Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02] (48 page)

Letty looked solemnly up at the Duke. “I expect I ought not to have brought him to church, sir,” she said.

“No,” Wellington replied with equal solemnity, “but I am glad that you did.”

“You are?”

“I am. I believe he has saved my life, and perhaps the lives of many others.”

“Would the explosion have killed you if Mr. Gabriel had not fallen on it?”

“I believe so.”

He reached out a hand, and she put her much smaller one in it. Then she looked at Antony, and from him to Charley. Turning back to Wellington, she said, “I think I will take Jeremiah now, sir, and sit quietly in some corner or other until everyone else is ready to depart.”

“An excellent idea, Letitia,” Alfred Tarrant said sternly from behind them. “I was never more shocked in my life. I shall have a good deal to say to you later, believe me.” In quite a different, much more genial tone, he said, “I am Alfred Tarrant, my lord duke. It is my very great honor to be your host this evening at Tuscombe Park.”

As Wellington handed the monkey to a crimson-cheeked Letty and turned to reply to Alfred, Charley gently took the wig and veil from Jeremiah and nodded when Letty asked if she could return to her seat. Seeing Rockland approach, his arm around a still-sobbing Elizabeth, Charley stepped forward to meet them, saying anxiously, “Elizabeth, are you hurt? What an ordeal for you! I’m so dreadfully sorry, but if I had had the least notion that there was to be any danger—”

“I know you would never put me in harm’s way, Cousin Charlotte,” Elizabeth said, dabbing a handkerchief to each eye. “That is precisely what I told my darling William when he said that if he thought for even one minute that you had—”

“Here, now,” Rockland interrupted indignantly, “I never said I
did
think it!”

“No, no, my dear sir, and I never meant to give that impression. It was clearly just as His Grace said, that God Himself intended me to be there. Mr. Gabriel would certainly not have flung himself on that exploding chest to save Charlotte, and only think how many others might have been hurt had he not given his life for mine. He will be rewarded, too, I’m certain. After such a magnificent sacrifice, even the most vengeful God could not refuse to reunite him with his beloved wife and his daughter, Annie.”

“Annie! Good mercy,” Charley exclaimed, looking at Antony. “Was Annie Gabriel’s daughter? Did you know that?”

“I did not,” Antony replied grimly.

“The way he said ‘our Annie’ last night, like one speaks of a family member—that’s why, this morning, I … I had that odd niggling thought,” she added, hoping he would remember, that she would not have to remind him that it was Elizabeth’s constant references to ‘our dearest Rockland’ that had begun the niggle. She was not surprised, however, when his next words proved that she need not have worried.

“I remember very well,” he said. “It is a pity that you could not quite catch the memory then, although I doubt that we would have realized the extent of his distress even if you had. He must have nearly lost his senses when he learned that Annie had not run away to London as everyone thought, but that, in fact, Michael had killed her. Since he blamed the violence in Cornwall on the lack of a military presence here, and he blamed Wellington and Robert Peel for that lack, it cannot have been much of a stretch for him to blame Wellington for Annie’s death.”

“But someone must have known of his plan before then,” Charley protested. “His Grace received warning of it, after all.”

“Begging your pardon, my lord duke,” Bishop Halsey said, appearing from behind Wellington with his dignity apparently restored. “The remains of that poor man having been removed, and the altar cleaned, we have decided to continue with an abbreviated consecration ceremony, as you suggested earlier.”

“Excellent,” Wellington said approvingly. “It does not do to submit to adversity.” In a louder voice, he added, “Take your seats, everyone.”

Facing the milling congregation, the bishop raised his arms, palms outward, and said in a voice of command equal to the Duke’s, “Let us pray.”

O
UTSIDE THE CATHEDRAL AFTER
the ceremony, several members of the Duke’s party suggested that, in view of the unfortunate incident, he should return to the ship at once by the route they had come. However, Wellington scoffed at these unsubtle hints that he might still be in danger, insisting that although his companions could do as they pleased, he would travel back to Fowey through Lostwithiel, and would dine at Tuscombe Park as he had planned.

“Can’t disappoint folks waiting along the road to see us,” he said. “Not the way rumors will have been flying after that explosion. If we disappear now, word of my death will reach London before I do. Still welcome to dine with you, ain’t we, Tarrant?” he demanded, looking sharply at Alfred.

