by Brenda Hiatt
"Your grace!" she said in astonishment upon entering the parlour, having left her meal half-finished when Madsen's amazing announcement had come. "I... we... did not look to see you here again."
"Yes, I know, my lady, I have been unforgivably rude in staying away, but I have come now to offer my apologies. Is it too much to hope that Miss Gordon will see me?"
"A great deal too much, I fear, your grace," replied Lady Platt, torn between sudden nervousness and lingering anger. "My sister is gone."
"Gone?" asked the Duke sharply, clearly warned by his hostess's tone that it was not a simple shopping trip being referred to. "When, where, and why?"
"At first light this morning, which is why I am awake to receive you at this hour," she said by way of reproof. Mornings were never her best time, especially of late. "I sent her home to Gloucestershire. As to the why, I find it hard to credit that you have not heard the gossip which is at this moment flying about London regarding her. Indeed, I rather assumed you heard it before I did and credited it with your absence these two days past."
"Are you saying that you condemned your sister solely on the basis of gossip?" Ravenham asked incredulously, with a fine disregard for the fact that he had done the same two days earlier. "Did you give her no chance to explain the facts of the matter?"
"What matter the facts?" demanded Lady Platt. "You of anyone should realise, your grace, that people will believe what they wish to believe, and that is generally the worst. My sister might be as pure and innocent as a new lamb, but her reputation is ruined nonetheless. I sent her out of this house before her presence here could ruin mine, as well!"
"You seem to be a very poor excuse for a sister, Lady Platt," said the Duke blightingly. "It may interest you to know that when I heard Sir Frederick slinging his lies about two nights gone I instantly called him out because of it. The meeting was to have been at daybreak today, but the blackguard did not show. In the eyes of the world, that should go a long way towards exonerating your sister, as an honest man would never flee the field of honour."
Lady Platt had the grace to look embarrassed. "I—I had no idea. I have not seen Frederick since... well, for several days, but I must admit that I thought the story improbable. As I had it from Lady Pinhurst, Gabriella was supposedly his, well..."
"Mistress," Ravenham supplied as she floundered.
"Er, yes. Before she ever came to London. But I know for certain that they had never met before that night at the theatre. Nor do I think Frederick had the wherewithal to keep any mistress, whoever she might be, though he lived rather well."
Her eyes had been opened by degrees as to Sir Frederick's true nature, the final blow coming when she heard the story he had spread about her sister. In her chagrin at having been taken in by him, and for so long, Gabriella had borne the brunt of her anger, which should have more rightly been directed against Sir Frederick —or herself. She had already become somewhat ashamed of her treatment of her sister; it was now being borne in upon her that she might have committed a grave social error, as well, in sending Gabriella away.
"If you knew my sister to be innocent, why have we not heard from you ere now?" she asked, in a last attempt to defend herself by taking the offensive.
To her surprise, the great Duke of Ravenham, for all his vaunted wit, seemed momentarily at a loss for words. "I fear I have been as guilty as yourself, my lady, in condemning her unheard. It was only yesterday, after I had challenged Sir Frederick, that I sought to discover the facts. I owe my knowledge to my sister Elizabeth. She related to me an incident, which she had from Miss Gordon, in which More demonstrated his cruelty towards animals. I know enough of your sister already to realise that is one sin she could never forgive, and it quite explains her behaviour towards the man on one of our outings together. I suspect it was her cutting him in public which motivated Sir Frederick's nasty little story, in a twisted desire for revenge. Once I fully understood what had actually happened, I assure you I was far harsher on myself than I have been on you. It was with the intention of apologising to her that I came here today."
"So she cut him, did she?" mused Lady Platt, momentarily diverted from the problem at hand. "I wouldn't have thought she could carry such a thing off. She has come along, hasn't she?"
"Indubitably. Now, what time did she leave this morning, and how was she travelling?" the Duke asked, bringing Angela back to the important issue.
