Cynthia Bailey Pratt (27 page)

“Then perhaps I should delay presenting my qualifications for matrimony. It is not easy to wait. Miss Clively, I have decided, is exactly what I require in a bride. I am sure she will outgrow her thoughtlessness in time. She is, after all, only just turned eighteen.”

“Yes indeed,” Danita said, very nearly putting her hand on his sleeve. “Mr. Newland, I have been at home for some days, since we went to Stonehenge. Won’t you tell me the news of the town?”

Sublimely ignoring his listener’s increasingly apparent agitation, Mr. Newland talked about the Gas Works. He discussed in depth the controversy over the design for the new Old Bath Bridge, which was not so much about the number of arches as whether a new bridge was at all necessary. He brought up the recent publication of John Keat’s
Endymion,
only to dismiss it as “weak” in the next sentence, adding that the ladies were lining up outside the book-seller’s to buy it nevertheless.

“Ah, how interesting, Mr. Newland. Actually, though, I was inquiring about our friends. What news of them?”

“Don’t tease, Mr. Newland,” said Berenice from the door. “Tell us all about the duel!”

“Duel, Miss Clively? What duel?”

“You
are
a tease! My maid just told me, when she brought up my cocoa. Sir Carleton challenged the duke, or the duke Sir Carleton. She was all mixed up; you know how silly these girls get at the least little thing.”

Astounded, Danita fixed her eyes upon her cousin. The pink had not faded one whit from Berenice’s cheeks. Her eyes were not red or swollen. She showed none of that listlessness associated with the aftermath of a weeping bout, the same dullness that made Danita herself feel so pulled down. Could it be that Berenice had attached no significance to her grandmother’s comments last night? Studying the girl carefully, Danita reached the inescapable conclusion that, in fact, the emotions dragged out into the open last night had had no effect on Berenice at all.

The girl took a candy from the dish on the writing desk, caught Danita’s eye, and guiltily put it back. “Is my father up yet, Danita?”

“No, I have not seen him. It is a long trip from London; no doubt he will want to sleep until much later.”

“I daresay. It is good to have my father here, Mr. Newland. I feel so safe now.”

Nodding her head, Danita understood. With sublime innocence, Berenice would permit her father to take responsibility for everything. Her life would continue evenly, with no changes, save that her father would look out for her now, instead of Mrs. Clively. It seemed a shame, but undoubtedly Berenice would never need to grow up.

Mr. Newland could not withstand the pleading and pouting Berenice demonstrated so ably and told the story of the duel, at least as much as he had heard. “It happened in a low place.”

“You mean a cellar?” Berenice’s eyes were bright with delicious horror.

“I mean a place which respectable young ladies should know nothing about.”

Berenice giggled. “You should be a clergyman with a long white beard.”

“If you do not want me to tell you ...”

“Don’t be so sulky. Go on.”

The tale was brief. There had been cheating. No one was certain who had challenged whom. Not even the seconds were talking much about the matter and there had been few witnesses. “The Master of Ceremonies is naturally trying to affect a reconciliation between the gentlemen.”

“Why is it any of his business?” Berenice asked.

“That sort of thing had been all but wiped out in Bath. From the time of ‘Beau’ Nash, dueling has been outlawed here. Well, not outlawed. There have been no civil statues filed against two men blazing away at each other with pistols, or even fencing, for that matter. There ought to be, of course. Even death should be legislated, in my opinion.”

“You take all the thrill right out of it.”

“But no one with any pretensions to
ton
would fight a duel at Bath! Mr. Heaviside is afraid this business will ruin his chances of being re-selected next year. He’s the best Master of Ceremonies Bath has had in years, too.” Mr. Newland shook his head over this loss to the community.

Danita said, in a queer voice, as though she could not get enough air, “I ... I have much to do. Pray excuse me.”

Berenice jumped up at once. “I’ll help you. Cousin. I’m sure I can. Will you excuse us, Mr. Newland? Thank you so, so much for stopping in. The flowers are lovely.”

Mr. Newland could only plead with his eyes for a moment alone. But Miss Clively refused to take notice of his pained expression and, as there was nothing for it, he left.

