by Anita Mills
After years of wanting exactly that, it ought to have lifted his spirits to hear it, but Patrick felt strangely empty of emotion. He looked at Jane's fine, determined profile, wondering how he could have ever thought there would be no price to pay for what he wanted.
It was that he lacked sleep, that he was too tired to feel, he told himself. And it was Bartholomew Rand. Even as he thought of the old man, he felt an intense resentment. He disliked the notion that he'd been shamefully manipulated by an uneducated Cit, but there was no help for that either. He could not break his bargain with Elise and have a shred of conscience.
“When we are done, shall we play at whist for a while?" Jane asked him, breaking into his thoughts.
"You have already heard him say he has court tomorrow, my dear," Dunster reminded her. "And truth to tell, the fellow is utterly exhausted." He looked to Patrick. "What say you, sir? A brandy together, and then I shall send you home in my carriage."
"1 should like that. And you are quite right, my lord—I’ve scarce slept this week."
"Of course you haven't," the earl murmured soothingly. "A gentleman was not made to work as you do."
"But you will go with me to look at the house?" Jane persisted. "If you delay too long, I shall be gone from town—or worse, she may sell it elsewhere."
"At thirty-five thousand?" her father asked dryly. "I very much doubt that."
"If it looks as though I shall be out before three, I'll send a note 'round," Patrick promised. "Perhaps Lady Brockhaven will not mind it if we come late."
"Tomorrow afternoon, I am to be fitted for a new riding habit."
"The next day, then."
"Very well, but beyond that, I shall be leaving London."
"Yes—well, now that the momentous things are settled, I should like to cose a bit with Hamilton in my study." As he looked at his daughter, Dunster's expression softened. "It will not be for long, my dear, and then he may take his leave of you."
"Well, I think you are appropriating him shamelessly, Papa, but I daresay it must be important."
"It is." The earl folded his napkin carefully and laid it across his dessert plate before rising. "Your pardon, my love," he said to his wife. "After you, sir," he said to Patrick.
"Well, dearest," Lady Dunster murmured to Jane, " 'twould seem we are de trop for the moment. Shall we withdraw to the blue saloon?"
The older man led the way to the dark-paneled room where a new fire had been laid in the grate. Walking to a massive desk, he picked up a box and flicked it open.
"I'd offer you snuff, but I abhor it," he admitted, smiling faintly. "But if you would care to smoke, I have had these from the Indies."
"Thank you, no. I cannot say I have either habit."
The earl moved to a sideboard. "Brandy? Or would you prefer a glass of Madeira?"
"Whichever you are having," Patrick said politely.
"Then brandy it is." Unstoppering the decanter, the earl poured two glasses before turning around. He held out one. "Yours, sir." As Patrick took it, Dunster lifted his in a toast. "To a future prime minister," he murmured softly.
"I would doubt that, my lord."
“Not at all." Taking a sip, the older man studied die younger one over the rim of his glass. "I can see it—-I can see it. You have what I never had, sir—you have passion."
He'd used the same word Rand had used when he'd first come to the law office. Patrick managed to smile before he took a swallow.
"You are filled with fire and zeal, Hamilton—and when you speak, it is a wonder to hear you. No, no— no need to protest it, for we both know it is the truth." Dunster drank again. "Liverpool is on his last legs, and we Tories are fighting and blaming amongst ourselves. Oh, we shall win the next elections, but without new blood, the public is tired of us."
"It was the war."
"It was mistakes, sir—mistakes! And you are the new blood, Hamilton. You can be to us what Fox was to the Whigs, I tell you. Aye, you can."
"1 hope so, sir."
"You can" The earl set down his glass, and his manner changed abruptly. "I encountered Mr. Peale at Crockford's this afternoon," he said casually. "He was with Lord Russell after court was adjourned for the day."
"Oh?"
"We spoke at length of you. Both of them hold you in highest regard, you know. They were falling over each other to be the first to felicitate me for my daughter's good fortune."
