Anita Mills (20 page)

Tradesmen’s bills and a solicitation for aid to the poor. Dominick sifted through them and was about to push the tray aside when he saw it. The writing was the spidery script of the elderly, but there was no mistaking the franking signature in the corner. “Thos. Morland.” Old Morey’d answered back.

He ripped it open and read, and the words he’d thought he wanted to hear for her sake were almost painful. Well, that was that, he supposed. She was going to go. He climbed the stairs slowly.

“Here,” he muttered, handing the letter to her.

“What…?” She looked down and saw the name. “Oh.”

“Read it.”

Mystified, she opened the folded paper gingerly and began to read,

“He asked Quentin to find me?” She reread the letter, then looked up at Dominick. “Mr. Fordyce did not tell me that.”

“Odd, isn’t it?”

“I’ll say. But my grandfather wants to see me,” she said slowly. “I never expected this, you know. I thought I should have to confront him.”

“Sometimes age mellows one.”

“Even your mother.”

“Not my mother.”

“She cannot cross the gulf she has wrought, you know— ’tis up to you to build the bridge across it.”

“I do not think I can.”

“If I can go to see my grandfather, you can.”

“General Morland did not cause you pain for living,” he retorted.

“He denied my very existence.” She refolded the letter and handed it to him. “Looking at death can change one also, Dom. I think that though she cannot say it, she wishes you happiness.”

He looked down at her for a long moment, then sighed. “You cannot fix everything, Annie.”

“I know.”

“Has anyone ever told you what an incredibly good person you are?” he asked softly.

“Not since my mother died.”

“Well, you are quite the best female of my acquaintance.”

“Given your first assessment of females, I shall not refine too much on the compliment, sir—Dominick. Besides, I told you, I am quite ordinary.”

“Stuff, Annie.” He looked down at the letter in his hand. “I could call you a lot of things, and not one of them would be ordinary.” He hesitated. “ ‘Tis the tenth, Annie.”

“Yes.”

“If I am to have you there, we will have to leave in the morning. Can you travel, do you think?”

“Yes. If you do not mind it, I shall put my foot on the seat.”

“ ’Tis nine days until my hearing, else I’d write to your grandfather and delay. But I might not be coming back for a while.”

“Trent—”

“I’d not ask him. Nor your grandfather either. ‘Tis time the rogue grew up and became accountable.”

“They won’t … ?”

“Hang me? No. Now that Heflin—my second—has come back, there’s no evidence to support that. At worst, I shall be bound over for trial. At best, I shall be acquitted. But more likely than either, I shall either be fined or imprisoned a short time for dueling. I may be deluding myself, but I have hopes of a fine.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Can you be ready in the morning?”

“Well, I’ve not much to pack. And the calico is nearly ready, so I shall be able to give most of Meg’s gowns back.”

“Let me buy them for you.” When he saw her shake her head, he reminded her, “I owe you far more than a few dresses, Annie. And you cannot say Meg will miss them.”

“Somehow it does not seem quite proper.”

“Nonsense.” There seemed nothing more to say. He shrugged as though it did not matter, then added casually, “You’d best get some rest. I shall be going into town for a while. If you can think of anything you’d like to have, I’ll be happy to procure it.”

“No.”

After he left her, he made his way down the hall to his mother’s room. She was sitting before the fire, her knitting in her lap. When she saw him, she held up the square she’d been working.

“Well?”

“She’s leaving in the morning.”

“I meant my work,” she responded peevishly. “But I shall be sorry to see her go, of course. That leaves only Meg.”

“A man on his way to jail doesn’t need a ninnyhammer, Mother. Besides, Meg has just about brought Bascombe up to scratch.”

“I know. No doubt Haverstoke will not thank us for that.”

“I don’t know. Apparently he merely wishes to see his heir settled, and Miss Mitford’s birth is respectable. It might be the making of both of them.”

“It might.”

“I am going into town. Do you need anything from Miss Porter’s?”

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Miss Porter’s?”

“I have an errand there.”

“Well, I daresay I could use a bit of black velvet ribbon, of course. I should like to trim my black silk walking dress ere we go to London.”

“We?”

“ ’Tis the nineteenth, is it not? I had the date of Bascombe, by the by. Much as I hate to admit it, I shall miss him also. One cannot get much out of you.”

“Mother, I don’t think you can travel.”

“Nonsense. Besides, when I am carried into the court, I cannot think they will vote to convict you. I can at least do that for you.”

“Why?”

She looked down, her eyes fixed on the fire; then she sighed heavily. “Call it conscience, if you wish. I seem to be developing a surfeit of it since your Miss Morland came.”

