by Jo Beverley
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.
“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 such vigor. 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, twenty-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.”
“What of Vandeimen, then?” the duchess challenged. “You said he wanted to help Darien.”
“Van vouches for him in general, but even he admits that army values are different. Extremes that are acceptable among men at war are not comfortable in the drawing room.”
“He helped Dare,” the duchess said mutinously, “and we must be kind in return.”
Thea took a piece of sweet ginger for herself. Mara’s warning had been valid. Lord Darien was now one of her mother’s causes and she’d hear no argument against him.
“Even without that,” her mother went on, “Darien would deserve our kindness as a veteran of the war. We’ve seen how hard it is for some young men to settle into peace. Only consider your husband, Maria. A hero, but well on the way to ruin before you took him in hand. You can’t deny it.”
“I would never attempt to. It’s possible Darien is a similar case.”
“Or is no case at all. I’m sorry to put it this way, Maria, but Darien has not, to my knowledge, fallen into deep drinking and gaming.”
“But as I pointed out, Sarah, we do not know enough about him to be sure.”
Thea wondered if they were about to come to blows.
But her mother said, “I’ve already set Mr. Thoresby to investigate.”
“Ah, then,” Maria said, relaxing.
Thea relaxed, too. Her mother’s secretary was highly efficient and also protective of her good nature and generosity. He’d unearth all Darien’s sins.
“He won’t find anything to Darien’s discredit,” the duchess stated. “Cully idolizes him. Perhaps we should invite him to dine.”
“Cully?” Thea asked, confused.
“Darien, dear. A carefully chosen list of guests. Bring him into contact with the right people, ones who’ll value his army achievements and have power to sway opinion. The duke will drop words of approval around the clubs. I hope Vandeimen will do the same, Maria?”
“Of course, but don’t race ahead, Sarah. Wait for Mr. Thoresby’s report.”
“Oh, very well. I’m sure he’ll have a preliminary report in days.”
Maria rose, pressing once at her prominent breasts. “I must return to Georgie.”
“You should have brought her,” the duchess said, rising to kiss her cheek. “I adore babies.”
“I will next time,” Maria said and left.
“So lovely to see Maria happy. She never made a fuss, but her first husband was a sad disappointment, and not just in the matter of babies. Of course we worried about Vandeimen, but he has turned out excellently. As will Darien.” She turned an attentive eye on Thea. “You said you weren’t ready to settle on one of your suitors yet, dear?”
“No, Mama,” Thea said, heading off matchmaking on her behalf.
“Good. Then you’ll be free to support Darien.” Thea’s expression must have been revealing. “What’s the matter, dear? Does he frighten you?”
“No. I mean, I don’t know. I’ve never even met him,” Thea lied.
“Really? You seem to have such strong opinions. I assumed you encountered him last night.”
“I encountered his reputation. Everywhere.”
“What a strange mood you’re in today. Overtired, perhaps? All I’m asking is that you occasionally let Lord Darien give you his arm, perhaps sit by him and engage him in conversation. Partner him in a dance without looking as if you expected to be devoured. Is that too much to ask?”
“No,” Thea said. After all, she was supposed to be betrothed to the man. How had she ended up in this fix?
“You have such an excellent reputation for virtue and good sense that it will convince people immediately. Now, when?” The duchess opened her appointment book. “Almack’s tonight. No hope of getting Darien in there yet.”
Yet? Thea wanted to laugh.
“Lady Wraybourne’s musicale on Thursday. Very select. That could be difficult….”
“And you intend to wait for Mr. Thoresby’s report, Mama,” Thea reminded her.
“I’m sure he’ll have something by then. We need to act speedily to turn the tide. Once people get fixed ideas they become difficult. Only minor commitments on Friday.” She made a firm note.
Thea didn’t protest anymore. That gave her three days before she need meet the man again. Unless he brashly invaded, demanding his bride.
She should try to meet him sooner and explain all the reasons why the betrothal was unnecessary, but she could no more seek him out than she would seek out the plague.
Chapter 10
By noon, Darien had settled to the never-ending paperwork, secure that Lady Theodosia hadn’t complained of his behavior. At least there would be no challenge. She was probably running in circles, however, trying to find a way out of her promise.
He smiled at that. Oh, no, my lady. You are mine.
Wicked to enjoy the thought, but if so, ledgers and accounts were his penance. This wasn’t work he’d been trained for, but
he believed in understanding things for which he was responsible. The hollow rap of the door knocker brought him out of a particularly bewildering column of numbers.
Had he relaxed too soon?
He listened to Prussock’s heavy footsteps trudging toward the front door, faint voices, and then footsteps coming his way. A knock.
“Enter.”
Prussock did so. “A gentleman to see you, milord,” he said, disgruntled. Clearly visitors were an imposition.
Darien rose, pulling himself into readiness. “Who?”
“A Lord Vandeimen, milord.”
The wash of relief blanked his mind for a moment, but then the novelty of the situation struck. Van would be his first guest. Where should he receive him?
The reception room and drawing room were still under Holland covers, as was the sitting room that was part of his father’s suite. He’d refused to use those rooms. He’d also rejected the large bedroom that had been Marcus’s, even though every trace of the past had been removed.
As a result he was using the third bedroom. It was modest in size and he’d done nothing to fancy it up. Before he could decide, Van appeared in the doorway, lean, blond, and with the long scar down his cheek. “Thinking how to have me thrown out?” he asked, with a smile but not entirely in jest.
Darien laughed and went forward to shake his hand. “Only where to put you. I’m virtually camping out here, but I have supplies. Ale, wine, tea, coffee?”
“Coffee, thank you,” Van said, looking around the office.
Darien sent the curious Prussock off with the order.
“I know—Spartan. When my father died, the executor removed all the viscountcy’s papers that were here. I haven’t bothered to get most of them back. There were some books, but those that weren’t out-of-date almanacs and such were thoroughly depraved. I had the Prussocks burn the lot.”
“What’re the odds they sold them for a tidy price?”
Darien grinned. “A dead certainty. It’s good to see you, Van.”
