Lord Kane's Keepsake

by Sandra Heath

  He was a sturdily built man of about forty-five, with eyes that were permanently narrowed from years of scanning the horizon for enemy vessels. He wore a plain brown coat, fawn breeches, white stockings, and black buckled shoes. His nose was sharp and pointed, and he had beetle brows that gave him a rather severe expression.

  It was impossible to tell if he still had hair, for he wore a powdered bagwig, but somehow Emma felt that he was completely bald. According to Stephen, he was a Bristol man who abided diligently by the old saying “shipshape and Bristol fashion,” and so efficiently did he run the Bagworth residence that in Stephen’s opinion the house could probably sail into battle and deliver the enemy a deadly broadside.

  It was an amusing thought, and Emma had to hide a smile as the butler approached the carriage, lowering the rungs and then opening the door. He gave them a surprisingly graceful bow. “Welcome to London, sir. Madam.”

  Mr. Rutherford tossed his traveling rug aside and picked up the walking stick which lay on the seat beside him. Then he edged himself stiffly forward, reaching out to accept the steadying hand the butler immediately offered.

  Emma followed once her father had alighted, and as he paused for a moment to stretch his aching limbs, she glanced briefly toward the garden in the center of the square. The air was noticeably cooler, and she shivered. Goodness, how early autumn was this year. One day it had been summer, the next it had been fall.

  The flower girl had given up her efforts and was hurrying away with her basket of flowers, and the lamplighter and his boy had almost completed their work, but the square was far from deserted. A number of pedestrians strolled the pavements, and several carriages rattled past on the cobbles. Two fine ladies crossed the square, accompanied by their maids. The ladies were very elegant, one wearing rose-pink, with ostrich plumes curling down from her jaunty little hat, the other in lime green with a high-crowned bonnet adorned with artificial flowers. The maids hurried in their mistresses’ wake, bringing with them a number of little white dogs on scarlet leads.

  The dogs yapped and jumped around, looking longingly toward the central garden, but there was to be no such pleasure for them on this occasion. Emma studied the two ladies’ clothes, concluding with some satisfaction that they did not appear to any more advantage than she, except, perhaps, in the matter of their coiffure. Oh, how good it would be to enjoy Dolly’s services again, for hair was a very definite problem.

  A rowdy party of gentlemen emerged from a nearby house, some of them appearing to be very much in their cups as they all made their way to two carriages waiting at the curb outside. Somehow they all managed to squeeze into the vehicles, which then drove smartly away, the sounds of their passengers’ merriment still audible.

  As the two carriages left the square, a small pea-green cabriolet entered at speed, driven by a dandy who was dressed from head to toe in the identical pea-green as his transport. The single high-stepping black horse had pea-green ribbons in its mane and tail, and Emma was quite certain that if it were possible to dye a black horse green, then such a fate would have befallen the unfortunate creature.

  She watched as the astonishing cabriolet darted around the square toward the northwestern corner, where it vanished from sight into Upper Brook Street, which led west toward Park Lane and Hyde Park, parallel with Upper Grosvenor Street, along which the Rutherford carriage had driven a moment or so before.

  Mr. Rutherford’s walking stick tapped on the pavement as Saunders assisted him into the house, and Emma left her perusal of the square to follow them. Behind her the two footmen had begun to unload the trunks and valises from the carriage.

  From the doorway Emma stepped into a small outer hall, square in shape, with white walls that were elegantly adorned with swags of gilded plasterwork. There were two marble statues of Greek goddesses, their delicate robes so skillfully sculptured that they seemed real. Between the statues was the only piece of furniture in this outer hall, an exquisite inlaid table upon which rested a silver salver for calling cards. Emma noticed that a number had already been left.

  The outer hall gave onto a chandelier-lit inner hall of breaktakingly palatial proportions. A grand staircase rose up between soaring Ionic columns to the three floors above, where galleries edged with marble balustrades were all that could be seen. To one side there was a mural depicting figures leaning over a marble balcony to gaze down into the hall.

