Flowers From The Storm (34 page)

Through the morning and noon, they waited. Colonel Fane left for parade in the afternoon, promising to return by supper. Maddy kept her place on the couch. She deliberately would not look at Jervaulx, though he brought her a cup of chocolate with his own hands. She took it, not even giving thanks. She wished him to know that she did not remain of her own will, but only because he made it impossible for her to leave and Richard had been so kind as to say he would go to her father and acquaint Papa with the case without speaking of where the duke had gone.

Amazingly, Jervaulx actually seemed to have some inkling of her resentful feelings. Instead of his usual aristocratic disinterest, he spent the endless hours standing near her or sometimes sitting at the other end of the sofa, restrained in his moves, not attempting to speak. He brought her the chocolate. It wasn’t precisely an apology, but it was at least an acknowledgment that she was a person rather than a private and exclusive belonging of his.

By supper, still no word had come from Richard, but there was a deadly scare just at teatime, when a servant in silver and white livery arrived wishing to speak to Durham. Mark could not lead the man off; he insisted on delivering his note into Durham’s own hand. The dispute below the window became lamentably loud as the servants argued whether the duchess’ man ought to wait until Mr. Durham returned home or leave his message with Mark. When it became certain that the other servant would not go away without seeing Durham, that resourceful gentleman went up to the attics and somehow found his way outside.

While Maddy and the duke waited in the bedroom, Durham came back round as if he’d been out all along and interviewed the duchess’ servant in his sitting room, full of falsehoods. The servant went away with a convoluted story about Durham’s deceased fourth cousin that even Maddy, listening through the door, could not make out clear.

On the subject of the Duke of Jervaulx, Durham was baffled. Did the fellow mean that the duke had recovered? That was excellent news! Durham had thought him dying; the duchess herself had told him so.

But now he was out and about? Miraculous! Durham wondered that he hadn’t come to call on his friends—he would have thought that would be Jervaulx’s first destination, the moment he was back in form. Did the man mean to say—here now, Durham really didn’t understand. The duke was missing?

Oh—not missing? Well, if he weren’t missing or dying, nor calling on his friends, just precisely what the devil was he doing? Nobody had seen him for months. It sounded dashed suspicious to Durham. He thought perhaps the authorities ought to be notified, and damn the scandal.

The servant backed down quite quickly at that point, and went away with Durham earnestly wishing the duchess would inform him the moment they had any clue.

Maddy had turned around in the dimness of the curtained bedroom and seen Jervaulx’s set face as he stood with one hand on the bedpost—arrogant and wary, like a hunter cornered by his own prey, galled with the need to hide himself. Durham came to the door and opened it, allowing the dogs to rush in. They greeted Jervaulx joyously, as if they hadn’t seen him just a quarter hour since, and his haughtiness evaporated into a grin and play.

Those were the moments that shook Maddy, those sudden transitions from imperious pride to affection.

She had no defense against them. Her Opening fell into confusion.

She wasn’t even certain that it was a true leading any longer. Richard hadn’t been convinced that she took the right course. Maddy knew that all of her life she’d had to fight to submerge a strong self-will, to avoid being tempted by fashions and fripperies, by the urge to dispute and disagree with her elders. She was too often ungoverned and rebellious in her heart. Someone like Richard would be better able to know the prompting of God from the wiles of the Reasoner.

Maddy wanted to go home to her father. She wanted to be safe again. The door was there in front of her, with no king’s officer to stop her now. The duke was employed with his dogs and Durham in setting out glasses and a decanter of golden sherry.

The door was there. She did not go.

Christian decided to send Maddygirl to bed. She’d fallen asleep sitting up anyway, waiting for her thee-thou mule man. Fane had come and gone again, on duty: welcome nonsense and casual acceptance of Christian’s flawed speech— Christian was sorry to see him leave. Durham was not so easy about it; he kept starting off to talk to Christian and then realizing halfway into a headlong statement that Christian didn’t understand, though he tried desperately to hide it.

It embarrassed both of them. Christian wanted to turn to Maddygirl for help, but she sat like a stone when he looked at her—angry at him still because he kept her from her father. Another thing impossible to communicate: the depth of his dependence on her being there. He was sorry. But the world was going too fast for him—new things, surprises and confusions and noise that made hard understanding harder.

She had to stay. The bedroom was all right. Close by, the door was where he could see it, know for certain she was there.

He woke her merely by walking close. Devil, following, stopped to touch her hand with his nose. When she opened her eyes, Christian held out his hand.

“Has come?” It was the first thing that she uttered.

Christian merely looked at her.

“Not yet,” Durham said.

“
Bed
.” Christian kept his hand extended.

“Yes,” Durham said from the table. “Goleye down, Miss Timm. Wake moment return.”

She blinked back sleep, and then sighed. She laid her hand in Christian’s and rose. He would have taken her himself, but she released him immediately and turned away.

A little rush of coals fell in the grate as the bedroom door closed behind her. Durham sat in silence at the table, surveying the remains of supper. “Egad,” he muttered. “Bloody caspickles.”

Christian walked to the sideboard and took the round crystal hard thing from the top of the decanter of sherry. He poured himself a glass.

“So.” Durham held up his empty one, and Christian filled it. “What spect doother, now th’ve got?”

Christian put his forefinger to his mouth. Quiet. Durham took a swallow of his drink. He leaned his head back on the chair, gazing at the ceiling. Christian let the clock tick down, listening to it instead of watching it, because it was like looking at himself in the mirror, something odd and annoying about it, something not-real in the way the numbers lay around the face. One of the crazy things that he preferred to ignore when he could.

