Dangerous to Love (12 page)

Serena was not convinced that Lord Charles was as much her brother’s friend as he was Catherine’s. She half suspected that he was in love with Catherine, and that made her feel uneasy. Lord Charles was a notorious rake, and therefore she did not trust him to behave honorably.

She kept these misgivings to herself, and merely replied, “I don’t consider Lord Charles particularly young or eligible. He must be thirty if he is a day! And his reputation with ladies of a certain class is equal to that of Raynor’s.”

This sent Catherine into hoots of laughter. “My dear Serena,” she said, trying to control her mirth, “what has that to say to anything? Charles is independently wealthy, is he not? He is heir to his father, the marquess? You may take my word for it, he is a matrimonial prize, and when his interest fixes on some eligible girl, both I and what you are pleased to call ’ladies of a certain class’ will sink
into oblivion. Now, tell me what you think of Julian. And before you say anything, let me tell
you
that I was watching you both, and I recognized the signs.”

There was an interval of silence, then Serena laughed. “What a fanciful imagination you have, to be sure! A professional gamester and the daughter of Sir Robert Ward? My father would never entertain such an idea.”

“I can’t argue with that,” said Catherine, chuckling. “However, what fathers want and what fathers are made to accept are two different things, as I should know.”

“How is your father?” asked Serena, seizing on any pretext to change the subject. “Shall we see him at River-view?”

Her ploy was successful, and the remainder of the conversation was of Riverview, the property which Catherine had brought to her husband on their marriage. Riverview was near Gravesend on the Thames estuary, and a favorite of Catherine and Jeremy’s two young sons, Robert and Francis. There were boats there, and fishing, and interesting walks, and a hundred things to occupy young boys. When not in London, the Wards often retreated there, and were always in residence during the summer months. Robert and Francis were already there with their nurse, and the rest of the family were due to join them by the end of the following week.

Once in her own chamber, Serena permitted her smile to fade. The ordeal of having to listen to the praises of Julian Raynor made her want to tear her hair out. Was Flynn right? Was Catherine right? Had she misjudged the man? In an effort to be fair, she set aside hearsay and prejudice and concentrated on her own feelings toward Julian Raynor.

In all honesty, she would have to admit that she was largely responsible for what had occurred between them at The Thatched Tavern. Yet, the knowledge that she had
brought it on herself did not lessen her dislike of the man by one iota.

She sank to her knees before a large mahogany dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer. Beneath a neat pile of embroidered silk stockings, she found what she was looking for. It was a miniature of a young man. His fair hair was neatly tied back. He gazed out of his portrait with the clear-eyed expression she remembered so well. A lump swelled in her throat.

She had not loved Stephen, and he had not loved her, but there had been affection there, and chaste kisses with the promise of something sweeter to come. Their life together would have been safe and predictable.

Julian Raynor was neither safe nor predictable. She usually gave such men a wide berth. She had good reason to. Once, a long time ago, she had made a complete and utter fool of herself over an unprincipled rake. When she made a mistake, she learned from it. It was her misfortune that on the night she had met Raynor, circumstances had worked against her. She sighed. Rake or no rake, he was not to blame for everything that had happened that night.

With one last look, she replaced the miniature and shut the drawer softly.

Her expression altered when she pulled from her pocket the banknote Raynor had given her. His signature on the bottom was as big and bold as the man himself. One day, she would take great delight in stuffing Julian Raynor up his own nose.

I
t was settled. The pardon for Sir Robert Ward was granted on May 21, 1747. The Wards had gathered in the bookroom and were sitting informally around a tea table. The servants had been dismissed on the understanding that they would be called when their services were required.

“We are very fortunate,” said Jeremy Ward, his eyes touching in turn upon each person present. “Not only were we able to raise the necessary funds, but we also had a powerful ally working on our behalf.”

Clive reached for a bonbon and popped it in his mouth. “There is one other circumstance which you omitted to mention, Jeremy.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t forget, Papa is English. My God, if he were a Scot, he would not stand a chance. Just look at the lists of the Scots Jacobites who have been declared outlaws. They will never come under a general amnesty. It’s unjust, that’s what it is. One law for us, and one law for them.”

“You seem remarkably well informed.”

Clive sat up a little straighter. Jeremy always had this effect on him. There was ten years difference in their ages, and it told. Even more significant was Jeremy’s position as head of the house. In his father’s absence, he had assumed burdens which had matured him beyond his years. He had his share of the Ward good looks, but those other traits which distinguished all the Wards—their impetuosity, their passions, their haughtiness, and their sometimes
careless charm—had been checked by the weight of his responsibilities.

“I’m not saying anything that is not general knowledge,” said Clive, retreating behind a wall of sullenness.

“I hope for all our sakes, that’s all it is.”

“And what might you mean by that?”

Hackles were rising. In an attempt to divert the threatening storm, Catherine rattled her cup and saucer and invited Letty to help her replenish empty teacups. Serena, recognizing the ploy, assisted by handing round the tray of buttered bread.

Jeremy pressed a hand to his temple. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Clive. I hope, that is, I know you would do nothing to jeopardize the pardon we have worked so hard to procure.” He tempered his harsh tone with a smile. “Forgive me if I sound a trifle overanxious. I’ve been closeted too long with Lord Kirkland. He is a fund of information on the secret societies that are proliferating all over England, Jacobite societies I should say. Nothing will come of them, of course, except that a few hotheads are likely to end up on the gallows.”

“And Kirkland told you all this?” asked Clive incredulously.

“He wasn’t betraying his position as deputy minister if that is what you think. You must have heard of these societies also. In the clubs and coffeehouses, there’s talk of little else.”

