Never a Gentleman (6 page)

Harry immediately opened the door, where Grace suffered another setback. Inside, methodically making his way
through a breakfast that would have satisfied a teamster, sat Diccan Hilliard.

“I am always pleased to see the military arrive on the scene,” he said, setting down his cutlery, “but I refuse to share my
breakfast with that lot behind you.”

At the back of the pack, Phillip waited for the interested parties to enter before slamming the door on the curious who would
have followed. “A word, Mr. Hilliard,” he said, stepping up.

Diccan was already on his feet. Grace couldn’t help but notice that he had taken the time to complete his toilette. He looked
neat and elegant from his Hessians boots and biscuit leathers to his hunter green jacket and coachman knot. His hair, which
she now knew had a tendency to curl wildly first thing in the morning, had been tamed to thick sable waves, and his ice-gray
eyes were inscrutable. The perfect town buck.

“It seems you have the advantage of me, Captain,” Diccan said, coming to his feet. “Harry I know. Hello, Harry. You part of
this sparkling delegation?”

Harry grinned. “Just a concerned observer.”

Having no choice, Grace made introductions all around. “Please, won’t everyone have coffee? Lady Kate has an idea to solve
this dilemma that I believe will suffice.”

Diccan gave her a lazy perusal. “Are these gentlemen the Greek chorus in this little farce?”

More than one of Grace’s friends growled at the term.

“Please,” Grace objected, feeling unutterably weary. “Could we dispose with the clever banter and address this situation with
some purpose? These gentlemen are friends who only seek to see my good name protected.”

“Which I have already attempted to do,” Diccan answered.

Ignoring him, Grace took her seat alongside Kate so the men could follow. Her Grenadiers hemmed Diccan in on both sides, but
it was Grace who felt surrounded.

“Put simply,” Kate said, reaching over to steal a rasher of Diccan’s bacon, “Grace does not wish to be married today.” She
got another growl from the men, whom she stared into silence. “Why don’t Grace and I travel on to London, where she can be
seen with Diccan, and I can sponsor a ball to announce the engagement? Give them time to get to know each other before saying
their vows.”

Grace saw Diccan’s features tighten and wished like the devil she could have told him that the engagement would be a sham.
But with her Grenadiers glaring at him as if they had personally caught him debauching her, she knew to keep her silence.

“It’s the most sensible thing to do,” Grace said instead, addressing her friends. “Don’t you see? It would give me a bit of
time.”

“You agree to that,” Phillip warned Diccan, getting to his feet, “and you’ll meet me at dawn.”

Tyson and Grim-Fisher stood as well, grim-faced and silent.

Grace was suddenly on her feet as well. “Oh, sit down,” she snapped. “You’ll do nothing of the kind. I am not asking for your
protection.”

“You don’t need to, Gracie,” Phillip said gently. Phillip, who was three years her junior. “We all pledged it back in Spain.
You expect us to betray our word?”

“She does not,” Diccan said mildly. “Neither do I. Your actions do you credit.”

His words were met with stunned silence. Before Grace
could even protest, he’d risen and taken her by the hand. “Miss Fairchild,” he said, sounding as exhausted as she felt. “I
know you’d as lief wish me to Jericho. But you can’t argue with the inevitable. Or, I might add, with these good friends who
only have your best interests at heart. Will you allow me to obtain a special license so we may marry before we leave Canterbury?”

She opened her mouth to tell him no. But she heard the expectant silence. She felt the regard of her friends. She felt smothered
by Diccan’s clasp. She felt stripped bare before his enigmatic gray eyes. She felt small and insignificant, which should have
been amusing, considering she stood six feet in her stockings. Most of all, she felt incapable of what he asked.

He couldn’t expect it of her. None of them could. But when she looked around, she saw the grim determination on her Grenadiers’
faces. She saw the certainty in Kate’s eyes. She saw no emotion at all in Diccan’s.

At least she didn’t see the disdain she’d expected. If she said no, she could still escape to Longbridge. No one would care.
No one would chase her or remember her. She would be no more than that unfortunate antidote who had once run afoul of the
renowned rake Diccan Hilliard.

