Love's Harbinger (6 page)

“I imagine he’s miles ahead of us already, Auntie.”

“I had hoped he’d offer to take us in his carriage. That would have been more . . . interesting. But then it’s as well to have two rigs,” the aunt said, and then said no more. The soft, lascivious smile that curved her lips was concealed by the shadows. In her mind’s eye, it was only she and Guy who dashed through the night in his carriage while Faith remained here in comfortable isolation. It wouldn’t do to have that Bath miss witnessing things she shouldn’t.

Lady Lynne was quite charmed by her daring in going after Lord Thomas. The idea had come to her during Guy’s visit to Berkeley Square, when he had seemed most amenable to flirtation. She hadn’t had a lover since Sir John’s death. Long deprivation had heightened her desire and limited her common sense. But Guy Delamar had been worth every second of the wait. How society would stare to learn that the elusive journalist had fallen into her lap. Mind you, he would not be easy to manage, but she had no taste for easy tasks.

The dame was soon snoring lightly. Faith pulled a blanket over her shoulders and gazed out the window at the passing show of London, soon petering out to countryside with intermittent splotches of housing developments. She looked but saw none of the scenery. Her mind was back at Thomas’s flat, imagining him there with a lightskirt in a red peignoir. The thought caused a heavy ache in her heart. She knew his reputation and had felt proud that she was the one he had chosen to cure him of that propensity, but had she cured him? What if he had been seeing a woman even after their engagement? At the very least, it indicated some lack in his scruples not to have thrown out the peignoir. Any of his friends might have seen it there.

Ahead, the first tollbooth loomed and the driver slowed down. Instead of cracking the whip and picking up speed after he had paid the toll, he drew to another stop. Faith opened the door to see what was delaying him and saw a man approaching. Her first rush of fear that it was a highwayman subsided when she recalled that they were still close to London.

Even before the man was close enough to see his face, she recognized the swaggering walk and broad shoulders of Mr. Delamar.

“So you really came!” he exclaimed curtly. “I made sure the practical Lady Faith would dissuade her aunt from such folly.”

“As you see, we are here. I thought you would be much farther along the road by now.”

“I had some business to attend to before leaving town. If you’re really going to Bournemouth, it will be better for us to travel close together. The scamps are less likely to hold up a pair of carriages.”

“Highwaymen, you mean?” she asked nervously.

“Yes. I hope you ladies aren’t carrying any jewelry.”

“I don’t know what my aunt may have packed. I have only this,” she said, and lifted her hand to display her engagement ring. It was a narrow band encircled with baguette diamonds.

Mr. Delamar glanced at it dismissingly. “I shouldn’t think that would attract Jeb Throwe’s interest. He is the scamp who works this stretch of road. We are on terms, Jeb and I. Don’t be frightened if he comes pelting out of the shadows firing his pistol into the air. He’s really not such a bad fellow. I’ll tell him you’re with me.”

She gave him a disparaging glare. “How convenient for you, to be on terms with all the local criminals, Mr. Delamar.”

“Equally convenient for you to be on terms with me, Lady Faith. Don’t bite the hand that protects you.” He turned on his heel and went back to his carriage.

“Keep close behind his carriage,” Faith called to Nubbins, and closed the door.

She was soon subjected to a merciless jostling. She was convinced Mr. Delamar set this ridiculous pace on purpose to aggravate her, but she refused to be angry. Speed was what suited her purpose, and she didn’t mind the jostling. She followed her aunt’s lead and tried to settle in to rest, but there was no rest for her, though Lady Lynne was dozing quietly. Faith was still half awake much later when Nubbins stopped to change the team. She saw Mr. Delamar get out of his carriage and thought he might come to have a word with her, but he only spoke to the ostler and returned to his own carriage.

The next time she opened her eyes, the black shadows of night had dissipated and an orange ball of fire lit the skies. The carriage stood in front of a half-timbered inn from whose front door Mr. Delamar suddenly issued. He saw her face at the carriage window and came toward her. He looked perfectly refreshed, clean-shaven, and wore fresh linens, while she was cramped and wrinkled, and hungry. He had let them sit sleeping while he ate breakfast and changed! Already out of spirits because of Thomas, it was enough to cause a surge of vexation to well up in her. She opened the door and climbed out.

