Midnight Bride (26 page)

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Mr.
Beckworth
?" Charles
asked,
his voice angry. "I am a grown man. I deserve my rightful title."

Porter simply looked at him for a moment, much as he used to look at the naughty boy waiting for his father. "And men are willing to talk their problems out and to discover the truth behind the rumors," his valet reminded him. He held the rich chocolate brown coat for Charles to slide his arms into, handed him his hat, and stood back, noting not for the first time what a pleasant picture his master made. At least he usually did with his smiles and laughs. This morning his frowns marred his appearance.

"I do not know when I will return," Charles said sternly. He took a deep breath and headed for the door.

But in spite of his determination, he was not successful. Dunstan was nowhere to be found. For the next few days Charles's troubles had nothing to do with a duel. Avoiding society matrons with marriageable daughters became almost an art. Seeking more congenial company, he finally repaired to White's. Finally, one evening as he sat
around a
table playing cards with several gentlemen, one of the older men said, "Haven't seen that grandson of
Darington's
lately. Must say the young are more casual about collecting debts than our generation ever was.
Had a bet with him for a pony.
He won. But I can't find him to pay him."

"He is out of town.
A trip to see his grandfather."
The tall man in
a corbeau
coat with a blue-striped waistcoat spoke, his face bland.

"More likely on an errand," another said quietly.

"Errand?
What errand?" the older gentleman asked. "By God, he is not in trade, is he?"

"Trade?
Only if he trades in secrets, sir."

The man in
corbeau
looked at that speaker, his eyes fierce and unsmiling. "Are you certain?" he asked. His voice and his eyes were like hail in the summertime, harsh and startling.

The younger gentleman looked at him for a moment. What he saw made him say quickly, "No.
Just a joke."
The others laughed. But the older gentleman and the man in
corbeau
exchanged a glance of understanding. Charles, too caught up in his own worries, missed the exchange.

As soon as the group dispersed, Charles found a way to take a place beside the younger man. "I heard you mention Lord Dunstan. Is it true he is away from London?"

After a quick look around to be certain no one was looking, the younger man whispered, "Yes. And no man visits his grandfather as often as Dunstan does." He winked at Charles. "Play a few hands?"

Unable to think of a good excuse quickly, Charles sat down. He watched as the young man dealt the cards. After inspecting his, he asked, "What did you mean about Dunstan and his grandfather?"

Once again the young man took a quick, furtive look around the room. "Never know who is watching," he said as he settled back in his chair. He looked at his hand once more and played. Then he leaned forward, his face filled with the news he was anxious to impart. "Dunstan's often out of town. Something to do with the government," he said in a soft, confidential tone.

"You mean he's a spy?"

"
Shhh
!"
Once again his partner looked around the room before he turned back to look at Charles.

Charles, confused, leaned forward. "Well, is he?"

"Maybe."
He took another quick look around the room, this time spotting the tall gentleman dressed in
corbeau.
"He has been out of town several times recently. Why only a month or so ago, he was gone for almost a fortnight."

Charles leaned back, a smile on his lips. "And you think that is suspicious?" he asked.

"Certainly.
Don't you?"

Looking at his hand, Charles chose his new card.
"Not at all.
Lord Dunstan was visiting me," he said calmly. His spirits rose as he watched the other man's face fall. "Does your tale have more foundation than that?"

Reluctantly the other man admitted that it did not. As they finished the hand, Charles took a childish satisfaction in being able to best him. As he had forced the other man to back down, so would he force Dunstan to do the right thing by his
sister.

The next morning Charles left his lodgings as he had every morning since he had arrived back in London. Heading toward the Clarendon House, he nodded to acquaintances, stopped in to see the design of a new tie pin, ordered some cigars to replace those he had blown a cloud with in the country, and placed his order for a dozen new shirts. Finally arriving at Dunstan's home, he banged the knocker.

"Come in, sir," the butler suggested. "I mentioned your visits to Lord Dunstan as soon as he arrived. He asked me to show you to the library whenever you called."

Ready to hear the butler announce once again that Lord Dunstan was not at home, Charles stood there for a moment, confusion in his face. Then his resolve stiffened. He squared his shoulders proudly, handed his hat and cane to a waiting footman, and followed the butler down the hallway.

