How to Beguile a Beauty (18 page)

“Always my honor, Lady Lydia, to assist a beautiful woman,” Flynn said, seating himself beside her before unfolding her serviette and handing it to her.

“Jasmine,” Tanner prompted. “Lydia has apologized. As should you, frankly.”

But, and probably more noticeable for how seldom silence was all that was heard when Jasmine was in a room, the girl did not accept the apology.

Lydia spread her serviette in her lap before looking across the table at the young woman, who was now glaring at her with hatred naked in her lovely green eyes.

“I'm no longer hungry. And I think you're horrid, all
of you,” the girl said, and the gentlemen pushed back their chairs and hurriedly got to their feet as Jasmine, her own serviette pressed to her mouth, raced out of the room, sobbing.

“Volatile little thing, isn't she?” Justin said calmly, seating himself once more and reaching for the domed lid of one of the many silver pieces that adorned the table. “Ah, well, more for the rest of us, as they say. Mr. Flynn, do you perhaps care for some
Potage a la Monglas?
It's a particular specialty of my man, Wigglesworth.”

The look on Mr. Flynn's face was so comical that Lydia had to cough to cover a laugh. “Chicken soup, Mr. Flynn. The baron is only having fun with you.”

“The correct term is
fowl,
Lady Lydia, if you please. White-legged, as Wigglesworth will settle for nothing less. We don't insult such fine birds by calling them mere
chickens.
”

“I stand corrected, although I doubt the
fowl,
in its current condition, really cares overmuch,” Lydia said, as always enjoying the baron's banter. “But I notice you haven't corrected me on the notion that you're having yourself some fun at Mr. Flynn's expense.”

The big man visibly relaxed. “Oh, so is that what he's doing? He needn't have bothered. I'm already shocked all hollow by this lovely mass of silver everywhere. I didn't know any inn could be so fine.”

Justin laughed shortly. “And now who is having fun with whom, Mr. Flynn? Tanner, pour the man a glass of wine. I do believe we're going to pass a most en
joyable evening. Why, we may all even be able to get a word or two in edgewise.”

Lydia was inclined to agree, but couldn't help but worry about Jasmine. “Should I go upstairs to see if I can coax her back to the table? She really should eat something, Tanner.”

“No,” he said firmly. “If she wants to sulk, let her sulk. I'll have a tray sent up to her room. I don't know what set her off, and I find that I really don't care to know.”

“Then perhaps I should join her, and leave you gentlemen to your meal,” she said, realizing that she was now the lone woman at table with three gentlemen, and with Mrs. Shandy and Sarah still not arrived at the inn. Drat Jasmine for being so selfish!

“Do you really want to join her, Lydia?” Tanner asked her.

“No,” she admitted quietly. “I'm afraid I have little patience for sulks.”

“Yet such a pretty little thing,” Mr. Flynn said, lifting his wine glass. “To all the pretty ladies, absent or otherwise. Where would we be without them?”

“Out hunting for them?” Justin opined merrily, clinking glasses with the man.

Lydia smiled, as she knew she should, but then thought again of the look of hatred in Jasmine's eyes. That look had been directed straight at her, certainly not at Mr. Flynn, who she didn't even know. But why? Had she somehow found out that the letter in her reticule was no longer her secret? If so, she really did have to apologize, which would be horribly embarrassing for both of them.

She was saved from making a decision with the arrival of Mrs. Shandy, who bustled into the room with many a head bob and curtsy before taking up a chair in the corner and pulling her knitting from a huge bag she'd carried with her.

“Oh, good. We're all decent now,” Justin remarked before personally preparing Jasmine's empty plate for the woman and then placing it on a small table Tanner had drawn up to her chair.

“Oh, Your Grace, but I couldn't,” Mrs Shandy said, actually blushing.

“Nonsense,” Tanner said. “Lady Lydia is made that much more comfortable by your presence, and everyone else, I'm assured, is already being fed in the taproom. You should not have to forgo your dinner. You've been on the road all the day long. Justin, some wine for Mrs. Shandy?”

“Certainly. And shall I cut her meat for her while I'm at it, do you think? Trim away any little bits of fat?”

“This was your idea, you know,” Tanner said as Lydia placed Jasmine's knife and fork on the small table, along with handing the thoroughly flustered chaperone a serviette.

“I think you're both very sweet and considerate,” Lydia said, returning to her own chair.

“We're adorable, actually. Especially my good friend, Tanner. I, on the other hand, always have ulterior motives.”

