So Wild A Heart

by Candace Camp

  Devin looked at her, his brows rising in the first look of interest on his face that she had seen all evening. “They will assume we have expired from boredom, I imagine. Why? Did you have something in mind?”

  “I have heard much about Vauxhall Gardens since I came here,” Miranda began, tucking her hand into Devin’s arm. They began to stroll away from the others. “It is said that one should not miss it, but that a lady cannot go there unescorted.”

  “Good God, no,” Devin agreed. “It is acceptable, of course, if one is accompanied by a male relative or, say, a fiancé.”

  “That is what I thought.” Miranda looked up at him, her eyes smiling.

  Devin cast a look back around the room. No one seemed to be paying the slightest attention to the two of them. Most of Lady Ravenscar’s friends were clustered around her.

  Devin whisked Miranda out of the room and down the hall to the front door. An impassive footman, long accustomed to such behavior from Lady Ravenscar’s son, opened the front door for them. Laughing like children escaping their studies, Devin and Miranda trotted down the steps to the street, where Devin hailed a passing hansom.

  “You have to have a domino and mask,” Devin told her, but those necessities were easily provided by a stop at his lodgings before they continued to the Gardens.

  Vauxhall was everything Miranda had heard it was—tawdry, exciting and colorful. Boxes lined the wide walkway, filled with partygoers, most of them masked, as Miranda and Devin were. Women of a sort that Miranda assumed was less than virtuous strolled along, being ogled by young men in the boxes and returning their catcalls with giggles, winks and waves. Miranda saw more than one such miss lured over to a box and boldly kissed.

  Miranda watched it all with fascination. Couples slipped off down other, darker, less-traveled walkways for purposes Miranda had no trouble guessing at. Vauxhall Gardens was clearly rife with assignations.

  Devin procured them a box from which to observe the passing parade and the midnight fireworks. Miranda asked him questions about the people they saw and the things they were doing, many of which made him laugh at their bluntness.

  He turned and looked at her at one point, saying, “You surprise me, Miss Upshaw.”

  “Please, call me Miranda. It seems only fitting, given that we are to be married, don’t you think?”

  “All right. Miranda. You surprised me this evening.”

  “Why? By wanting to leave the engagement party?”

  He nodded. “I thought that it was precisely the sort of thing you were marrying me for.”

  Miranda chuckled. “Hardly. I can find any number of boring social occasions on my own in New York. I told you, it is the freedom that marriage offers that interests me.”

  He looked at her consideringly, then leaned over and kissed her. “And what about this? Does that figure into your consideration of marriage?”

  Miranda managed a breezy smile, determined not to let him know that his kiss had sent tingles running all through her. “Should it?” she countered and rose to her feet. “I fancy another promenade. Shall we?”

  “Of course.” He rose, saying nothing about the quick way she had cut off the romantic scene.

  They strolled once more down the wide corridor between the boxes. This time, as they reached the end and were about to turn to walk back, a man came toward them out of the dark. He was not masked, and Miranda saw his face clearly in the light that spilled from the promenade. But it was what he held in his hand as he rushed toward them that drew a startled gasp from her—a short-bladed knife that glittered in the glow of the lanterns.

  Devin saw the knife at the same time she did, and he twisted away from the man, jerking Miranda around behind him as he did so. The man’s knife sliced harmlessly through the extra folds of Devin’s domino. Devin let go of Miranda’s hand and grabbed for the man, seizing his wrist. But the fellow twisted away and took to his heels.

  Devin started after him, then glanced back at Miranda and stopped, his face a study in frustration. Miranda knew he longed to chase the miscreant down and punish him, but he could scarcely leave her alone in such a place.

  “I think it is time we returned,” Devin said tersely as he took her hand and led her out of the Gardens.

  “Does this sort of thing happen to you often?” Miranda asked mildly as they settled into the hansom Devin hailed.

  He glanced at her, then let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Any other woman of my acquaintance would be having hysterics right now.”

  “Would you like me to?” Miranda asked politely. “I suppose I could.”

