Had We Never Loved

by Patricia Veryan

The flames that flickered on the hearth provided the only light in the book room, and the earl, standing by the mantel gazing down at those flames, kicked a log absently, and muttered, “We had best go to them now.”

  “’Twill take more than thirty seconds for Horatio to recover from the shock,” his wife argued. “How I kept from telling him when I saw the despair in his eyes, poor boy, I shall never know. Tell me what you mean to do, sir.”

  He looked troubled. “I know what I should do. For both their sakes.”

  Lady Nola said musingly. “One seldom sees a great love. I think I have now seen one.”

  “Oh, do you!” he said, indignant.

  “I meant,” she amended, hiding a smile, “a love as passionately offered—on both sides.”

  “If you are saying, madam, that you have never offered such a—a depth of affection to your unfortunate spouse—”

  She raised her head and looked at him squarely. “I do not say that at all. But—I have sometimes wondered, Gregory, if you offered because you really cared for me. Or because you liked me—”

  “Liked you madam,” he roared.

  “And you knew I loved Horatio,” she finished.

  “Of all the cock and bull— Of all the— By Gad, madam wife, but I should wash out your mouth with strong soap!”

  Lady Nola chuckled. “Now there is a declaration of love, if ever I heard one!”

  “And here is another declaration, m’dear,” he said, his resonance much diminished. “You know dashed well how much I— Er, that is to say— Well—deuce take it, Nola! How I’d go on—without you…! Which has nothing to say to the case, because you do know it, and you merely mouth all this rubbish to turn my thoughts. The plain and unvarnished truth is, that he warned me he meant to marry the chit. And she’s pretty, and sweetly natured, and a bright little thing—but I still hoped that, especially after this separation…” He sighed.

  “But that is precisely why Amy insisted upon it. To give him time to change his mind. Do you now mean to withdraw your consent? I think you will lose him, Gregory. ’Twould take more than mortal man to part them.”

  “I know it. Well, I never did understand him. Lord knows, I tried. But, of late I have come to realize … how much— Oh, dash it all! What I am trying to say—”

  “You are trying to say that you cannot bear the thought of him walking out of your life. No more can I.”

  He came to sit beside her and take her hand. “My lady, what will come of it? Consett! I never heard of such a family, and nor did anyone else. Tio will be a laughing-stock! We all will be laughing-stocks!”

  “Instead of merely being corpses, shamefully put to death and with our heads on Temple Bar.”

  He gave a gasp and pulled her into his arms. “Dear God! Do not remind me!”

  “I think we must never forget it, Gregory.” She kissed his cheek and settled back with his arm still comfortably around her. “But this may not be the disaster you envision. Amy is a darling child. Certainly she has good blood in her, and though we may never discover her true name, I’ve a notion she may very well become the rage.”

  “The rage? A nameless gypsy? When half of London’s matchmaking mamas had it in mind their very eligible daughters were destined to become Viscountess Glendenning? They’ll crucify the poor chit!”

  The countess’ eyes took on a martial look. “Not whilst I am by, they will not! Furthermore, I shall enlist the aid of all my friends. Phyllida Gurnard, especially. And if I can snare her grandmama—”

  “Phyllida … hmm. Born a Dunster, wasn’t she? Thaddeus Briley’s sister? Then the grandmother is the dowager Lady Mount-Durward, eh? A proper dragon! You’ll have some formidable allies, my dear!”

  “I hope I may persuade them. Amy looks divinely when she is nicely dressed, and she exudes warmth and gaiety. ’Twill not be the first time a commoner has married into a great house, although we may have to conjure up some tale of her having been stolen from a branch of a very good family.”

  “A broken branch,” he said glumly.

  She chuckled. “No, that can be done, I think. Cheer up, my dear. We are alive and all together. Perhaps more together than ever we have been.”

  “Hmm.”

  “And besides, the gel learns so very fast, you know. In just these few days I have taught her a great deal. Her speech is much improved, and she doesn’t use nearly as many—er, vulgar expressions.”

  He said with a stifled sigh, “And she did save us. That I own.”