“Yes, I know,” Lydia said quietly, not that the deaf-as-a-post chaperone would hear her at any rate. “You have amorous designs on Mrs. Shandy.”

Justin laughed out loud. “Gad, but I could love you, Lady Lydia.” He looked down the table at Tanner. “You're the only other person I can think of who'd dare to turn my own words back on me, to make me the butt of my own joke. It's very refreshing.”

“I can't speak for the lady Lydia,” Tanner said over the rim of his wine glass, “but I know I exist only to amuse you.”

“Oh, foul, foul! And I'm not speaking of white-legged chickens. It's time for a change of subject before I feel skewered clear through. Mr. Flynn, if you don't mind me shamelessly using you in order to get my own neck off the chopping block—how did you manage to get that patch? And so as not to stray too far from the subject, it's dashed appealing to the ladies, I'd imagine?”

“It has gotten me more than a few appreciative glances, yes. Something about the wounded hero, I suppose. Is that what it is, Lady Lydia?”

She didn't know what to say, and looked to Tanner helplessly. “I…I would suppose most women would feel sympathy for a man who had been injured in defense of his country.”

Mr. Flynn nodded his agreement. “Doesn't seem fair, does it? It's the ones who didn't come home who deserve their sympathy. Poor buggers. Oh, excuse me, Lady Lydia.”

She lowered her gaze to her plate, feeling tears stinging at her eyes. It was his voice, the Irish lilt, that's all it was. Bringing the memory too close.

“You've said you've been traveling, Mr. Flynn,”
Tanner said almost abruptly. “Where all have you been?”

“Please, Your Grace, I haven't been Mr. Flynn for a dozen years. I answer much more readily to captain.”

Lydia's head jerked up and she gasped involuntarily. “Captain? And His Grace told me you were in the Fourth Foot? You were at Quatre Bras.”

She could feel Tanner's eyes on her, but she refused to look at him. She had to prove to him, and to herself, that she wasn't still mired in her memories of Fitz, yes. But she wouldn't be human if she didn't at least ask. “Tell me, did you happen to have had the acquaintance of Captain Fitzgerald? He…he perished at Quatre Bras.”

Captain Flynn smiled. “Fitz? Oh, that I did, my lady. Many a fine time we had before Boney showed up to spoil the fun. Quite the man with the ladies, Fitz was.”

“That's a lie,” Tanner said in a voice as icy as a January morning, glaring at Flynn. “That's a bloody damn lie.”

Lydia's heart was pounding so hard in her ears that she could barely hear. Her chest began rising and falling rapidly as she breathed quickly, trying to regain her breath, the breath Captain Flynn's words had taken from her.

The captain looked from Tanner to Lydia, and then shifted to Justin, who was sitting very much at attention now, all traces of the carefree fop gone as if peeled away by Flynn's words.

“Oh, dear me. I do believe you've managed to outlive your welcome, Captain Flynn,” the baron said, his voice as soft as the caress of silk.

Captain Flynn slowly pushed back his chair and got to his feet. “I don't understand. But nobody calls Benjamin Flynn a liar. There's a lady present, or I'd already have bloodied your nose,
Your Grace.
But I must insist that you come outside with me.”

“Tanner, don't disturb yourself if you please,” Justin said, putting down his wine glass. “I owe you for ridding me of a piece of offal the other evening. I'll be happy to do the same for you. We don't want that cut to open again, now do we?” He got to his feet, his gaze never leaving Flynn's face. “Please allow me the honor of grinding that ugly puss of yours in the dirt.”

“Not enough, Justin, damn it. He'll apologize.”

Tanner was also on his feet. The room was suddenly filled to the brim with anger and men with their hands drawn into fists, ready to wreak havoc on each other. They couldn't seem to wait to have the opportunity to beat each other into pulp.

This is how wars begin,
she thought in disgust.
And they like it.

“Enough!” she heard herself say as she, too, got to her feet. “Nobody will be bloodying anyone's nose or grinding anyone's face into the dirt. Captain Flynn, you were mistaken in your recollections. Captain Swain Fitzgerald was my betrothed.”

Flynn's lone visible eyebrow lifted high on his forehead. “Oh, so that's how the land lies, does it? Swain, you said? I then retract my words, my lady, as surely I was thinking of someone else. I most certainly was mistaken in my memories.”

He was saying all the right words, but he didn't sound convincing, or convinced.

“Yes, you were mistaken. Tanner? Please?”