Before that gentleman could speak, Edythe and Elizabeth said as one, “Oh, yes, indeed, Your Grace.” Edythe added, “It is a great honor for us, Duke, as you can well imagine, and you will be very glad to see such a grand estate as Tuscombe, I know.”

The twinkle in Wellington’s eyes as he returned a polite response reassured Charley that he was no stranger to the unfortunate manners Edythe displayed, but catching Lady Ophelia’s disgusted gaze, she bit her lip to keep from grimacing in reply.

She had been looking for Antony, having somehow become separated from him when the bishop called the congregation to order, and she saw that Alfred was glancing around, too, as if he were also looking for someone. She realized then that he had not spoken after Edythe did to reassure Wellington of his welcome at Tuscombe.

Knowing he must have observed the familiarity with which Antony spoke to the Duke, and Wellington’s friendly response, she wondered if Alfred feared Wellington might exert his influence for Antony. Suppressing a chuckle, she decided it would do Alfred good to stew a bit longer before he learned that Antony had simply taken advantage of the situation at Tuscombe to suit his own purposes.

Edythe was still chatting in her haughty way with the Duke, although townspeople frequently interrupted to pay their respects to him. Watching them, wondering where Antony had got to, Charley felt a small hand slip into hers and looked down to see Letty standing beside her, looking contrite. Jeremiah peeped out between the folds of her cloak, alert and curious.

Letty said, “Are you angry with me, Cousin Charley?”

Glancing back at the Duke, Charley saw that he was watching them with a pronounced twinkle in his eyes. Nevertheless, she said firmly, “I think you had better be very well behaved for the next few days, young lady. When I so much as think of the way that scamp leapt out and snatched off that veil and hat—”

“Don’t scold her,” Antony said quietly from behind them. “If she hadn’t brought the little beast along, I shudder to think what the consequences would have been. I remember wondering why she came with the servants, instead of with Alfred or Lady Ophelia,” he added vaguely, glancing around at the still excited crowd. “I never thought of Jeremiah.”

Relieved to see him, Charley said, “I wasn’t scolding her. I know Jeremiah saved the day. I just don’t want her thinking she can go her own road whenever she chooses.” When his only response was to turn back to her with the same odd searching look, she said, “What is it? Has something else gone amiss? Where have you been?”

“Supervising the removal of Gabriel’s body from the cathedral. Can you deal with Edythe and Alfred if I am late joining their dinner party?”

“Of course, I can. Good mercy, sir, they are not vicious, merely bad-mannered. Moreover, I shall have Great-Aunt Ophelia and the Duke to look after me. But why should you be late? Are you not traveling with us?”

“Harry Livingston and I mean to stop in Lostwithiel and have a look through Gabriel’s house. I want to talk with Harry, in any case, to discuss all that has happened, and since I daresay you will keep Letty with you, we can’t talk in the carriage. Hodson and Kerra can ride with the Tuscombe servants, and we’ll take the horses. If we ride ahead now, we won’t be far behind you at the end. Wellington is in no great hurry at the moment, but they won’t wait dinner for us. He will be anxious to get back to Fowey and away with the night tide.”

“Do what you must, sir. We can deal with odious Alfred and his wife.”

Antony’s attention shifted, and when Charley turned, she saw Wellington approaching. Harry Livingston, just behind him, was doing his best to protect the Duke from his well-wishers. Harry smiled and responded to them, but deftly diverted each one who tried to reach Wellington. The task proved nearly impossible, however, until several other members of the Duke’s retinue added their efforts to his.

Wellington, oblivious to the tumult, said without preamble to Antony, “Harry tells me the pair of you want to look into things in Lostwithiel.”

“Yes, sir. There are still unanswered questions, and I believe we may find the answers to some of them in Gabriel’s house. At all events, it’s worth taking a look.”

“Very well, very well. Get on with it then. Happy to look after your wife and Lady Letitia. Just don’t be too long, will you?”

Antony grinned. “Your ability to withstand boredom is legendary, sir.”

Wellington looked at him sharply. “I’d give quite a lot to know just what sort of rig you’ve been running, you young scoundrel.”

The grin faded. “‘What fates impose, that men must needs abide; it boots not to resist both wind and tide.’”

