A Chance Encounter (22 page)

“Yes, I can.” Joan looked up at him with a pleading expression. “Pray do not, Edward. Do not ask it of me, I beg. For I shall have to say yes, you know that I shall.”

Lord Humphrey was silent. Then with a sigh he let go of her hands. “No, I will not ask it of you, my sweet lady. But I swear to you that I will not wait a day longer to declare you my wife. And I will not care whose sensibilities may be wounded.” He smiled his twisted smile, his gray eyes still bright when he looked on her. “Then you shall not set me aside so easily, my lady.”

Joan lowered her lashes to hide her eyes from the intensity of his gaze. “I will not wish to,” she said in a low voice.

Lord Humphrey looked about them at the gathering shadows of the gallery. “I think that it is time that we leave this place. It seems to arouse the best and the worst in us all,” he said.

There came suddenly a mournful and gathering wail. Joan caught her breath and she felt the viscount’s sudden stiffening. The keening caught at her ears and raised the tiny hairs on her neck. “Edward,” she whispered urgently, her eyes straining to see what might be moving in the shifting shadows.

The viscount’s fingers were hard about hers. “Do not be afraid.” There was an odd inflection in his voice and he seemed to be having difficulty in swallowing something. “I do not wish to alarm you, beloved, but I believe you are about to meet my unlamented and long-departed ancestor.”

Joan cast a wild glance up at him. He was not looking at her, but was staring straight down the gallery. His face was expressionless and his complete immobility added to Joan’s alarm. Another ghastly moan assaulted her ears. She turned to stare.

An apparition slowly advanced toward Joan and the viscount. It appeared to glide over the worn wooden floor, never quite deserting the edge of the shadows that were given life by the few flickering candles scattered in the wall sconces. The apparition was strangely lacking in shape and it seemed to carry an object tucked under one ghostly appendage. Joan realized to her horror that the object was roughly the size of a human head.

The apparition neared. It moaned anew. Joan felt ready to faint with fright. It did not comfort her to feel the viscount’s own body shaking. “Edward,” she uttered, clutching his arm tighter.

The viscount burst out laughing. He doubled over, holding his sides. “Ah, Joan! Joan!”

A choking sound emanated from the horrific apparition, then it seemed to fly apart. From its slowly collapsing depths appeared Neville, his hair spiked in every direction. His laughter joined with his brother’s and he pointed a trembling finger at Joan. “She thought—she thought that—” He went into a fresh spasm of laughter.

Joan quietly and without fanfare slid to the floor.

The viscount and Neville were instantly silenced. They stared at her unmoving prone body and then at each other. As one, they went down on their knees beside her. Lord Humphrey raised Joan in his arms. He was alarmed by her limp unresponsiveness. “Joan! Joan!”

Neville was white-faced. “It was but a prank, a silly prank!”

“Indeed it was.” Joan’s voice was completely calm. She opened her eyes, a smile lurking about her mouth. “I think that I have my revenge, sirs.”

Lord Humphrey turned her about and shook her halfheartedly. “You little fiend. A fair revenge, indeed!”

Joan pealed in laughter.

Neville’s jaw had dropped when she first spoke. Now his mouth snapped closed. He grinned in delighted admiration. “You are a right ‘un, Miss Chadwick. I knew it days ago.”

Lord Humphrey stood up and aided Joan to her feet. “Indeed she is, Neville.” He grinned down at her. “I was more fortunate than I knew when I tossed you into that watery ditch.”

“As was I,” Joan responded happily.

Neville looked from one to the other in rampant curiosity. “Ditch? You threw Miss Chadwick into a ditch, Edward?”

Lord Humphrey reached out to slap his brother across the shoulder. “Let that be a lesson in life to you, Neville. Never discount the worst of occurrences, for they may be true opportunities in thick disguise,” he said cheerfully.

The trio began to make their way down the gallery. Neville bent to retrieve the remains of the now-silent apparition, then hurried to catch up to his brother. “But I say, Edward! A ditch?”

Lord Humphrey and Joan merely laughed.