  The floor was tiled in red, black, and white, and there were a number of doors, each one with impressive pilasters and pediments. A fire crackled in the hearth of an immense fireplace to the right, and there were beautiful crimson velvet sofas placed on either side of it. To the left, a console table stood against the wall, and above it there was a gilt-framed mirror that reflected the whole area.

  Two familiar figures were waiting at the foot of the staircase, Emma’s maid, Dolly Makepeace, and Mr. Rutherford’s man, Jacob Brown. Of Stephen there was no sign.

  Saunders bowed low to Mr. Rutherford. “Would you and Miss Rutherford care to take some tea in the drawing room after your journey, sir?”

  “We would indeed. Is my son at home?”

  “No, sir, but he left word that he would return in time to dine.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I do not know, sir,” replied the butler after a fraction of a second’s hesitation which Mr. Rutherford did not notice, but Emma did.

  “Then it seems we must wait to see him,” grumbled her father, nodding toward Jacob, who hastened forward to assist him.

  As her father walked stiffly toward the staircase to go up to his room to change before adjourning to the drawing room for the promised tea, Emma turned her gaze upon Saunders, for she was suspicious about his replies. “Saunders, have you no idea at all where my brother is at the moment?” she asked, watching him closely.

  “None at all, madam,” he replied.

  She didn’t believe him, but knew that it would do no good to press the point.

  “Will that be all, madam?”

  “Yes.”

  “I will see that tea is served directly, madam.”

  “Thank you.”

  As he walked away toward the door that led to the kitchens, Dolly approached her mistress, bobbing a curtsy and smiling. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Emma,” she said.

  She was Dorset born and bred, the daughter of a Dorchester tailor, and she was rosy-cheeked, with hazel eyes and fair hair that was cut short. Her plump little figure was neat and tidy in a pale-blue woolen dress, high-necked and long-sleeved, and her white apron was so crisply starched that it crackled when she moved.

  Emma did not beat about the bush. “What is my brother up to, Dolly?”

  The maid lowered her eyes quickly. “Up to, Miss Emma?”

  “You know exactly what I mean. Is it the gaming tables?”

  Dolly nodded reluctantly. “I only know the talk in the kitchens, Miss Emma, and I’ve only been here a day or so, but it seems he uses Lady Bagworth’s town carriage most nights and sometimes during the day, to take him to Avenley House in Pall Mall.”

  “Avenley House?”

  “It’s the town residence of Lord Avenley, Miss Emma, and it contains a private gaming club where they are said to play for the very highest stakes.”

  Emma stared at her in dismay. The very highest stakes? Oh, no! “Dolly, are you quite sure about this?”

  “As sure as I can be, Miss Emma, for it’s all the talk belowstairs. I wish it weren’t true, for I know how upsetting it is to hear such things, especially when a gentleman like Lord Avenley is involved.”

  “Why do you say that? What about Lord Avenley?” asked Emma quickly.

  “He is said to be the most wicked and unscrupulous lord in all London, Miss Emma, at least that’s what Mr. Saunders says of him, and all the other servants agreed with him. Lord Avenley is not a man to tangle with.”

  Emma’s heart sank still further. “How did my brother meet him?” she asked.

  “It seems that M
aster Stephen went to a prizefight at the Fives Court, and that a mutual friend introduced them. At least…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I think Lord Avenley asked to be introduced to Master Stephen.”

  Emma was taken aback. “That cannot possibly be so, for why on earth would a man like Lord Avenley ask to meet someone like Stephen?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Emma, but that’s how I think it happened. One thing is for certain, and that is that Lord Avenley has gone out of his way to befriend Master Stephen, calling upon him here and inviting him to the club in Pall Mall. Mr. Saunders wasn’t being entirely truthful a moment ago, for Master Stephen is with Lord Avenley now, but left instructions that his dealings with his lordship were not to be conveyed to Mr. Rutherford.”

