Too Hot For A Rake (15 page)

“That’s enough!” he thundered. He wrenched her hands from the tree limb, swept her into his arms and stalked off to the accompaniment of raucous laughter.

“Put me down, you beast! I’ll walk to your carriage. I can’t wait, in fact, to return to Waverley Castle,
for the last time!
”

He put her down, grasped her shoulders, and glared at her. “What do you mean, ‘for the last time’?”

“I’m going home to London. Tomorrow morning, sir.”

His eyes softened and he let her go. “Don’t go, my love. I…I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’ve already lost me.”

“At least let me explain. I buried my past in Paris when I heard my father died. I had no idea it would be flung in my face tonight, but that part of my life is over. No one knows better than me how unworthy of you I am, my darling.” He fell to his knees. “Will you marry me?”

“No.”

“I’ll make you!”

“Oh no you won’t!”

“Then stay. Don’t go home.”

Her hands itched to hold his head and comfort him, but she kept them at her sides. “I might consider remaining a little longer, on one condition.”

“I’ll do anything you want, my darling. Just say the word.”

“Renounce this ridiculous duel.”

His face turned pale. “Renounce…? Too late for that. It is a matter of honor.”

“Get off your knees, Waverley. Let us discuss this so-called matter of honor sensibly. Saltash was drunk when he said those awful things to me. If I can forgive him for it, you must do so as well.”

“Will you promise to stay at Waverley if I call it off?”

She hugged her shoulders as if the chill in her heart had invaded her body as well. “Yes.”

Waverley detected a flicker of hope in her voice. “Very well, my love. If Saltash offers his apologies for insulting you, I’ll call it off.”

“You must apologize to him as well, for hitting him.”

“You drive a hard bargain, my love. Hitting him was the highlight of my wretched evening.” He grinned a familiar boyish grin, one that she had grown to love so well.

She bit her lip to keep from giggling. “Those are my conditions, Waverley. Take them or leave them.”

“A kiss to seal our bargain?”

“That’s asking too much. A handshake will be quite enough, sir.” She held one hand out.

Waverley took her hand in both of his. “A mere crumb, my dearest heart. No doubt all I deserve.”

Sunday, the Third of May, 1818

The marquis had chosen his seconds from among men he’d known since boyhood. One was Farmer John Hawkes, and the other was a yeoman named Robert Nelson.

He met with them at dawn. “Thank you, good friends. I’m deeply moved by your show of support, but Lady Fairchild begs me to call it off and I have agreed. I intend to apologize to Lord Saltash. In return, I expect the gentleman to make amends for his conduct toward my guest by begging her forgiveness for his offensive remarks. You may inform Saltash that Lady Fairchild stands ready to accept his lordship’s act of contrition.”

“Well said, my lord. A duel in this day and age is a barbarous affair. Mr. Nelson and I shall convey your message to Lord Saltash,” said Hawkes.

“You will find Lord Saltash at Glynhaven. He is the earl’s guest.”

But Lord Saltash refused to apologize to Lady Fairchild, demanding satisfaction instead. The duel was set for ten o’clock the next morning.

Both sides had agreed upon the beach in Sennen Cove for the location. The sun was not yet high, the sky was clear and the wind was mild. A light rain the night before had tamped the sand into a hard surface, good ground for a duel.

Waverley had the advantage, for this was Cornwall and the Cornish were a close-knit lot. They stood firmly in support of their own as they lined the rise above the beach to witness the match. The beach itself was declared off limits.

Saltash chose pistols for the duel, for he knew himself to be an excellent shot. His seconds were Major Hobey, a friend, and John Tavistock, his cousin. The earl had prudently forbidden the raffish guests Saltash had brought to Glynhaven’s ball to appear this morning lest they cause an uproar. He knew well enough that these disreputable followers would not ingratiate him with the local populace. They would only serve to earn disapproval.

“I will ask you one more time, my lord,” said Farmer Hawkes. “Will you agree to call off the duel and apologize to Lady Fairchild for the insult?”

“No. Lady Fairchild well knows I spoke the truth. Lord Waverley had no right to knock me down for my honesty, however blunt.”

“Then we shall proceed with the examination of the pistols, my lord.” Hawkes opened the pistol case provided by Glynhaven and handed it to Tavistock. While Tavistock and Nelson examined the weapons, Hawkes and Hobey drew a line in the sand and marked off ten paces in each direction.

Rabu helped Waverley out of his coat, vest and his neck cloth. The valet laid them on a boulder. He bent to help his master take off his boots. A few yards away, Saltash removed his raiment.

Dr. Fenwick called the two men to him and said, “Murder isn’t necessary for satisfaction, sirs. Aim for a limb if you must, but avoid the heart, for that leads to certain death for one of you. Shake hands and be damned to hell for your cursed quarrel!”

“Take your places back-to-back, my lords,” said Glynhaven. “When I lower my hand, begin your ten paces. Stop and turn. At the count of one, stand ready. At the count of two, take aim. At the count of three, fire.”