  “She did indeed. Furthermore, although she very obviously worships him, she is no weakling, and will handle his starts nicely. And besides,” added the countess with enthusiasm, “she’s a good sort and a rare mort, and I don’t doubt he still means to make her his trouble-and-strife!”

  The jaw of her noble spouse dropped. “God bless my soul!” he gasped.

  * * *

  Held fast on her beloved’s lap, joying in the feel of his arms so close about her, Amy said brokenly, “If that ain’t just like you, Tio! I worked so hard and … and tried to be a lady for ye. And what must you do but collapse at the—the very sight of me!”

  “But where in the world were you?” Glendenning stroked her cheek as if he could not believe he really held her. “I’ve searched and searched, and—and worried so.”

  “Poor lordship.” Gently, she wiped the tears from his cheeks. “Small wonder you almost fainted, and only look at how thin you are! Haven’t you been—”

  “Never mind all that fustian! Why did you run away? Don’t you know what I’ve gone through?”

  “I runned off ’cause…” Her lashes swept down; she said haltingly, “Because I loved you too much to let you marry me out of gratitude ’cause—”

  “Gratitude! Did it never occur to you that I loved you too? That I’d have wanted to wed you even if you hadn’t formed the habit of saving my life?”

  “Yes, but—you got a station in life that— Tio, dear, I couldn’t bear to think that … someday you might be ashamed of—”

  He put a stop to that speech by taking her face between his hands and raining kisses on her brow, her cheeks, her eager mouth, and saying between these hungry embraces, “My foolish little love … My darling, darling girl … If you knew how much I adore you … How grateful I am that … you’re safe … God! I’ve near run mad! … Who found you? … When? … Where?”

  She laughed breathlessly. “I came back my own self, and I crept in before everybody was up, and hid in that tiled room you like so much. It made me feel nearer to you, to see all your books and things. I didn’t mean to come back. Not never. I meant to be strong, but—I found out that I couldn’t keep away and—and still go on living. I knew I’d rather be—your fancy piece than—”

  She was, of course, again interrupted, and then Glendenning said sternly, “You may disabuse your mind of that stuff, for you are not going to be any such thing! Who found you?”

  “Margo’s abigail. Next morning, it was. And then Margo came, and I made her promise not to send after you. Not for a bit. And next day August Falcon came and he went off with your brother, trying to find me. And then Jamie came with your friend Captain Rossiter, and they went to look for me. And I know it was naughty, but I wanted to give you time to think—just in case.”

  Another interruption. Then, Glendenning said, “You scamp! All the time I was worrying myself into a panic!”

  “Poor darling Lordship. But your dear stepmama and your sister were teaching me how to walk, and dress, and talk right. Which I’m too happy to do just now. And—oh, Tio, my own Quality gent, do you like me now that I’m trying to be a lady for—”

  He crushed her so close that she gasped, and he kissed her until she could not breathe. And as he held her dear and tight against his heart, it seemed to him that he heard a great sigh that came from nowhere, and from everywhere. And he wondered how many of their faithful servants had watched this very publicly conducted love scene.

  From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed h
is parents coming slowly across the hall towards them. Smiling.

  With a shocking lack of restraint, and betraying not the slightest evidence of contrition for having been caught in such abandoned behaviour, Horatio Clement Laindon, Viscount Glendenning, proudly kissed his love again.

  EPILOGUE

  Long after midnight on the seventh of July, 1748, the vast ballroom of Falcon House glowed with candlelight.

  A round table had been placed in the centre of the floor, and five young men were seated around it.

  A long silence was broken as August Falcon said irately, “Be damned if I mean to be bound by the oath we gave Underhill! The fact that Burton Farrier works for him and did his possible to have Glendenning’s head lopped, tells a story I like not at all.”

  “We have no proof of treachery,” argued Morris. “The general might simply have acted on what he believed to be—er—”

  “My treasonable conduct,” interjected Glendenning calmly.