"Nearly three hours ago. I sent her in my own carriage, of course; I am not completely without heart! Besides, I feared if she were seen leaving in a hired coach it might give rise to even more talk. What ought we to do, your grace?" She was by now assuming that he would help, and her hopes of a happy outcome were rising by the minute. A man did not defend the honour of a girl he cared nothing about!
"I shall go to fetch her at once. Do you tell anyone who asks for her that she is indisposed; it must not be known that she has left London if it can at all be helped, for that would but lend veracity to More's scurrilous lies. I shall try to have her back in time for my sister's ball tonight. You must go, in any even, to squelch speculation as much as possible." Angela nodded acquiescence and the Duke took his leave.
An hour later, having finished her interrupted breakfast, Angela sat in the parlour again, working out the precise nature of the malady she would claim had afflicted her sister, should anyone ask. She had just decided that Gabriella was down with a bout of brain fever, brought on by the overexertion demanded by a first Season, when Madsen announced Lord Timothy Gardiner.
"My dear Lady Platt," he cried dramatically as he entered the room. "Pray do not tell me that my goddess has fled as a result of my importunities! Not for the world would I have driven her away from home and family; rather would I have withdrawn my suit entirely, painful though that must be to me. Or perhaps it was my absence yesterday which has brought about her flight. She may have seen it as a defection, though I swear that it was not!"
Angela tried desperately to marshal her thoughts. Lord Timothy seemed aware that Gabriella had gone, but unaware of the scandal which had precipitated it. She realised she must tread warily with him; there was always the chance that the Duke of Ravenham might not come up to scratch.
"Whatever do you mean?" she asked innocently, hoping to discover exactly how much he knew.
"My mother told me she was seen leaving Town in your carriage, my lady, no doubt informed of the fact by one of her many spies. She seemed delighted at the news, thinking, I doubt not, that it would cool my ardour for Miss Gordon. Ever has she underestimated the strength of my passion, as I said to her when I agreed to her compromise."
"Compromise?" asked Angela, now truly bewildered. She wished to keep him talking until she could think of a plausible reason for Gabriella's departure.
"Yes, in return for my parents' promise not to disinherit me if I married her, I agreed to keep my distance for a week, torture though it be. They seemed to believe my ardour would cool were she not before me, though I warned them such measures would only strengthen my love. I finally agreed because it would be unseemly for my divine one to live in poverty. But now she is gone! I beg you to tell me that I will see my beloved again!"
Lady Platt was ready now, and answered easily enough. "Of course you will see her again," she assured him. "She is gone for only a few days at most. Our mother is coming to London, and preferred that Gabriella escort her hither in my carriage, so off she went." Until that moment, Angela had quite forgotten the invitation dispatched last week. She had not as yet received an answer to her letter, but hoped this excuse would work until she, or the Duke of Ravenham, could think of something better.
"Ah, your lady mother!" exclaimed Lord Timothy. "The one with the power to grant me my goddess's hand! I will leave you, then, to call again when that esteemed lady has arrived." His mind clearly much relieved, he rose, bowed smoothly and departed.
* * *
CHAPTER 19
The Duke of Ravenham, meanwhile, was galloping along the highway which headed northwest out of London. If Brie had a three-hour lead, he would need to ride full out if he were to overtake her before dark— which he must. He had promised Elizabeth before he left to do everything within his power to be at her ball to act as host. He fully planned to be there, with Brie at his side. It would be a perfect opportunity to refute the raging gossip.
A chill drizzle began round noon, but rather than take shelter, he pressed on. Surely he would catch her up within the next two hours? He felt his discomfort was just; it helped somewhat to expiate the guilt he felt at having behaved so faithlessly towards the girl he had now determined to make his wife. Assuming, of course, that she would have him once she heard his confession.
The miles wore away under his horse's swift hooves. The rain trickled to a stop, and a pale gleam broke through the clouds, shining on an inn a short distance ahead: the Ruby Crown. It was yet only mid-afternoon, but he felt a surge of hope that Brie might have stopped here, as the place would be familiar to her. At any rate, he was feeling the need of sustenance to keep up his strength, as he had missed his luncheon, and this seemed as good a place as any to have a meal.
