The Mercenary Major (9 page)

“Just a couple of glasses with dinner. Couldn’t refuse. Best dinner. At Mayfield’s.”

Victoria and Katie exchanged glances. Reg certainly was in no case to be pursuing an investigation.

“But where were you the rest of the day?” Victoria asked.

“We started out at Jackson’s. That’s where we met Mayfield. It was famous. Be all over the clubs tomorrow.”

“What, Reg?” Katie asked.

“Well, when we got there, Mayfield and Stanbourne and several other fellows who had been with Wellington in Spain were taking turns with Jackson. After Stanbourne had a round, everyone wanted Jack to have a go at it.

“He didn’t want to because he had never had any instruction, but the others insisted. ‘Bet on Jack,’ they told me. So Jack strips and in he goes. He put up his fives, but you could tell he wasn’t used to it much.” Reg pushed up from his chair as if to show them the action, but sat down again as he bumped into an imposing matron who had entered their box and was talking to Letty and the countess.

“Anyway,” Reg continued. “Jackson lands a couple, and it’s as if Jack is just watching. He’s light and quick, but he lets Jackson take the lead. Then all of a sudden Jack does this turn—never saw anything like it—and his feet come up, and he plants Jackson a facer with his foot. His
foot
.” Reg stood up again, more cautiously, and held his hand out to indicate the height of the amazing blow.

“Jackson made him do it again and again. Wanted to take him on as an instructor, but, of course, Jack said no, and Mayfield and Stanbourne refused to collect on their bets, said they’d seen the Bandit in action too many times to take anyone’s money—”

“The
Bandit
?” asked Victoria, as pointedly as she dared. Reg was obviously in the throes of serious hero worship, but surely he could see that such an epithet was suspicious.

“That’s Jack’s nickname, got it when he joined the army. Anyway, Jack’s going to teach me his boxing, and I’m going to teach him to drive. So that’s where we were today.” He smiled a serene smile. “I thought this Season would be dashed dull, but not with Jack around.”

“Reg,” said Victoria slowly, “have you forgotten our reasons to doubt the man?”

Reg’s tone changed abruptly “Just because Father thinks Jack is some flash cove trying to gammon us is not reason enough for me. Besides, Aunt Letty says she has proof he’s our cousin.”

“Did she tell you what her proof was?” Victoria asked.

“No, devil take it,” said Reg, frowning as severely as Lord Dorward himself. “But I’m not investigating him anymore. If Aunt Letty’s satisfied, so am I. You’re on your own, Tory, if you want to prove Jack a fraud.” He stood.

“But Papa won’t like that at all, Reg,” said Katie.

“Papa’s in Wiltshire,” said Reg with a smile. “What’s he going to do about it?” He bowed and left them.

Victoria could think of several unpleasant things Lord Dorward might do if he knew his heir was flouting his wishes in this matter, but she forebore mentioning them.

In the wake of Reg’s abrupt departure, Letty invited the girls to meet the imposing woman who had been talking with the countess. In turn each was presented to Mrs. Drummond-Burrell.

“Very pretty,” was the woman’s comment on Katie, who clutched her skirts and said nothing.

“The image of your mother,” was her assessment of Victoria, and it took all of Victoria’s powers of self-possession to accept the compliment with a smile.

Victoria understood little of the second piece,
The Forty Thieves
, which involved a great many horses doing wonderful pirouettes on the stage, but she knew the moment the major entered their box.

The box was much more crowded in this second interval, and everyone was standing, the chairs abandoned in favor of accommodating more of Lady Letitia’s friends. Lady Dorward had Katie at her side and was taking advantage of every opportunity to present her daughter to society, and on the whole Katie was bearing up well. Victoria, too, was receiving her share of attention, but a sudden shifting of the crowd, as one party exited, turned her away from her companions and brought her face-to-face with Jack Amberly.

Jack regarded the young woman before him. She reminded him of the sparkle and temptation of a blushing wine in a tall, slim glass. Her gown of some deep-rose cloth had the filmy look of a statue’s drapery, and her eyes roused the voice in his head. The distance between them was considerably less than politeness required, and he could see that she was conscious of it.

