The Worldly Widow (50 page)

"What
'
s he talking about?
"

"A nightmare, I imagine.
"

Dalmar laughed, a sound that alarmed his two companions. "She
'
ll never forgive me,
"
he told them.

"If memory serves, you said that last week,
"
said Falconer with barely concealed hostility.

Dalmar turned his face into the pillows. And Falconer felt the first warming of pity as it began to melt the edges of the hard vise of anger which had gripped him all week.

Softly, he said, "I
'
ll give you odds, a hundred to one, Davie, that she does forgive you.
"

Ransome
'
s eyebrows lifted. "What do you know about it?
"
he asked.

The younger man shrugged. "They always do. I remember
my mother. Women in love. They
'
re
…
vulnerable.
"

"Aren
'
t we all?
"
observed Ransome, his eyes resting thoughtfully on the Earl
'
s inert form.

I
t took forty-eight hours for the Earl to "sober up,
"
as they said below stairs, or "recover his equilibrium,
"
as they gave it out above stairs. Either way, he was miserable.

But it was his mental anguish which was the more acute. He knew that he must offer an apology to Annabelle for all the distress and unpleasantness he had occasioned, but he scarcely knew where to start. In his opinion, there was no excuse for his abominable behavior that would stand up to the light of day.

He had thought to erase her from his mind by losing himself in the bodies—oh God, and so many—of other women. The old adage "The best way of forgetting a woman is another woman,
"
which had served him so well in the past, now appeared ludicrous. Not only had the ploy not worked, but it had left him in his sober moments feeling as guilty as all hell.

But his case was hopeless. There was no question of reconciliation. Even if Annabelle would have him back, which he very much doubted after brazening to her face that he was a thoroughgoing libertine, he would not permit it. He had frightened her half to death. In all conscience, he did not think he could give a firm undertaking that such a thing would never happen again. And he
'
d be damned before he would see her recoil from his touch! He was not forgetting how she had shrunk from him when she had bumped into him on Bond Street. Before he saw her turned into a replica of his mother, he would see her shackled to Lord Temple, he virtuously perjured himself.

Heartsore, headsore, and bitterly ashamed of the depths to which he had sunk, he debated whether or not he should face Annabelle in person or affect his apology through the medium of a letter. As it happened, the decision was taken out of his hands.

He came down to breakfast on the second morning following what he ever afterward referred to euphemistically in his mind as "the debacle
"
at Annabelle
'
s literary salon to find trunks
and valises strewn around the front vestibule.

"Is someone going somewhere?
"
he asked on entering the breakfast room.

Ransome and his brother were at the table. Rather shamefaced, Dalmar tried to return stare for stare.

It was Colonel Ransome who answered. "Actually, we
'
re both going somewhere. Paris, to be exact. My furlough is about over, or had you forgotten?
"

The Earl had forgotten, but he did not wish to say so. "Paris, John?
"
he said, addressing his brother, and took the chair opposite. The odor of grilled kidneys and kippers fairly turned his stomach.
"
This is rather sudden, is it not?
"

"In a manner of speaking,
"
replied that gentleman, grinning unashamedly at his older sibling
'
s evident discomfort. "Do try the braised liver,
"
he baited. "It
'
s melt-in-your-mouth tender.
"

The Earl
'
s lips compressed tightly. After a moment, he was able to say, "Thank you, no. I
'
ll stick to the coffee, if you would be so kind.
"

Falconer obligingly filled the Earl
'
s cup. "It was decided on impulse,
"
he said, answering Dalmar
'
s original question. "Harry and Annabelle are off to Paris. The rest of us decided to go along for a lark.
"

"The rest of us?
"
asked Dalmar.

"Diana and her cohorts. Oh, and Lord Temple.
"

There was a silence.

"Oh,
"
said Dalmar, and studiously downed the scalding hot coffee. "Is there any particular reasoning why it should be Paris?
"

"Not to my knowledge. The girls simply want an outing. It will be all properly chaperoned with abigails, et cetera, if that
'
s what
'
s worrying you.
"

Dalmar carefully replaced his empty coffee cup. "You
'
re not sweet on Henrietta Jocelyn, by any chance, are you?
"
he demanded.

"Certainly not!
"
Winking broadly at Ransome, Falconer continued, "It
'
s the other lady I fancy. And now that you
'
ve given me a clear field
…
"
Observing the thunderous look which crossed Dalmar
'
s face, he hastil
y
concluded, "I was
only funning, dear chap! Don
'
t get your hackles up!
"

Visibly relaxing, the Earl asked at length, "When do you leave?
"

"Within the hour.
"

"And you, Ransome?
"

"Not for a day or two. I still have some unfinished business to attend to.
"

Ransome
'
s "unfinished business
"
went by the name of Mrs. Bertie Pendleton. He paid a call on Greek Street the following afternoon and found her, in spite of the cold weather, in the garden with Amy. They were playing a game of catch.

