Had We Never Loved

by Patricia Veryan

  Lord Gregory Bowers-Malden threw back his leonine head and roared with laughter.

  “You young dog,” he growled at his son half an hour later, “how dared you slip your bit o’ muslin into the house whilst we was all away? I can well imagine what the servants thought!”

  The viscount had been so exhausted when he went to bed that he’d expected to sleep soundly. Thunder had awoken him at two o’clock, however, and between the following storm, his aching ankle, and his many anxieties, he had not slept again. He was still somewhat bemused by the shock of seeing his formidable sire stamp into his bedchamber, but he had never been able to follow the earl’s example and act as if the servants were invisible. Turning from his dressing table, he dismissed Whittlesey and took up his wig. When the door had closed behind the valet, he said quietly, “Miss Consett is not a bit o’ muslin, sir. Once you meet her—”

  “Been chatting with her this thirty minutes and more,” boomed the earl, marching over to fling open another casement in the already cool room.

  Glendenning held his breath, waiting for the storm.

  “She’s an entertaining chit,” said Bowers-Malden. “The common folk have an innate honesty ’twould behoove us all to emulate. Even so, Glendenning, I—Good God!” Staring at his son’s reflected face, he moved closer. “What the deuce has happened t’ye, boy? Never say you went out with that devil Falcon?” One muscular hand touched the viscount’s hair very gently. “Caught you in the head, did he? That worthless rogue! I trust you gave as good as you got?”

  The smile that accompanied the last words was not quite steady, and to his astonishment Glendenning saw that the freckles, so like his own, which dusted the bridge of his sire’s nose, stood out in sharp relief against a sudden pallor. Lady Nola had tried often to convince him that the earl loved him, but he had been very sure his father not only did not give a button for him, but held him in contempt. The fear now so evident in the pale green eyes quite unmanned him, and for an instant he was unable to reply.

  Bowers-Malden’s hand dropped to his shoulder. “My dear boy,” he said in a tone Horatio had not heard for years, “you are all right?”

  Perhaps because he was so bewildered, Glendenning’s slim fingers flew with involuntary and betraying speed to cover his father’s hand. Amazement was succeeded by an emotion so deep that even when he could command his voice it was very gruff. “I am quite all right, sir … I thank you.”

  Embarrassment at such a display of affection then seized these two very British gentlemen. Bowers-Malden grunted and took himself to the door and back. Glendenning picked up his wig again, and made an effort to speak lightly. “If you have been chatting with Miss Consett, I’d have thought she would have told you the truth of the matter, sir.”

  Having recovered his composure, the earl chuckled, and tossed his massive frame into a chair. “She was much too busy giving me her evaluation of this horrid old house, and her assessment of the mental deficiency of most members of the Quality.”

  Glendenning groaned. “I can well believe it! Sir, pray do not take umbrage. She means not a bit of harm.”

  “I doubt I have laughed so much in years, nor seen a lovelier little armful. For how long has she been under your protection? You’d have done well to get her instruction in proper behaviour, Horatio, if only for her own sake.”

  Having adjusted the wig carefully over his scarred head, Glendenning drew a chair closer to his father. If he was very adroit, this might be a perfect opportunity to try and win the old fellow over. “Miss Consett is not under my protection, sir,” he began. “At least, not in the way you infer. The fact is that I was set upon in the woods, and she very bravely intervened, and saved my life.”

  “What?” The earl jerked forward, his face flushing darkly. “Have you called in Bow Street? Have you sent hunters after the swine? Hell and the devil confound ’em! That a British peer should be attacked by such vermin!” He sprang up, then sat down again. Breathing hard, his eyes sparking, he demanded, “Tell me the whole.”

  Glendenning told him considerably less than the whole, fabricating a tale wherein he had chased a pickpocket into the woods and been attacked by more ruffians. Amy’s intrepid rescue he did detail, however, sending Bowers-Malden into shattering whoops of laughter.

  “By Jupiter, but she’s a Trojan,” declared the earl, driving his fist onto the arm of the chair with such force his son wondered it did not splinter to fragments. “Lived nearby, did she?”