“Trapped in a crowd again, Miss Carr?” he said. He was sure the rosy tint of her cheeks was due to the memory of their meeting the day before and not the warmth of the crowded theatre box.

“But surely not in any danger at the moment, Maj—” she stopped abruptly.

He couldn’t agree with her about that, but he didn’t think she would keep talking to him if he told her the particular peril she faced. “It isn’t my rank that’s in question, is it, Miss Carr?” he asked.

“Let me apologize to you, sir, for our rudeness yesterday, and thank you. You did us a kind service, whoever you are.”

The directness of her challenge pleased him. “So you don’t believe I
am
Jack Amberly.”

“You have given no proof to establish your claim.”

“My Aunt Letty didn’t defend me, Miss Carr?” Jack saw that he had nettled her by using the familiar term of address for his aunt.

“Lady Letitia said, sir, that the proof of your identity is that you have your mother’s eyes.”

Her
eyes told him what she thought of that as a piece of evidence. “That may be true, you have to admit.” Jack laughed. “The question is—was my mother Helen Amberly? You apparently doubt that she was.”

“I do.”

“Then you don’t regard a resemblance between the child and the parents as any proof of the connection.”

She dropped her gaze from his, and he had the oddest feeling that he’d dealt her some kind of blow. But she recovered her spirits at once.

“You must have expected to supply some proof of your identity before you claimed your . . . the connection. It would be remarkable if Jack Amberly survived the attack that killed his parents, survived alone for years in Spain, and at last managed to make his way across a war-torn nation to the British lines only to discover himself sought-after by his rich relations.”

“You would find it less remarkable if my aunt were poor?”

“Yes, for then the only motives for claiming a connection with Letty would be honorable ones.”

“Such as?” he asked. Her answer was defiant, but her eyes were less sure.

“Such as . . . affection and duty.”

He could tell her that those had been his motives, and that never once in battle or hardship had he said to himself,
I must stay alive to claim an inheritance from my rich relations
, but he wanted her to suspect him of the worst.

“And if I am not who I claim to be, Miss Carr, will you expose me?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Out of duty and affection?” Again he’d nettled her. Her eyes flashed.

“No, my motives are not so pure,” she admitted, smiling suddenly. “You must know that we depend on Lady Letitia to help us make acquaintances in London. And Lord Dorward insists that we avoid Letty and return to Wiltshire if you remain in Letty’s house unchallenged. We have hardly gone about at all this week past, while you, obviously, are received everywhere.”

“A gross injustice in your eyes,” said Jack, concentrating his attention on those eyes. “But perhaps I can offer some reparation. Would you like to go to a ball?” Those cool gray eyes said yes. “Lady Montford’s? Within the week. I will see that you and the Favertons are sent cards.”

The interval was ending, and someone called, “Jack.” He hesitated a moment longer.

“Will you be there?” she asked.

“Of course. You can continue your investigation.”

**** 7 ****

B
ehind the quiet brick front of Montford House was a lavish baroque interior. “Your papa would love this,” Victoria whispered to Katie as they entered the ballroom. She had the satisfaction of seeing Katie lift her head and look about.

Two long rows of fluted white columns capped with crossed Ionic scrolls supported the upper galleries. Layers of carved molding resembled the icing on an elaborate cake. Walls of deep-gold and a high vaulted ceiling of pale-yellow glowed with warmth. No assembly rooms in Wiltshire could compare.

“Papa really would like it, wouldn’t he, Tory,” said Katie.

Victoria nodded and gave her friend’s hand a squeeze. She could feel the slight trembling of Katie’s gloved fingers. Lady Dorward had impressed both girls with the importance of their appearance and manner at their first London ball.

“I
will
speak to my partners, I
will
,” said Katie.

Beside them the countess drew a deep breath and said, “I know Dorward would not wish us to miss this opportunity to establish you girls.”

Across the room, someone cried, “Bandit,” and Victoria turned to see a group of gentlemen in red coats accost Jack Amberly. As he turned to answer their greetings, his blue gaze met Victoria’s and paused. In a dreamlike flash the other guests seemed to disappear, and Victoria saw only the man with the challenging eyes, just as she had in the crowd around the baker’s shop days before.

Then Letty appeared and Victoria and Katie were presented to more of the
ton
, and gentlemen began asking them to dance.