It chimed once, on the half hour. Without conversation, he and Durham sat drinking. Durham poured two more sherries, and Christian felt a pleasant mellowness begin to steal over him. It was familiar and gratifying, to sit here as they’d done so often. Companion.

Sherry made Durham slow. Christian knew him. Three glasses took the edge from his decisiveness; four made him smart and his speech lazy. Christian waited for four.

He set his glass on the table. “
Wed
.” He looked at Durham. “Maddygirl.”

Durham frowned. He shook his head. “Sony, ol man. Don’t unstan.”

It was much easier when he spoke slowly instead of mumbling too fast.

“Maddy.” Christian moved his head, indicating the bedroom.

“Yes. All right. Miss Timms.”

“
Me
.” Christian thrust his hand inside his coat pocket, exploring, and found the ring. He pushed the box onto the table and got it open with his thumb. “
Wed
.”

His friend gazed at the ring. He seemed not to comprehend. Christian was about to try again when Durham slammed his glass down onto the table.

“God Almighty. Y’losu bloody mind?”

“No,” Christian said.

“
Marry
girl?” Durham half rose. At Christian’s quick warning hiss, he dropped back into his chair and lowered his tone to a violent whisper. “Not serious?” “ Christian picked up the ring and slapped it down again.

“Nothinba nurse.” Durham leaned forward over the table. “Hang it, she’s Quaker!”

“
Marry
.” With an effortful curl of his mouth, Christian said, “Go…
home
.”

Durham shook his head. “Can’t go, m’dear fellow. Not safe. Take y’way, shsaid.”

“No!” Christian reached across and gripped his wrist. “
Not
… wed. Son… dragon want… ”nough.
Son

.“

The meaning seemed to take a moment to strike. Durham’s brows went up. He rubbed his hand across his mouth. “Get heir?”

“All.”

“All she wants?”

“
Deal
.” Christian let go. “Not…
back
… place.
Wed
.”

“Whn’t marrother girl then?”

Christian made a sound of disgust.

Durham put both of his hands on the stem of his glass and rolled it between them, watching the candlelight catch the cuts, spark color and darkness from the liquor.

“Like thisun better?” he asked, slanting a look across the table.

Christian took a swig of sherry. He laid the pad of his thumb up against his lips, kissed it, and lifted it gently away. He smiled past it at his friend. “
Braid
…” He stretched his fingers apart, as if he spread them in her hair. “
Down
.”

Durham snorted. He made his own fist, thumb up, and thrust it out toward Christian. “So be it. Want her, old son, shallave her. Din’t ordain me f” naught.“

“Miss Timms.” The voice came out of dreams. “Time to wake, Miss Timms.”

Maddy sat up all at once. “Papa?”

She was tangled in her cloak. For a moment of confusion, she thought it was a burglary—a strange man stepping back from the bed, holding a candle so that she only saw his face in shadowed profile. But she wasn’t home—she couldn’t recall at all where she was until suddenly a black-and-white dog trotted into the circle of candlelight and jumped up to put its front paws onto the edge of the bed. The animal made an enthusiastic stretch and licked her nose.

Maddy spluttered and drew back, blinking sleep from her eyes.

“This came for you.” Durham held out a note sealed by an uneven splotch of wax. “It’s from Mr. Gill.”

She fought to keep her eyes open. Sense and memory returned: she accepted the note as Durham set the candle down next to the bed and left her alone.

She tore open the wax, holding the paper close, squinting at the blocky hand.

Miss Timms,

I have spoke with thy father at length. He is in agreement with thee that the Duke ought to beprotected from this travesty, and wishes thee to see to it. He urges thee to put thy trust in theDuke’s friends and take him out of danger instantly, as the pursuit is very hot. Thee are to remainwith the Duke wherever he goes. Thy father commands thee most gravely not to return to him, asit would put thee in peril. I cannot come to thee myself because of the hazard of being followed.

There was some suspicion when I called on thy father. If thee has a message for him, send it to theBelle Sauvage, and I will see that he receives it.

Bless thee Friend Richard Gill

“Oh,” Maddy whispered.

She turned the note more to the light, blinked hard, and read it again. It still said the same thing, in the same awkward way.

She was to go away with Jervaulx. She was to stay with him.

Her papa wished it.

It was bewildering. And upsetting. She wasn’t to return to Papa! For how long? How much peril could there be?

Maddy sat up in bed. She was to be accused of kidnapping, she truly was. Lady de Marly would not stick at that for an instant.

She closed her eyes and prayed a quick, silent prayer, asking for the strength to face what she must.

Then she hurried to find her shoes. As she bent to buckle them, she had to push Devil off four times from jumping on her. Taking up the candle, she went through the dark to the sitting room.

Jervaulx was there, startling in his extravagant formal clothes, his hair mussed, his face in need of shaving.

He gave her a quick look, wary, as if he half expected that she might scold him for something. The clock chimed; Maddy held up her candle toward it and found that the time was only half past three.

From the entrance hall, she heard the door open and the soft sound of Durham’s voice in conversation with his servant. The door closed. Durham came into the room, padding in stocking feet, carrying a coffeepot and tray. “Mark’s gone to bring a cab round, if he can find one at this hour. So drink up.

There’s a post coach leaves The Swan at five. You’ll want to put yourself in order in the bedroom, Miss Timms, but let me get something else for Shev to wear first.”

He looked no better than the duke, and they both looked as if they’d been up all night. Durham set down the tray, yawned, then took the candle and shuffled into the bedroom, leaving the sitting room with only a faint flame from the oil lamp to illuminate it.