When Joan
and her two companions returned to the grand hall, she was instantly asked by Lady Cassandra whether she would mind reading to her that evening. “Of course not, my lady. I will go down to the library and fetch up a volume that I espied on the shelves when I was in the room a few days ago,” Joan said.

“Thank you, my dear. This evening’s entertainment has stimulated me so that I do not think I shall sleep. A chapter or two, and I shall nod off,” said Lady Cassandra, with a nod.

As Lady Cassandra moved off, Lord Humphrey quirked his brow as he slanted a glance down at the lady on his arm. “I hardly construe that as a compliment to your eloquence.”

Joan laughed. “No, but it was not an insult either. It was simply Lady Cassandra.”

Neville had deserted them upon rejoining the others, but now came back. “Papa has ordered that everyone is to leave the hall so that the servants may tidy up and put out the candles. I say, it was wonderful fun, wasn’t it?”

Joan and Lord Humphrey agreed as they and the rest of the company left the older section of Dewesbury Court. Once returned to the lived-in part of the house, Lady Dewesbury inquired whether anyone would like to partake of coffee or sherry. “Hudgens has set up in the drawing room,” she said.

Lady Cassandra declined, as did Lady Athene and Sir Thomas. Joan felt it incumbent upon her to decline as well, since she had promised to read to Lady Cassandra. “I shall also take my leave, Lady Dewesbury,” she said.

“Very well, my dear. I trust that you shall sleep well,” said Lady Dewesbury. She waved before she followed the earl, Vincent Dewesbury, and the Ratcliffes into the drawing room.

Neville and Margaret had said their good nights to their elders and were already traversing the stairs. Neville heard his mother’s civil words and he paused to throw over his shoulder, “Aye, Miss Chadwick! I hope you do not dream of our headless ghost.”

“Thank you for your concern, Neville,” Joan said.

Lord Humphrey laughed. He caught up Joan’s fingers and carried them to his lips. His eyes gleamed at her. “My brother is an incorrigible scamp. But it was a superb performance, was it not?”

“Quite,” said Joan with a mock shiver.

Lord Humphrey flicked her cheek softly with his finger. “Sleep well, my dear,” he said softly. He turned and went into the drawing room.

Joan stood still a moment, her face and heart warm. She had learned so much about herself and the viscount that selfsame evening. Her lips curled in a small happy smile. His lordship had actually called her “beloved” while they talked in the old gallery. And as for the rest, those moments were best recalled in the privacy of her bedroom. But first she must attend her duty and find that book for Lady Cassandra’s reading.

Joan turned and went into the library. A few candles had been left burning and there was the remains of a dying fire on the hearth that cast enough of a glow that she could see. Joan found quickly the volume that she had recalled, but she lingered. Books were a passion and it was rare that she could enter any library without exploring for a few moments among the bookshelves. She rounded the corner of one bookshelf. Here the light was poorer and she had to bend close to be able to read the spines.

While slowly perusing titles, Joan heard the library door open. Her first inclination was to step around the bookshelf to see who might have had the same inclination as she had, but then she hesitated. She was reluctant to bring herself to the attention of the earl or anyone else who was still not resigned to her presence. It was so very late and she felt quite incapable of behaving with civility if her pride was to be verbally assaulted yet again. So she remained still, hoping that whoever it was would go away. More than likely it was but a servant come to snuff the candles, for she had noticed previously that the library was not well-frequented.

“I had no notion that you were so missish. Do you suspect me of laying a trap, my dear lady?” There was bored amusement in the gentleman’s tone.

Joan stiffened, instantly recognizing Mr. Dewesbury’s voice. Fresh to her memory was the manner in which he had manhandled her in the gallery. She was caught in a fine dilemma, not wanting to be guilty of eavesdropping, but neither did she want to bring herself to the gentleman’s unwelcome attention.

While Joan hesitated, she heard Miss Ratcliffe’s peevish voice.

“I do not know why you have insisted upon this meeting, Vincent.’’ There was a rustle of skirt and restless movement toward the bookshelf behind which Joan was secreted. She stepped back, horrified. She looked wildly around for some means of escape, but there was none. She knew herself to be caught and it was too late to declare herself.