  “No. This is far preferable, believe me.”

  “You did not answer my question,” Miranda pointed out. “Do you make a habit of being set upon by thieves?”

  “Not usually. Perhaps it is something to do with you.”

  Miranda quirked one eyebrow at him. “I don’t think you can get out of it that easily. Is it one of your creditors, do you think? We might tell Papa to pay that one off first.”

  Devin burst out laughing at her calm remarks. “It would have been more helpful, then, if he had told us who he represented. As it is, I haven’t a clue.”

  “Then I suppose it is a good thing that you are going up to Darkwater in a few days.”

  “Yes.” He looked at her. “Do you think that you can keep yourself out of trouble while I am gone?”

  “My dear sir, I believe so, since it seems that you are the one who leads me into it.”

  The Aincourts left two days later for Darkwater. Rachel and her mother had to make sure that the house was put in the best order that it could be for the upcoming nuptials, and a hint dropped in Rachel’s ear made sure that Devin accompanied them. It was part of Miranda’s plan to get him as far away from London and Leona as she could, and the family estate in Derbyshire answered her needs perfectly. Besides, Devin was far too distracting. She needed all her wits about her when she dealt with him, and that was difficult when she had so many things to do. As it was, the fact that thoughts of him kept popping into her mind at times when she should have been concentrating on other things caused her enough problems.

  The two weeks that she and her family stayed in London after the Aincourts left sped by. Aside from the time-consuming fittings for her wedding clothes and the numerous shopping expeditions for accessories, there were also her normal business activities to pursue—letters to write, accounts to be gone over—and though Hiram did much of the work, there were things that required her personal attention, especially since her father was often embroiled in conferences with the attorneys over the wedding settlement. Miranda also had to oversee the task of packing up her entire family for their trip to Darkwater, and shop for wedding presents for her soon-to-be husband, both the formal, somewhat impersonal present that was expected, as well as a more personal one that she had in mind.

  Two days before they were to leave for Darkwater, Miranda was seated at her desk in the study, going over the final packing list with the butler, when one of the footmen entered and gave her a card on a small salver, saying that there was a gentleman there to see her.

  “Who is he?” Miranda asked, frowning down at the card. “Cannot Elizabeth or Father take care of him?”

  “No, miss. Mr. Upshaw is out, sir, and Mrs. Upshaw is upstairs taking a nap. She is feeling poorly today.” The young man paused, then added, “He said it was important, miss. I told him you were busy, and he said he would wait all afternoon if he had to. He looks determined, miss.”

  “Oh, bother. All right. Show him into the drawing room.”

  She walked down the hall to the formal dining room, rolling down her sleeves and fastening the cuff buttons. She had barely walked into the room when the footman appeared again, with another man behind him.

  “Mr. Caulfield,” he intoned and backed out of the room, leaving Miranda alone with the stranger.

  The two of them stood silently for a moment, studying each other. Her visitor was a man well up in years, wi
th a shock of white hair and hands that trembled. He was dressed well, in the style of an old-fashioned gentleman, and he carried himself ramrod straight, his hat and a gold-tipped cane in his hand. His eyes were blue, and there was a fierce light to them that made Miranda a trifle uneasy.

  “Miss Upshaw,” he began, his voice surprisingly firm for his years. “I have come to warn you.”

  “Warn me? About what? I am sorry, Mr. Caulfield, but I am afraid that I don’t even know you.”

  “You do not,” he agreed, advancing toward her. “It is forward of me to show up on your doorstep like this, I know, but I had to warn you. I could not let you marry that devil.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Lord Ravenscar. I heard you were to marry him. Gossip travels, even as far as Brighton, especially when it’s about the Earl of Ravenscar. I could not let you do it. I could not let another innocent young girl be sacrificed.”

  “Mr. Caulfield,” Miranda’s voice was chilly, “I appreciate your concern, but I cannot stand here and allow you to slander my future husband. I think it would be best if you left now.”

