Jo Goodman (13 page)

"We're not late," he said. It was six-thirty.

Colin checked his own watch. He had the same time. "How long should we give him before we consider it a forfeit?"

One of Aubrey's large hands came up to rub his temple as he considered the question. "The thing of it is," he said after a moment, "the damn Limeys probably have some rule about it."

A narrow smile edged Colin's mouth. "Proper form," he said dryly.

"How's that again?" asked Aubrey.

Colin dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "Just something I recalled. No importance."

"Well," Aubrey drawled. "I say we wait a half-hour. If we haven't seen the earl or his second by then, we'll go to the house and drag him out. I may shoot him myself."

Colin made himself comfortable leaning back against a pine. He crossed his arms in front of him. He wasn't entirely surprised by the earl's absence. "I didn't think he would be expecting us," he said. "Not after his niece's second visit last night. He's probably slept in."

"You really think he knows what she tried to do?"

Colin shrugged as if it were of no consequence. "We'll find out," he said softly. "Won't we?"

Aubrey wasn't certain he liked the tone. On the few occasions he'd heard it before it always boded trouble. He forgot about that as he caught some movement out of the corner of his eye. "Here, what's this?" he said, pointing to the road. Two men on horseback were approaching. "Is one of them the earl?"

Colin's eyes narrowed as he watched the progress of the riders. They paused along the road where he and Aubrey had also stopped. Rather than dismounting, they followed the beaten-down path on horseback. "The one on the roan is Lord Marcus Severn, Viscount Fielding. I believe he's a viscount. I met him at Weybourne's club. He's serving as the earl's second."

"So the other one's the earl?" asked Aubrey. The pair were closer now. Aubrey had not given much thought to the earl's appearance or age, but he would not have guessed Lord Leyden was so old. "You won't need to shoot him," he said. "Blow on him and the geezer will keel over."

"That's not Weybourne," said Colin. "If I'm not mistaken, that would be the physician."

Lord Severn drew up on his horse but didn't dismount. He carried himself very straight in the saddle and had no difficulty keeping the roan quiet in spite of the other animals. He nodded once in Colin's direction, his narrow face almost devoid of expression. "Thorne," he said briskly in way of acknowledgment. "This is Dr. Barclay. He's agreed to serve in the event that either party requires medical attention."

Dr. Barclay tapped the medical bag that was attached to his saddle. He lowered his head and looked down at Colin and Aubrey over the rim of his spectacles. His pale blue eyes were rheumy and slightly unfocused. The doctor's complexion had the mottled color of someone who was familiar with the use of liquor as a personal anesthetic.

Aubrey stepped closer to his captain. "Don't worry," he said under his breath. "I won't let him touch you."

"I'm heartened."

Marcus Severn had no patience for these private asides. His flattened mouth and raised chin were evidence of his disdain. "Where is Weybourne?" he asked.

Colin pushed away from the tree. "Don't know," he said lightly. "We've been waiting."

It was not the viscount's way to make an explanation. The doctor, however, did not demonstrate the same reluctance. Some excuse could always be offered, even if it was a lie. "I was called out early this morning to the vicar's. A birthing, don't you know. It delayed us. Those things can't be hurried."

"That's quite enough, Barclay," Lord Severn said. "They can see we're here now."

"We can see that," Aubrey said agreeably. He was satisfied to see that his lordship's mouth tightened ever further. Thin-lipped toady, he thought. "Do you want to examine the pistols?" he asked. He made no effort to hand them up.

Marcus Severn had no choice but to dismount. Although of medium build and quite able to hold his own in most gentlemanly sports, he was dwarfed by Aubrey's proportions. He took the case in his gloved hands, stepped back out of Aubrey's shadow, and opened it. Like Mercedes, Lord Severn had an appreciation for the quality of the flintlocks. He admired them together, then individually, removing each from its formed depression in the velvet and turning it over in his hands.

"I take it they're satisfactory," Aubrey said.

"They'll do," Severn said curtly. He returned the one he held to its place, trying not to reveal his reluctance to do so. He could envy Weybourne the opportunity to use so fine a weapon.

Aubrey closed the case and slid it under his arm again. "How long do we wait?" he asked. "Colin and I thought thirty minutes was fair."

Severn looked toward the manor. From their present location a slight rise in the meadow made it impossible to see if someone was approaching from that direction. "Weybourne is rarely late," he said. He was careful not to let his concern show in his voice. "I should think something has happened at the house to delay him. Perhaps I should ride to the—"

Aubrey was shaking his head. "I don't think so," he said amiably. "Surely the earl's got himself a timekeeper in that mansion of his. Probably has a room filled with nothing but clocks and another one with servants who do nothing but wind them." He glanced at Colin. The captain's narrow smile told him he was enjoying Severn's discomfort as well. Aubrey stepped closer to the viscount and said confidentially, "It's better if you stay right here with us. That way if the earl's missing this appointment on purpose, we'll
all
know it."

* * *

Mercedes paced the length of the parlor, from time to time going to the large windows facing the semi-circular drive to look out. Except for Ben Fitch who was clipping the hedgerow near the house, there was no one else about. She wished she might have taken her cue from Mr. Hennepin and found some reason to go to the north turret. It was probably where Britton and Brendan had run off to, though they were supposed to be in their rooms right now.

