A Regency Charade (9 page)

Hornbeck shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh, aye, she’s here in town. Been stayin’ with yer … er … her daughter … ever since ye went abroad.”

Alec looked at his guest curiously. “You seem to know a great deal about my family, Mr. Hornbeck. I thought you and I were only passing strangers.”

Hornbeck gave him a quick and rather rueful grin. “So did I, Captain, so did I. Never dreamed fer a moment, when I asked ye to join me fer a drink, that I’d soon find myself up to the elbows in yer affairs.”

“
Are
you up to the elbows in my affairs?” Alec asked, wavering between amusement and umbrage. “Sit down, please, and tell me how this came about.”

As the portly old gentleman lowered himself into a chair, Alec signaled the curious Kellam to take himself off. The batman ignored the sign and tried to busy himself with some quite unnecessary dusting, but a glare from his employer sent him on his way. Alec seated himself opposite his guest and looked at him expectantly. He couldn’t help noticing that Hornbeck’s usual ebullience was under some restraint, and that an air of embarrassment clung to him like a cloak.

Hornbeck met his eyes manfully. “How it came about, Captain, is one of the reasons I’m here. Ye see, I’m very much afraid I did ye a disservice the day we met.”

“Disservice?”

“Yes. Takin’ ye home when ye told me not to …”

“So it
was
you, then. Well, there’s no need to fall into dismals over it. No very great harm was done.”

Hornbeck twisted his hat in his hands again. “Y’re out there, Captain Tyrrell. I think—and I hope ye’ll not take offense at my sayin’ this—a great deal of harm was done. Not to you, p’rhaps, but …”

“I don’t know what you mean. What harm?”

“To yer little bride. She’s in the greatest affliction over yer … er … desertion, y’ see.”

“My
little bride
, Mr. Hornbeck,” Alec cut in coldly, ’is a woman of twenty-five and has been
deserted
for six years.”

Hornbeck lowered his eyes uncomfortably. “Yes, but she expected, after the war, that ye’d reconsider and—”

Alec got to his feet and went to the window, turning his back on his guest irritably. “Neither you nor I, sir,” he said with a formal aloofness, “is responsible for my wife’s mistaken expectations. I hope you will not feel any guilt for doing what you thought was a kindness. And although I’m very grateful to you for your care of me in my inebriated state, I hope you will take no offense when I suggest that there is no further need for you to concern yourself with my affairs.”

Mr. Hornbeck gave no sign of discomfort at Alec’s frank dismissal. “No offense taken, Captain. There ain’t a word ye said I wouldn’t have said myself if I stood in yer shoes. I only thought y’ ought to know how yer wife is sufferin’ over ye.”

Alec couldn’t deny that Hornbeck was a good-natured old fellow, but this invasion of his privacy was quite unacceptable. “If my
wife
has seen fit to take you into her confidence, Mr. Hornbeck, it is entirely her affair.
I
, however, am not given to discussing private matters with strangers. At least, not when I’m sober.”

“Ye didn’t say anything private even when ye were soused, Captain. Have no fear of that. And yer wife didn’t spill her troubles into my ear either. What little I learned was from her mother … and even Lady Vickers didn’t say much. I only know what my eyes could detect and my brain put together.”

“Oh, I see. I’m … sorry.” He looked over at his guest thoughtfully. “Was it Lady Vickers who asked you to come here to speak to me in her daughter’s behalf?”

“No, it was my own idea. Not a very good one, I suppose. Her ladyship only gave me the name of yer hotel.”

“But how did she know it? I didn’t leave my address.”

“She didn’t. It was only a guess. A sharp woman, Lady Vickers. Knows which side is up.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Alec said grudgingly, turning back to the window.

Mr. Hornbeck sighed and rose. “Well, the main purpose of my visit was to assure myself that ye’d recovered from the excess of brandy I permitted ye to pour down yer throat. Since y’re obviously on yer feet and cold sober, I may as well take my leave. Good day to ye, Captain Tyrrell.”

Alec, somewhat ashamed of his churlishness, turned and crossed the room to him. “Forgive me for my rudeness, Mr. Hornbeck. Six years of life in army camps make one a bit crusty. Please believe that I’m most grateful for your kindness to me the other day.”

Hornbeck gave a self-deprecating wave and went toward the door. But before he opened it, he hesitated. “Hang it,” he muttered to himself, “I’ve gone this far …”

“What did you say?” Alec asked.