“I know a bit of the Bard, myself, young Antony. Don’t forget that ‘an honest tale speeds best being plainly told.’”

“We’ll see about that, sir. ‘Having nothing, nothing can I lose.’” Bidding them farewell, he turned and walked back to join Harry Livingston.

Charley’s carriage drew up in the square, and as the Duke handed her inside, he smiled and said, “Very thorough, Tony is. Daresay he’s annoyed to think Gabriel pulled the wool over his eyes, but he’ll soon come about.”

“You aren’t angry with him about that, are you, sir?”

“No, no, not in the least,” the Duke said. “Very fond of Tony. Like to see him re-established, if only to cure his impudence.”

“If he would just show his face in London,” Charley said, “I don’t think he would find it nearly as hard as he thinks.”

“Not now, at all events.”

“I expect you mean because he is respectably married,” Charley said, wondering how much longer that would be the case.

Patting her shoulder in a manner so friendly as to remind her of his reputation for outrageous flirting with any passable female, Wellington said, “Don’t trouble your head about the lad. I shall be most interested to learn what he discovers about our Mr. Gabriel. Now, up you go, Lady Letitia! You, too, Jeremiah. I say,” he added thoughtfully, “you don’t suppose Mrs. Tarrant would allow Jeremiah to join us for dinner, do you? Liven things up a bit, that would.”

Choking back laughter, Charley said, “Don’t even think about it, Letty. And you, sir,” she added sternly, “can just stop chuckling. That was an unconscionable thing to suggest, and you are
not
to encourage her to think it a clever notion!”

Wellington burst into laughter. “Lady Foxearth,” he said when he could speak again, “I don’t remember the last time anyone took me to task like that. It’s a great pleasure to know you, ma’am. I look forward to improving our acquaintance.”

Certain the Duke—known to be a high stickler—would not have been so amused had anyone but Letty overheard, and wondering if Antony would approve of her speaking in such a way, Charley smiled weakly.

Stifling chuckles, Letty said with sudden remorse, “Ought we to be laughing so much after so great a tragedy, my lord duke?”

Wellington leaned into the carriage, patted her knee in a much more avuncular fashion than he had patted Charley’s shoulder, and said, “Dear child, when the day arrives that we can no longer find cause for laughter, that will be the real tragedy.”

“Well, I have frequently observed that people feel better when they can laugh, but how can a person know when it is seemly to do so and when it is not?”

Smiling, Wellington said, “I begin to think our evening will be far more amusing than I’d thought, my dear. You ponder that question on the way home, for although I must seek my carriage now, I look forward to continuing this conversation later.”

Leaning back into her corner as the carriage lurched forward, Letty sighed. “He is very kind, and I’d like to talk more with him, but I am very sure they will not want me at the table tonight any more than they will want Jeremiah.”

Charley agreed that Edythe would not suffer a child at her dinner table, on this day especially, but they soon found they had both reckoned without the Duke.

Alfred and Edythe had commanded their driver to go ahead of Wellington’s cavalcade, so they could be at hand to welcome their guest when he arrived. Driving more slowly, the ducal party made better time than Charley had expected, but they did not arrive at Tuscombe until nearly seven. As the carriages drew up, footmen scurried to assist emerging passengers. Medrose, standing in the open doorway at the top of the sweeping steps, welcomed them with his customary stately bow, and announced that their host and hostess awaited them in the principal drawing room.

“If you will kindly follow me, Your Grace.”

They went up the right wing of the staircase and along the gallery to the end, where a footman threw open the tall double doors. Preceding them, Medrose said, “His Grace, the Duke of Wellington, madam—Lady Foxearth, and His Grace’s company.”

Alfred and Edythe sat in twin wing chairs near the blazing fire. It was clear from Edythe’s flushed face and Alfred’s frown that they had been having an argument of some sort, but both of them got to their feet and approached Wellington in a manner nearly as grand as the butler’s. Charley instantly recalled her grandfather’s bluff heartiness, and knew that St. Merryn would have met so important a guest in the hall, if not outside on the front steps. She never missed him so much as those moments when she found herself forced to watch Alfred Tarrant attempting to take his place.

Alfred said in subdued tones, “Welcome to Tuscombe Park, Your Grace. I regret that our company is somewhat thin for the occasion, but we are as yet still largely unacquainted with the gentry in this neighborhood.”