  “Er, yes, sir. With her uncle, who is a most talented artist, and—”

  “Is that so? And he let you carry her off, eh? Knew which side his bread was buttered on, and I do not blame the fellow one whit! You owe the gel, Horatio, be damned if y’don’t. With some schooling and the right gowns, you’ll be able to take her out in public without having to hide your head in a basket. Likely, you’ll have to pension her off when you take a bride, though, and that’s always a devilish business.”

  Nerving himself, Glendenning stood. “Sir,” he said, “Mistress Amy Consett is the loveliest, the most brave and warmhearted lady I have ever—”

  “She’s warm-hearted, all right,” interposed the earl with enthusiasm. “D’you know, the chit worried because she fixed it in her pretty head that I don’t eat enough. Asked if no one took care of me!” His laugh rumbled out again. “I’m glad to see your ability to select diamonds of the first water ain’t deserted you, after all, my boy.”

  “Thank you, sir. And since you are so anxious that I marry soon—”

  “Aha!” Standing also, the earl asked, “Found a suitable lady, have you?”

  He looked so eager, his eyes bright with affection. Glendenning’s heart sank. He had only just realized that the dear old fellow cared for him. To have to hurt him so soon after that revelation was cruelly hard. He hesitated, trying desperately to find the proper words.

  Bowers-Malden noted that hesitancy. His heir was properly tongue-tied. Likely hadn’t worked up the courage to fix his interest with his chosen lady. Damme, if his hands weren’t trembling, and he looked deuced ill. This was no time to pinch at him. “Never mind, lad,” he said kindly. “I’ve no longer any doubt but that you’ll bring home a viscountess who will prove a worthy companion to your mama and Marguerite, and do honour to us all.” His son still looked troubled, and he added a reinforcing, “For a while there, you had me worrying lest you might plump for some cit’s daughter, or someone even more rankly ineligible, like a—a gel from a flower shop, or even—ha! ha!—a pretty gypsy!” Much amused by this good joke, his clap on the back sent Glendenning staggering.

  And it was no use. He just couldn’t bring himself to speak the words that would devastate his father. Especially since the unknown menace that the Terrier constituted might very well add to the earl’s woes soon enough. With an answering smile, Glendenning decided that he would first resolve Michael’s dilemma, whatever it was, and then strive to win Lady Nola’s support in the matter of his own romantic difficulties.

  The earl declared his intention to call in his man of affairs and set about tracking down the murderous rogues who had attacked his heir. With difficulty Glendenning managed to extricate himself from an immediate involvement in this plan, and at length was able to escape. Bowers-Malden stamped off briskly in the direction of study and secretary, and Glendenning hurried in search of his love.

  Lady Nola’s personal footman intercepted him as he reached the head of the stairs. “The countess has returned, my lord,” he said in a near whisper. “And wishes to see you at once.”

  Glendenning frowned. Dearly as he loved his stepmother, he was consumed with impatience to see Amy. “Be so good as to tell her ladyship that I will come to her in ten minutes’ time.”

  His attempt to move on was frustrated when the footman sprang to the next step, and faced him with an even more urgent whisper. “My lady is most anxious to speak to you, sir. Before the earl learns of her arrival.”

  “Dammit,” said Glendenning. “I told
you I will come—”

  “And Miss Consett is in the gardens with Miss Marguerite,” interrupted the footman, the light of desperation in his eyes.

  Enraged by such impertinence, Glendenning’s frown darkened to the point that the footman shook in his shoes. But that the man should have dared to presume to such a remark argued a real anxiety, and loyalty must not be rewarded with a rebuke. His expression eased, therefore, and with a request that breakfast be brought to Lady Nola’s apartments, he changed direction.

  Lady Nola looked pale and distraught, but welcomed him formally into her comfortable parlour, then sent her abigail away. No sooner had the door closed behind that devoted retainer than my lady cast herself on Glendenning’s chest. “Thank God you have come, Horatio,” she gulped tearfully. “I have been at my wits’ end, not knowing what to do or—” Drawing back, she exclaimed, “But, my dear, you have been ill, I think?”