Reining in at the inn yard, he glanced about him. Could it have been only a few weeks ago that he had seen Brie here, for the first time? So much had happened since. His reminiscences were interrupted by the sight of a familiar crest on a travelling coach pulled off to one side of the main building. Sir Seymour's. She was here, then! Mentally preparing his speech, he tethered his mount and entered the inn.
* * *
Brie sat dejectedly over an excellent repast of roast mutton, bread, cheese and assorted fruits. For the hundredth time since beginning her journey that morning, she wondered what the future could possibly hold for her now.
Just the evening before, Elizabeth had assured her that her brother would soon come round, after reluctantly admitting that he had indeed been avoiding her. Her friend had seemed so certain that the situation would change, and soon, that Brie had allowed herself to be convinced. She had therefore been unprepared for the scene which awaited her at her sister's house upon her return from the theatre.
"Hussy! Harlot!" Angela had shrieked. "To think I have harboured such a viper in my bosom!" That ample portion of her anatomy had heaved with indignation. "Lady Pinhurst just left here, after telling me the whole sordid story!"
It became clear as she continued that her fury was largely fuelled by the smirking satisfaction her "dear friend" had taken in imparting the news. As Angela vented her feelings by recounting her ladyship's tale word for word, Gabriella had grown almost faint with horror.
"Did you actually think you could keep such a secret from me— from Society?" Angela had asked when her tale was done.
"You know it isn't true! You know how I detest that man! And to think I told Sir Seymour he was interested in me—to protect you! Oh, Angela, how can you?"
Lady Platt had looked somewhat conscious at this reminder, but she was adamant nonetheless. She had sent two maids to help Brie pack and had bundled her off at first light.
And now she was here. She knew she could have travelled farther today, but when she had seen the familiar buildings of the Ruby Crown she had, on impulse, asked the coachman to stop. This was where she had first met Dexter, and it seemed somehow fitting she spend the night here, now that she was never to see him again.
Was it true, as Angela had said, that he had been avoiding her of late because of Sir Frederick's vicious gossip? It hurt her to think he would condemn her unheard, but it seemed the likeliest explanation. She rose from the table, her meal practically untouched, and looked about her.
This was the very same private parlour (she had the means to command one now) that Dexter had occupied before. Remembering that time, she thought again of the beautiful woman who had shared the parlour with him— but Dexter had all but told her that he no longer had any sort of a relationship with her, or anyone like her. Not that it mattered now, Brie reminded herself.
Sighing, she crossed to the door. Though it was only an hour or two past noon, she felt she would prefer to spend her remaining time here in her room (a much nicer chamber than before) trying to forget her troubles in the sleep she had been unable to achieve last night.
As she touched the doorknob, it turned under her hand. The door opened and she found herself looking up into the very face she had despaired of ever seeing again.
She gasped aloud. Surely she must be dreaming?
Brie stood, transfixed for a long moment by the tender expression in Dexter's eyes, then suddenly found herself in his arms. Had she run to him, or had he pulled her into his embrace? She only knew that this was where she had longed to be— where she belonged. For one brief moment, all her troubles seemed to miraculously disappear, but then, reality intruded and she reluctantly disengaged herself from his grasp.
"How... how can you be here?" she asked, wondering all at once whether she might be dreaming after all. If so, she had no desire to awaken.
"I came after you, as soon as your sister told me you had gone," replied the Duke. He looked nearly as dazed as she felt from that sudden embrace, but also happy, as if all his cares had fallen from him because of it. Even now, he caressed her face with his eyes, lingering on her lips. But they were moving now, asking another question.
"Angela told you? Do you mean she sent you a message? Why?"
