At mention of the time, everyone glanced at the grandfather clock, save Nick, who looked at Cara.
She steadfastly refused to meet his eye, which made him wonder if perhaps there had been more to the episode in the garden than he knew. Perhaps she did
fancy Anderley a little bit. Enough so that the man had considered himself justified in taking liberties. God knew Cara was a splendid woman to take liberties with. The two of them
had
been living in the country together. Or if not together, side by side.
Cara had said she didn’t want the squire, and that he had wanted only Norwood’s property. She had certainly given every indication of wanting Nick herself. Yes, and he’d been such a gudgeon as to refuse her. Were not his back bound up so tightly that he could hardly move, he would have kicked himself.
If only she would look at him. If only she’d get out of that bloody distant chair and come rub his back. Somehow it seemed Paul Anderley’s fault that she did neither. Nick glowered at that gentleman. One of the numerous remedies for nosebleed having proven efficacious, the squire had finally left off pinching the bridge of his nose.
Damned if he wasn’t jealous! Nick didn’t recall that he’d ever felt this way before, not even over Norwood, but Norwood had been as old as Methuselah, and Cara hadn’t popped him in the nose. At least so far as Nick knew. Now he had a notion of how Cara had felt about his betrothal to Zoe. And that old business with Lucasta Clitheroe. He was surprised she hadn’t shot him. He certainly felt like shooting the squire.
“A single blow cuts off the head, the arm, the head," said Fitz, with a nicely executed lunge. “You’re not paying attention, Nicky. Zoe has suggested that she marry you, and Lady Norwood marry Squire Anderley, and then you can
all
get divorced. Lady Norwood don’t like the notion. What do you
think?”
Lord Mannering thought he would cut out the squire’s liver and fry it if he so much as looked at Lady Norwood, and so he said. Squire Anderley suggested that the marquess might like to try, or so the others assumed he meant; his speech had deteriorated sadly in the past half hour.
Fitz made a pretty step backward. “Is it valorous for a man to go naked against his enemy? Chop and change, turn and return.”
Nick turned his scowl on his friend. “I’m not sure you’re taking this business seriously enough.”
“My dear Nicky, you don’t understand the paradoxes of trial by combat!” Fitz performed a
balestra,
and a
flèche.
“Moreover, it is unsportsmanlike to give a man his bastings when someone has already drawn his cork.” He pointed the poker at the squire. “And
you
can’t sport your canvas when your opponent’s back is already broke. Are you all right, Nicky? You’re looking a little green.”
Scant wonder. Nick wished that he might take off his coat and stretch out on the floor while Cara made slow circular motions with her fingers along his aching spine. “I’m fine. Never better. You
said you had a plan. When do you think you might tell us what it is?”
“The eye is deceived by the swift motion of the hand.” After a last practiced flourish, Fitz set the poker on the floor and leaned on it as if it were a cane. “My plan is brilliant in its utter simplicity, if I do say so myself. Zoe is betrothed to Nicky because she was caught with him in a compromising position. To get them unbetrothed, she must simply get caught in a compromising position with someone else.”
Some damsels might have fainted dead away at the shocking notion of being caught in compromising positions twice in as many days. Zoe clapped her hands. “Baron Fitzrichard, you are a genius!” she cried.
The others were less certain. Although Lord Mannering was willing to try anything, both Cara and Ianthe nurtured doubts. Colin was still struggling to grasp the complexities of the situation. Squire Anderley was more interested in the bloodied condition of his coat.
Fitz paced around the chamber. “The only question is, by whom? Nicky has already compromised her, and no one would believe it of me.” He studied Paul.
That worthy felt the weight of several gazes, and looked up. “I be dabbed”—sniff—”ib I comprabise da berdicious liddle twid.”
Zoe huffed. Fitz shrugged. “Suit yourself. I just thought that since you seemed wishful of compromising
someone,
you should be given the chance.”
There came a brief digression while the squire mentioned such terms as “fribbery fripple” and “Bawd Stweet bow” and “shaw-be-bed,” and Fitz in turn chided him for being an old sobersides. Irritably, Zoe reminded the gentlemen of the minutes ticking away on the old grandfather clock.
“That’s it, then.” Fitz turned to Colin. “You’re our only hope.”
Colin gaped at him.
“Me?
But I just got here!”