  “Sorry, Tio,” said Morris. “But—’tis possible, y’know. And at all events, we could have made our own investigations without informing the general. But by allowing Furlong to know of the existence of the League we break our given word, and a gentleman’s word is—”

  “Is so much fustian, if ’tis given to the wrong party,” snapped Falcon. “If you wish to leave, Morris—by all means—”

  “Easy, Falcon.” Gideon Rossiter, seated at the table beside him, turned to Morris with a smile in his grey eyes. “I think we must take into account, Jamie, that Burton Farrier very obviously knew that the Comyn Pin accompanied Trethaway to the bottom of the Dover Strait.”

  Falcon said impatiently, “Besides, the very existence of his Jacobite list is suspect, in my opinion.”

  “I must agree, gentlemen,” put in Furlong. “I know for a fact that there were two such lists. The first was indeed destroyed, and the second safely delivered.”

  They all stared at him in amazement. Morris opened his mouth to comment, met Falcon’s eyes, and closed it again.

  “I think,” said Glendenning with a grin, “we had best not ask how you came by that information, Owen. I’d understood the list to be just that—a simple record of who gave and what they gave. This business of two lists, one with items numbered, and the second with names, is quite new to me. Has anyone here knowledge of it?”

  Furlong said slowly, “The first two were as you described. The third, if it does exist, must be of recent date.”

  “Oh, I expect it exists. And was probably manufactured by Farrier purely to trap Glendenning.” Falcon added grudgingly, “Still, I am forced to agree with Morris. For the life of me I don’t see what Furlong has to do with this unpleasant business.”

  Once again, all eyes turned to Sir Owen. He said, “I asked Tio to put in a good word for me because, although I know very little, I suspect a good deal. And I may also be a victim of the League.” He frowned, and hesitated before continuing in a lower voice, “You are probably not aware that a marriage contract existed between myself and Miss Henrietta Albertson.”

  Rossiter said sharply, “Admiral Albertson’s daughter?”

  “The lady was a passenger aboard a ship that foundered off Beachy Head about eighteen months ago, wasn’t she?” asked Glendenning.

  Sir Owen nodded.

  “Oh, Gad!” exclaimed Morris. “I am very sorry, Furlong.”

  “Thank you. I’ll not pretend a deep attachment to the lady, for I was abroad for many years, as you know, and I scarcely knew her. Even so, we were childhood friends, and she was a gentle and lovely creature. We had discussed our marriage by letter, but I was still abroad when the admiral was accused. Henrietta was devoted to him. She would not have been on that ship save that when her father was sentenced, the shock was more than she could sustain, and her health became so impaired that her brother sent her out to Italy for the milder climate.” He stared at one hand that gripped the arm of his chair. “When Falcon and Morris came to see me, trying to find young Templeby, I sensed there was a good deal more to the tale than I’d been told.”

  “Furlong met me at White’s,” put in Glendenning. “We fell to discussing the business of Lord Merriam, and the Albertson case, and between us formed a few conclusions.”

  “Which they brought to me,” said Gideon Rossiter. “When we connected those two instances of fine gentlemen ruined, and their estates confiscated, we could not but notice a similarity. I felt that Sir Owen had a right to join us. Lord knows, if this League is only half as powerful as I suspect, we will need help. If you wish to put it to a vote, however…”

  Only Lieutenant Morris desired that a vote be taken and, seeing that he was outnumbered, he withdrew his objections and said in his amiable way that they had best “get on with it.”

  Rossiter said, “In that case, Sir Owen, you should know that we believe the League of Jewelled Men to be dedicated to some mischief harmful to England. And that the destruction and imprisonment of Admiral Albertson, the disgrace and apparent suicide of Lord Merriam, my own family’s ruin, are bound up in the business. Glendenning’s near brush with tragedy adds yet another piece to the puzzle.”

  Falcon muttered, “Yes, but if there is a connection, what is it?”

  “The acquisition of some extreme valuable property?” suggested Furlong thoughtfully.

  “We thought of that,” said Morris. “But, as Tio said, there’s lots of fine estates to be had, without resorting to such elaborate dramatics as ruining admirals, disgracing diplomats, wiping out vast enterprises, murdering an entire family.”

  “If their aim is to cut down and disgrace some of England’s finest men,” said Rossiter, “they’re certainly achieving it!”