"Coming it too strong, my lord."
"No, no—I assure you they were. But while Mr. Peale was engaged in conversation with Lord Hurley, Russell was confiding in me that he believes you are making a serious mistake, Hamilton."
"He told you about Rand."
"Yes."
"I see."
"You cannot defend him. I'm afraid you will have to withdraw—and the sooner the better. I expect you will do it tomorrow."
Patrick did not like Dunster's tone or manner. "No," he said flatly. "I cannot."
Taken somewhat aback, the earl stared hard at him, then said evenly, "You cannot defend a man half of London wishes to see hanged, Patrick. If you do, you will not be elected to a seat in Commons." He paused, looking away. "I wish I could wrap it up in clean linen for you, but there it is. You may tell Mr. Rand you are giving up your practice of law for a career in government."
"A man facing the hangman's noose is not likely to accept that," Patrick countered. "And particularly not since I have taken his money."
"How much is he paying you? And do not invoke privilege with me, sir, for I will not brook it."
"Enough."
"Whatever it is, I am prepared to match it," Dunster snapped.
"Even if it is half of all he owns?"
"Russell says he is guilty—that there can be no question of it," the earl responded, ignoring Patrick's answer.
"Then Russell ought to withdraw from hearing the case."
"Damn it! Can you not listen? I don't mean to fence words with you, Hamilton! You cannot defend a man who has murdered God knows how many females, I'm telling you! Not if you wish to be elected! Have you not heard?—there are mobs ready to riot if he does not go to trial today, and even more if he does not hang! And with the current unrest, all that stands between thousands of rioters and utter anarchy is the Horse Guards, sir! If you do not distance yourself, I cannot aid you!"
Although he himself had been thinking much the same thing, Patrick considered Elise. "I might well win it," he said finally.
"To what end? So that they will want your blood also?"
Patrick took a swallow of his brandy, then walked to stand over the fire. Staring into the licking flames, he said slowly, "If I can get the trial scheduled with the Recorder for next month, they will forget before I have to stand. You said you did not anticipate elections until spring."
"And if he is bound over until a later session?"
"As much as I dislike the notion, I will still have to defend him. I have given my word."
“The man is a murderer of the foulest sort!"
“If I win an acquittal, it will enhance my reputation rather than destroy it."
"May the Almighty save us! Even if I concede it will make you a sought-after banister, I am telling you it will ruin your chances of standing for Commons!"
“And I am telling you that if the trial is over, the mob will have found some other cause by then—there is no memory in mass hysteria—it is of the moment, my lord, nothing more."
Dunster drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Then perhaps I have not made my concerns quite clear, Patrick. If you defend Bat Rand and lose, your rep loses also. If, on the other hand, by some miracle you should win, you will enrage rather than appease the populace. There is no way to win at this, sir - no way at all."
"I think you are wrong."
"Do you now?" the earl said with deceptive softness. “Well, let me remind you that I have nigh to thirty pars of service to my party and to this nation, while you have but ten in the practice of law. If you were a bett
ing man, Hamilton, which one of us would you put money on?"
"If I were a betting man? You, sir. But I am not a gamester."
“I would that you thought on it. If you persist, I cannot guarantee you a district to stand from."
"Are you telling me you intend to abandon me?"
"No, but I am telling you you may be standing from some village in Cumbria, and even then I cannot promise you will win it. You certainly will not be elected out of London." Once again, Dunster's manner changed. Walking over to Patrick, he dropped an arm familiarly about the younger man's shoulders. "Think on it—'tis all I ask. Now, enough's been said, I think, and no doubt Jane would like to bid you good night ere you go."
Knowing that Elise had read the announcement of his betrothal, Patrick was torn between trying to explain and merely brazening it out. In the end while visiting a jeweler in Clarges Street, he chose not only a ruby and diamond ring for Jane, but also in exquisite sapphire bracelet for Ellie. The first he presented to his departing fiancee, the latter he dispatched to Marylebone.
