Edith Layton (10 page)

Lucy stared into the dark and saw another bright dream fade. When she faced him again she couldn’t actually see him; there were too many tears in her eyes. That was good. She didn’t know if she could say what she had to if she saw his expression now.
She didn’t want to hurt him. Or herself. But she couldn’t hurt Jamie. And as for herself, had she learned
nothing
?

She knew what had to be said. “You didn’t tell me your title until you were forced to do so. Then I discovered your other one, ‘Lord of Adulterers.’ I understand, but it can’t change what I fear. Too much in the past, for you and for me. Certainly too much for Jamie.” She cleared her throat so she could go on. “I’m sorrier than you can know. But there can’t be any more for us.” She gathered all her courage, threw her shoulders back. “Because I can’t trust you.”

He stood still, silhouetted by the glow of the dying fire. When he spoke again, his voice was infinitely sad. “But Lucy, how can you trust a man, if you don’t give him your trust?”

That was a question that had no answer but the one she gave him. She shrugged, gave him a tremulous smile, and left the room quickly, while she could, before he saw the tears she felt streaming down her face.

B
ut if he’s not a bad man,” Jamie asked, “why aren’t you talking to him anymore?”

“What nonsense. I talk to him,” Lucy said, trying to avoid Jamie’s too bright eyes as she continued making up his bed.

“‘Good morning’ and ‘Yes, these are delicious eggs’ isn’t talking, Mama, not the way I mean,” Jamie insisted. “That was all you said to him at breakfast. That was
yesterday
. You haven’t spoken to him since, have you? You don’t talk to him the way you used to do. Not since William said those awful things about him. You don’t laugh and joke together like you used to, either. Everyone notices, the girls and Mrs. Ames, too. It’s like you don’t see him even when he’s in the room. He knows, too, I can tell, even though Mrs. Truesdale keeps talking and making everyone laugh.
Except him. And you. And last night? After dinner? You said you had a headache and had to go straight to bed. But you didn’t, because I saw you reading.”

“I felt suddenly better—oh, bother!” she said, and sat down on the side of his trundle bed. “That’s a lie, and we both know it. It’s just that—look, Jamie—Lord Wycoff
isn’t
a bad man. But once he might have been. Not evil, in the sense of being a murderer or a thief, of course, or I wouldn’t let him near you. Nor would any decent person be his friend, and you know he has many of those. The man makes friends faster than a dog can pick up fleas,” she muttered, and then colored slightly as she saw Jamie’s expression. “It’s hard to explain,” she said abruptly, rising to her feet again. “I told you it’s a matter best left to grown-ups.”

“Because he had too many lady friends?”

“Well—yes,” Lucy said, “and no. He had them at a time when he wasn’t supposed to have any. You know what adultery means, Jamie, and don’t pretend you don’t.”

“But he’s not married now.”

“I know, but a man’s past can often predict his future. I suppose I feel I can’t trust him anymore.”

“Well, he seems like a good man now. Bess thinks so, and Harmony and Jenny. Even cousin Sally, and she don’t approve of much. And so does Mrs. Ames, and Geoff, and Alfred and…”

“I know what they think!” Lucy said, cutting him off. “They’ve told me often enough.”

“Do you hate him now?”

“Good heavens! No!”

“So, then if it’s only because you think you can’t trust him…” Jamie tilted his head to the side, watching her. “Then don’t. But why can’t you be friends anyhow? See, I know Johnny Tate would steal my marbles if I turned my back. So I don’t. But we’re still friends.”

“This is different,” she said again, in a stifled voice.
You don’t want to run into Johnny’s arms and stay there no matter what your good sense tells you
, she thought. “It’s a matter between adults,” she said, “and a thing a woman grown would understand better than a boy. I don’t hate the man, nor do I want you to trouble yourself about it. Now, enough. Time to go to breakfast.”

She knew she hadn’t heard the end of it. But he stopped talking and left the room with her. She didn’t want to lie to him. She paused. “Jamie?” she said. “Try to trust me.”

“I do, Mama. I just wish it was different.”

“I do, too,” Lucy said, and took his hand as they went down the stair.

But breakfast wasn’t out on the sideboard, though it was time, and the smell of porridge and bacon was thick in the air. The other guests were milling around the dining room, looking at the empty sideboard in confusion. Except for Annie Truesdale. She was chattering and laughing.

“No breakfast? And no Lord Wycoff?” Annie Truesdale asked Lucy sweetly now, “Whatever is going on, one wonders?”

“Two wonder, too,” Lucy said tersely, and made straight for the kitchen.

“What’s happened?” she asked as she pushed open the kitchen door to see Mrs. Ames, the girls, and Cook in a huddle.

“The most dreadful thing you can imagine!” Mrs. Ames cried.

“Just awful!” Harmony agreed with relish.

“Lord Wycoff and William are fighting a duel, even now!” Bess said dramatically.

“With guns and swords, down in the west meadow, by the creek,” Jenny said, “over you!”

“Not over Lucy, though she was likely the one who precipitated it,” cousin Sally said reasonably, “and only with pistols.”

Lucy’s hand flew to her chest, because her heart seemed to be trying to leap out of it.