Glynhaven raised a white cloth. When he lowered it, the men began to walk. At ten paces, they stopped and turned.

“One,” Glynhaven cried out and each took his stand, Waverley facing the sea and Saltash facing opposite, their heads turned toward one another, the roar of the sea the only sound to be heard.

“Two.” The duelers took aim.

The astonished crowd gasped when Saltash aimed for his challenger’s heart and pulled the trigger
before
the count of three. When the bullet pierced Waverley, the crowd’s protests filled the air. Waverley stood frozen for a moment in time, then collapsed in a heap. It had been the marquis’ intention to delope before he fell, but he wasn’t given the opportunity.

Helena took a final look around her chamber, despair lining her face. “Is my carriage ready?”

“Yes, milady,” said Amy. She helped her into her traveling coat and handed her gloves and reticule to her.

“Wait in the carriage, Amy. I won’t be long.” Helena squared her shoulders and left the room. She stopped across the hall and knocked on the dowager’s door. When Nurse Hubley opened it, she said in a whisper, “The marchioness is awake, milady. She’s been waiting for you.”

Tears threatened, but Helena blinked them back. She knelt beside the dowager’s chair and took her hand. “I’ll miss you, ma’am. Stay well and I promise to write often.”

“So you are leaving us after all. Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

Helena kissed the old woman’s fingers. “No, dearest, but you will always remain in my heart.” Her tears spilled over in spite of her efforts.

“There, there,” said the dowager, patting her head. “There, there.”

Helena held the old woman’s hand to her cheek for a moment. Without another word, she rose, nodded farewell to Nurse Hubley and fled the room.

She took the back stairs but paused when she heard raised voices coming from Mrs. Trasker’s chamber, its door slightly ajar.

It was Harry’s voice. Helena flattened herself against the wall and listened, her heart racing.

“I come back ’ere from the beach fast as I could, Ma. The marquis got hit. Mayhap he’s dead.”

“Dead? Tell it me all, Harry. Tell it me at once!”

“Lord Saltash got off the first shot. He hit the marquis, but…”

Dear God!
Helena felt faint.

“Bold as brass, the feller aimed for Waverley’s heart and pulled the trigger.”

“Then you’re the next marquis, me boy. The dream’s come true fer us! Now we can tell My Lord to leave us alone. We’ll do no more smugglin’ fer ’im!”

Helena gasped.

“What’s that noise, Ma?”

“Someone’s outside the door. Quick, Harry.”

But Helena was quicker. She poked her head into the room as if she had just arrived. “Good day, Mrs. Trasker. Harry. I’ve come to say farewell. I am returning to London today.”

The Traskers exchanged glances when Helena put forward her hand. “Good luck with your continued excellent work for the marquis and the dowager.”

After some hesitation, Mrs. Trasker wiped her hand on her apron and shook the offered hand. “When did you say you’re leavin’, milady?”

“I’ll be off shortly. My carriage is waiting for me as we speak, ma’am.”

“Shake hands wi’ milady, Harry. Don’t want to send her off thinkin’ there’s hard feelings, do we?”

Helena maintained her smile while Harry shook her hand. “There are no hard feelings on my part, Mrs. Trasker. We may have had our differences, but we managed to settle them after all, didn’t we? I’m off to the kitchen to say good-bye to Cook.” She nodded her head slightly, turned and left the room.

Helena let out a sigh of relief when she reached the back stairs landing. Only then could she be sure that the Traskers were no longer able to see her. She flew down the rest of the flight to the kitchen, flung her arms around Cook and began to sob. “He’s dead, Cook. The marquis is dead. And it’s all my fault!”

“Nonsense, milady. Who’s been spreadin’ such a terrible lie? The marquis ain’t dead.”

“Harry saw the whole thing. I heard him tell his mother.”

“Drat that man! He’s no more sense in his head than a dumb sheep! The marquis is in his bed, milady, only wounded. Doctor Fenwick’s tending him as we speak.”

Helena began to sway, but Cook caught her and placed her in a chair, forcing her head down. “You’ve no time for fainting just now. Nor you can’t run away to London neither. You’re needed here an’ that’s the size of it.” Cook bustled to the sink, wet a cloth and filled a glass with water. “Sip a bit of this, slow-like.” She pressed the cool cloth to Helena’s head and held the glass to her lips.

“Thank you, Cook, I’m feeling better now.” She took another sip and added, “You’re right. I can’t leave. It’s out of the question under the circumstances. Will you tell Amy and Casper to put up the horses and unpack while I inquire after his lordship?”

“God help us if his lordship dies,” Cook murmured.

Helena hurried through the dining room door and into the hallway, where servants had already congregated, abuzz with the news of the duel.

Astonished at the lack of discipline she’d worked so hard to correct, Helena paused and demanded in a voice filled with authority, “Why are you lot here? Go about your duties at once!” She waited long enough to see them scatter, lifted her skirts and flew up the steps of the grand staircase. She turned right at the landing toward Waverley’s suite of rooms.

When she reached his bedchamber, she knocked and Rabu opened the door. “May I come in?” she whispered. Rabu turned to the doctor, who met her at the door and led her into Waverley’s large office.