“She’s not my Miss Morland, Mother.”

“A pity, don’t you think?”

“Mother—”

“Oh, I shan’t interfere, of course. You are a man grown, Dominick, and ought to know your own mind. I do hope Morey treats her well.”

“He will. He wants her. Black velvet ribbon?”

“Yes.”

She waited until he was nearly to the door. “I suppose it is too late for us, isn’t it?”

He stopped and swung around. He wanted to shout to her that it was, that he could never forgive her, but he didn’t.

The carriage swayed as the wheels ground into the rutted ice on the road, but neither passenger seemed to note it. Dominick stared silently out his window, not seeing the barren, ice-covered landscape at all. Beside him, Anne sat, her foot propped on the seat across from them. She too could think of nothing to say as her spirits sank lower and lower.

Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she sighed. “I shall miss them, you know—Meg, Bertie, your mother … Betty and Wilkins—all of them.”

“How very lowering, Annie.”

“And you too, of course—that goes without saying, Dom.”

That elicited a mirthless chuckle. “Ah, Annie, now that we are nearly there, you can bring yourself to call me by my name.”

“I have called you so before,” she reminded him.

“When?”

“On the pond.”

“But not often.”

“No.”

“I will miss you also, my dear. ’Tis a rare adventure we have shared together.”

“Yes.” She sighed again. “Meg says Bertie is about to offer for her.”

“I expect so. He asked me if I thought she would take him. I told him I didn’t think she would pass on the chance to become a countess.”

“There is more than that, I think—I think she has a very real affection for him.”

“He is probably the only person who can make her feel intelligent,” he observed dryly. “Though I expect their brats will look positively anemic—there’s not an ounce of color between them.”

“Odd—that’s what your mother said.” It seemed unreal that they could be spending perhaps their last hour together, and yet they sat speaking of the most mundane things. “How much further?” she asked uneasily.

“Not above a couple of miles. Why?”

“I just wondered.”

“You ought to be happy, you know. Your grandfather does want to see you.”

“I am,” she said without enthusiasm.

“Afraid, Annie?” he asked softly.

“No, of course not… well, perhaps a bit,” she admitted, smiling ruefully. “I mean, he was a general, you know.”

“I’ve met him—he came to Cass’s funeral. He’s a trifle overbearing, a bit gouty, but on the whole quite decent. If you can charm my mother, you ought not to have any trouble with him.”

“I wasn’t aware I’d charmed your mother. There were times when I thought she despised me.”

“No. She was sorry to see you go.”

“Soon you will be alone at the Haven with her.”

“I suppose.”

“You can deal with her.”

“I hope so. If I cannot, I mean to send for you.”

Hope flared briefly in her breast, then faded. She was a friend to him, nothing more. “Yes, well, you will do all right,” she said lamely.

“Annie?”

“What?”

“You know you are always welcome, don’t you?”

“Yes. And I shall always be grateful to you.”

For a moment his blue eyes studied her face, sending a thrill through her. “I don’t want your gratitude, Annie. If there is any of that, it ought to be on my side.”

“I am sorry about that night in the library, Dom,” she ventured.

“Which one?”

Somehow she could not bring herself to tell him that she had been mistaken, that she would take him on any terms. If only he would offer again, but it appeared now he would not. “Both of them,” she said finally.

“So am I—particularly the last.” He looked out the window again. “I was wrong, my dear.”

“About what?” she asked, holding her breath.

“We are arrived.”

The house was imposing, a great yellow stone building with a broad Greek porch across the whole front. And at either side of the drive, a row of stone lions stood sentry. Her grandfather must have managed to amass a fortune.

The front door swung open almost before Dominick could lift her from the carriage, and an elderly gentleman hobbled out. “Don’t stand there, Deveraux! Present me to the gel!”

“Annie, Thomas Morland—your grandfather.” He turned to the old man and managed a smile. “Anne Morland, sir.”

Thomas Morland peered at her from beneath heavy brows as he took her hand. “Pretty little gel, ain’t you? Must look like her, ‘cause my Charles was a big buck. But you got his hair—I can tell that.”

“How is that, sir?”

“Never lay down.”

She wished she hadn’t asked. “Oh, of course—I should have known. Mama’s was black, after all.”

“Well, ain’t no use freezing out here when we can coze by the fire, is there? You got trunks?”

“I have but the clothes on my back, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t matter—buy you a passel of ’em, if you was to want. Come on in—Billings has got rum punch! Ain’t what I’d give you every day, you understand, but dammit, this is different! Billings! Billings! Come meet m’granddaughter, Miss Morland. And fetch Quentin—I got a surprise for him!”

