Charlotte Louise Dolan (3 page)

* * * *

Nicholas stood alone in his late uncle’s study, staring out through the French doors at the rose garden, now dark and deserted. He could think of nothing but his sister’s words. And her loss.

A loss caused by Captain Darius St. John’s irresponsible actions.

Beth had told him of the man’s offer of assistance, undoubtedly made to appease a guilty conscience. What Nicholas would most like to do would be to run the man through with a sword— to destroy his life the way he had destroyed Beth’s.

The Old Testament said an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. That sounded right and proper to Nicholas. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth ... and a husband for a husband. There was no other solution that would help Beth.

He might not yet be of legal age, but he was grown to a man’s size, and St. John would have to take him seriously. Tomorrow he would ride to London and see the captain and, one way or another, force him to agree to a just recompense for the damage his recklessness had caused.

Charles Neuce poured himself an ample portion of burgundy. He had come to Darius St. John’s rooms for the express purpose of inviting him to dine at White’s, but the captain could not be enticed to join him, not for a meal, nor for a convivial hand or two of cards.

“I don’t know why you’re being so obstinate, St. John. I’m the one with the broken arm. If I can still engage in my normal activities, then you’ve no excuse to hide yourself away from your friends like this.” He tossed off his drink, then eyed the decanter, debating whether he should pour himself another.

“My normal activities for the last four years have consisted of leading my company,” Darius replied harshly, “which is where I’d prefer to be now. To tell the truth, if I’d had the least notion when they ordered me to carry dispatches back here to England that the War Office would keep me kicking up my heels in London for weeks while they bickered with one another as to what instructions I should carry back to Wellington, I’d rather have surrendered to the French instead. If those old fogies aren’t careful, Wellington will have pushed Napoleon out of Spain willy-nilly, without the benefit of their inestimable advice.”

“Well, if you’re so bored waiting,” Charles replied with a grin, “then take me up on some of my suggestions. They’re bound to be more entertaining than sitting in your room moping.”

“Not on your life,” snapped Darius, seeing again red blood on a yellow dress and beautiful blue eyes filled with pain. “Your last idea was not exactly a resounding success.”

“Oh, pooh,” his friend replied. “I wouldn’t call a little thing like a broken arm a failure. All things considered, you’ll have to admit we had a damned good time, even if we are each out the cost of a curricle.”

Darius stared at him, keeping his expression carefully blank to conceal his disgust at the other man’s callous attitude. Was it really the inactivity that was driving him to distraction in London,
or was it the shallowness of the people he was forced to associate with?

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t be good company tonight, Charles, so I shall remain at home this evening and read the new analysis of the Peloponnesian War, which I found at Hatchard’s yesterday.”

“You know, St. John, you’re turning into a damn dull dog. Liked you better before you went off to play soldier.” Picking up his hat and cane, Charles let himself out.

* * * *

Darius was still feeling irritated later in the evening when there was a rap at the door. He considered telling Munke not to bother answering it, but even while he hesitated, it was too late.

“There’s a young gentleman to see you, Capt’n,” Munke reported. “Says his name is Nicholas Goldsborough.”

Just what he needed—the girl’s brother. If he was anything like the fiancé, Darius had a notion to thrash him on the spot, honor be damned. He was not in the mood to put up with another would-be hero’s nonsensical ideas of chivalry.

Darius rose when Munke admitted the visitor. The family resemblance was strong—the same blond hair, the same classical good looks as Miss Goldsborough—but the brother was considerably younger than Darius had expected. An inch or two taller than his own height, the boy was just starting to broaden out and lose the gangling look of youth. Automatically evaluating his visitor’s potential, Darius decided the lad had the makings of a fine soldier—physically, that is to say. As far as what courage and fortitude the boy might have, that remained to be seen.

After stiffly introducing himself, Goldsborough came right to the point. “I have come to request that you make restitution for the injury you have caused my sister.”

“How much?” Darius reached for his wallet.