  He had never seen her in such an agitated state, but he concealed his alarm and leading her to the sofa said calmly, “Nothing of any consequence, and my news will keep. Now tell me what’s amiss, m’dear. It is my graceless brother, I presume.”

  The countess’ smile was wan. She told him swiftly of Michael’s disastrous fling at the tables, and had just revealed the staggering amount of his indebtedness when her footman returned, followed by maids with two laden trays. The viscount was inwardly relieved because the trouble appeared to be nothing worse than that his brother had run up a disgracefully large gambling debt. While the servants proceeded to lay the table in the window bay, he seized the interval to remark that he had brought a guest with him.

  “A Miss Consett, Mama, who chances to be a friend of Katrina Falcon. I came upon her at the scene of an accident last evening. Her maid had been injured, and a physician carried her to his home for treatment. There was no suitable inn at which I could properly leave Miss Consett, so I brought her here for you and Margo to care for.” He grinned wryly. “A fine fix I found myself in…”

  The servants reluctantly finished their task and the footman stood by, prepared to learn more as he waited at table, but Glendenning murmured his thanks and sent them all off.

  Staring at him in considerable astonishment, the countess asked as the door closed, “Horatio, was that—”

  “A pack of lies,” he admitted, smiling as he pulled out a chair for her. “Invented purely for the benefit of the servants. Oh, but I’ve a deal to tell you! But first, love, you shall enjoy a good breakfast. Or have you already eaten?”

  She had not, she admitted. “But I couldn’t touch a morsel. Do you eat, Horatio, whilst I finish telling you of this wretched business.”

  Glendenning slanted a worried glance at her. Lady Nola thoroughly enjoyed her table, and for her to refuse such a tempting display of food when she had not yet breakfasted spoke volumes. He poured her a cup of coffee, then turned his attention to his own meal while her ladyship related the details concerning the Comyn Pin.

  “We were so happy,” she said, tearing nervously at her handkerchief. “Michael went to offer the pin to Major Trethaway, and—and I thought we were out of it all. Only … only then,” her voice faltered, “this wretched little serpent of a man came.”

  The familiar chill was seeping between Glendenning’s shoulder blades. He put down his knife. “Burton Farrier,” he said softly.

  “Yes!” Her worried eyes shot to his face. “Oh, Tio! I am so very frightened!” He reached out to her, and she seized his hand and clung to it, her fingers like ice.

  “I fancy you dealt with him beautifully, even so,” he said comfortingly. “He teased you about my political persuasions, did he?”

  “No. But—but I think he must suspect, because he prosed on about some list of donations made to the Jacobite Cause. Evidently, the list has come to light—not with names, but with the details of items contributed.” She heard her stepson’s swift intake of breath, and felt his fingers tighten on her own. Scanning his face, which suddenly looked more grim than she could ever remember, her heart fluttered painfully. “Horatio,” she whispered. “Do you know if there is—was—such a list?”

  By God, but there was! It had been compiled in a well-meant attempt eventually to reward and reimburse the donors, but had it fallen into military hands after the collapse of the Uprising it would have meant sure death for all those named. When he recalled the price that had been paid by the gallant Jacobite couriers who had struggled to deliver that list into safe hands, the viscount’s blood ran cold. He had understood that one copy had been destroyed, and that a second list had, at great cost to the couriers, been safely delivered. It was not beyond the realm of possibility, however, that the first list had not been destroyed after all; or that another copy had somehow found its way into the Terrier’s hands.

  He said, “Even if there were such a list, we did not contribute the Comyn Pin.”

  “I know. I know. But that revolting creature insists the pin appears on the list, and he implied that if we cannot produce it, he—he will…”

  “He will have to assume that the rumours about your stepson are perfectly true, and that I donated it to Bonnie Charles? Fudge! The villain is trying to frighten you, m’dear. The pin cannot be on the list if we did not donate it.”

  My lady closed her eyes for an instant. Her voice was thready when she said, “There were—two Comyn Pins, Tio. In the old days, one was worn by the current holder of the title, and the other by the heir. The title died with my father. He bequeathed one pin to me, and the other to my sister Caroline who still, I believe, lives in Edinburgh. It is quite possible that—that Caroline did donate her pin. But I cannot betray her to Farrier, dearest.”