“Quentin is here?”

“ ’Course he is! Run off his legs—had to come crawling to me. Put him on an allowance, you know.” He looked across to Dominick. “M’sister’s boy—couldn’t let him starve, after all.”

“Oh, dear.”

Dominick’s arm supported her. “You have nothing to fear of him. Come on, lean on me. Don’t put your weight on the foot.”

“Fear? ‘Course she don’t—her cousin! Quentin! Quentin, where are you, boy? Come on down!” he shouted up the stairs. “What’s the matter with her foot?”

“She hurt it skating. Just a sprain—that’s all.”

“Well, get her in and sit her down. She don’t have to do anything around here—got plenty of servants to wait on her. Quentin, where the devil
are
you?”

Quentin Fordyce leaned over the railing above and nearly lost his balance when he saw her. His face paled visibly; then his expression went bland. “Coming, Uncle.”

The general did not let him get down the steps before he said to him, “Knew it wasn’t like you said—knew she had not fallen from the face of the earth! Come on—got to meet Anne! Got Quality, I can tell, ain’t you, my dear?” he added to her.

There was a reluctance to Quentin Fordyce’s walk as he approached her. Nonetheless, he bowed over her hand. “Er … Anne, is it? Charmed, my dear.”

She wanted to snatch it back, but managed to merely murmur, “Mr. Fordyce.”

“Here, now—’tis Quentin, ain’t it? Go on—help Deveraux get her to a chair.”

“Yes, sir.” His sickly smile frozen on his face, her cousin said, “I am glad to discover that you are alive, Coz.”

“I could say the same about you. And I assure you I have quite enough help.”

“Yes, well … you two can acquaint yourselves more later. Right now the gel’s nigh frozen, and I daresay Deveraux is also. You know Dominick Deveraux, don’t you, Quen? Particular friend of Anne’s—found her for me.”

“Dominick Deveraux? The …” He caught himself. “Your servant, Deveraux.”

The old man herded them into a large reception room. “Look at the place, my dear,” he told Annie proudly, “ ’cause it’s going to be yours.”

“Mine? Oh, but I—”

“Told Quen I was wanting to find you—got no heirs, you know, ’cept him, and he don’t count now. Oh, mean to do right by him, but dash it, you are Charles’s gel!”

“I see,” she said faintly as Dominick eased her into a seat before the fire. He turned to find a stool for her foot.

“If you don’t like the place, you can fix it up to your liking, my dear. Since your grandmother died, I ain’t done much to it.” The general started to putter at the punch bowl. “If ‘tis too strong, we can water it down,” he said, his back to them.

“Miss Morland,” Quentin whispered desperately, “I pray you will forget—”

“Eh, what’s that?” the old man asked sharply.

“Nothing, Uncle.”

“You viper—you miserable viper,” she hissed at him.

“Viper? What’s this about vipers?”

“Wipers, Uncle—Miss Morland is wishful for something to wipe her feet on.” There was no mistaking the miserable appeal in his face. “Ain’t that so, Anne?—Miss Morland, that is.”

“Anne. Don’t want you two on ceremony.” The old man carried a cup of steaming punch to her. “There—just the ticket for the foot—use it for m’gout all the time.”

“Thank you.”

“Deveraux. You staying to sup, ain’t you?”

“Er … no. I have to return to the Haven rather quickly. There are matters to be attended ere I go to London.”

“Oh, yes—forgot that. Ten to one, it’ll blow over. Nasty business, though. Daresay Charlotte ain’t too pleased by it.”

“No.”

“She’ll get over it. Women do, you know—soft creatures, all of ’em. Well, don’t stand there, Quen—get her something to wipe her feet on!”

As Quentin left, Dominick followed him into the hall. “A word with you, Fordyce.”

The young man began to shake. “What?”

“About Miss Morland.”

“What about her?” he asked hollowly.

“If you harm one hair on her head, if you so much as think-”

“No … no, of course not. Won’t do any good now anyway. Don’t know what came over me.”

“Greed, Fordyce. Greed.”

Quentin licked suddenly dry lips. “I wouldn’t have hurt her—just wanted to make her marry me.”

“Well, don’t. For if I hear you have suddenly eloped with her, I swear I will make her a widow—do you understand me, Fordyce?”

“Perfectly. And I assure you, I have not the least intent.” As he spoke, his hand crept unconsciously to his temple. “Anne Morland is a virago—I should go to debtors’ prison first.”

“And if aught unpleasant should befall her, you’ll not live to spend the money—do you understand that also? You’ll go the way of Beresford and the others.”