"Mr.
Beckworth
, my lord," the butler announced.

Dunstan, who had been opening the stack of mail that had accumulated during his absence, sprang to his feet. He smiled and advanced across the room, holding out his hand. "Charles, when did you arrive in town? And how is your sister?"

The last word was too much. Charles, his face as dark as a thundercloud, leveled him with a right to the jaw. He stood over Dunstan with a feeling of satisfaction. He rubbed his right hand with his left, his knuckles stinging.

After his first impulse to get up and pummel Charles to the floor, Dunstan just
lay
there, his eyes wide and his hand on his jaw. He started to get up. Charles stepped closer and drew back his arm again. Dunstan sank back. "Why did you do that?" he
asked,
his voice less distinct than before.

"As if you did not know, you blackguard!"

Dunstan sat up warily, keeping a careful eye on his opponent. "What are you talking about?"

"My sister.
I suppose you thought you could keep me from finding out. Come on. Get up. Let me show you what I think of the idea!" Charles stepped closer, his face still filled with anger.

"She told you?" Dunstan slid against the heavy desk. Keeping the edge in his hand, he worked his way behind the desk to the chair and stood up carefully. Still slightly unsteady from the blow, he leaned against the desk. "And you disapprove?"

"Disapprove? What did you expect me to do?"

"I expected you to at least give me a chance to explain." His jaw already beginning to turn the
color
of his eyes, Dunstan gave up his position by the desk and headed toward Charles. Once again Charles milled him to the floor.

"I will have my second call on yours, Lord Dunstan," Charles said firmly, dusting his hands lightly as he walked toward the door.

"Charles, you stop where you are!" Dunstan stood up once again.

The younger man
turned,
his face impassive. "Are you refusing to meet me, sir?" he asked.

"Of course I am . . ."

"Then you leave me no recourse but to destroy your reputation as you destroyed my sister's." Never had Charles been firmer, more steadfast in his resolve.

"What are you talking about?" Dunstan rushed toward the younger man and swung him about. "How can my proposal do that?"

Charles, certain by now that Dunstan would not oppose him, swung his fist once again. This time it was he who was on the floor, his hand to his jaw. He glared up at his one-time friend and started to rise. "No. Stay there!" Dunstan commanded
,
his blue eyes flashing as he pushed Charles back down. "Now tell me what you are talking about!"

"As if you didn't know," Charles said, sneering. He cautiously sat up, his eyes on Dunstan. The older man stood there, his face puzzled. This time he only watched Charles rise from the floor.

Turning his back on Charles, Dunstan sat down in a large blue leather chair. The younger man simply stared at him for a moment. Then he took the chair opposite. "Now tell me what you are talking about." This time Dunstan's words were individual bullets instead of a barrage of words. "And do not try to tell me I know. I don't!"

His whole plan to force Dunstan to marry his sister disappearing like London fog in a good south wind, Charles cleared his throat. Dunstan walked over to a table near the door and poured glasses of wine for both of them. He handed one to Charles and waited. The younger man downed his in one gulp. Then he leaned back, confused. "I came to see you to gain satisfaction," he mumbled.

"By satisfaction I suppose you mean to challenge me to a duel. Is that what you meant by having our seconds call on one another?" Charles
nodded,
his frown still evident. Dunstan downed his own wine and crossed to the decanter, filling his glass again. The younger man looked longingly at the wine but refused to ask. "How my grandfather will love this!" Dunstan
said,
his voice biting.

"What does your grandfather have to do with my sister?" Charles
asked,
the blow to the jaw and the wine combining to confuse him.

Dunstan just looked at him. Then the older man began again. "You came to see me about your sister. Is that right?" Charles started to speak, but Dunstan stopped him. "Just nod." He nodded. "Is it because I asked her to marry me?"

Charles stopped in the midst of standing up, surprised. "Marry you?" he croaked, his voice breaking as it had not for years. He stood up and crossed to the table with the wine. He poured himself a glass and drank it quickly. Then he turned to the older man. "Did you say you asked Elizabeth to marry you?"

"Yes."

"Before or after you woke up in her bed?"

Dunstan flushed, took a deep breath, and said as calmly as he could, "After. But I had . . ."

"I suppose you felt it was the right thing to do," Charles said bitterly. "Better to have a wife than a scandal."