Duel of Hearts (4 page)

Corianne chortled in satisfaction. “There, you
see
? You think you know
everything
! Well, you're quite out in your reckoning, my friend. I did
not
come to ask you to intercede for me.”

“Oh? Then what
did
you come to ask?”

She gave him a measuring look and got up from the chair. “What makes you assume I've come to ask you
anything?
”

“We are not going to start
that
game again, are we?” he asked drily.

She walked to the fireplace and peered down into the flames. “All right, you win. I
did
come to ask you something.”

There was a long pause. Edward merely puffed at his pipe and waited. At last, Corianne turned away from the fire and came up beside his chair. “I came to ask you to … to … come to London
with
me,” she blurted out. Immediately, she sensed that she had not done well.

He looked up at her in amazement. “Come
with
you? Have you taken leave of your senses?”

She had to be careful. He would need very special handling if she were to succeed. She knelt before his chair. “
Please
, Edward…?” she murmured.

Her hair was drying, and the firelight behind her lit the little tendrils that had begun to curl around her face. She looked so young and endearing that he felt a distinct pang in his chest. How easily the girl put him at a disadvantage! But he was no callow youth—he was a man of maturity and sense. He had taught himself to say no to her. “You are being a goose, you know,” he said gently. “In the first place, I
hate
London. In the second place, I have a great deal to do right here. In the third place, I can't possibly go
with
you to London when you yourself are not going. Your father refused you, remember?”

She sat back on her heels and smiled at him. Her face was shadowed, but he thought he saw her eyes gleam, catlike, as she studied him. “He's refused to let me go
alone,
” she said, “but—”

He had the feeling she was about to pounce like a cat. “But…?”

“But he would not refuse if…” She leaned closer to his chair and looked up at him coquettishly. “…if I told him you had agreed to come along as … well, as a sort of … chaperone.”

So
that
was it! The little minx had worked out quite a foolproof plan. Edward was the one person Lord Lindsay would accept as a substitute for himself. But Edward had no intention of agreeing. “Chaperones are
women,
” he said coldly.

She made a sound of disgust at such a trifling irrelevancy. “All right, a … a
guardian
, then.”

“I don't want to
be
your guardian. You're too much of a nuisance.”

“I would be a pattern-card of virtue, I promise! I would do exactly as you told me, every minute!”

He snorted. “A likely tale. Don't be silly, Cory. The whole idea is out of the question.”

“But
why?
”

“I've told you why. I hate London. I haven't the time to fritter away. And in any case, your father would never agree to such a wild plan.”

“Let's ask him.”

“We'll do nothing of the sort!” Edward declared quickly, knowing quite well that Lord Lindsay might easily
accept
the proposal.

The girl was quite skilled at getting her own way. She wasn't in the least discouraged by his objections. She reached out, took his hand and rubbed it against her cheek. “Please, Edward, don't refuse me this. It's the one thing in the world I want.”

Her cheek was smooth and warm, and the firelight made a halo of her hair, and he couldn't help imagining how pleasant it would be to take her to the opera, to show her the Elgin Marbles at the museum, to buy her trinkets at the Pantheon Bazaar … But he caught himself up and snatched his hand from her grasp. “It's no good using your wiles on me, my girl. I wouldn't go to London for all the tea in China. The answer is no, no and no. And that, Miss Lindsay, is my final word!”

Chapter Two

B
UT IT WAS
not to be Edward's final word. Later that evening, when he called at Daynwood Park for his weekly chess game with the Earl, Lord Lindsay brought up the subject of Corianne's London invitation immediately. (Evidently Corianne, when she'd found that she couldn't move Edward, had promptly set to work on her father.) But Edward quickly told Lord Lindsay his position, and the Earl obligingly dropped the subject. They set up the chessboard and began to play, but it soon became evident that Lord Lindsay's mind was not on the game. First his lordship completely missed an opportunity to capture an unprotected bishop, and then he failed to check Edward's king which had been left wide open to attack. Surrendering to the inevitable, Edward sighed and pushed his chair back from the board. “Very well, Roland, let's discuss this London business. You'll never manage to concentrate on the game while this matter presses on your mind.”