Hornbeck turned back to him. “Ye’ve already marked me fer an interfering old chubb, so I’ve naught to lose by goin’ a bit further. Ye won’t thank me fer sayin’ this, Captain, but I’m goin’ to say it any road. Ye’re misjudgin’ yer lass badly. And ye’ll pay dearly fer it someday.”

Alec stiffened. “No, I’ll
not
thank you for it,” he said angrily.

Hornbeck held up a restraining hand. “Don’t set up yer bristles, old chap. It won’t harm ye to listen to a few words from an older head. I’ve known a quantity of females in my time, and yer little Prissy is the last one I’d take to be untrue.”

Alec felt a furious rush of blood to his face. “Lady Vickers must be possessed of a busier tongue than I had thought,” he said with icy hauteur.

“Nay, lad, not she.
You
were the one who told me. All by yerself.”

“I? You must be mad! Even in my
cups
I’d never have uttered such—”

“No, not directly. But ye
did
recite a bit of a poem, y’ see …”

Alec was taken aback. “A
poem
?”

“Aye. Can ye not remember? It was by a John Dorn or some such name. He said there ain’t a true woman to be found anywhere in the world.”

“Oh.” Alec lowered his head shamefacedly. “John Donne. ‘And swear/ nowhere/ lives a woman true and fair.’”

“Aye, that’s the rhyme.”

Alec lifted his head and looked at the older man sharply. “Are you suggesting that from those little lines you inferred … you managed to deduce my entire history?”

“Not then, of course. But later, I put two and two together.”

“I see.” Alec felt a grudging admiration for him. “Well, Mr. Hornbeck, it seems you are quite skilled at adding two and two. You
do
use your eyes and your brain to advantage, don’t you?”

Hornbeck permitted himself a little smile. “Ye don’t start out empty-fisted and end as owner of a cotton mill without a bit of
somethin
’ in yer upper works. But about that poem, now. It’s only boyish bitterness, ye know, that makes a man write words like that. I don’t set myself up as bein’ smarter than yer John Donne—he may be the world’s finest versifier fer all I know—but the fact is that there’s many a woman as true and fair as God made her.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Hornbeck, perhaps.” Alec turned and walked gloomily away. “But not my wife,” he added quietly.

This was an unexpected admission from the hitherto reserved young man. Hornbeck stared at the soldier’s rigid back with a profound sympathy. “Can ye not admit even the possibility,” he asked after a long moment, “that ye may have made a mistake?”

“There was no mistake,” Alec answered, his voice flat and emotionless. “She told me so herself.”

Hornbeck was shocked into momentary silence. What was going on here? He could hardly bring himself to believe that the unhappy, pale-faced little poppet was faithless and dishonest. Yet the Captain was far from a fool. If he said his wife had admitted her indiscretion, it must be true. The situation was strange, and he realized that he’d interfered again where he had insufficient right and insufficient knowledge. If anyone had played the fool, it was he.

When at last he found his voice, he gave an apologetic cough and said unhappily, “I beg yer pardon, Captain. I’m a worse meddler than I thought. I shouldn’t have … that is, I hope ye …” He looked in regretful embarrassment at the soldier who stood immobile in the window. “I suppose there’s nothin’ more to be said but to … to wish ye a very good day.”

He hesitated for a moment at the door and then let himself out. Alec did not, this time, turn from the window to bid him goodbye.

Chapter Seven

The fortnight spent at Braeburn was not nearly as soothing as Alec had hoped. Instead, he found his load of troubles increased by two. The first addition to his woes was a new concern over the state of his grandfather’s health. His joy at the reunion was instantly mitigated by his first sight of the old man’s altered appearance. It was shocking to see the extent to which the Earl had aged in Alec’s absence—the unsteadiness of his step, the heavy dependence on the cane, and the transparent, blue-lined skin of his hands and face. His grandfather, who had always been strong enough to be forbidding in an altercation, had suddenly become delicate, frail and in need of gentle handling.