“Just get out, Flynn,” Tanner said wearily. “But you'll have to understand that it would be better if you were to find yourself another inn for the night. And have yourself a pleasant trip tomorrow, to anywhere else besides Malvern. You'll have to search for truth elsewhere.”

“I entirely agree. Now shoo,” Justin said, sharply snapping his serviette in the air before sitting down once more, spreading the white linen on his lap, signaling his dismissal of the Irishman and any threat.

Flynn quit the room without another word, so that they were left just the three of them (Mrs. Shandy couldn't really be counted, as she'd fallen asleep in her chair), with two obviously vacant chairs making them a very odd arrangement for dinner.

“Ah, that's eminently better. Tanner, you really must stop inviting all and sundry to break bread with us. You never know the sort of riff-raff that can masquerade as gentlemen, although I will say his jacket was rather fine. Now, who's for some beautifully carved beef, hmm?”

The tension in the room somehow gone with Flynn's exit, Lydia sat down again all at once, unable to remain standing on legs suddenly too weak to support her.

“He was mistaken,” she said after a moment.

“I was with Fitz from the time we got to Brussels until the end. Yes, Lydia, Flynn was mistaken. I swear it to you.”

She wasn't the hysterical sort. Her outburst had shaken her, but she had to believe what she had to believe. She simply had to! Her bottom lip trembled, so that she quickly caught it between her teeth, and didn't speak again until she felt more in control of herself. “Thank you, Tanner. Justin? If I might have a slice of that beef, please. It does smell delicious.”

T
ANNER SAT IN A CORNER
of the taproom that was dark save for the glow of the fire that was needed thanks to the thickness of the inn walls and the pervading damp of this year without a summer. He had an untouched snifter of French brandy dangling forgotten in his right hand, delivered courtesy of Wigglesworth, a burned-out cheroot in his left. He sat with his weight on his lower spine, his booted legs stuck out in front of him so that he could watch the firelight dance on the polished toes.

“Ah, the Duke of Malvern At Leisure,” Justin said, subsiding into the facing chair that flanked the fireplace. “Or should I amend that? The Duke of Malvern On The Sulk. Lydia doesn't like sulking. Do try to do more of it, you'll increase my chances with the fair lady.”

“Go away, Justin.”

“Go away, go away. You keep saying that. A lesser man would be insulted. But I would then go away, if it were in my nature. Alas, it is not. So. Tell me. Was her sainted Fitz true to her, or was that one-eyed bastard right?”

Tanner shook his head. Something had been bothering him all evening, and he thought he'd finally figured out what that something was. “It's more than that. I don't think our Captain Benjamin Flynn is who he says he is. Granted, that he had suffered a grievous wound in the battle may have influenced my decision to invite him to join us for supper. But, truthfully, the moment he said he was at Quatre Bras I began to wonder. I dismissed my misgivings, probably because I thought—well, never mind what I thought. My motive isn't flattering to me.”

“You wanted to see how Lydia reacted to meeting an Irishman who'd been at Quatre Bras with this Fitz of yours—hers and yours. It's understandable.”

“Is it?”

“For a man in love? I imagine the impulse was impossible to resist. Still feeling a dead man's hand on your shoulder, aren't you?”

“At times, yes. Less and less. What man gives his woman to another man, Justin? Even dying—who would be that unselfish?”

“A very good man, I'd say. I'm sorry I never knew him; it was my loss. But we both know that, at the end of the day, it will be Lydia who decides. Not you, for whatever solid and upstanding reasons you might put forth to try to confuse the issue, and not Fitz, for all his dying pleas. She'll either love you for you, or she won't. Like you, she's too honorable to do anything else. You're quite the pair.”

Tanner lifted his chin from his chest and looked at Justin quizzically. “When did you get so smart?”

“I've always been smart. It's just that nobody expects it of me, so that I seem doubly intelligent when I deign to say something even remotely profound.”

“I wouldn't go so far as to say you were being profound just now.” He shifted in his chair, looked at his right hand as if surprised to see the snifter. “Wasn't she magnificent this evening? Asking you prettily for a slice of beef, acting as if Flynn's words hadn't just knocked her legs out from under her?”

“Ah, yes, we're back to Flynn. You intrigue me with this notion that the man isn't who he purported himself to be. The question is, if he is not Captain Flynn, then who is he?”

“I wish I knew. I just know his appearance was too convenient. Face it, Justin, what are the odds of us meeting up with a man who had fought at Quatre Bras? An Irishman, and a captain to boot. And one thing more. Looking back at the entire incident, I think Jasmine recognized him.”

Justin lowered his cheroot. “I beg your pardon?”