When Clive said nothing, Jeremy pinned him with a penetrating stare. “Clive, I know where your sympathies lie, but I also rely on your good sense. You would not be so foolish as to plot treason and insurrection?”

“No! Of course not,” Clive answered at once. “I swear it, Jeremy.”

Visibly relaxing, Jeremy accepted the cup and saucer Letty held out to him.

Serena entered the conversation at this point. “You mentioned a powerful ally. Who is this person?”

“The deputy minister, Lord Kirkland.”

“Why should Lord Kirkland wish to help Papa?” asked Letty.

“Because Father was once friend to Kirkland’s older brother,” answered Jeremy. His tone became drier. “After the Rebellion of ’15, Father found refuge with Kirkland’s people for a time before he was smuggled out of the country. Lord Kirkland helped him because of the close ties that once existed between Father and Lord Hugo, you see. Leastways, that’s what he says.”

“What other reason could there be?” asked Serena.

Jeremy smiled. “I’m probably doing the old boy an injustice, but it occurred to me that he might prefer to have Father here, where he can keep an eye on him, rather than in France.”

“Who is Lord Hugo?” said Letty.

“Letty!” began Clive impatiently. “We have more to discuss than this slice of ancient history.”

With equal passion, Letty exclaimed, “And I suppose you and everyone else here knows all there is to know about Papa and Lord Hugo? It’s so unfair! Nobody tells me anything! I hate being the youngest.”

Jeremy and Catherine exchanged an amused glance, then Jeremy explained to Letty in as few words as possible the circumstances that had led to Lord Hugo’s death.

Having heard it all before, Serena wasn’t paying attention to her brother’s words. She was looking at Clive. His face was flushed and there was a restlessness about him. It looked to her as if he were suffering the pangs of a guilty conscience, and she wondered what he was thinking. The escape route was no longer in operation, and as for his sworn declaration to Jeremy—that he was not plotting
insurrection—she knew this was true. They were not Jacobites; they wanted only to help fugitives escape a barbaric fate. This was not exactly plotting insurrection, but the difference was a fine one. Clive must know it too.

“And Lady Harriet eloped with the tutor?” exclaimed Letty. “Poor Papa! But how romantic! I wonder what became of them?”

“Romantic!” Clive made a grimace of scorn. “Did you not hear what Jeremy said? That same tutor betrayed Papa and Lord Hugo, yes, and Lord Hugo lost his life because of it.”

“How can you be so sure that Mr. Renney was the informer? It could have been anyone.”

“That’s as may be,” said Jeremy in the voice that never failed to bring order when family discussions degenerated into vulgar squabbling. “The present is what should concern us. In a few days, I shall leave for France to see Father, to explain the terms of his pardon. He will be required to swear allegiance to His Majesty, King George, and his descendants. This pardon did not come cheaply. Suffice it to say that for some time to come, we must all practice the most stringent economies. This house, for example, will have to be let or sold. There is no sense maintaining two houses, and Riverview is close to London.”

There was more, much more in this vein, so that by the time Jeremy finished, a distinct pall hung over the company.

Letty was the first to excuse herself. When Clive began to follow her out, Jeremy said, “Clive, I would be glad of your company when I go to France.”

There was a moment of silence, then Clive stuttered, “Yes, of course. It’s the least I can do. When do we leave?”

“Saturday at the latest.”

Clive nodded and went out.

Serena, noticing the slump of Clive’s shoulders, was eager to go after him. But before she left, on impulse, she crossed to where Jeremy was seated. Putting both hands on his shoulders, she leaned down and planted a kiss on his cheek.

“What is that all about?” asked Jeremy, laughing up at her.

“That,” said Serena, smiling through tears, “is because I have not always appreciated you as I ought.”

After Serena had gone, Catherine looked over at her husband. “Is it very bad, my love?” she asked quietly.

“I do not think it could be much worse.” The harshness in his voice, grown suddenly bitter, brought her to his side.

She went down on her knees before him. “Tell me,” she said, and reached for his hand, bringing it to her bosom.

“What more can I say? Creditors, mortgages, an estate that is heavily encumbered.” He made an effort to shake off his gloom. “My work is certainly cut out for me. But we shall contrive.”

She spoke quietly. “This is going to be very hard on the girls, Letty especially.”

“It won’t be forever,” he said, squeezing her hand comfortingly. “In a year or two, I think our fortunes will be on the rise.”

She smiled at this, and after a moment’s thought, went on, “Jeremy, what was all that about with Clive? Why are you taking him to France with you?”

He grinned. “You don’t miss much, do you? I don’t want him getting up to mischief in my absence. I’m almost certain he belongs to one of those secret Jacobite societies.”

“But Jeremy, from what I hear, just about every young man is a member of those societies. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just the fashion and will soon pass.”

“Yes, my dear, but those other young men are not Wards, are they? We have a reputation to live down. And with Father’s pardon .  .  .”

“I see what you mean,” she said. “Poor Jeremy, we are all such a trial to you.” She broke off and laughed softly. “Jeremy,” she said, “would you have any objection to having Julian Raynor as a brother-in-law?”

“Raynor? Don’t say he’s taken a fancy to Letty?”

“Letty? Now why should you think it was Letty? It’s Serena I’m referring to.”

She was quizzing him, teasing him out of his black humor, and he responded in kind. “Serena and a gamester? I just can’t see it.”

“Answer the question. Would you have any objection to Julian Raynor as a brother-in-law?”

“What? Object to having a Croesus in the family? I should say not! But, my dear, my opinion counts for nothing. My father would never permit it.”

“Yes, well, we both know there are ways of getting round fathers. And don’t forget, Serena is her own mistress. She is accountable to no one but herself.”