But if she did, Diccan Hilliard would find himself out on the heath at dawn facing these accomplished soldiers. And it wouldn’t
matter who won. Diccan’s future would be destroyed. Her dear Grenadiers could be ruined. And someone, maybe someone she loved,
could be killed.

She looked at them all, her own heart shriveling in her chest, hope for her quiet life wavering.

“Answer him, lass,” Harry suggested quietly.

“Leave her alone,” Kate muttered.

Grace couldn’t face Diccan’s reaction to her words. So she closed her eyes. “I would be honored to accept, Mr. Hilliard.”

And with those eight words, the dreams that had sustained her since her childhood died.

F
or Diccan, the day only got worse. He didn’t even get to finish his breakfast before he was ushered from the parlor by a contingent
of surly soldiers.

“Send someone to the Old Coaching Inn at Barham,” he told Kate on the way by. “Biddle is undoubtedly there, wondering what’s
become of me. I refuse to be married without aid of my valet.”

Diccan thought Kate might have nodded, but his military escort didn’t let him wait to find out. In a phalanx, they escorted
him out onto St. Dunstan’s Street and past the River Stour to where the square spires of the cathedral rose above the jumbled
roofs of Canterbury.

Diccan spent the forced march formulating his argument for expediting a special license. He even managed a smile when told
that His Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury would be pleased to see Mr. Hilliard.

Smile and eloquence vanished the minute he stepped into his cousin’s office. Cousin Charles did, indeed, wait inside for him
with a welcome smile. But he didn’t wait
alone. Seated in one of the archbishop’s leather chairs, as if it were a seat on the high court, was the very upright person
of the Most Reverend Lord Evelyn Richard Garwood Hilliard, Bishop of Slough.

As etiquette demanded, Diccan first greeted the Archbishop. “Cousin Charles,” he said, taking the dignified man’s hand. Then
he bowed to the archbishop’s guest, his diplomatic face hiding his dismay. “Pater. I bid you good day.”

“What business could you have with His Grace?” his father demanded, his face folded in its perpetual frown. It occurred to
Diccan that he wouldn’t recognize the man without it. “Can’t you see we are in a meeting?”

“So you must be, to be so far from home,” Diccan acknowledged easily. “How is my mother?”

The frown intensified. “Who are these people with you?”

Diccan turned, as if surprised to find himself still flanked by a contingent of soldiers. “Moral support,” he said. “They
have offered to wait outside for the outcome of our meeting.”

“We have indeed,” Harry Lidge agreed, herding his little group back into the hallway. “We’ll have a seat in the parlor.”

“Why?” Diccan’s father demanded. “Are you under arrest? What have you done?”

“Nothing that warrants arrest, sir, I assure you.” He flashed a wicked grin for his cousin, who was far more understanding
than his own father. “At least this time.”

Cousin Charles settled back into his chair. “Nonetheless, Diccan, you have made a rather startling appearance. I imagine you
would like to explain.”

Diccan took his own chair across from the archbishop’s
desk. “It seems I need a very special favor from you, Cousin,” he began, doing his best to pretend his disapproving parent
was not in the room. “A special license. Quickly, I’m afraid.”

“Good God!” his father protested, popping up like an outraged matron. “What have you done?”

Diccan brought out his snuffbox and took a pinch. “I believe I have been involved in an attempt to discredit the negotiations
in Vienna. I was bringing back some sensitive information. While on the packet boat, it seems I was drugged and shanghaied.
I won’t bore you with the sordid details, except to say I woke in the bed of a respectable young woman. There is a hue and
cry for a speedy marriage.”

“I assume that is what the military is present for?” Cousin Charles said with gratifying
sangfroid
.

Diccan gave him a wry smile. “My reputation preceded me.”

“Don’t dress this up, you ingrate,” his father predictably raged. “This is just another chance for you to shame your family.
Well, I won’t have it. Pay the chit off and move on.”

“Evelyn,” Cousin Charles chastised quietly.

“I won’t have his disgraces bruited about like some sordid nursery rhyme,” Diccan’s father protested, pointing at his son
as if he’d managed to foul the floor. “And I won’t be party to having some loose-moraled trollop for a daughter-in-law. He’s
a Hilliard, by God. He should remember it.”