“You have been rude and inopportune and rag-mannered. But you have always been so, haven’t you, Vincent? Really, I cannot imagine what the London ladies find so charming in you. Surely your reputation as a rake and dangerous ladies’ man must be grossly inflated,” said Miss Ratcliffe, turning to glance at the gentleman as he closed the library door.

“Put a damper on it, Augie,” Vincent recommended, sauntering toward her.

“Augie? Augie!” gasped Miss Ratcliffe. Her bosom heaved in indignation. “Positively no one has called me that repulsive name since I was in the schoolroom. I shall not allow you to do so now. Do not
ever
call me by that detestable name again!”

She swept toward the door, but he reached out and caught her wrist. Miss Ratcliffe’s beautiful eyes shot daggers at him. “Let me go, sir.”

Vincent Dewesbury appeared not to hear. Instead, he said ruminatively, “The old nickname brings back such memories. Do you know, I have been in love with you ever since you were a fat little cherub with golden ringlets and I pulled you out of the millpond after you had fallen in.” He smiled reminiscently. “As I recall, you boxed my ears soundly and burst into tears.”

“I was never a fat cherub, and if I boxed your ears, you undoubtedly deserved it. You were always detestable to me,’’ Miss Ratcliffe said in a low trembling voice.

“I was detestable because my love for you was, and always has been, hopeless,” Vincent said harshly.

Miss Ratcliffe gave a trill of astonished laughter. “Next you will say that not one of those expensive lady-birds of yours have ever meant a thing to you,” she said with a sniff.

“They haven’t. I may have been with them, but I always carried you in my heart.”
It was not altogether true, but Vincent Dewesbury thought it sounded well and he repeated it firmly. “You were always in my heart, Augusta.”

“Oh, stuff!” Miss Ratcliffe dismissed his declaration with a disbelieving toss of her head, but she was flattered, nevertheless. After all, the Honorable Vincent Dewesbury was the quintessential man-about-town, and his slightly dangerous admiration was always considered a coup for any lady. He had released her, but she was not in such a hurry as before to be gone. She lingered on the chance of hearing more. She drew her finger across the edge of her low bodice in the pretense of smoothing it.

Vincent was too experienced not to recognize her susceptibility. He held himself still, knowing well how to tease in his turn. “Knowing that I could never have you, I consoled myself with those others,” he said softly. To his surprise, he discovered that he had spoken with complete sincerity. His own hitherto-unsuspected vulnerability gave him pause and a frown of confusion crossed his face.

“Really, Vincent!” Miss Ratcliffe’s contempt was visible in her abrupt gesture, “I am not one of your unseasoned misses that I may be dazzled by such blatant claptrap.” She started to turn away.

Mr. Dewesbury flushed angrily. Her quick arrogance touched him on the raw. He had exposed too much of himself and her contempt was like salt in a fresh wound. With a swift step, he reached her and spun her around. His hands bruised her upper arms and he put his face but inches from her own. He said sharply, “You shall not dismiss me so lightly, ma’am. Think you that I have willingly stood by without uttering a word? But you were not mine to woo. You were destined for my cousin Humphrey.”

His voice thickened with his suppressed jealousy and he shook her, once and quite hard. “For Lord Humphrey, who is too thickheaded to realize his golden fortune. But I forget you, do I not, my fine ambitious lady? You never looked beyond my cousin. In your complacency you never saw me.’’

His barely checked rage frightened Miss Ratcliffe. She had never seen such a furious fire in his green eyes. Instinctively she leaned away from him as far as his hold on her would allow. “Vincent, pray! You are hurting me.”

He laughed harshly. “Humphrey has never hurt you, has he?”

“Of course not,” flashed Miss Ratcliffe. “His lordship is always the gentleman. He has never—”

Wanting to put an end to her infuriating words, Mr. Dewesbury crushed her to him.
He rained possessive kisses upon her face and throat and shoulders and breast. When at last he stopped, he said with low savagery, “Humphrey never made you feel like that, Augie. He never will. But I can. Remember that tonight in your cold bed, my lady.”