  “Not until I say what I came to say!” he burst out, and his bright blue eyes took on an even wilder look. He tapped his cane hard upon the floor for emphasis. “The man is a murderer!”

  Miranda stared at him. Her knees felt suddenly weak, and she sat down in the nearest chair. For a moment she could not seem to find the breath to speak.

  “Aha! I see that got your attention, right enough,” the old man said with a touch of glee.

  “Excuse me.” Miranda found her voice again, a rising indignation giving her strength. “That is a serious accusation you make about Lord Ravenscar. You are alleging that he killed someone?”

  The old man sneered. “Oh, he didn’t dirty his hands with it, no. It’s nothing the authorities would do anything about. But he killed my granddaughter just the same, killed her as if he’d thrown her into the ocean himself.”

  “Mr. Caulfield,” Miranda said crisply, rising to her feet, “I will not sit here and allow you to talk about my fiancé in this manner. You say he is a murderer, but he didn’t actually kill anyone. Exactly what is it you’re talking about? What are you accusing him of?”

  “He seduced her, that’s what! And she couldn’t bear the shame. She threw herself into the ocean. Because of him!” Caulfield’s eyes glittered with fury, and he shook his fist in the air. “I called the coward out, and he didn’t even answer me.”

  Pity stabbed through Miranda. “Mr. Caulfield, I am very sorry for your loss. But it sounds as though your granddaughter killed herself.” She wondered how much of the old man’s story was true and how much of it he had concocted in his mind to assuage his own grief and guilt. She knew that if the old man had indeed sent a challenge to Devin, it was pity, not cowardice, that had made Devin refuse to answer it.

  “Because of him! He drove her to it. She was a good girl until she met him. He led her astray.”

  Miranda did not know what to say. She had little understanding of someone who, when faced with a crisis, would choose to escape the matter in death, leaving her loved ones to suffer as this man obviously had. Instinctively, she could not believe that Devin had seduced a virtuous young maiden and then had refused to marry her when she got pregnant—for, reading between the lines of Caulfield’s story, that would have had to be the case for anyone to kill herself. Even a foolish young girl would not choose to die simply because she had made an all too human mistake unless her shame was going to be exposed to her grandfather and the world. She knew that, as Rachel had said, deep inside Devin was a loyal and honorable man despite his apparent wildness. He was not the sort of man who would turn away a woman carrying his child, let alone a young girl who had been untouched until she met him. Nor, quite frankly, did Devin seem to be the sort who went about seducing virtuous young women. By all accounts, he had spent his time with sophisticated, knowing women like Leona Vesey, not blushing young maidens.

  She had to think that Mr. Caulfield’s granddaughter had not been the virtuous maiden he liked to believe she was. However, she could scarcely tell the man that, any more than she could point out that she doubted the girl would have killed herself if she had believed her grandfather to be a kind and forgiving man.

  “And now, young lady,” the old man went on, raising his forefinger and waving it warningly at her, “he’s gone after you. Because you’re an heiress. He wants to get his hands on your money. And what do you think will happen after that’s done? Eh? He won’t have any need for you any longer. You’ll be lucky if he just leaves you and goes back to his fancy ladies in London. Because he just might decide he doesn’t want to have to put up with the bother of a wife at all!”

  A fierce anger seized Miranda. “That is quite enough, Mr. Caulfield. I have tried to be considerate of you because you are obviously somewhat unhinged by your grief. But you go too far now. Lord Ravenscar has no deadly designs on me. I am positive of that. And you have no right to come here and try to frighten me with your nonsense.”

  “I am trying to help you!” he shouted, slamming his cane down on the floor again, his face turning an alarming shade of crimson.

  “No. You are trying to hurt Ravenscar. There is a difference. Now, please, you had better go before you do damage to yourself. You are very overwrought.”

  She marched over to the bell cord and pulled it sharply, summoning a servant. Behind her Caulfield began to rant and rave almost unintelligibly, spewing out hatred of Ravenscar and dire warnings of what would happen to her if she married him.