“I am not speaking of money. I am speaking of an eye for an eye—”

“And a tooth for a tooth,” Darius finished the saying. “Very well.” He picked up his sword from the table by his chair and held it out to the young man. “Hack away. My cheek is yours to carve up as you will.”

The boy took a step backward, not touching the preferred sword. “Sir, you mock me.”

“That was not my intention. Perhaps you could express your wishes a bit more clearly.”

“I want you to give my sister what she has lost through your irresponsible actions.”

“And what might that be?” he asked, finding the interview already becoming tedious.

“A husband.”

Caught totally off guard, Darius actually dropped his mouth open. Immediately he snapped it shut, not bothering to hide his indignation. “Surely you jest. If that fop she calls a fiancé has broken their engagement, it cannot be laid at my door.”

“Deny it as you will, it is your responsibility she cried off,” the boy retorted.

“Ah-hah! So she cried off, did she? Then it was obviously done of her own volition. The so-honorable fiancé was apparently not unwilling, then, to proceed with the marriage?”

“Beth could not be expected to marry a man who is unable to look at her face without shuddering.” Nicholas’ youth betrayed him, and he was unable to keep the hurt tone from his voice.

So that was the way of it, Darius thought. It would appear he should have accepted the fiancé’s challenge and used the opportunity to rid society of such a sniveling coward.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, more gently this time. “I’m afraid that, even were I to agree, I would not make your sister a good husband. In any case, I have no intention of ever marrying. There is nothing to stop you from applying to Charles Neuce, however. Although I cannot speak for him, he may not be as averse to marriage as I am, and since he was the other driver, he must share the blame for the accident.”

Nicholas’s disappointment was writ plain on his face. “If you had a sister, sir, you would realize how preposterous that suggestion is. Never would I allow my sister even to consider tying herself to such a ramshackle fellow as that.”

The captain, in fact, had two sisters, compared with whom Charles was a model of respectability and rectitude. There was no way to prove the paternity of any of Darius’s assorted nieces and nephews, but on the other hand, it was doubtful that his two brothers-in-law cared one way or another, intent as they were on the pursuit of their own mistresses, both married and unmarried.

Having had his eyes opened at an early age to the duplicity of the females of the species, St. John had determined to forgo marriage in favor of a military career, nor had this young man yet said anything to cause him to change that decision.

“But tell me, why is your sister so determined to be wed? Your father left her comfortably well off, or so she informed me. What need has she of a husband?”

“She desires children. She has always looked forward to having a large family,”

There was a slight pause as Darius considered this explanation. “Be that as it may, I do not feel that my responsibility in this affair goes so far as to entail sacrificing myself on the altar of matrimony.”

There was another knock, and Munke opened the door to admit Lady Vawdry, nee Lucy St. John, who did not wait on permission to enter. She was clad in dusky rose from the top of the ostrich plumes on her bonnet to the tips of her dainty half-boots, but the color was the only discreet aspect of her costume.

Although at thirty-three she was seven years older than Darius, none of the besotted young men vying for her favors would have guessed her to be the older of the two.

Whatever her errand with her brother, she abandoned it immediately upon catching sight of his visitor.

“Well, hello.” She advanced remorselessly on her newfound prey. “What a delectable morsel you are, dear boy. Would you like to come over to my house to play?” She reached up with the obvious intention of stroking Nicholas’s cheek, but he backed hurriedly out of her reach.

“May I introduce ... No, on second thought,” Darius amended, “I don’t feel I should. I don’t particularly want to be the one responsible for ruining another of the Goldsboroughs.”

The boy had bottom, Darius had to admit that. Young Mr. Goldsborough managed to hold his ground while Lucy stalked him, at least long enough to take proper leave.

“Well, my dear Lucy, what brings you to my modest domicile?” Darius asked once he was alone with his sister.