Amy saw him first and raced to his outstretched arms. He flung her high in the air and caught her safely as she hurtled to earth. Her squeals of delight scattered the robins and starlings which were feeding on the fruit of a nearby rowan tree.

"I think she likes me,
"
he said as Bertie came up to them.

"Do it again!
"
squealed Amy.

He did, with the same gratifying results.

"Let
'
s go inside,
"
was all the comment Bertie had for this happy reunion.

Ransome squared his shoulders. She
'
d promised to give him his answer before he left for Paris. He had already made up his mind that he would not accept a refusal.

Bertie sent a reluctant Amy upstairs to the nursery and led Ransome to the morning room, or Annabelle
'
s study, as it was generally known. Restlessly, she touched first one object and then another on the open escritoire and finally picked up some papers just to give her hands something to do.

"I
'
m helping Annabelle out,
"
she said nervously. "Things have fallen behind at Bailey
'
s. Those wretched diaries, you know. Or perhaps you didn
'
t know?
"
She was babbling and could not seem to stop herself. "After they were stolen, Annabelle devoted all her time and energies to putting them together again.
"

"Dalmar did not steal the diaries,
"
he said, as gently as he could make the reproof. "He made no secret of the fact that he had taken them.
"

"What? Oh, no, you mistake me. I mean, when thieves broke into her office, the first time, and attacked her.
"

If Ransome had been any other gentleman, perhaps he would have passed over Bertie
'
s surprising remarks. But he was a colonel in the British Army, and one, moreover, whose special field of operations was espionage. It was only natural for him to question Bertie further until he had all the facts before him.

The more he probed, however, the more taciturn his quarry became, and she evidently regretted the impulse which had led her to say so much. Ransome changed his tactics.

"It
'
s a pity she didn
'
t report the theft,
"
he essayed, "or the thieves might have been apprehended.
"

He struck lucky.

"That
'
s what I told her at the time,
"
said Bertie. "She might even have had the diaries returned to her possession and saved herself all her subsequent trouble.
"

"That would certainly have saved her
'
putting them together again,
'
"
he said with emphasis, trying to look knowledgeable.

"Oh. You know about that?
"

He gave her his "don
'
t-try-to-pry-my-secrets-from-me
"
smile, and said very vaguely, "Remarkable.
"

"
'
Tis, isn
'
t it?
"

"Quite!
"

"Though you know, Annabelle
'
s memory is no better than the next person
'
s when it comes to remembering dates and so on.
"

"That surprises me!
"

"Well, of course, it
'
s shocking. How she can regurgitate books whole and forget a friend
'
s birthday is beyond anything.
"

Ransome had ferreted out exactly what he wished to know. He was not unfamiliar with the phenomenon. In his employ, he had once had a spy who possessed the exact same gift. A very useful man to know, as he remembered.

He relaxed somewhat, and said more naturally, "But I didn
'
t come here this afternoon to talk about Mrs. Jocelyn. I
'
m here for my answer.
"

"Yes,
"
said Bertie, peeping up at him through her lashes.

Without asking her permission, he led her to a
Sheraton side chair and pushed her into it. Straightening, he took several
paces around the room before turning to face her. He permitted himself a few moments to compose himself.

"I
'
m not going to accept a refusal from you, and that
'
s flat,
"
he said.

"Yes,
"
said Bertie.

"You will cast my former conduct in my teeth. I give you leave to do so. I was a married man. That my life was not worth living, and my wife a slut of the first rank, those subjects I won
'
t even go into.
"

Taking her silence for encouragement, he pressed on. "Bertie, having met you, I just could not give you up. Try to understand, dear girl, I could not take the chance on telling you of my circumstances. Honor meant nothing to me. I see now that my conduct was unforgivable. But, my darling girl, have you any idea what I went through when you left me without a word?
"

"Yes,
"
said Bertie.

"You put me through hell! But
…"
he lowered his voice, striving to gain command of himself. "Our circumstances are different.
"
He inhaled deeply. "Bertie, doesn
'
t a father deserve the chance to know his own child?
"
he pleaded.

"Yes,
"
said Bertie.

"Haven
'
t I paid the price for my sins?
"

"Yes,
"
said Bertie.