“Don’t you want to help your uncle avoid standing his trial for murder?” Fitz grasped the young man by the arm and dragged him toward the fireplace. “Nicky will be grateful to you for it. Maybe he’ll even give you a reward.”
Colin dug in his heels. “Are you
bribing
me?”
“It’s that or blackmail,” said Fitz. “I doubt your mother would be amused by an account of the greased pig.”
The marquess took his cue. “Poor Maria would take to her bed. On the other hand,
I
might be inspired to double your allowance. Starting the moment I am again a free man.”
Colin knew his mama worried about him. She worried about everything. He’d come to the conclusion, from conversations with his mates, that worrying was simply what mothers
did.
She’d probably worry all the more, however, were Nicky entrapped in a marriage with Miss Tumultuous Passions. Colin muttered, “I should have never touched that pig.”
Fitz kept firm hold of Colin’s arm, just in case he took a notion to bolt. “Come here, Zoe. When Beau enters the room, he’ll find the two of you locked in an embrace.”
Zoe tripped forward, willingly enough. “What sort of embrace?” Colin inquired suspiciously, “Where will the rest of you be?”
“In the garden, waiting to make our own entrance, so that Beau won’t be able to pretend he didn’t see what he saw,” answered Ianthe. “I shall inform Widdle to alert us immediately Beau steps through the front door.” She rang for the butler, who was happy to lend his assistance, on the promise of a generous gratuity. Widdle was also happy to see that Squire Anderley’s nose was swelling like a toad. It was Widdle’s opinion that the squire had come by his just desserts when the lady popped his cork, being as he’d been going around bribing servants, and Gawd knew what else.
“One arm around her waist,” suggested Fitz. “The other—”
“I’m not going to practice,” Colin protested. “It’s too much to ask.”
“But we must make it look real or Beau won’t believe us, and then we’ll be back where we started.” Zoe clutched at Colin. “There’s nothing wrong with practicing a little bit. I
need
to practice if I’m going to have an
affaire de coeur.”
Colin snatched his sleeve away. “You’re no more capable of passion than a gnat.”
Zoe’s blue eyes widened. “Oh!” she said.
“On second thought, a gnat might be
more
capable, because it isn’t likely to fall in love with its own reflection.” Ianthe cleared her throat, and Colin recalled their audience. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Zoe was hardly in a position to hold grudges against people who said things they shouldn’t. She regarded Colin curiously. “You don’t like me much, do you?”
He frowned at her. “Why should I?”
Zoe wasn’t used to introspection. She wrinkled her brow. “Why shouldn’t you? I am accomplished, beautiful of course, and quite amiable.”
Suddenly, she found herself the cynosure of all eyes. “Well I am!”
“No you ain’t!” said Fitz. “You’re the devil’s spawn. Nicky said so, and he should know.”
Nick stirred, uncomfortably. “I don’t think I was quite that severe.”
Zoe awarded him her most melting look. “You
don’t
think I’m the devil’s spawn?”
Nick grimaced. “I believe ‘limb of Satan’ was the phrase I used.”
Zoe stamped her foot. “This exceeds belief! You all must have maggots in your heads.”
She looked as if she wished to throw something. Colin drew her fire. “Better maggots than windmills. Fitz said how you’re determined to toss your bonnet over one.”
Zoe cast a smouldering glance at that traitor. But what else could one expect from a man who wore a lilac cravat? “We Loversall women cannot resist the call of passion. Look at Aunt Cara. And Cousin Ianthe.”
Cara had been wishing that the chair might swallow her up, so ashamed was she of her behavior. At this injustice, however, she roused. “Some of us don’t openly defy the conventions, Zoe. We merely ignore them in private.”
“Or
almost
private. Friends don’t count.” Fitz grinned at her. The squire frowned.
“A fig for privacy!” Zoe clasped her hands to her breast. “
I
shall know my own True Love immediately our eyes meet across a room. He will be bold and brave and dashing.” She paused. “I wonder if I would prefer that he be light or dark. No matter! Waves of desire will sweep over me, stealing my breath, turning my bones to jelly, and causing my heart to go pit-a-pat. Overset with passion, I shall indulge my baser nature until we both are spent.”
Paul Anderley looked revolted. “Good Lord,” murmured Ianthe.
Cara said nothing at all, being deep in the contemplation of True Love, as was Lord Mannering. Colin voiced a hope that he might not get totty-headed for a great many more years.