“You're right, my boy,” his lordship said glumly, running agitated fingers through his thin, white hair. “That girl has a most unfortunate way of cutting up my peace.”

Roland, Lord Lindsay, was a small, spare, nervous man with sharp, keenly intelligent features and a head that was much too large for the small body which carried it. It was hard to believe that he had fathered the strikingly lovely Corianne. The only feature the girl had inherited from her father was the remarkably deep blue of her eyes. Lord Lindsay was past sixty years of age, and he secretly felt too old and unworldly to handle a beautiful, volatile daughter. She'd been born when he was forty-two—his first and only offspring. During the child's infancy, his adored wife had protected him from the trials of fatherhood, but the dear woman had passed away when Corianne was only eight, and he'd had to deal with the girl ever since. It had not been easy, for she was willful and impetuous and not above indulging in emotional scenes to get her way. Poor Lord Lindsay was not the man to withstand tempestuous outbursts. He was suited to the quietest kind of life, a life undisturbed by unexpected storms. At the least sign of any household disturbance, his pulse would become agitated, and his fingers would tremble. He would quickly withdraw to his study in the hope that the problem would have passed by the time he emerged.

Fortunately, he had the assistance of a sensible and capable housekeeper who could withstand Corianne's tantrums, and he had the advice and support of his dearest friend and neighbor, Edward Middleton. These three had managed, among them, to raise the child and to make of her a lively, charming, passably well-educated and acceptably accomplished young woman. Lord Lindsay realized that his daughter was somewhat spoiled, but, after all, who on earth was perfect?

“You can't seriously consider letting Corianne go off to your jingle-brained sister, can you?” Edward asked bluntly. “You've said time and again that Lady Stanborough thinks of nothing from one week to the next but clothes and cards.”

“I know, my boy, I know,” his lordship said, getting up from his chair and beginning to pace about the room, his hands clasped nervously behind him, “but the child has nagged at me for two years about the matter. I'm very much afraid there will be no end to it unless she is permitted to have her way.”

“She is permitted to have her way much too often,” Edward muttered impatiently.

Lord Lindsay paused at the fireplace and gazed abstractedly into the flames. “I wish I knew what to do. I would not have an easy moment if I left her in Laurelia's care for any length of time, but if I knew
you
were there…” He looked over his shoulder at Edward, his eyes deeply troubled. “I shouldn't be asking this of you, I know. If I were any kind of father, I should go with her myself but I'm really too old to be gadding about town like a damned court card. Truthfully, I was too old for it when I was twenty.”

“I don't see why you can't simply
refuse
her. Tell her it's out of the question.”

“But she'll be
heartbroken
. I hate to see the child made miserable—”

“She'll get over it,” Edward said unsympathetically. He picked up an ivory knight from the chessboard and played with it absently. “I don't see what she hopes to find in London that she can't find here at home.”

“A husband, I expect.”

“There are at least a half-dozen likely young fellows here in Lincolnshire who would be glad to offer for her.”

“Well, she won't have any of
them
. Not that I blame her. A sillier set of mooncalves I've never seen. I'd always hoped …” The Earl poked morosely at the fire with the toe of his boot.

“Hoped what?”

“That she would have you,” his lordship admitted with a sigh.

Edward laughed mirthlessly. “Don't be a gudgeon. I'm too old for her.”

“Only fifteen years older. I was
eighteen
years older than my Elspeth, and we were as happy together as grigs.”

“Well, Corianne has not her mother's tastes—or disposition.” Edward gave an impatient toss of his head and frowned unseeingly at the little knight in his hand. “It's not a matter worth speaking of.”

“Tell me, my boy, have you ever asked her?”

“To marry me?” He looked at Lord Lindsay in surprise. “No, of course not. Why should I?”