“You might have at least let us know we were stopped!” she charged in a voice suited to rebuking servants. “How long have we wasted sleeping while you prepared yourself for the next lap?”

Sunlight beamed on his face, causing him to narrow his eyes, but she read the anger in those twin slits. He slowly drew out his watch and studied it. “Five minutes. I have ordered breakfast. Please hurry. I don’t want to waste any more time than necessary. I’ll be leaving within the hour.” He turned abruptly and strode off toward the stable.

Faith woke her aunt from a sound sleep, and together they went into the inn. Lady Lynne went to the desk and said pompously, “We require a room immediately. We shan’t be staying; we only want to freshen up before taking breakfast. You must hurry, as we are in a rush.”

The innkeeper shook his head. “We’re all booked up, m’lady. There’s a great boxing match on here today, you must know. Tom Cribb is taking on Lefty Legree, Lord Henderson’s boy, trained by Jackson. We haven’t so much as an inglenook to offer you.”

“You found a room for Mr. Delamar!” Faith said petulantly.

“Guy Delamar . . . are you the ladies he spoke to me about?” the innkeeper asked. His expression changed to one of warm amiability. “In that case, just step along here behind me. It’s my own room he used, and you’re welcome to it as well. I’ve had hot water and clean towels taken up. You’ll be wanting your things from the carriage, I figure? But you must step lively, ladies. The private parlor Guy arranged belongs by rights to another gentleman. I happen to know Mr. Severn won’t be down for a bit yet as he was celebrating till nearly morning. Right this way.” He walked off, with the ladies trailing behind him. They were soon in the innkeeper’s bedchamber, and their valises were brought up.

“This was thoughtful of Guy,” Lady Lynne said. “I wonder what it cost him?”

“Whatever it is, we must repay him,” Faith replied.

“Pay him?” Lady Lynne laughed. “My dear, you daren’t offer money to the likes of Delamar. Those boys on the fringe of gentility are as easily wounded as maidens. But we shall thank him very graciously, of course.”

“Boy” seemed to Faith a poor description of Mr. Delamar. She was annoyed by so many things she hardly knew what was bothering her. Having called him to account unjustly was a part of it, of course. The awareness that she must apologize rankled, and her aunt’s cavalier manner of accepting favors added to her chagrin. Perhaps most vexing of all was that he could obtain services with apparent ease when they had been denied to her aunt and herself.

“I expect he had to come down handsomely to get a room at such a busy time,” Faith mentioned.

“Perhaps not. It might be a matter of barter—a mention of this inn in the
Harbinger
would be worth something. That’s how clever men do business, my girl.”

They hurried their toilette and were soon downstairs being shown into Mr. Severn’s private parlor. Lady Lynne looked around the empty mom. “Is Guy not joining us, I wonder?” she asked.

The same thought had occurred to Faith. “I notice three places are set. What can be keeping him?”

The waiter poured coffee and went to get their food. By the time it arrived, Mr. Delamar was back. “Good morning, ladies. I hope you haven’t waited for me. I’ve been making inquiries in the stables for Lord Thomas. No one here has seen him.”

Lady Lynne threw him a coquettish smile and poured his coffee. “You have arranged our stop very well, Guy. The innkeeper was ready to show us the door till Faith inadvertently dropped your name.

“There’s a boxing match today, which is why they’re so busy,” he explained. “I’d give my left arm to see it.”

Faith had offered no thanks, so to add a helpful word at least she said, “Would it be possible to have one of the gentlemen staying here cover the story for the
Harbinger
?”

“My sports writer is here. It wasn’t the reporting I referred to. I’d like to see it for my own enjoyment.”

“I swear all men are animals at heart,” Lady Lynne exclaimed, and shook her head at the tiger who graced her table. “But then you were a soldier, Guy, and no doubt miss the fun of shooting and looting, eh?”

Lady Lynne was about as sensitive as a chair, but her niece noticed the darkening flush that crept up from Mr. Delamar’s collar and the quick quivering of a muscle in his jaw before he answered. “I find plenty of violence in England to fill the void, ma’am.”

“I bet you do!” Lady Lynne said, and laughed merrily. “Though the footpads are not so bad as they used to be. We called twilight the Footpad Hour, a few years back. When I was just a girl,” she added hastily.