“I wanted to ask you a favor, but do you know, I’ve quite forgotten what it was,” she answered with a gurgling laugh, which had lured more than one man to his downfall, but which left Darius unmoved. “No matter. Tell me, who was that gorgeous young man? Pon rep, he was delicious enough to eat. But wait, did you not mention Goldsborough? That name sounds familiar.”

She pretended to consider, but Darius, who knew she never forgot the least bit of gossip, was not fooled.

“Ah, yes, wasn’t she that schoolroom miss who was creating such a stir among the
haut ton
this Season? To be sure, if memory serves me right, she actually managed to ensnare the elusive Simon Bellgrave. So, what business does her brother have with you?”

“He informed me that since I was responsible for his sister’s accident, it is therefore my duty to marry her.”

His sister’s mood altered immediately, and the expression on her face would have quite disillusioned the most ardent of her lovesick swains.

It was, however, an expression Darius was quite familiar with and quite accustomed to ignoring.

“Don’t even consider it,” his sister hissed. “I forbid you even to think of marrying her. Never forget what you owe our name.”

“Our
name, my dear sister? One of the few things I appreciate about you is that you no longer bear the name ‘St. John.’ “

“Don’t think you can trifle with me, little brother. Under no circumstances will I tolerate having you align yourself with someone so disfigured.”

He smiled mockingly. “Oh, but only consider how great the odds that I will someday return from the wars equally disfigured.”

“If that should come to pass, don’t bother to return,” she said coldly.

As an exit line it was dramatic, he had to admit, and quite suitable for the stage. She hadn’t even needed to slam the door behind her for it to be effective.

He returned to his chair and his earlier abandoned book, but the Peloponnesian War could no longer hold his attention.

His sister’s adamant opposition to his marrying Elizabeth Goldsborough forced him to reconsider that decision. Not that disobliging his sister constituted an adequate reason for marrying anyone.

Lucy’s morals, however, were such that she invariably acted in exact opposition to all that was right and good ... and honorable. Looking back, Darius could not remember a time when his sister’s behavior had met with his approval. Not that his disapproval or anyone else’s had ever deterred her from doing exactly what she wanted to do.

Given her blithe disregard for the pain her actions could and did cause others, it was singularly unsettling to discover she approved of his decision.

Yes, he would definitely have to reconsider, although he was still inclined to wash his hands of the whole affair.

* * * *

Elizabeth removed the gold ball gown from her wardrobe. It was her favorite, and just looking at it brought back memories of laughter and dancing. But of what use would such a dress be in Somerset, where she would be living in seclusion and not even attending the local assemblies?

With a
small pang of regret, she laid it on the bed with the other gowns to be left behind. They would serve a better purpose made over into dresses for her cousins, rather than gathering dust in her wardrobe.

There was a light tap on the door, and she opened it to find her brother. Although she was pleased to see Nicholas, the expression on his face concerned her.

“Something’s bothering you.” When he didn’t reply, her anxiety increased. “Nicholas, please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“I really thought it would answer the purpose,” he said finally, staring down at the floor.

“Whatever are you talking about?”

“I had a plan to help you.” He paused, then raised his head and looked her straight in the eye. “I went to London and talked to St. John. Told him he had to marry you. An eye for an eye,” he added cryptically.

“You did what?” Elizabeth gazed at her brother in dismay.

“I told St. John it was his duty to marry you. Because he caused the accident.”

“How could you! Oh, how could you do such a thing!”

“How could I? How could he refuse is what you should be asking.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Did you not consider how I would feel, having you approach him so shamelessly on my behalf?”

Her brother stiffened beside her, and she relented. “I’m sorry, my dear. I do believe you meant well, but please understand, I am truly resigned to my fate.”

She had soaked her pillow with tears the night before, but toward morning she realized she had been crying for the babies she would never have, rather than for Simon. She had known then that her heart was not broken and had determined to endure what must be endured.

“Well, I am not resigned,” countered her brother stubbornly. “Somewhere there is a man with the wits to appreciate you. Not every man is as blind as Bellgrave. If I weren’t your brother, I should offer for you myself.”