Danita’s moment of clairvoyance returned. She could almost see Sir Carleton lying dead on some dew-spangled hillside, the duke standing over the prone body, laughter in his soulless black eyes. The thought was like a thrust in her heart. She all but staggered.

Aware for some time that she loved Sir Carleton, that knowledge had become part of her. She had even whispered it happily to the empty air of her room. But now the knowledge was more than a whisper. It was an insistent drumbeat that echoed in her ears and filled her mind. She loved him. It was not joy she felt, but pain. She loved him.

And she must see him. It was still early. He could not have gone out so soon. A moment to wrap a cloak about her and she could steal across the street, bribe or flatter the butler into giving her entrance, and then beg Carleton not to fight. He might kiss her, or failing that, she might...Danita paused. He had made it coldly clear that their association was at an end. She could not fling herself into the arms of a glacier. There was no courage in her to make her face the icy blast of his uninterested glance.

But his life must be saved! That was the one thought which filled her brain with fever. But how?

The cloak concealed her, yes. She walked quickly, tirelessly, though it was a long distance, farther even than from the New Bond Street Buildings to Sydney Gardens. The great Royal Crescent looked like a Roman Circus, and she felt like a Christian on her way to an unpropitious meeting with a lion. The sun’s rays were hot and she felt perspiration trickling beneath her heavy hair.

Grateful to reach the coolness of the front hall, she asked for the duke and gave her name. The butler was perfectly trained. His eyebrows did not lift, nor his eyes widen. He came back swiftly, saying, “His Grace will see you now.”

Danita was not afraid. Not until she was actually in the room with him, and his eyes beneath their thick white lids were fixed on her. He stood beside a large desk. Two pistols, delicately curved like shells for some deadly sea-creature, lay before him. He watched her as she came toward him. The analogy with the lion in the Roman Circus returned to her, and like a whisper came the advice always given to martyrs: “Show no fear.”

“I have come,” she said, falteringly. “I have come to ask a favor.”

“My dear Miss Wingrove, whatever is in my power to grant. Will you not be seated?”

She wanted to refuse. She felt it would not be safe. Yet, she wanted even more to keep this interview cordial. Danita sat, but only on the edge of the chair across from him, her fingers digging into a fold of her cloak. “I want to know about this duel.”

“Is that your favor? It is an easy enough one to grant. Sometimes one person simply cannot get on with a contented existence in the presence of another inimical person. This is the situation as it stands between your...friend ... Sir Carleton Blacklock and myself. I have tried several stratagems to remove this fellow from my orbit. All methods have failed, so I am resolved to kill him.”

“But that’s horrible.”

The duke’s attention was suddenly seized by a fleck of lint upon the sleeve of his impeccable blue coat. “I assure you, my dear, that if I could achieve my goal in another way, I would. Haven’t you ever wished to be rid of someone?”

“Not like that.”

“So, have I answered you? Was this your favor?’’

Danita rose. “I should not have come. You will not listen to me, I can see that.”

His steps were surprisingly quick without his cane. His hand on her arm checked her, less by strength than by the debilitating shock of the touch of his cold hand. “I cannot hope that this charming scene is enacted because you fear for my safety. Therefore, the logical man would judge you to be motivated by affection for the other protagonist in this little play we are about to perform. I fancy myself to be logical, in the ultimate sense of the word.”

The cold hand slid a little further under the edge of her cloak, to touch with his smooth fingers the shrinking underside of her arm. “I am also passionate. And ...” He released her with a slight bow. Danita at once clapped her hand over the spot, hoping to erase the lingering pressure of his fingers.

“I am a connoisseur, of sorts. Little fools like your cousin can be seen anywhere, but a woman of your type is a rarity. So calm, so cool, and yet with a desire untapped boiling away beneath the surface. You are exactly the kind of woman I most delight in making my mistress. Once that desire is reached and trained, what a delightful thing you will be.”

In the depths of his black eyes, Danita fancied she saw a flame burning upside down, though it was daylight and no candle was in the room. “What can that matter to you?” she said disdainfully.

The duke chuckled. It would have been a pleasing sound had it come from any lips but his. “It matters a great deal. For you see, you will be mine once you hear my entire proposal.”

“Speak, then.”

“Well, I propose an exchange. To be blunt, your person in exchange for Sir Carleton’s life.”