  Emma sighed heavily. This was getting worse and worse. Oh, Stephen Rutherford, I could wring your foolish neck! She looked at the maid again. “How does my brother seem? Is he in buoyant spirits?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Emma.”

  “He doesn’t seem like a man who has been losing?”

  “Not at all, Miss Emma.”

  “Well, that’s something, at least, I suppose.” Emma turned, for the footmen were beginning to carry the luggage inside.

  Dolly glanced at her. “Let me show you to your room, Miss Emma, for tea will be served shortly.”

  “Very well.”

  Gathering her skirts, Emma followed the maid up the staircase, and on the next floor Dolly paused, pointing to a tall gold-and-white double door. “That is the drawing room, Miss Emma,’’ she said, but before she could proceed to the bedrooms on the next floor, there was a sudden rapping of a cane on the front door.

  The two footmen had been about to carry a large trunk up the staircase, but now they swiftly put it down and one of them hastened to see who was calling.

  His voice carried clearly to the two women on the first gallery. “Good evening, my lord.”

  “I believe from the carriage outside that Mr. and Miss Rutherford have arrived,” replied the gentleman at the door.

  Emma’s breath caught, for the voice was Gerald’s.

  The footman ushered him into the first little hall. “Yes, my lord, they arrived about ten minutes ago.”

  Emma looked swiftly at Dolly, “Quickly, my hat and pelisse!” Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the pelisse’s tiny buttons and then the ribbons of her Gypsy hat.

  Dolly assisted her as best she could, and then relieved her of her gloves and reticule as well. Emma cautiously patted her hair, fearing that at any moment the pins she had labored with would give up the fight, but thankfully the dark, heavy tresses stayed in place.

  As Dolly hastened on up to the bedrooms above with her clothes, Emma went cautiously to the balustrade, peeping over to look down just as Gerald followed the footman into the main entrance hall.

  There were golden spurs on his Hessian boots, and they jingled softly on the tiled floor. A charcoal-colored Garrick greatcoat rested casually around the shoulders of his indigo coat, and his face was in shadow from his hat brim. Saunders materialized from the kitchens to assist him, taking his greatcoat, and placing hat, gloves, and cane carefully on the console table.

  Emma could see Gerald’s reflection clearly in the mirror above the table. He was the personification of Bond Street excellence, wearing beneath the indigo coat a waistcoat made of old-gold armazine silk, a frilled white shirt, and cream kerseymere breeches. There was a sapphire pin on the knot of his starched cravat, and it flashed in the light from the chandeliers as he turned to address the butler.

  “Have someone attend to my curricle, for I fear the horses are a little fresh.”

  “Certainly, my lord.” Saunders snapped his fingers at one of the footmen, who immediately hurried outside. Then the butler bowed to Gerald. “I will inform Mr. and Miss Rutherford that you have called, my lord.”

  Emma composed herself, and then went to the staircase. “You need only inform Mr. Rutherford, Saunders,’’ she said, trusting that her voice sounded more confident than she felt inside. She looked at Gerald. “My father and I were about to take tea in the drawing room, Lord Kane. Would you care to join us?”

  “That would be most agreeable, Miss Rutherford,” he replied politely. There was no particular intonation in his voice, so that it was impossible to tell if he truly found the prospect agreeable or not.

  As Saunders hastened away to issue fresh instructions concerning the number for tea, and men to use the back staircase to go to Mr. Rutherford’s room, Gerald began to ascend toward Emma.

  She strove to give the impression of collectedness, but it was very difficult indeed. She had planned to look her very best for their first meeting in London, but instead the moment was being thrust upon her when she was very ill-prepared indeed. She felt anything but elegant, with her hair looking less than perfect and her jaconet gown crumpled from the journey. The gown wasn’t one of her favorites, and she only ever wore it with the primrose velvet pelisse, because the gown’s high, ruffed neckline emerged very prettily from the pelisse’s collar. On its own, however, the gown was less than successful, and had been one of the few failures when copied from a journal illustration. What must she look like to him? Surely he must think her provincial in the extreme, and a very poor substitute for his matchless Margot.