Alec’s awareness of the second problem came about more slowly because the old Earl’s delight at seeing his grandson alive and well was so great that at first he would speak of nothing else. During the first few days of Alec’s visit, his grandfather studied him fixedly. Tears would well up in the old man’s eyes as he looked over Alec from head to foot. “You’ve become a man; I’ll lay odds on that,” he’d murmur over and over, his rheumy eyes not missing a detail of Alec’s changed appearance. He took due note of the little scar under Alec’s eye, the toughened lines of his mouth and chin, and his new and somewhat stony maturity. It was only after several days had passed, and conversation had become more normal, that Alec learned that his grandfather
knew nothing about his separation from Priss
.

To make matters worse, Alec realized that
he could not tell him
. It slowly became clear that Priss had been a frequent visitor during the war years and that his grandfather doted on the girl. The Earl’s presumption that the marriage was a happy one gave the old man tremendous satisfaction. He repeatedly asked Alec why Priss had not come. Alec’s reply (an evasion which made him feel cowardly and dishonest) was that he had wanted to be alone with his grandfather for a time.

Alec returned to London feeling more distressed than when he’d left. His grandfather, though the old man wouldn’t admit it, was far from well. If he should learn, by some unlucky accident, that Alec’s marriage was at an end, the effect of the news might well kill him. Unable to think of a way to solve the problem, Alec turned his frustration on his wife.
She
was to blame for
this
, too. If she had permitted Newkirk to annul the marriage at the outset, his grandfather would have adjusted to the news long before his health had become impaired! Damn the woman! Why hadn’t she done as she was told those six years ago?

Kellam had found a most satisfactory set of rooms in a secluded little street called Pickering Place, only a step from St. James but hidden from the crowds on the busier thoroughfare by the narrowness of the access to it. It was not too narrow, however, to deter those who were determined to find the place, and, only minutes after Alec had settled in, a visitor arrived on the threshold. “
Ferdie
!” Alec shouted at the sight of him. “Ferdie, you old clod-crusher! Where did you spring from?”

Ex-Major Ferdinand Sellars leaned his large-boned frame in the doorway and grinned at Alec in satisfaction. Alec had been his closest friend through most of the worst of the war, and he’d been searching London for him for several days. “Where did
I
spring from, you disappearing make-bait? Why didn’t you let me know where you were?”

After the explanations and apologies had been exchanged, Alec urged his friend into a chair. “I find you almost unrecognizable, Ferdie,” he marvelled. “Look at that waistcoat! And those boots! You’ve become a veritable Dandy.”

Ferdie stretched out his legs and looked admiringly down at his tasseled Hessians. “A Corinthian, my boy, a Corinthian. Top o’ the trees, I am. Can’t say the same for you, more’s the pity. Why on earth are you still in uniform?”

“Haven’t had time to set myself up. It’s less than a month that I’m back, you know. They needed a few staff officers to remain behind for the cleaning up. I—”

“Don’t need to tell me,” Ferdie said disgustedly. “You volunteered.”

“Yes. I wasn’t in a pressing hurry to return.”

Ferdie sighed. “I’d hoped you’d gotten over that feeling by this time. After all, the business ended six years ago.”

“That’s just it, Ferdie. I find it hasn’t ended at all. It seems I’m still a married man.”

Ferdie was quite surprised. “You don’t mean it! No wonder you look so out of countenance.”

“Do I? There’s no reason for it, really. It’s only a matter of time before my solicitor concludes the matter.”

“Then, Alec, why the blazes
do
you look so Friday-faced?” his friend inquired bluntly.

Alec threw his friend a startled look. “Good heavens, are my moods as transparent as all that?” he asked. It was quite true that he’d been feeling inordinately blue-deviled since his return from abroad, but he’d had no idea that it showed so clearly on his face.

Ferdie shrugged. “Not to others, perhaps,” he said with a wry smile. They had lived side by side on the battlefield, and each had learned intimately the moods and mind of the other. There was little either one of them could hide from the other’s piercing eye. Ferdie studied his friend for a long moment and then sat erect and slapped his knee. “Damnation, Alec, don’t you know the war is over? Three’s a spirit of celebration and revelry all over the land. This is no time to sit in your room and brood.”

“I haven’t been—”

“Don’t interrupt when a senior officer is speaking!”

Alec grinned. “Sorry, Major. Lost my head. I had the impression you’d left the service.”

“A mere technicality. As I was saying, this is no time to sit and brood.”

“I take it, sir, that you are not merely generalizing. Have you a specific plan of action?”

“I have indeed. You are to pick yourself up at once and embark on a program of dissipation and debauchery.”