  Furlong leaned forward. “Gentlemen, you all know a deal more of this League than I, but—is it possible that it was these particular estates that were desired? And that the only way of acquiring them was to break the entail by having them confiscated?”

  “If that were so,” said Glendenning, “what do they want them for?”

  Falcon, whose quizzing glass was tracing an invisible figure eight on the table, murmured, “Might be interesting to see who buys ’em.”

  “Stuff!” said Morris. “Don’t make sense. Rudi Bracksby bought Promontory Point, and a better man don’t draw breath!”

  Looking at him from under his brows, Falcon said, “Your sentiments, Morris. For myself, I never liked the man.”

  “Lord! Who do you like? ‘The wheat may turn gold in the sheath, but a hasty scythe can—’”

  “My—God!” howled Falcon at the ceiling.

  There was laughter. Then, Glendenning said, “Very well. Let us assume, firstly, that certain great estates are being pirated. And, secondly, that several highly placed gentlemen, formerly much respected, have been deliberately disgraced and ruined. Is there anything else significant that we are missing?”

  “D’you know,” said Rossiter musingly, “’tis probably pure coincidence, but some incidents involved shipping—have you noticed? My father’s shipyards, for instance; that damned fraudulent trading company; Admiral Albertson.”

  Morris nodded. “And Furlong’s painting.”

  “Furlong’s … painting?” echoed Falcon, staring at him. “What in the name of Hades has a painting to do with the League of Jewelled Men?”

  “’Tis a very fine marine,” said Morris defensively. “And if you—”

  Glendenning interpolated sharply, “What is it, Owen?”

  Furlong, who had paled a little, said, “Good God! I hope, nothing! But Morris is perfectly right. It is a very fine marine. A painting of my brother’s ship. He captains an East Indiaman. My father owns shares in the Company!”

  “So did mine,” said Rossiter. “And I chance to know that Rudi Bracksby is one of the larger investors.”

  Glendenning said, “All of which may mean nothing. Many rich men own shares in companies and enterprises, but their lives don’t touch. However, it seems to me we’re entitled to raise a cheer, fo
r we’ve a sight more to go on, now. We can watch General Underhill—just in case. We can be alert for any new scandal involving a great house. We can find out who is buying up these seized estates.”

  “And we can guard those we love,” put in Falcon. “Don’t forget Trethaway’s message. Châtiment un. If you were the first to be chastised, the obvious implication is that more punishment is in store, and any one of us may be next. Or our families, and—”

  “Jupiter!” interrupted Morris, his eyes ablaze with excitement. “We are forgetting something! The Lillibulero man, Tio!”

  Glendenning said, “Good God! You’re right! He is Trethaway’s cousin! Can we but find him, we’ve found a member of the League!”

  “That should be simple enough,” said Morris.

  Falcon yawned. “Or would be, if Trethaway was the scoundrel’s real name—which I doubt.”

  Morris gave him a disgusted look. “If anyone can stamp a fellow’s cheer right back down his throat…”

  “’Twould seem to me,” said Sir Owen encouragingly, “that every least detail is important.”

  Falcon grunted. “In that case, I shall add a probably inconsequential detail. When Morris and I went to see that jade expert in Windsor, he mentioned that the figures he’d appraised—two of the jewelled men, Furlong—were identical in all save weight. One was, he thought, slightly heavier.”

  “It might, as you say, be inconsequential,” agreed Glendenning. “But Mr. Consett told me that when the two gentlemen took the broken ruby figure to the jeweller, they insisted the repairs must be completed so that there was not the slightest variance from its original weight and measurements.”

  Puzzled, Furlong said, “Yet if the weights of the various figures vary slightly, why should it be vital that the repairs be so exact?”

  There was a pause, as they all pondered.

  “We could sit here all night, making absurd guesses,” muttered Falcon.

  “True.” Rossiter stood. “Even so, I think we are entitled to our cheer. We have made progress, and forewarned is fore armed. I, for one, mean to fight the bastards, however, and wherever, I may.” He put his right hand palm down on the table. “Gentlemen? Are you with me?”