“He happens to be sitting in front of you,” Diccan reminded his father in deceptively gentle tones. Suddenly he resented his
father using almost the same words he had earlier about an innocent woman. “And the lady I am to wed is Miss Grace Fairchild.”
His voice dripped ice. “You might know the name.”

It was what finally cost Cousin Charles his smile. “Know it? I believe I’m related to her.”

“We all are,” Diccan informed him with a listless shrug. “So yes, Father, she will be your daughter-in-law. And if I were
you, I would be on my knees in gratitude before the Almighty.”

“She’s a cripple,” his father sneered.

And you’re an ass,
Diccan thought uncharitably. “I’m afraid I cannot have even you speak of my future wife in that manner.”

“I’ll speak of her as I choose. Your mother and I have tried for ten years to make you see your duty. And
this
is how you answer?”

Again Diccan shrugged, knowing how it irritated his father. “At least I am doing my duty. You win. Can we please move on?
My military escort out there call themselves Grace’s Grenadiers. They will not be satisfied until they see her married. And
Father, before you vent your views on this marriage to them, please remember that they’re armed. And that Grace evidently
saved each of their lives at least once over the course of the last ten years.”

Cousin Charles rang for his secretary. “In that case,” he said, suddenly sounding very much the Archbishop of Canterbury,
“I believe we have a wedding to arrange.”

Lady Kate was standing at the window of Grace’s bedchamber when she saw Diccan and his retinue return. “If I leave you a moment,
you won’t throw yourself out the window, will you?”

Seated by the fire, Grace smiled. “I’d only succeed in breaking my legs. No fun in that.”

“Good girl.”

Lifting her gown, Kate skipped downstairs. She had to
see Diccan. She needed him to convince her that everything would be all right. It was Kate’s opinion that Grace had already
been through too much. Her father had only been dead for two months. Her celebrated connections were all distant, which left
her with no real family. Kate decided it was up to her to take on the job.

She was so focused on seeing Diccan, she actually forgot who had accompanied him. She had just reached the front hallway and
was making for the front door, when she heard a step behind her.

“So, you’re still here,” she heard.

The hair lifted on the back of her neck. Her stomach clenched with dread.
Why hadn’t she anticipated this?

“If you wish to say something, Harry,” she said, turning to the tall, sandy-haired Rifleman who frowned at her, “say it. Otherwise
I’d be happy to pretend we’d never met.”

“I would, too,” he told her, his sky-blue eyes as cold as midnight. “But it seems we’re going to be thrown together, at least
for today. Grace has only one chance to come out of this business intact. I’m here to make sure you don’t ruin it. The poor
girl has been through enough.”

Well, if he’d wanted to outrage Kate, he’d done it. Pulling herself to her full height of almost five feet one inch, she gave
her childhood friend the most glacial glare in her repertoire. “She has?” she asked. “Really? I didn’t know. She must have
forgotten to mention it to me during the three months she’s lived with me. Especially that day we traveled the twenty-five
miles down to Waterloo to bury her father.” She tilted her head, the picture of bemusement. “But then, I didn’t see you there.
I didn’t see you the entire time we were in Brussels, or when we came home to London. You can imagine my confusion that you
know so intimately what she’s been through.”

She managed to strike him speechless. His handsomely rugged face went scarlet, and his fierce blue eyes narrowed. Oh, she’d
loved those eyes once. Once a very long time ago.

Finally, he snapped off a perfect bow. “Of course Her Grace must be correct in all things.”

“How good of you to realize it.”

He said not another word, just stalked off, his boots ringing on the hardwood floor. Kate was left breathless and shaking.
Damn him.
Damn
him. How could he goad her into bad manners? How did he always succeed in making her feel a failure?

Thank heavens it was Diccan who saw her first, because Kate knew she was red-faced and rigid. He didn’t say a word, just slipped
his arm through hers and walked her back out the front door.

“You continue to amaze me, brat,” he told her, leading her down the narrow cobbled street. “I can’t remember ever seeing Harry
Lidge that color. And I’ve seen him atop everything from whores to cavalry horses.”

“Shut up, Diccan.”

His grin was unabashed. “Didn’t he grow up near the Castle?”

She sighed and looked up to where the morning sky beyond the half-timbered houses reminded her of a certain pair of eyes.
“His father was squire. He and my father enjoyed playing chess.”