"No, I came to call on you this morning, at what I gather Lady Platt considered an unforgivably early hour, to apologise. I wronged you in my thoughts and, by avoiding you these two days past, in my actions, as well. For one who has always prided himself on giving no heed to the gossips, I have done a masterful job of allowing them to nearly destroy my life."
Brie scarcely heard the last part of his speech. It was enough that he now believed her innocent. Almost. "You might at least have asked me for the truth, Dexter," she couldn't help saying, her tone slightly accusing.
"Believe me, my love, you cannot castigate me any more harshly for that than I have already done myself. I called myself your friend, but I scarcely behaved like one."
Her feelings were thrown into confusion anew; first by the casual endearment he had used, followed almost immediately by the statement that he considered her but a friend. But even that was vastly more than she had dared hope for only a few minutes ago, she told herself.
"What...what changed your mind?" she asked finally, hardly knowing what she said. Was she his "love" or merely his "friend"?
"That tale will have to wait, I fear," he said, suddenly brisk. "I nearly forgot that we have need of haste! Elizabeth's ball is tonight, and I promised her I would be there, and you, too."
"Me?" gasped Brie in dismay. "Will not everyone have heard that dreadful story by now? I could not bear to have them all laughing and smirking at me behind their hands." Angela had given her a very clear picture of the treatment she could now expect from Society. "Besides," she added, "Angela said I should never be welcome in her home again. Nor do I particularly wish to return there after the things she said to me. And she knew I was innocent! She had to!" Such thorough betrayal by her sister still stung.
"Lady Platt has had a change of heart," the Duke informed her. "She will have told anyone who asks that you are indisposed. We can use that as your excuse if you really feel unequal to the ball, but I must say I expected you to have more pluck."
Almost instantly, Brie felt her back stiffen at that remark, as he had no doubt intended. "You are right," she said decisively. "I refuse to hide as though ashamed of something I did not do. I will not give Sir Frederick that satisfaction. I suppose it is too much to hope that he will be present?" She suddenly felt herself capable of knocking the man down if she saw him—and of enjoying it immensely! "And I should hate to disappoint Elizabeth," she added as an afterthought.
/> Dexter gazed down fondly at the girl beside him. He felt a strong temptation to say to the devil with the ball and remain here with her. As if she felt his gaze, she looked up to meet his eyes. Just as had happened twice before, something kindled between them. He lowered his head towards her upturned face. Both of them were breathing quickly.
Suddenly, a commotion in the hallway recalled them. Ravenham cursed himself for having neglected to shut the door and was moving to rectify that matter when a young, incredulous voice was heard to say, "Brie? Is that you?"
A slim youth of fourteen or fifteen strode into the parlour, followed closely by a middle-aged woman who had obviously once been quite pretty but was now rather faded and thin.
"Mother! Gabe! What do you here?" exclaimed Brie, torn between confusion, delight and a tinge of regret. She had been almost sure Dexter had been about to kiss her!
"Did you not know Angela invited us to London, dear?" asked Mrs. Gordon. She seemed pleased to see her daughter, but also understandably curious about her presence at the inn. "We made good time today—we took the mail coach, you must know— and are here for an early dinner. It would have been more comfortable, I will admit, if your sister had sent her carriage, though probably not so fast." The look on her face showed clearly that such excessive speed hardly counted as an advantage with her.
Not so Gabe. "It's been famous, Brie," he said enthusiastically. "With all those horses that coach can fly like the wind! You should see it take the curves! I'm glad I managed to talk mother into it."
Mrs. Gordon's face took on a sickly hue, and Brie said quickly, "I'm glad you've enjoyed it so, Gabe, but now you can complete your journey in more comfort. I have Angela's carriage here, and we can return to London in it as soon as you may wish. Did she know you were to arrive so soon? She said nothing to me."
"No, dear," replied Mrs. Gordon, her colour returning. "I was so eager to see you both that I didn't wish to waste time with more letters back and forth. But—" her brow creased in perplexity "—if you did not expect to see us here, why have you left London?"