“He’s asleep, ma’am. I’ve given him laudanum to ease the pain.”

“Will the marquis survive, Doctor Fenwick?”

“No question. If he hadn’t lifted his arm to delope, he’d be dead. The bullet grazed a rib and exited through his left side. I’ve applied a liniment to the wound. He’ll need nursing to watch for infection. If all goes well, his lordship will be sore for a time, but he’ll be up and about soon, for he’s in good health.” He saw no need to inform her ladyship that the craven Lord Saltash had pulled the trigger before the count of three.

“What must be done for Lord Waverley?”

The doctor eyed her carefully. “Aren’t you returning to London today?”

“Not now, sir. He…he needs me,” she said, almost pleading. “I’ll be his nurse if you will instruct me. His valet can relieve me when I need sleep.”

The doctor hesitated.

“Please, sir. I…I must do this.”

“Does the sight of blood trouble you, ma’am?”

“I’m not fainthearted, sir. I have younger sisters and a brother, and I am frequently summoned to the sickroom to tend them when they are ill.”

“All right. You must see to it that the liniment is applied every four hours. Encourage him to drink liquids. Give him sips of tea, lemonade, water and broth. No spirits, mind. Add a few drops of laudanum into his drink when he complains of pain. I’ve left some for him.”

“Will he suffer much pain, sir?”

The doctor shook his head. “Discomfort, more like. The bruise may hurt at the smallest movement. His lordship may also be restless, unable to settle in a comfortable spot, but that too will pass.”

“Shall I see to it that he lies still?”

“Not in the least. Have that peculiar fellow—his valet—sponge him when you apply new liniment and a new dressing. Pay no mind if blood seeps through the dressing. That’s a good sign. If it becomes excessive, send for me.” He picked up his bag and turned to leave, but Helena placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Yes?”

“When shall you visit again, doctor?”

“Tomorrow morning, first thing.” He bowed to her and took his leave.

Helena closed the door and leaned against it as if that would give her strength for the ordeal ahead.

London: Fairchild House

“Father, come quickly. Georgie and Edward are having the devil of a row!” said Jane.

The duke raised his eyeglass to his nine-year-old daughter in a gesture of annoyance, but she paid no heed. He loved Jane, yet he found it hard to like her. For one, she was overweight, and for another, she meddled. “Haven’t you been taught to knock before you enter?”

“But, Father, you don’t understand. They’re about to come to blows.”

“Have you been eavesdropping again? You know you are not supposed to listen in on other people’s conversations. How many times must I remind you it’s bad manners to do so?”

A large tear formed on Jane’s round face. “I…I thought you should know.”

He sighed in exasperation. “Now don’t start weeping. There’s no need…”

Before the duke could continue, his son burst into the library. “Bloody hell, Father! You must do something about Georgie!”

The duke looked at Jane, a twinkle in his eyes, sharing the joke with her. “It appears your brother must also learn to knock before entering.”

Thus mollified, Jane crossed her arms and threw her father a look of triumph, as if to say “I told you so!”

“Where did you learn such incivility, Edward? Not at my knee, I’m sure. Pray tell me what is the matter, but lower your voice. We needn’t amuse all the servants.”

To his daughter he added, “Thank you, Jane. You may leave us.”

“And don’t be hanging at the door trying to listen in, brat,” said her brother.

“I was only trying to help,” Jane muttered and stalked off.

Edward followed her to the door and shut it firmly. When he turned back to his father, he said bitterly, “Georgie stole my clothes and sneaked out last night. Not for the first time, either!”

The news did not appear to stun the duke. “And you came by this earthshaking news how?”

“My valet informed me of it. He heard a noise and entered my chamber to investigate just as Georgie climbed back into my window early this morning.
Wearing my clothes!
She has ruined my new Hessians!”

“Your Hessians are of little consequence, but my daughter’s behavior is of great consequence. Thank you for telling me, Edward. You may go.”

“No, Father. I prefer to remain here. It’s my right to see you chastise her properly.”

The duke’s eyes glinted. In a voice full of menace, he said softly, “Your what? Your…right? Tell me I didn’t hear you correctly, my son.”

Edward made the mistake of insisting, though in a much lower tone. “It’s me she’s wronged, Father, and I ought to see Georgiana gets the punishment she deserves.”

“Do you not think it premature to bury me before my time, son? I beg to remind you that I am still very much alive. When I die, you shall succeed me and do as you wish. Squander the fortune I shall leave you, if that is your will. Beat your sisters. Throw your mother out into the streets….”

The duke’s acidic tongue gave his son and heir cause to regret his disrespectful outburst. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he mumbled in contrition. Edward’s face turned a deep shade of red.

The duke ignored his belated apology. “Come to think of it, Edward, you’re halfway to ruin already, what with your betting wagers and your sports-mad pursuits, a poor example for your sisters, to say the least. You have only yourself to blame for your sister’s wild antics. I shouldn’t wonder if Georgie hasn’t learned to ape your ways.”