“I know. Ridiculous. There was just something suspicious about her reaction when he entered the room with Lydia. My cousin has never been adept at hiding her emotions, and I think she was…angry.”

“With Lydia, yes.”

Tanner shook his head. “Who's to say? She was looking across the table at the two of them. At any rate, while you and Wigglesworth were conversing after dinner about whatever it is the two of you converse about—”

“We were discussing my ensemble for tomorrow. It's a nightly ritual. I could probably forgo the exercise, except that Wigglesworth would be devastated. But do go on.”

“Pardon me for allowing you to interrupt me with tales of the minutiae of your life.”

Justin looked at him quizzically. “Oh, dear. You begin to sound like me. That isn't good, Tanner. I rely on you to be above such remarks.”

“It turns out I'm not above much of anything if I think Lydia is being hurt. But I apologize. May I continue? While you were consulting with your keeper, I visited the other two inns here in the village. Flynn was at neither of them. I returned here and asked one of the ostlers if they'd seen him ride out. I was told he'd ordered his horse saddled and rode out of the village, toward Malvern, or at least in that direction. There's no moon tonight, Justin. Where the hell would a stranger to this part of the country go on a moonless night?”

“Straight into a tree or a ditch, I'd imagine, at least eventually. Are you going to confront your cousin?”

“Not here, no. I'll wait until we reach Malvern. Although I don't think Jasmine is capable of any sort of intrigue.”

“More hair than wit, I agree. Just the sort of woman who once appealed to me. Beautiful, and easily dazzled by bright shiny things, but not overstuffed in the brainbox.”

“Too bad. I'd make you a gift of her, if I didn't like you so much. She really is quite wearing on the nerves,
something I didn't fully realize until I brought her to town with me for the Season. But I'm thinking more of her father.”

Justin deftly opened an ivory-topped snuffbox with one hand and took a pinch, raised it to his right nostril, and sniffed delicately. “Thank you, no. I don't want him, either.”

Tanner smiled, which was what Justin had wanted him to do. “I think Thomas may have decided my interests lay with Lydia, and not Jasmine. Although why he'd want to hurt her…”

“Oh, don't stop now.”

Tanner at last took a sip from the snifter, the brandy bitter on his tongue. “He's looking for ways to turn her away from me. Bringing up memories of Fitz could do that.”

“Yes, all that business about you being the bearer of sad news and such. And why would he want to do that?”

“Why do I bother talking to you? You already know.”

“Yes, I think we both do. He would have Lydia turn away from you so that you at last give in and marry his little babbling darling, make her a duchess, and thereby fill his pockets. This much we could have deduced even before Captain Flynn's appearance tonight. And? Finish it, Tanner.”

“The Malvern jewels. It would be in very bad taste for me to send my father-in-law to prison. Because only an idiot would believe I'd never discover the substitutions.”

“I've been out of the country for a long time, I grant
you, but I believe the punishment for theft on such a grand scale is to be hanged, or at the very least transported. Now, this is all conjecture, knowing that the jewels could have been sold years ago, but excuse me if I allow fancy to take me further into the realm of speculation.”

“Don't bother. I'm already there,” Tanner said, getting to his feet. “I marry her, give her a male heir, and then suffer a fatal accident. Her father serves as Jasmine's advisor and the child's guardian, and spends the remainder of his life swimming nicely in a nice deep gravy boat made up of my lands and fortune. At some point I'm certain there would be a terrible robbery at Malvern and the paste jewels would disappear.”

“All the dark melodrama of a Pennypress novel,” Justin said, nodding. “Unfortunately, also plausible. So, who was our Captain Flynn, this man we should probably be thanking for being so clumsy?”

Tanner shrugged. “A hireling? I'm just certain poor, transparent Jasmine recognized him, has probably seen him with her father, and knew him for a liar. I imagine her reunion with her father at Malvern isn't going to be pleasant. After all, she might not be the brightest person, but she has to know that she is being manipulated.”

“And, it would appear, the thought that her father's plans are moving on to possible fruition—marriage to you—is enough to cast her into strong hysterics. I hadn't realized you were such a terrible catch.”

At last, Tanner smiled. “Her reluctance is rather lowering, isn't it? Truthfully, that reluctance is her most
appealing trait.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew a small, thick key. “If you don't mind, I'm hoping you'll ride ahead of us tomorrow, as I'm planning to show Lydia a bit of Malvern from horseback before we reach the house. The Malvern collection is in a locked box secreted in a cut-out behind the portrait of the first duke. In my study. Probably not the best hiding place.”