“Ain’t going to touch her—I swear it. You won’t tell on me, will you?”

“No. I’ve a notion the old gent is making you pay already.”

“Deveraux! What’re you doing out there?”

“Explaining to Fordyce about Miss Morland’s foot.”

Returning to the room, he approached Anne. “I really have to go, my dear. Suffice it to say, if you ever have need of me, I am but a letter away.”

“But … ’tis so soon.” She cast about for the means to hold him, to make him stay. “I cannot get up the stairs, and—”

“Quen—”

“I’ll take her,” Dominick offered quickly.

“Billings!” the old man bawled. “Get Mrs. Farrow, will you? Got to get the gel to her room!”

The bedchamber shown them was far more elegant than Mrs. Deveraux’s even, with ornately gilded ceiling, thick rug, richly polished dark furniture, and a high poster bed. Anne looked around her, thinking she’d gone from a cubicle in Mrs. Philbrook’s attic to this, and she still wanted to cry. Her lower lip trembled as Dominick eased her into a bedside chair.

“God keep you, Annie,” he whispered, bending to brush his lips across her cheek. “For a little while, you brightened my life.”

Her throat ached and her eyes were bright with brimming tears. “And you mine, Dom. Ere I met you, nothing exciting ever happened to me.”

“Good-bye, Annie.”

She wanted to throw her arms around his neck, to hang on to him, to tell him she loved him. But he drew back and smiled crookedly at her. Lifting her chin with his knuckle, he murmured. “I’ll write—word of a Deveraux.”

It was not until he’d gone, until she heard him talking to her grandfather in the foyer below, that she noticed the box on the bed. “What’s that?”

“Mr. Deveraux’s coachman carried it up, miss,” the housekeeper told her.

“Whatever … ?” Anne managed to hobble to the bed. Lifting the lid, she peered into the box, and her heart nearly stopped. “Oh …
my
!”

There lay her green silk dress, but there was not so much as a rip or a spot on it. She lifted it out gingerly, admiring it. Every stitch seemed to be in place. A paper fluttered to the floor. The housekeeper bent to retrieve it, handing it to her.

With shaking fingers Anne read the bold, masculine script.

Dearest Annie,

Mrs. Porter could not repair your gown, so I asked her to copy it as best she could. I think you will be pleased with the result. I pray you will wear it in health and think of me.

I’m sorry you chose not to reform this rogue, hut I understand. Suffice it to say that I think I have loved you from the first, and that I always will. If you ever have need of anything, you have but to ask it of me.

Ever yours.

Dom

She stared, scarce believing the words on) the page, and then the green dress slipped from her nerveless fingers to the rug at her, feet. He loved her? He loved her!

“Dom! Dom! Wait!” Hopping on her good foot, she managed to get into the hall. “Stop him—will somebody
please
stop him? Dom!
Dom!
Wait!”

“Who? Deveraux’s gone, Coz,” Quentin Fordyce answered her.

Grasping the stair rail, she half-hobbled, half-tripped down the stairs. “You don’t understand—he cannot go!”

“What the devil … ? Get a hold of yourself, Coz. Here … you are going to fall.”

“What ails the gel?” the general demanded, coming back into the foyer.

“Hysterics,” Quentin muttered.

“Mr. Fordyce, if you stop him, I’ll never say a word—I swear it,” Anne cried. “Please!”

“Glad to.” Thrusting her into her grandfather’s arms, he ran onto the porch, yelling, “Deveraux! Deveraux!
Dev-eraaaaux!
Damn!” He turned back to her. “He cannot hear me, Coz.”

“I’ve got to stop him! You don’t understand!” Pushing past both men, she forgot the awful pain in her ankle and ran out into the yard. “Dominick! Dominick! Dom! Wait! Wait for me!” she shouted.

“Gel’s ticked in the nob!” her grandfather snorted. “Here now, missy!”

“No!”

She cut across the yard, tripping and falling, as the carriage made the turn. Suddenly it stopped, and the coachman hopped down to confer with his master. The carriage door opened.

“Dominick!” She waved frantically. “Dom! Over here!”

He was running across the snow-covered yard, jumping the drifts. “You little fool!” he shouted when he reached her. “Get off your foot!”

“Oh, thank God you are come back!” She gulped, trying to catch her breath, and threw herself into his arms. “For a moment I thought I should not have a chance to reform a rogue,” she gasped.

“What? Annie, what the deuce … ?”

“I love you too, you see.”

“Oh …Annie.” His arms closed around her, and he held her tightly. “ ’Tis a lifetime task, I fear.”