Behind Danita, the door flew open. A streak of blue lightning flashed in and stopped before Danita, its arms spread wide in protection. “No!” gasped Berenice. “You shan’t! Monster!” she said, glaring at the duke. “How dare you offer to be ... be ... oh, drat it, what is that word?”

“Besmirch, dear?” Danita suggested.

“That’s it! How dare you besmirch the fair name of Avril de...that is, Danita Wingrove with your foul insinuations. Be gone at once! I demand it!”

“Berenice, my dear, this is not a scene from a novel. Besides, this is his house. He needn’t leave. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I followed you,” she answered, lifting her chin in triumph. “You mustn’t do it, Danita. You are too good to deliver yourself into the hands of this terrible man. No! I shall do what he asked.”

“My dear Miss Clively, at the risk of wounding your tender sensibilities, I did not ask you and would not take you if you were offered me naked on a platter like Caroline Lamb. Miss Wingrove, are we to continue our most interesting conversation or are you and the young Mrs. Siddons leaving?”

“We shall continue, Your Grace. In a moment. Come along, Berenice. Really, what were you thinking of to follow me? Don’t you know that you could be ruined? Your Grace, could you send her home with a footman?”

“Certainly. And I shall have something to say about letting unattended females wander in without being announced. You, of course, my dear, are a welcome exception.” He went back into his study to pull the bell.

“I shan’t leave you here alone with him!”

“You have no choice, Berenice. Unlike you, I am over twenty-one and may be accounted to know my own mind. Now, please,” she lowered her voice. “Go home, before you spoil everything.”

The full lower lip began to quiver. “I can’t bear it. Everyone is so cruel to me. Am I never to be allowed to enjoy myself?” She ran to the front door, yanked it open and raced away, not waiting for the footman who, gestured at by the duke, followed at a more sedate pace.

“What a remarkable child! I think she is truly fond of you.”

“I am very fond of her, at any rate.”

“It is a pity you will no longer be able to associate with her after.... I wish to give you a suitable period of time to adjust to your new station...after tomorrow?’’

“I have not yet accepted your suggestion, Your Grace.”

“I assure you I am accounted a tolerable shot. I will kill Sir Carleton Blacklock.”

“Will you find the Continent agreeable, do you think?”

“I doubt I will have to flee the country. Miss Wingrove. Who will mind one Irish baronet the more or less?” He watched her face for a moment “I am a fair man. Miss Wingrove...”

“You certainly seem to have an unfailing talent for categorizing yourself.”

The duke laughed shortly, though she did not think him truly amused. “How charming you are. Yes, I shall enjoy our closer association. As I say, I am a fair man. You seem to appreciate gambling, Miss Wingrove. So do I. Therefore, let me propose a wager.” He pulled open a drawer of his desk and brought out a deck of cards.

“We will each draw a card. Whoever holds the card with the highest value wins. If I win, I get you and my chance to kill Sir Carleton. If I lose and you win, then Sir Carleton will receive my heartfelt apologies and you are free.”

“I don’t like that arrangement.” She bit her lip in thought and then released it when she saw with what attention he gazed upon her mouth. “Instead, if you win, I come to you freely and openly and Sir Carleton receives your apologies. If I win, I am free and so is Sir Carleton. After all, is this gamble about me, or about him?” And she smiled in a way copied from Berenice, slow and sly, with a corresponding drop of sooty lashes.

“Yes, charming,” the duke said, swiftly shuffling the cards. “It shall be as you wish. As I said, what does one Irish baronet matter anyway? Shall I cut first, or would you care for the honor?”

Danita came closer. The cards seemed innocuous enough, lying in a stack with neat and precise edges. She had never considered cards before, except as objects of scorn. How many lives they had altered! From the great gamblers of the age, dropping hundreds of thousands of pounds between the morning and afternoon sessions of Parliament, to those who wrote letters and consulted books about the best way to play, to men like Sir Carleton who lived by these pieces of pasteboard, cards had exercised a fascination on all who touched them. Danita found herself to be no different.

Her hand covered the small pile. She closed her fingers and lifted up half the stack. Flipping her hand over, she prayed for a king. But she saw instead five pips of red.