“But changing it now might be rather like locking the stables after the horse thief has been,” Justin agreed, pocketing the key. “I'd be happy to pass the time by examining the jewels. Then it's done, and we can move on to what seems to be more skullduggery in the making. You're such a fine host, Tanner, planning this amusement for your guest.”

Tanner shot him a darkling look. “Thomas is probably already in residence, as he left for Malvern within hours of my telling him our plans. He says, to alert the staff to our arrival.”

“And Lord knows what else,” Justin said, nodding. “I'll be careful to avoid him.”

“Thank you, Justin. At least that's off my mind. Now I need to go upstairs and speak with Lydia.”

“Do you think that's wise? She said she knows Flynn was mistaken. She was hurt by his words, certainly. But how much more upsetting to think that she has unwittingly become part of a conspiracy?”

“I'm not going to tell any of that. After all, we may both be mistaken.”

“Oh, now that wounds me.
You
could be mistaken.
I,
on the other hand, am almost always right. And as I
concur with your conclusions, the chances are quite high that our Captain Flynn was sent here by Thomas Harburton expressly to undermine your budding romance with the fair Lydia.”

“Because I was with Fitz, and never told her that he was spending the months before the battle amusing himself with half the ladies in Brussels? I watched her mourning him, suffering, and all while knowing he'd been unfaithful to her?”

“You cad,” Justin said, shaking his head in mock horror. “Then again, just another example of the honorable Tanner, choosing not to besmirch her memories of the man, even as you hope to court her yourself. Although she wouldn't have believed you if you'd said any such thing, probably sent you away forever. My goodness, being honorable does open a person to recriminations no matter what one does. I must remember to never decide to become moral.”

“I don't think any of us has to worry much about that,” Tanner told him. “You enjoy your reprobate status entirely too much.”

“Thank you. Did I forget to point out that, if the dear Lady Lydia were to take you in distaste, I remain available to comfort her? You could mention that as she tosses you out on your ear.”

“I'll try to remember,” Tanner said, aiming his unlit cheroot at the fire. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm off to be honorable.”

“I know.” Justin sighed. “What a waste of a perfectly good evening.”

The clock in the vestibule of the inn chimed out the hour of ten as Tanner climbed the stairs to Lydia's chamber. He'd thought to give her time to weep, for he was certain that she would have needed to release her feelings at some point, but he couldn't allow her to spend the night wondering about Fitz's loyalty to her, his love for her.

As he turned down the hallway, a maid carrying a tray of dishes was just letting herself out of the chamber assigned to Jasmine. “If I might?” he asked, lifting the cloth from the tray, and then he smiled at the sight of all the empty plates. Clearly Jasmine had gotten over her snit. “I see Miss Harburton retains her usual healthy appetite, Mildred.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the maid said, bobbing a curtsy. “She's tucked up proper and all but fast asleep. I asked if she wanted me to stay with her—seeing as how she's in a strange bed—but she said she was fine.”

“Thank you, Mildred. I imagine you'd like to seek your own bed now. It was a long day on the road.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” The maid bobbed another curtsy and hastened toward the back stairs.

Tanner rapped lightly on Lydia's door, quietly announcing himself, and then wondered if she, like Jasmine, had already retired for the night. Had he left his visit too late?

The door opened quietly on a room dark save for the light of the fire and a few small candles, and Lydia appeared in the doorway. She was dressed in a virginal white dressing gown that ruffled prettily beneath her
chin, and her lovely blond hair was down, floating over her shoulders. As his body attempted to betray him, he carefully kept his gaze at eye level. “I'm sorry. I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier, but I see I've probably left it too late.”

“Please don't go,” she said, opening the door wider. “I…I've been waiting for you, actually, hoping you would come. But you're not going to apologize for kissing me, are you? Because I'd really rather you didn't.”

He slipped inside and quietly shut the door. “That's good, Lydia, because I'd really rather I didn't, too. I will say that's it's probably a good thing Justin came along when he did. I didn't frighten you, did I? Oh, wait,” he added, feeling flustered, and he was never flustered; if Justin could see him he'd be rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach in mirth. “I should prop the door open, shouldn't I?”

Her smile was very nearly indulgent. “I can always scream for help if it becomes necessary. Leave it closed.”

She stood in the middle of the room, clearly unaware of how the firelight licked at her hair, making her appear almost an apparition rather than flesh and blood. The brandy had made no impact on him, but the sight of her made him feel nearly drunk with emotions he'd never experienced in his lifetime.