Sylvia and Chloe, after joining Mercedes and the boys at breakfast, had retired to the sewing room on the second floor. Mercedes wasn't fooled by Chloe's interest in repairing the hem of her lilac gown. The sewing room faced the meadow and they would be likely to see their father's approach soon after Mr. Hennepin caught sight of him. She didn't know if, like the twins, Chloe and Sylvia had a clear idea what the earl had asked her to do, but Mercedes suspected they knew something. Clearly they knew she had balked at his command, and Britton's beating had been the result. Mercedes remembered Chloe's fearful and faintly accusing glance as she stood in the doorway last evening. Chloe and her sister were helpless, too, she reminded herself. They looked to her to keep the peace, and last night she had failed them.

Lost in her thoughts, Mercedes didn't hear the parlor door sliding open. She actually jumped, her heart slamming in her chest, when she saw Mrs. Hennepin standing on the threshold.

Mercedes forced a calm expression that she was nowhere near to feeling. "What is it, Mrs. Hennepin?"

The housekeeper's distress showed clearly in her deepening frown. The parenthetical lines on either side of her mouth appeared to be engraved there. Between her silver-white brows was a vertical crease that disappeared into her mobcap. Her gnarled hands were not smoothing her apron, but twisting one corner of it. "We have visitors to see his lordship," she said. She looked over her shoulder to make certain they hadn't followed her. "I put them in the library."

Mercedes was surprised. "You explained the earl isn't here, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, I explained but they wouldn't be moved. I think one of them actually wants to search the house."

"That's quite out of the question," said Mercedes.

"That's just what I thought." Mrs. Hennepin's anxiety began to lessen in the face of Mercedes's serene confidence. "You'll speak to Lord Severn, then?" she asked. "Shall I show him in here?"

"Severn?" Mercedes felt a rush of panic. What was the viscount doing at Weybourne Park without her uncle? "But he was going to serve as his lordship's second."

"That's what I'd heard, too."

"And he's come looking for my uncle?"

Mrs. Hennepin nodded. She was worried again. "That's what he said. Do you want to speak to him in here?"

Mercedes supposed she had little choice. "Who else is with him?" she asked.

"Dr. Barclay."

Mercedes nodded. She had forgotten a physician would be in attendance. Severn must have arranged it. One of the duties of the second. "And someone else besides?"

The housekeeper held up two fingers. "They weren't introduced," she said. "And they didn't have a word to say, though it was the bigger of the two that looked as if he might want to turn over the furniture."

A shiver chased a chill all the way up Mercedes's spine. "I'll see Lord Severn now," she said. "In here. The others can wait."

Mrs. Hennepin turned to go. She stopped abruptly, brought up short by the appearance of one of the guests just beyond the parlor door. His smile was polite but cool as he stepped around the housekeeper. Leaning against the door jamb, an edgy watchfulness in his posture and his expression, Colin Thorne's dark eyes leveled on Mercedes.

"I think you should see me first," he said. "You may not want Severn to hear what I have to say."

Chapter 4

Mercedes simply stared. She was aware that just beyond Colin Thorne's shoulder, Mrs. Hennepin was looking to her for guidance. The housekeeper was both agitated and curious and the expressions warred for dominance on her careworn face. Mercedes could find no words to satisfy Mrs. Hennepin. Feeling Colin Thorne's presence as a real pressure against her chest, she left things that came to her mind unsaid.

In the end she was saved having to respond by the commotion on the stairs. Mercedes didn't have to be able to see what was happening to identify the source of the noise. She recognized the twins' youthful voices over the more mature tones of their sisters. The girls were hurrying down the steps in the direction of the parlor while the boys opted to use the banister to beat them to the bottom. There was some high-pitched laughter from the boys and breathless scolding from the girls. The party of four came to an abrupt stop in the open doorway.

Colin's head turned slowly in the direction of the intruders. He gave them all a cursory glance, his features expressionless, then turned back to Mercedes. "I suspect they've come to warn you," he said. "These are the same faces I spied pressed to various windows on our approach."

Chloe and Sylvia were eighteen months apart and it often seemed that it was the only thing separating them. They were invariably mistaken for twins, especially when they wore their pale blond hair similarly styled. Sylvia, the younger of the pair, was taller by a mere inch. They shared the same delicately winsome character, which upon first acquaintance could seem all fluff and no substance. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Though possessed of the fine, beautifully realized features of a porcelain doll, Chloe and Sylvia were made of sterner stuff.

Knowing the picture they must have made at the windows, both blushed at Colin's comment. Neither stammered apologies or looked away guiltily, however. Mercedes wondered that Colin didn't feel them boring holes into the back of his head.

Britton and Brendan weren't satisfied with glaring at the visitor's back. They skirted around their sisters and darted into the parlor, placing themselves squarely between Colin and Mercedes.

Colin didn't spare another glance for the twins. He continued to look over their heads at Mercedes. "Your protectors?"

Mercedes was spared answering this time by the arrival of Severn. She did not look on his sudden appearance as either timely or particularly welcome. He gave Mrs. Hennepin no notice and walked past Chloe and Sylvia with only the slightest nod to acknowledge their presence. His brief glance at the twins was cold and clearly meant to dislodge them from the parlor. Mercedes knew that the effect was the opposite. Britton and Brendan would remain frozen in place rather than leave her with Marcus Severn.

Severn crossed the parlor to stand directly in front of Mercedes. Without asking permission he placed his gloved hands lightly on her elbows and bent his head, kissing her on the cheek. "I would speak to you alone," he said, straightening.