“Totty-headed!” Zoe gasped.
“What else would you call it? Sighing and dying and running about knocking things around like a bunch of insane rabbits. No offense, Lady Norwood!” Cara glanced at Nicky. He winked.
“I don’t believe a member of the family has been clapped in Bedlam yet,” Ianthe remarked. “Although Great-Uncle Ambrose spent a fair amount of time locked in an attic room because he couldn’t be trusted around the maidservants.” Paul wondered if everyone in the room, save himself, was lunatic.
Widdle popped his head into the room. “Psst!” he hissed, and disappeared. “Take your places, ladies and gentlemen!” demanded Fitz.
Zoe regarded her prospective compromiser, who looked singularly unenthusiastic. Although it was highly improper for a young lady to be alone with a gentleman, she doubted that a single circumstance would be sufficient to recompromise her in her papa’s eyes. After all, she had been plopped on top of a gentleman the first time. Some effort was required of Colin. “You may kiss me,” she said, and puckered up.
No one had explained to Colin that kissing might be required. “I don’t want to.” He backed up a step.
How could any gentleman not want to kiss her? Zoe eyed him shrewdly. “You’ve never kissed anyone, have you? You’re a—”
Colin blushed bright red. “Don’t say it!”
“You are! Well, what of it? So am I. Although I’m
supposed
to be, and I don’t think you are. As for kissing, there’s nothing to it. I’ll show you."
Colin backed farther away from her. “No you won’t!”
“This is no time to be missish!” snapped Zoe, and grabbed Colin by the lapels of his coat.
Fitz took in the situation at a glance. Nick was rising from the sofa with difficulty, assisted by Cara and Ianthe. Paul was getting to his feet with little less effort, for the movement had made his nose start again to bleed, and he seemed confused as to whether he should tip his head forward or back. Colin was attempting to draw away from Zoe.
Although this was no scene to undo a betrothal, Fitz did not abandon hope. All the participants needed was a little push. He thrust out the poker, so that the squire tripped over it, then gave the startled Colin a brisk shove. Zoe toppled sideways along with him. Daisy, who had been very restrained throughout all this, succumbed to her canine nature, and leapt upon the pile.
Beau walked into the room, then, to find his daughter rolling around the floor with two gentlemen and a dog, in front of an audience which included his sister and his cousin, both of whom were draped about Zoe’s own fiancé, as well as Baron Fitzrichard, who raised his quizzing glass and said, “Shocking! I’ve never seen such a thing. I believe—yes, I am almost certain of it!—that I feel a spasm coming on!”
With an elegant flourish, Fitz swooned onto a sofa. Daisy disengaged herself from the tangle of bodies on the floor to run, barking, to Beau. “Down!” he snapped at her, then bellowed, “What the devil is going on here?”
“Alas!” cried Zoe. “We are caught
en flagrante delicto!
My good name is ruined!” Just in case it wasn’t yet, she hooked a leg around one gentleman’s knee, and an arm around the other’s neck, and never mind that he was bleeding on her dress.
“I believe,” remarked Lord Mannering, “that my heart is broken. Perhaps I shall retire to the country while it mends.”
Beside him, Cara stirred and murmured, “Not to mention your back.” She placed a hand on the small of his spine, and rubbed. He groaned. Ianthe drifted across the room to drape Baron Fitzrichard’s lavender-scented handkerchief across his brow, and wave his vinaigrette beneath his nose. Fitz winked at her, and whispered, “Not as graceful a swoon as yours, I admit it! But effective, don’t you think?”
Beau pushed Daisy aside.
“What
good name?” he inquired, as he grasped Zoe’s arms and hauled her to her feet. “You’re a Loversall. But that doesn’t mean you can go around acting like a Paphian miss! The devil with St. George’s. You’ll be married straightaway.”
“No, I won’t!” Zoe thrust out her chin. “I don’t wish to stand in the way of True Love, Beau.”
“I don’t care what you wish!” Beau stared at the two bodies on the floor, one of which was climbing to its feet, while the other lay bleeding on the carpet. “Is that Anderley
?
He looks queer as Dick’s hatband. Have you killed him, puss?”
Zoe also looked at the squire, who
was
looking a little pale, perhaps because of all the blood he’d lost. “No, that was Aunt Cara. We think she might have broken his nose.”