“I wasn’t referring to criminal violence in particular,” Mr. Delamar said. “The greater and more lamentable violence is perfectly legal and is directed against the poor. The Luddites were treated as criminals when they tried to present their case to the Parliamentary Committee on the Woolen Trade. We have children scarcely weaned working from dawn to dark in factories and mines; farmers being ruined by enclosure; a system of voting that robs the poor of any say in the making of laws; and a monarchy who considers its prime function is to waste money while thousands starve. I find plenty of violence to keep me amused,” he said grimly.

“But what a good show Prinney and his brothers put on for us all. I swear it is almost worth whatever huge sum they cost us. They’re better than Covent Garden. You’ll get nowhere with that radical kind of talk, sir,” Lady Lynne cautioned him. “If you want to make your way in England, you must turn Tory. Why, I was just telling my niece the other day, titles grow like weeds on Fleet Street. If you espoused the proper causes in your paper, you might find yourself wearing a handle one of these days. How would you like that?”

“I
do
espouse the proper causes. I expect you mean the popular ones. Let the
Morning Post
and the
Morning Herald
praise the vice of the Tories. I personally consider a title little better than an insult. Look into their history and you’ll almost invariably find that titles were conferred for some extraordinary act of servility or criminality to their monarch on the part of the nobleman concerned. In the case of the ladies, becoming a king’s mistress is usually the preferred route. Present company excepted, of course,” he added as a sop when he saw Faith’s eyes begin to shoot sparks.

“Sour grapes.” Lady Lynne laughed.

“Sour thoughts but true,” he replied, and lifted his fork.

“I cannot let that pass unchallenged,” Faith declared. “Most of the titles were conferred for outstanding bravery in battle—in France, and at Culloden, and . . .”  History was not her long suit.

Delamar lifted a mobile brow. His eyes were trained on her like pistols. “I grant you there were a few brave gentlemen rewarded for their heroics in days long past. Marlborough comes to mind. How does that entitle their families for countless generations to consider themselves in any way special?”

“We share consanguinity!” she shot back. “The blood of those same heroes flows in our veins, uninterrupted over the centuries.”

“Except for an occasional adulterine child foisted on an unsuspecting father. You forget the corroding influence of time as well. Nothing lasts forever, including brave blood. The House of Lords has thrown up more congenital idiots than can be found in Bedlam,” he said baldly.

“Do you object to the titles bestowed on Wellington?” Faith asked.

“You have chosen an odd example! He earned them at the risk of his life, unlike the raft of peers created for no reason but to stack the house and get a bill through the Lords. What I object to is that centuries after a hero’s death, when power has corrupted the line, the family can still trade on his past glories. I believe titles ought not to be hereditary. But I didn’t mean to mount my hobbyhorse,” he added more mildly. “No doubt there are some fine hereditary lords, as there are fine carpenters and scholars and butchers.”

“Let us agree to disagree, and have done with it,” Faith said dampingly. “You found no trace of Thomas, you say. Did you inquire for Mr. Elwood?”

“Naturally. There are dozens of inns on this road. They stopped elsewhere, that’s all. We’ll forge on to Bournemouth. Unless you ladies have reconsidered and want to return to London?” he asked hopefully.

“You do think Elwood is following Thomas, then?” Faith asked.

He gave her a long, hard look. “Perhaps he’s chasing him,” he said.

It was the first time this possibility had been introduced, and as it escalated Thomas to the prime suspect, Faith bristled up in his defense. “I assure you that is not the case.”

“My queries in London told me it was Thomas who kept the blunt. It was banked in his name. He withdrew the lot just before he took off. Elwood left later. Logic suggests he’s following the blunt. Still want to continue with the hunt?”

Reason fled and a red anger engulfed her. “So that’s why you aren’t interested in Elwood! You think Thomas robbed him as well as the investors. You certainly don’t know much about him. Thomas is a gentleman, sir. Gentlemen do not behave so, though one can understand your not being aware of it.” His shoulders stiffened, but she no longer felt guilty at slighting his origins.

“True, I wasn’t born at the top of the hill, which accounts for my more realistic estimation of how a gentleman will behave, when he is goaded.”

“Thomas was not goaded.”