  “Certainly not.”

  “So you see,” she said miserably, “if we cannot show him ours…”

  Glendenning drew back. ‘That properly drives me to the ropes,’ he thought. And he asked, “How did you get rid of him?”

  “I told him Michael had taken the pin to a gentleman who might be interested in buying it. My only thought, of course, was to get it back. Farrier went away, saying he would expect Michael to call on him. When Michael came home, he was so happy, poor darling, because this Major Trethaway had accepted the pin as payment in full.”

  Glendenning said slowly, “I see. Then we must buy it back, Mama.”

  “Yes, dear. I swallowed my pride and borrowed the rest of the money Michael owed, and he left at once to see Major Trethaway. The next day, Farrier was here again.”

  “Damn the pest for hounding you so, knowing that my father and I were from home! I fancy he demanded to see my brother?”

  “He did, of course. And he—kept at me until at last, I became so confused…” She drew a hand across her eyes distractedly.

  Raging, Glendenning said fondly, “Do not be in a pucker, Mama. I know you did very well. Lord, but I wish I had been here! I make you my apologies that I was not. I expect you had to tell the pest about Templeby’s predicament, eh?”

  “I had no choice, Horatio. I could see Farrier didn’t believe me, so I had to break my promise to Michael.” She looked at her stepson imploringly. “It was a dreadful thing to do, but I—I was sure, under the circumstances, he would understand.”

  “Most assuredly he would. Did Farrier accept the fact that Michael had traded the pin in lieu of gaming debts?”

  “He was angry, but said he would wait, and asked that I send him word immediately Michael returned with the pin.”

  “Then we’ve nothing to fear. I shall make good your expense. Michael will have learned a valuable lesson, and— Ah, I see there is something more. Tell me.”

  “’Tis just that Michael should have come back long before now. I thought he might have met you somewhere, but I was so worried that I tried to find you. I went to Town, and your friends promised to look for you both. I was sure Michael would be here when I returned. But—” Her hands clenched. “Well, you see, he is not. And we have not much time.”

  “What? D’you say that wart
is holding you to a schedule? I thought you said he promised to wait?”

  The countess wet her lips. “He sent a note by messenger, saying he has waited long enough and that he will call here … this afternoon!”

  * * *

  Glendenning did not go at once to find Amy. Instead, he made his way from Lady Nola’s apartments in the east wing, along the upper hall, around the corner to the north wing, and thence to a sumptuous guest suite.

  The suite had been occupied only once in his memory, the guest being a most distinguished eastern gentleman who had offered his own hospitality some years before, while the earl was visiting India. Bowers-Malden was not given to lavish displays, but he had felt deeply beholden to this particular friend, and a suite had been prepared that had been the wonder of the household. Thick rugs had been laid down, fine paintings of exotic Indian landscapes were hung throughout the suite, and the walls and floor of the small parlour had been covered with mosaic tiles. From the servants’ chatter Horatio, then eight years old, had gleaned the fascinating information that the guest, who wore very odd clothing, was a Maharajah, and that when he was irked—as often seemed the case—he would retire to the parlour and swear, all by himself, sometimes for thirty minutes at a stretch, and in five different languages.

  For a lonely small boy, such talent held enormous fascination. Long after the Maharajah had dispensed splendid gifts to each member of the household, taken his large retinue and gone back into the mystery from whence he had come, Horatio had crept, at least once a week, to the Indian Suite, and especially into the small parlour. With a delicious sense of wickedness, he had practised his own oaths, lowering his boyish voice to what he fancied was an approximation of the Maharajah’s tones. The parlour faced north and, with its abundance of tile, was a cold chamber, but it had delighted him on several counts. A faint aroma of incense still hung on the air; the windows overlooked the wilderness area, which extended to the woods, beyond which again, was the River Thames; and, most importantly, nobody ever thought of looking for him there. When the initial fascinations faded, and before Lady Nola came into his life, he had fallen into the habit of retreating to the Indian parlour when hurt or troubled. In later years, he kept his drawing table and his many books on architecture in the quiet rooms, where he could study in a peace quite undisturbed by well-meaning but sometimes suffocating family and servants.