  The footman who had shown Caulfield in soon appeared at the door, and his eyes widened with alarm when he saw the raging old man.

  “Please see Mr. Caulfield to the door,” Miranda instructed him crisply.

  “Of course, miss. I’m terribly sorry, miss, I would never have let him in if I had realized….”

  “Of course not. You couldn’t know.”

  Relieved, the servant took the old man by the arm and firmly led him from the room. Miranda followed them into the entryway to make sure both that the wild old man was gone and that the footman did not handle him too roughly. She watched as he firmly set the man outside the door and closed it behind him. She turned to go back to the study, although she felt little like continuing with the packing list. The old man had upset her. She was certain that what he had said could not be the truth, but she could not entirely dismiss it, either, given Devin’s reputation, and the turmoil of feelings left her a trifle queasy.

  She looked up and caught sight of her stepmother standing at the railing at the top of the stairs, her eyes wide and her face pale. “Who was that?” Elizabeth asked in a horrified tone.

  “An old man who was, well, distraught. But he’s gone now. There’s nothing for you to worry about.” Miranda went up the stairs to her.

  “But why was he here? What did he say?” Elizabeth questioned, reaching out and taking Miranda’s arm in an almost painful grip. “He looked quite mad.”

  Miranda patted her stepmother’s arm soothingly. She could scarcely tell Elizabeth what the old man had said about Devin; she was already too doubtful about Miranda’s marrying him. Mr. Caulfield’s accusations would doubtless send her into a frenzy of worry.

  “It was nothing, really. I think perhaps he is a trifle unbalanced. I really didn’t understand what he was talking about. But there is no need to worry. I can assure you that the servants will not let him in again.” She smiled. “Now, I need your advice. They delivered the rest of the dresses today from Madame Ferrier’s, and I’m not sure that the ribbon we bought really goes with the green cambric day dress.”

  “The green? Oh, no, they were very complementary shades, my dear. Show me.” Elizabeth seemed relieved, almost glad to be distracted, and the two of them walked away down the hall toward Miranda’s bedroom.

  It was a three-day journey from London to Darkwater, for they traveled with a wagon of luggage as well as the post chaise in which the
y rode, and Elizabeth had a tendency toward travel sickness, which meant that they stopped frequently and moved at a slow pace to avoid jarring her. Joseph spent most of his time riding on a horse alongside the carriage, and since he had purchased another mount, as well, Veronica or Miranda often joined him, which made the journey easier to bear. Even so, the trip was far too long for Miranda’s impatient nerves. It had been almost two weeks since she had seen Devin, and she was eager to be with him again. However, this was a feeling she could not reveal to the others; a careless word about her eagerness from anyone in her family to Devin would set her plans back. So she had to contain her feelings and pretend to a calm and relaxation she did not feel, a pretense that only made her more frustrated.

  It was a great relief when the post chaise rattled down the lane approaching Darkwater. Miranda leaned out of the window to catch sight of the grand old house. They rounded a curve, and there the house was before them, on a slight rise, most of the trees cleared out of the way years ago to present the house in all its glory.

  Miranda drew in her breath when she saw it. Her father pulled his mount to a halt and simply sat there, looking at it. The setting sun cast a golden glow over its limestone block walls, turning the stone itself to a warm, honeyed hue and glittering upon the small diamond-shaped panes of glass in the mullioned windows. It was a house of graceful symmetry despite its size, built in the shape of an E, a popular conceit during the years of Queen Elizabeth’s reign, and ornamented with parapets, oriel windows and elaborate chimneys. It was lovely, Miranda thought, immediately losing her heart to it. At this distance and in this kind light, the problems of the house were not obvious. It simply looked old and magnificent.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it, Miranda?” Joseph appeared at the window of the post chaise, his face filled with awe and pleasure. “Isn’t it grand?”

  “It is indeed, Papa. It’s beautiful.” It struck her, with a pang of pride and pleasure that she had not expected to feel, that this beautiful old house was now her home, and the fairly detached interest she had felt in restoring the place was suddenly a hunger within her.