He released her abruptly and wrenched open the library door. It slammed behind him.

Staring wide-eyed at the door, Miss Ratcliffe put her hand out to the bookshelf for support. She slowly became conscious that her gown had been ripped from her shoulders and her breasts were exposed to the night air. But her skin was so heated that she felt no chill. She fumbled with her torn bodice, repairing the damage as well as she was able, and then turned to the library door.

A loud bang sounded behind her. Miss Ratcliffe whirled. “Who is there?” she hissed.

For a long moment there was no answer. Then Joan emerged from between the bookshelves. “It is
I, most unfortunately,” she said quietly.

“You heard,” breathed Miss Ratcliffe. “You heard and saw everything.”

Joan reluctantly nodded. “I am afraid so. I do apologize. I was fetching a book for Lady Cassandra when Mr. Dewesbury came in. Not wishing to bring myself to his notice, I—”

Miss Ratcliffe advanced on her swiftly. “I do not care for your feeble excuses, Miss Chadwick. They are meaningless. You deliberately eavesdropped on me—on
me!”
She breathed quickly, her nostrils flaring. “I do not know what you hope to gain, Miss Chadwick, but I promise you that you will regret ever having interested yourself in my affairs.” She smiled, but it was not a friendly expression. Her eyes moved disdainfully over Joan. “You are nothing but a vulgar eavesdropper, Miss Chadwick.”

Joan’s pride burned, but there was nothing that she could say to defend herself. It was all too true. She should not have remained hidden like some craven. Instead of protesting, she started to turn aside. “As you say, Miss Ratcliffe.”

Miss Ratcliffe sucked in a wrathful breath. “Oh!” She grabbed the other young woman’s arm and spun her back around. A slender chain slipped free of Joan’s bodice. “How dare you speak to me in that impertinent fashion. As though you were dismissing me.”

“If I have given offense again, believe me, Miss Ratcliffe, it was unintentional,” Joan said evenly.

“And you expect me to accept that?”

Miss Ratcliffe’s eyes were suddenly caught by the glittering chain that hung from Miss Chadwick’s neck. “What is that you have on your chain?” she asked sharply, her hand coming up.

Joan moved quickly. Her fingers protectively covered the ring that was suspended on the chain. But she was not quick enough, for the other woman had already realized what it was she had seen.

Horrible comprehension entered Miss Ratcliffe’s eyes. She stared at Joan’s hand, then her eyes lifted to Joan’s face. “That is a wedding band,” she accused.

Joan said not a word. Her mind had gone completely blank and she could not think of anything. She saw the hatred in Miss Ratcliffe’s eyes and for an instant she thought that the young woman meant to strike her, but at the last second Miss Ratcliffe whisked herself about, wrenched open the library door, and ran out.

After a moment, Joan also left the library, but more slowly.

* * * *

Vincent Dewesbury was mildly surprised when his bedroom door abruptly opened. He was standing on the open balcony, his coat discarded, his cravat untied, smoking a cigar. He turned his head, and instantly he threw the cigar over the balcony’s edge and strode back into the room. “Augusta,” he exclaimed in astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

Miss Ratcliffe closed the door and stood quite still in front of it. “Vincent, what did you say to me in the library?”

Mr. Dewesbury’s eyes narrowed. He gave a negligent shrug, his countenance satirical. “I said a good deal of nonsense, as I recall. What in particular had you in mind, my dear?”

Miss Ratcliffe went to him slowly. She did not touch him, but lifted up on her toes. Her lips brushed his mouth. “Do you want me, Vincent?” she whispered.

His breath shortened. “Want you?” He laughed hollowly. “I suspect that I gave you too much insight into my hell-ridden soul, Augie.” He grasped her arms suddenly. His eyes blazed down into hers. “What do you want of me? Why do you taunt me? I warn you, I am not one to be toyed with. You will get burned at whatever little game you seek to play.”

Miss Ratcliffe was breathing quickly. There was a wild glitter in her eyes. “It is no game, Vincent. If you want me, then take me for your wife. Fly with me. Now, tonight!”