Authors: An Affair of Interest
Aunt Harriet was flat on the ground in a swoon, like a banquet table for sea gulls. Bella was holding open her cloak while a groggy Chester tipped the donation bowl’s contents into it.
When the bowl was empty, Bella knotted her cloak and headed for the door, Chester limping at her heels. Randy not far behind. But there was the general, cutting off retreat, his dress sword stretched in front of him, one last battle cry on his lips, his faithful batman wheeling him into the fray.
So the O’Toole tribe retrenched and headed for another exit, through the ballroom and out the glass doors to the rear gardens. In making her plans, Bella had not counted on finding half the upper ten thousand between her and escape. Sydney was first on the scene, having been headed in that direction anyway. Randy grabbed her before she could cry out, and held her in front of him as a shield, the knife now pressed to
her
throat. Bella lugged the sack and Chester limped, followed by Wally on his knees, and the general leading his own charge.
The moment they reached the ballroom, things got even more interesting. Ladies shrieked and fell into the arms of whoever was close by, even poor, homely men. Winnie started sobbing. Forrest and Brennan ran forward, but slid to a halt when they saw the knife threatening Sydney and the pistol now in Bella’s hands. The viscount cursed when he reached for a sword that wasn’t by his side.
Those guests who were not trampling each other in their efforts to leave made sure there was a clear path to the doors. Then the duchess, standing by the refreshments table, saw her typically inept sons at a standstill and took matters into her own hands. A punch cup in one hand, a saucer in the other. Soon she was joined by the duke in an artillery fusillade that could have ended the Peninsular Wars years earlier. Bella’s gun was shot out of her hands by a dish of raspberry ice.
“Good shot, my dear.”
“Years of practice, darling.”
Dodging and weaving, the trio with their burdens tried to progress. Hobble-footed Chester slipped on the broken crockery and went down under the barrage. He pulled himself up by his mama’s skirts, even though she kicked him. She grabbed his pistol.
The general and his faithful Sancho Panza finally made their way into the thick of things. The general’s outthrust sword nicked Bella’s cloak, sending coins and gewgaws all over the floor. Chester slipped again. Wally hurtled onto his back, followed by Brennan. Bella whipped around, the pistol in her hand and blood in her eyes. Forrest ran forward and Sydney shrieked “No” along with a hundred other voices.
“You. You’re the one caused all this, you meddling bastard,” Bella spat at him. “Now I’m going to kill you.”
As cool as you please, Forrest held up a hand. “Just one question before you do, ma’am: Who the bloody hell are you?”
“I’m their ma, God help me,” she snarled, and raised the gun. The crowd gasped. The duchess started heaving full cups, which only doused the onlookers cowering against the walls. Sydney, with a knife still to her throat, kicked and struggled and wept. And the general and Griff? They just kept coming. Not even the general could skewer a woman, in the back to boot, but he could boot her to kingdom come. He lowered his sword and raised his legs as Griffith gave a mighty shove.
The impact toppled the general and knocked Bella to the floor, but the gun went sailing. Everyone ducked and screamed, except Forrest, who fielded it neatly. “All right, you bastard, let her go.”
Randy kept twisting and looking over his shoulder, making sure no old geezers in wheelchairs were coming up behind him. His arm around Sydney’s neck, he dragged her closer to the doors.
“You god id wrong again, Mayne. Chedder’d the battard. And you won’d shood, nod when I’ve shtill god the girl.”
“How far do you think you’ll get?” the viscount stalled. It took Randy so long to say his piece, anything could happen.
Sydney was getting a little tired of people pointing guns at her beloved, to say nothing of having a little redheaded man in a dress and no teeth hold a knife to her throat. So while he was busy trying to answer Forrest and watch his back, she put her head down and bit his arm as hard as she could. Then she turned around and practiced Willy’s lesson in self-defense. Not the one about using a closed fist, the other one, which caused the seams of her gown to split at the knee.
At the same time, the duke let fly with the half-full glass punch bowl, which missed Randy since he was already on the floor, and caught Forrest full in the chest, with bits of orange and lemon decking the halls along with the ivy.
Baron Scoville was heard to declare the whole thing a disgrace. Trixie replied with a slap that sent his toupee flying toward the orchestra, which immediately began playing
God Save the King.
No, there would never be another ball like Sydney’s.
Chapter 27
Endings and Interest
“Dash it, Mischief, I didn’t get to do anything! You saved yourself.”
“Nonsense, you were very brave.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was terrified, seeing you in danger.”
Sydney felt a sudden chill go through her at the thought of his facing Bella’s pistol. She shuddered, but luckily she had something warm to fall back on, namely Forrest’s chest.
They were back in Park Lane and it was nearly dawn. Her dress was changed, the vegetation was combed out of his hair, the O’Tooles long gone. They were most likely going to be transported, according to Bow Street. The reward money, it was decided, would go to the Minch brothers to open their inn. The duke and duchess were so in accord with each other and the world, they decided to match the ball’s profits with a charitable donation of their own, which should scotch any rumors of misappropriation. Lord and Lady Mayne were so delighted with themselves, they even left Sydney and Forrest alone together, after getting a full explanation of events right back to Brennan’s involvement.
The duke winked at Sydney on his way out, but told his son he better get a shrewd solicitor to handle the settlements. Sydney blushed, for nothing had been said about—
“Go on, you old windbag, let Forrest do things his own way,” the duchess admonished, shooing her husband out the door. She was content now that Forrest would do it, but couldn’t resist adding as she left, “Just one thing, my dears. That little dog of Sydney’s? She’s one of the best Pekingese in all of England, with a pedigree fancier than the Prince’s by half.”
“We really are not interested in dog stories, Mother. Not now.” Forrest was just a trifle impatient.
“Of course you aren’t, dear, but Sydney may be. I believe Princess Pennyfleur is breeding. The pups should fetch a pretty penny indeed.”
Sydney’s eyes lit up, and she would have followed the duchess out the door, except for Forrest’s hand on her arm, pulling her back to the sofa.
“I still cannot believe that of Bella,” Sydney mused while Forrest added another log to the fire.
“I don’t see why you don’t believe it. I would never call you a fine judge of character, Mischief. Just think how you used to believe I was the lowest scum on earth.” He sat next to her on the couch, pulling her closer.
She went willingly, but complained, “Well, you used to think I was a hopeless hoyden.”
“But I was right, Mischief,” he told her, blowing feathery kisses on her curls, “you are.”
Sydney giggled. “Do you think I’ll ever be invited anywhere again?”
“They’ll never refuse a someday duchess.” Now he was kissing her ear and the side of her neck.
“A ... someday ... duchess?”
“A current viscountess will have to do, then. A marriage will stop all the gossip instantly, you know. Will you?”
Sydney sat up and drew away. “Just to stop the gossip?” she asked indignantly.
“No, you goose,” he laughed, pulling her into his lap. “To stop my heart from breaking. I have loved you from the first minute I saw you, despite myself, and I cannot bear to be without you a day longer. If I offered you my heart and my hand, do you think you could return my affection just a little?”
“Just a little? Is that all you want?”
“No, sweetheart, I want you to love me as I love you, with my very soul.”
“I always have. I’ll love you back with my heart and my soul, forever and ever, a hundred times over for all you love me. No, a thousand.”
Which is a pretty fair rate of interest on any loan.
This one’s for craft-show friends, creative, talented, and
nice
people, especially Barb, John, Russ and Debbie.
Copyright © 1992 by Barbara Metzger
Originally published by Fawcett Crest (ISBN 0449218740)
Electronically published in 2008 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
http://www.RegencyReads.com
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.