Lord Lindsay looked back into the flames. “Well, they do say that nothing ventured—”

“You're letting your wishes outstrip your judgment in this case, Roland,” Edward said with a rueful smile. “Corianne has no interest in me except as a brother. She wouldn't be so eager to dash off to London if she cared a whit about me, would she?”

“No, I don't suppose she would. What fools women can be sometimes!” He resumed his pacing, his shoulders sagging in discouragement. “Then what can I
do
but permit her to go? She ought to be given a chance to make a suitable match, I suppose.”

“I can just imagine the sort of match she'll make with that Stanborough woman to guide her,” Edward muttered.

“That's just
it
,” Lord Lindsay said, turning to Edward earnestly. “That's the crux of the problem. Who knows what impulsive, unsuitable entanglements my little girl will get herself into under the guidance of my ninnyhammer of a sister? But if
you
were there to watch over her…” He looked at Edward with a pathetically imploring expression.

“Oh, confound it, Roland, don't show me that hang-dog look!” Edward burst out impatiently. “I'll
do
it! I'll
go
!” He tossed the ivory knight onto the chessboard angrily, his face a study in self-disgust. “I shall dislike every minute of it, I suppose, but I'll go.”

Lord Lindsay stared at him in surprise, relief and gratitude. “Edward, you … you
brick
! You're a veritable Trojan, you truly are! How can I
thank
you? I … I don't know what to say!”

“Don't say anything,” Edward said disagreeably. He shook his head in disbelief at his own impulsiveness and got up from his chair. “I don't know what maggot's got into my head. To agree to go to London, a place I utterly abhor, to assist Corianne to find herself a husband, a position I would rather have myself, is an act of … of lunacy. Absolute lunacy.” He bade his host an abrupt goodnight and started for the door.

“But shouldn't you inform Corianne of your decision before you go?” Lord Lindsay suggested tentatively, not wishing to push him too far.

“I'll leave that to you,” Edward said. “I'm going home to drown myself in rum.”

Corianne, although not in the least
surprised
that she had got her way again, was nevertheless quite delighted. She immediately set about packing a number of trunks and bandboxes with all her worldly goods, an occupation that took days. In this task, she was often assisted by her friend Belinda, a tall, awkward girl with prominent teeth and a rather neighing laugh, qualities which made her unkind younger brother call her “horsey.” But nature had compensated Belinda for these shortcomings by endowing her with a keenly observant eye, a sense of the ridiculous, and a large helping of common sense. And the combination of all these qualities made her stare at Corianne's numerous and ill-packed pieces of luggage with amused disapproval. “You are taking enough apparel to keep you for a
year
! I thought you said you'd been invited for only a couple of months.”

“Do you think I'm taking too much?”

“No, if you intend to change your clothes six times a day,” her friend said sarcastically.

“Well, they
do
change often in London … morning dresses, and walking dresses, and riding costumes, and dinner dresses and so on.”

Belinda shrugged. “I can't pretend to know much about it—never having been invited to London myself—but
I
would find it embarrassing to arrive at
my
aunt's house with four trunks and a mountain of bandboxes and portmanteaux.”

“Would you really?” Corianne surveyed the assembled luggage with sudden apprehension. “Perhaps you're right. I wouldn't want my aunt to disapprove … Very well, then, let's go over everything and decide what to leave behind.”

“But you've just spent three days
packing
all this!” Belinda objected as, with a sigh of resignation, she knelt beside a trunk and began to pull out the contents. The girls engaged in long and serious debates over the importance of each item, and before long Corianne's bed was covered with discarded clothing. “I don't know what I shall do with myself when you're gone,” Belinda sighed, looking over the shambles they'd made of the room. “Life will be quite dull without you. I shan't be able to waste my afternoons straightening out messes like this.”

Corianne stretched wearily. “I'll miss you, too, Belinda. I shall have no one to advise me on problems of the heart.”