Alter waiting for two days, he could stand it no longer. Using the news that Rand's hearing had been set for the next week and the trial itself for January as an excuse, he went to see Elise. And even knowing she must be feeling either hurt or angry, he could not help the exhilaration he felt at the thought of seeing her. He fairly bounded up the steps to pound the knocker.
The sober butler stood in the doorway to tell him Miss Rand is not receiving today."
“Tell her it is of the utmost import," Patrick unlisted.
“I'm sorry," Graves said stiffly, "but she is not at home to anyone, I'm afraid. However, if you would wish to leave a note, I am sure I can get you something in write with."
At that moment, a small ball of brown fur ran past Patrick's legs, its floppy ears flying as it bounded outside to jump and yip at his horses. Behind it, a young girl followed calling out, "Come back here, ye miserable creature! Ye'll be trampled!" But as she caught it, her actions gave the lie to her words, for she held it close, nuzzling the small face. "Button, ye'll be the death of me," she told it severely. Passing Patrick, she dropped a quick, bobbing curtsy. "Yer pardon, sir, but I was afeard she was going ter be gone afore I could catch 'er."
"What is it, Lizzie?" Elise came to the banister above them, then stopped abruptly when she saw him. As the color drained from her face, she said, "Oh, 'tis you."
He took off his hat. "Hello, Ellie."
Telling herself that she was not going to let his unexpected appearance overset her, she remained upstairs where he could not touch her. Crossing her arms across her breast, she regarded him steadily.
"Aren't you going to come down to hear what I have to say?" he asked quietly.
"No."
"I thought perhaps you would wish to know that the hearing has been set, and I wanted to assure you it is but a formality. I do, however, expect Rand will be bound over for trial, either before Christmas or after."
"Yes. Papa told me."
She was making it awkward for him, and he knew he deserved it. Nonetheless, he didn't want to speak with her in front of her servants. He moved closer to the stairs.
"Ellie—"
"You have told me, haven't you?"
"Not all of it."
"What else is there?"
He could threaten her with his withdrawal from Rand's defense, but he wanted her to come to him of her own free will, not because she had to. His hand caught the newel post as he took the first step.
"I have brought my tilbury and pair. I thought perhaps you might want to partake of fresh air."
"No."
"The leaves in the parks are quite lovely this time of year."
Despite the fact that she had no claim to him, she still felt a certain bitterness. "No," she repeated coldly. "I don't wish to go anywhere." Seeing that he had taken another step up, she fought the urge to run to her chamber and slam the door before he could reach her. "I would very much rather that you lift."
“And I'd very much like to talk to you."
“About what?"
Seeing that both Graves and the girl were regarding him curiously, he dared not say what he wanted. "I'd hoped to discuss Rand with you."
“I’d suggest you go to the horse's mouth, sir, and discuss whatever it is you want with him."
"If you do not come down, I shall come up, Ellie."
"No."
"I need your help—I need to know the precise dates when Rand was robbed and the watch brought him home."
“Ask him."
“I have, and he says he cannot remember. He is n«n the most forthcoming client I have had," he added wryly.
"No, I suppose not. He does not think he should be tried at all."
He took four steps up. "Five minutes, Ellie—'tis all I ask."
She had the choice of calling Joseph or one of the other footmen and throwing him out or of being backed into her own room. And she knew she had no right to be angry, not when she had initiated the bargain between them, and yet she did not want him to ask her to play the harlot again. Not when he had already promised himself to Lady Jane. And yet when she looked down on his face, she could not help remembering how it felt to be held by him. And she knew she was just as afraid of herself as she was of him.
“Five minutes, and you will go?" she heard herself say.
“Word of a Hamilton. Now—do you want to come down—or shall I come up?"
“I’d rather come down," she decided. She moved slowly, gracefully, as though she were a queen. He backed down and waited. As she cleared the last step, she squared her shoulders.