No one in Lady Montford’s fairy-tale ballroom spoke directly to Victoria about Jack Amberly, but everyone was talking about him. With one partner Victoria discussed the beauties of Stourhead and the greater significance of Wilton, with another the theatre, with still another the difficulties of restoring the peace in Europe. It was while she was talking with Sir Henry Wright, who had procured her a lemonade, that she heard about the major’s mercenary aims.

Sir Henry, a pleasant young man with thinnish brown hair, large brown eyes, and rosy cheeks, was telling her about his acres in Dorset when a gentleman behind Victoria said, “So the Bandit is one of the Favertons.”

Victoria resisted the urge to turn around. “Didn’t know he had any family,” the man continued. “Knew him in Spain, but he never mentioned the Favertons. Should help him though.”

“Luckiest bastard in the army. Coolest, too,” said a deeper voice.

“How will the Favertons help him?” asked a third man.

“Hanging out for a rich wife, isn’t he?”

“Who isn’t, Kindel?” asked the deep-voiced man, and friendly laughter greeted his sally.

The third man spoke again, “How are the Favertons going to help the Bandit?”

“Haven’t you heard, Stavely?” said the man named Kindel. “The Favertons have an heiress in tow.”

At that point the conversation behind her was interrupted by the signal that a new set was beginning. The talkers separated, and Victoria was obliged to give her full attention to Sir Henry. But only for a few minutes.

“Wright,” interrupted a gentleman in a scarlet coat with epaulettes on an impressive width of shoulder. “You prosing on about your property?” He turned to Victoria. “Miss, Wright is breaking one of the cardinal rules of a ballroom.” He smiled. “He’s been talking to you for at least ten minutes without introducing you to his friends.” At his words two more of the red-coated officers appeared, and Sir Henry was persuaded to make introductions.

Victoria was dancing with Richard Kindel, the officer who had interrupted her talk with Sir Henry, when she saw Katie, her head down, hurrying along the side of the dance floor. Victoria felt a pang of guilt. She should never have left her friend’s side, but now she and her partner were at the top of the set. She glanced around for Letty or Lady Dorward and found them chatting on the far side of the room with other matrons.

Jack was in a better position to see Katie Faverton’s distress. She collided with him, he steadied her, and she looked up with a tearful, mortified countenance before she ducked her head again, mumbled, “Excuse me,” and fled. Over his shoulder he caught a glimpse of her skirts as she went up a flight of stairs off one corner of the ballroom. He had no need to look about for Miss Carr. She’d danced with every one of his friends and all the gentlemen of property in the room. She was at the top of the set now with Richard Kindel. Jack made a quick perusal of the other guests, looking for his aunt and Lady Dorward. They were across the ballroom, apparently engrossed in conversation with their hostess. He turned and followed his cousin.

The stairs led to a long gallery that paralleled the ballroom. Only a few candles in the sconces had been lit, so the long room was dim and cool after the warmth and brilliance below. Katie was huddled in a chair at the far end of the room. In spite of her obvious efforts to stifle them, sobs were escaping, pathetic, despairing sobs.

Jack approached the girl and stopped. She was dressed like a princess in satin and pearls and soft white gloves, and he was used to giving comfort to men reeking of sweat and blood, and so he kept his distance. He reached in the inner pocket of his elegant coat, thankful for Gilling’s fastidiousness, and drew forth a handkerchief. “Lady Katherine, may I join you?”

She whirled about in the chair, and once again he had a view of her stricken face. Stepping nearer, he offered the handkerchief.

“Join . . . me?” she said, hiccoughing. After a slight hesitation, she took the handkerchief and applied it to her eyes and nose.

Jack moved to the companion chair in the little grouping where she had taken refuge. “May I?” he asked, indicating the chair. She nodded. He sat.

He looked about while her sniffles and hiccoughs subsided. Thick dark rugs with swirling tangles of Oriental design stretched down the length of the room. Niches embraced short columns surmounted by ancient-looking busts, and the walls were crowded with enormous dark portraits of the Bertrams in every fashion from Elizabethan ruffs to contemporary cravats.

When his companion seemed a bit more composed, he ventured to say, “If you want to, you can tell me what made you flee the ball.”