“And what does that mean?” the duchess demanded.
“We have to face facts, Sarah. He was dashing, daring, and often very effective, but he was no more a pattern card of military propriety than Van. When Wellington tagged him Mad Dog he wasn’t being entirely complimentary.”
“He did us a kindness, Maria, and we will be kind in return. I assume you and Vandeimen are willing to help?”
“Of course. But it must be approached carefully.”
The duchess refilled cups. “Surely the endorsement of people such as ourselves will be sufficient.”
“You are above all doubt, Sarah, but I, of course, am a foolish woman under the sway of a wild, but handsome, young man.” It was said dryly and with amusement, but it was true.
Thea stirred sugar into her tea. “The Rogues will help. I visited the Delaneys and they said so.”
“Good news,” her mother said, but frowned a little. “Why rush off to visit there, dear?”
“Because of something Mara said. She detected antagonism between Dare and Darien, and Dare told her there’d been a quarrel between them at Harrow.”
“Darien quarreled with Dare?” Maria asked. “That’s quite an achievement.”
Thea related what she’d been told, and her mother frowned.
“That was not well done of Dare, and he should certainly have repaired the damage. He could have invited the poor boy to Long Chart in the summer.”
That was an image to alarm Thea.
“However,” her mother continued, “if the Rogues are on our side, success is assured. They can recruit from such a wide range of ladies and gentlemen that no one will detect bias. Sporting men, politicians, diplomats, patrons of the arts and sciences….”
“Don’t many people know about the Rogues?” Thea asked.
“Not in that way. That there was a schoolboy group, yes. That they are closely bound still, no. And then there are the connections, like St. Raven, Vandeimen, and Hawkinville.”
“How clever,” Maria approved. “It truly will look like an unorganized approval. And Van says many military men will support him.”
Thea had to attempt some sort of warning. “But what if Lord Darien has some ulterior motive? Some ill intent?”
“Because of a schoolboy quarrel?” her mother asked.
“Hurts can linger.”
“Not through ten years of war,” the duchess said. “What do we know to Darien’s discredit? Not his family, himself.”
He assaults women when he catches them alone.
“Mad Dog?” Maria suggested.
“Darien showed absolutely no trace of insanity or rabies.”
Thea stared. “You met him, Mama?”
“Of course I did, dear. Would I not seek out our deliverer? Caught him at the door and cried over him, I confess, which drove him out into the night. Very handsome,” she said, taking a piece of candied ginger and biting off a bit. “Not in the usual way, but oh, those dark eyes, and suchvigor . Quite devastating.” She licked her lips.
She was doubtless only licking away some sugar, but Thea felt as if she should give her mother a sharp lecture on wisdom and decorum.
She must have showed something, for her mother’s eyes twinkled. “Age doesn’t blind us to a tasty gallant, does it, Maria?”
“Obviously not, as I married one. But I must point out that you have twenty years on me, Sarah.”
“Do I really? I suppose I must.” The duchess took consolation in more ginger. “Perhaps the simplest solution is to find him the right bride. One of impeccable reputation, like you, Maria. No more opera anythings.”
“An English lady of good birth?” Maria mused. “With an impeccable reputation, but not in a situation to be too choosy.” She turned. “Thea—”
“Not me!” Thea protested, straightening with a start.
“Of course not,” Maria said, laughing. “You can be as choosy as you wish. I was only going to ask you for suggestions. You know the younger ladies.”
“Wouldn’t a sensible widow be better?” the duchess asked.
“As I was?”
“You saw a tasty morsel and gobbled him up, Maria. Sense didn’t come into it. I don’t suppose Vandeimen minded, but Darien might not want an older bride. Still, someone languishing unwed at, say, twent
y-four or-five? Perhaps someone who’s given up coming to Town in the season….”
“You’re running ahead as usual, Sarah,” Maria said. “Before promoting any match, before doing much at all, we must be certain that Lord Darien is suitable for polite society. We know little of him and he is a Cave.”
“But Dare…”
“One act does not an angel make, and if we endorse him, our reputations will be tied to his.”