"Is Papa's bookroom all right—or would you prefer the front saloon?"
"Whatever is suitable to you."
"The bookroom, then." Turning to the butler, she told him, "As Mr. Hamilton does not stay, there is no need for refreshment, and therefore you are not to disturb us." To the tweeny, she added, "Put Button back upstairs, if you please."
"She is a taking little thing—the dog, I mean," Patrick murmured, holding the door for her.
"She has the house at sixes and sevens, if you want the truth of it." She regarded him severely for a moment "We all quite despair that she will ever be civilized, but wretch that you are, I daresay you knew that when you brought her here."
"But you like her."
"Yes. There are times when everyone goes on as always, and then I think I should go mad without her," she admitted. "Sometimes her madcap manners are all that keep me from thinking about what is happening to Papa. Or from dwelling on the fact that Mama has left both of us to go it without her."
"Poor Ellie," he said softly. "You have a lot on your shoulders, don't you? I would that I could help you, you know."
She moved to the fireplace and crossed her arms again, rubbing them as though she were cold. He was too near, too alive. She forced herself to think of the announcement in the paper.
"Did you get my gift?" he asked finally.
"Yes,"
He came up behind her. "Ellie—"
"I pray you will not touch me."
"For what it is worth, I do not love her."
"But you are committed to marrying her. What would she feel if she knew you were here with me? At least one of us ought to be able to hold a head up, don't you think?"
He reached out, touching her shining red-gold hair with the back of his hand. "It isn't a love match, I swear it. She doesn't even want to sleep with me, Ellie. Jane is but the political price I have to pay for Dunster’s support."
She ducked away and spun around. "And you think I am your whore? Well, I am not!" she cried. "I don't want to be that anymore, Hamilton. I am the rich Miss Rand, not some back alley trollop as can be laid at will.”
“ ‘Twas your bargain, Ellie," he reminded her. “ ‘Twas you who began—"
“And 'tis I who am ending it."
“Ellie—Ellie—it doesn't have to be. We can go on, .and—"
“No." Swallowing hard, she walke
d to the window to put distance between them. "It isn't your fault for taking what I offered," she said, her voice low. "I thought I could do it—I made myself believe that since Ben was dead, it wouldn't matter—that my soul and my body were two very different things, and that you could touch one without hurting the other—that Papa's life was worth selling my person for."
“I don't think of you that way at all."
She clenched her hands at her side so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. "Hear me out, will you? I am trying to tell you that I don't want anything more between us."
“Because of Jane? I told you—"
"Because of me!" She bit her lip hard to still its trembling, then she forced herself to face him again. “It is wrong, Patrick—terribly wrong. I cannot look myself in the mirror without seeing what I am, and I cannot bear the shame. The cause was good, but—"
“I still want you—you are like some sort of malady that I don't want to cure."
“I am afraid you will have to cure it with Jane. I'm asking you to defend my father, and I am asking you to do it for money rather than for me." When she looked up, the expression in his eyes nearly unnerved her. “Will you still defend him, Patrick?"
He knew he had it in his power to compel her, to tell her he was walking out the door unless she kept her part of the bargain. But he also knew she would probably hate him for it. "Yes," he said finally.
"Then 'tis settled, isn't it?" she managed. Exhaling, she told herself it was over, that she had survived. "Now—I am not precisely certain as to when Papa was robbed, but the last time was but a day or two before he brought you home to dine."
"Did he ever speak to you about opium?" he asked suddenly.
"Opium?" she repeated blankly. "Only that he abhorred it. Why?"
"There have been rumors that he might have used it—and that he might have lured prostitutes with it."
"Like everything else that is said, it is a lie. Why would he need to do such a thing, I ask you? He didn't need to use opium like that—he could buy whatever he wished with money,"
"Fanny Shawe died the day before I came to dine," he said quietly.
She stared incredulously, then found her voice. "Whose side are you on?" she demanded furiously. "Surely you must know my father did not do such a thing!"