  Her nervousness and lack of confidence intensified with each step he took, and her glance was drawn inexorably to his left hand. She could no longer see the mark left by his wedding ring, but she still felt as if it were there, reminding her that theirs was to be nothing more or less than a marriage of convenience.

  She wished that her emotions had remained untouched, and that the feelings he had aroused that July day at Foxley Hall were now a thing of the past, but from the moment she had looked at him again, she knew that nothing had changed for her. She was trapped by her own treacherous heart, and although cold common sense bade her turn away from this match, every other sense conspired to shackle her. She was a moth to his flame, and there was nothing she could do to save herself from burning.

  Chapter Three

  There was still no way of reading his thoughts as he reached her. “I trust you will forgive this unannounced and perhaps inopportune call, Miss Rutherford, but I was driving past on my way from Upper Brook Street, and I could not help but see your carriage.’’ He bowed and took her fingers, drawing them to his lips.

  His touch electrified her, and she felt warm color rush into her cheeks. “There is nothing to forgive, Lord Kane, for it is most pleasing to see you again.”

  He smiled a little. “I do have a reason for calling, for there is something I wish to suggest concerning our first engagement together in society.”

  “Shall we go to the drawing room?”

  He offered her his arm, and they walked toward the double doors Dolly had pointed out earlier.

  Lady Bagworth’s drawing room was very sumptuous indeed, stretching from the front of the house to the rear, with windows that overlooked both the square and the gardens. The walls were hung with white silk patterned in gold, and the coffered ceiling was crimson and blue.

  On the floor there was a Wilton carpet that echoed the ceiling, and the chairs and sofas were upholstered in golden velvet. Dull blue velvet curtains were drawn across the windows, and the room was lit by three shimmering crystal chandeliers that moved gently in the rising warmth from the fire in the huge white marble fireplace.

  Gilt-framed portraits gazed down from the walls, and there were a number of Greek statues in the corners. Glass-fronted cabinets displayed the late Lord Bagworth’s collection of Oriental jade, and Lady Bagworth’s spinet, inlaid with lapis lazuli and mother-of-pearl, occupied a prominent position near the center of the room.

  Gerald conducted Emma to a sofa near the fire. “I trust that you had an agreeable journey from Dorchester,” he said politely, waiting until she was properly seated before taking a nearby chair himself.

  “It wasn’t as arduous as we had ex
pected, although I fear my father still found it somewhat taxing. He will require a few days to recover, but if he is careful to rest and avoid too much exercise …” Her voice died away awkwardly as she realized she was talking a little inanely. Her cheeks became hot, and she lowered her eyes quickly.

  He did not seem to notice her awkwardness. “I hope that he will soon be able to put the rigors of the journey behind him, Miss Rutherford.”

  “I’m sure he will,” she replied, forcing herself to meet his eyes again.

  His gaze was upon her, very clear and gray in the light from the chandeliers. “No doubt you are pleased to see your brother again,” he murmured.

  “We have yet to speak to him, for he isn’t at home.” She looked away, remembering what Dolly had told her of Stephen’s activities.

  “Is something wrong, Miss Rutherford?”

  “Wrong?”

  “You seem a little, er, distracted.”

  “Perhaps I am, just a little.”

  “If I can be of any assistance … ?”

  “Are you acquainted with Lord Avenley, Lord Kane?” she asked suddenly.

  His face became very still, and for a moment he didn’t reply, but then he gave a brief nod. “Yes, I am acquainted with him. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I have been given to understand that my brother has been spending a great deal of time with him, and that it isn’t at all a suitable friendship.”

  “It most certainly is not, Miss Rutherford, and I suggest that you do all you can to discourage it. Avenley is a dangerous man, and your brother would be wise to keep away from him.”

  She drew a heavy sigh. “I was hoping that I had been misinformed, but it seems I was not. Lord Kane, you will not mention this in front of my father, will you? He has expressly forbidden Stephen to gamble, and I believe that Lord Avenley has a private gaming club in Pall Mall—”