“And my Herbert is acting as second for William,” Mrs. Ames announced, “which is prestigious, to be sure, though I’d rather he were acting for Mr. Wycoff…I mean,
Lord
Wycoff.”

“But William’s a hunter! A keen one. He knows guns, and…oh God!” Lucy cried, and fled out the door. She raced out of the hotel and went pelting down the graveled drive, toward the road. She heard the gravel crunching, and turned her head to see Jamie trotting at her side, but didn’t spare the breath to try to stop him. She did dare a glance at the sky. Dawn was when men met to duel, and the sun was already rising. She ran faster.

The morning fog was shredding, rising in misty streamers toward the sun as it climbed higher in the sky. The giant oaks the men stood under were still in bud, but the grass they paced on was already green. The birds were caroling their first spring songs. That, and the gurgling of the stream rushing by, were the only sounds until the first man spoke.

“Damnation!” William said. “A gentleman, is he? Then why is he keeping me waiting?”

The other man pulled out his pocket watch. “Ain’t. We’re early, is all.”

“Then why did you bring me here so soon?”

“It would look shabby if you was to be late, William. Looking good is what this is all about, isn’t it?” Mr. Ames asked. “Not that any of this makes a speck of sense, as my good wife said. That wasn’t all she said, mind,” he added gloomily. “I don’t doubt in the end she’ll make this go even worse for me than it will for you here today. Though that’s hard to believe, I grant.”

William spun around. “What? I ask you to second me and you agree, and yet you think I’ll be the one to fall? Are you forgetting who brings you pheasant every autumn? Ducks in the spring? Not your English guest. I’m a marksman, and well you know it.”

“Pheasant and duck don’t take fifteen paces and fire back,” Mr. Ames said, shrugging. “Wycoff’s had to leave England twice, Italy once, too, to wait till things cooled down, and it ain’t ducks they were after him for bagging.”

William went a shade paler. “What? What’s this? How do you come by such knowledge?”

“Curse my tongue,” Mr. Ames said. “I never meant to let it slip. But it was Perkins who told me when we were arranging matters.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when
we
were?”

“Well, so I did, at least I said he was famous for dueling, but you were on fire to face him and what was I to do?”

“You might have told me. Did he kill his men?”

“Those times, yes. There were lots of other near things, but they don’t prosecute when he only maimed his man.”

“Who’s to say that’s the truth?” William scoffed, though he looked anxious as he peered to see if Wycoff was coming. “Perkins is paid by the man.”

“Well, I’d say it was so, because Perkins didn’t seem too anxious to have your apology. He’s acting as physician because he’s capable, due to his war experiences, and you didn’t want Dr. Cutler to know. But Perkins has done it so many times for his master in such matters, it’s nothing to him. A sad, sad state of affairs. When I said you’d never back down and crawl to Wycoff, like you told me to, Perkins shrugged it off like it was a walk in the park he was arranging for his master, and not a duel to the death. And he’s that fond of the man. So, I suppose the only thing left for me to do is ask what you want me to tell your Mama—if…”

William stared at him.

“You
have
made out papers and such, to see to
her care if the worst happens, I suppose?” Mr. Ames asked. “Perkins said as to how I should ask you, and I confess it slipped my mind until now.”

“Damnation!” William said, his hands fisted. “A fine time to tell me! Not that it would have changed my mind. I’ve everything in train. But apologize for speaking truth? I think not!”

“Apologize so you could go on living, I’d think,” Mr. Ames mused, “because there’s truth and there’s truth, William, and well you know it. I know about you and the regular appointment you keep with Mrs. Christie’s girls every Tuesday night. But if it vexed me for any reason I’d remind you about it on the sly, and not in front of Lucy and everyone you knew.”

William’s face turned dark again. “Since you’re such a fount of wisdom, I wonder why you didn’t tell me this yesterday, when we were arranging this meeting.”

“You were in a taking, William, you know how you get. No one could tell you the time of day. I tried to say it was wrong on your part. Not that arranging to slaughter you—in a gentlemanly way or not—was right on his part, but it’s a thing I can at least understand. You did insult the man and no denying.”

William went back to pacing.

“Aye,” Mr. Ames went on, “pistols or swords, it wouldn’t make a difference. I’m against dueling, a cruel waste of life, says I. Perkins says no one in England would be fool enough to cross Wycoff, and
he was only sorry that you didn’t know everything about his master’s reputation before you started up with him. But one thing he did say was that Wycoff’s a fair man, he’s given up as many challenges as he’s took up.
If
the other fellow admitted his mistake. Not too many men able to do that cleverly, though. Most let their anger dig their graves. I’m sorry about this, William. So I said yesterday, so I have to say today. You were a good neighbor.”

“I
am
a good neighbor,” William said with a growl, pacing away.

The sound of carriage wheels stopped him. He looked up, his face now faintly tinged the hue of the grass he stood on. But he squared his shoulders and waited. The sound of laughter drifted toward them, and then Wycoff appeared, parting the mists like a curtain with his entrance. He was bareheaded, his greatcoat opened so that it swung behind him like a cape, and when he spied William, he bowed.

“Exactly on time,” he said with satisfaction, consulting his pocket watch. “Very good. Good morning, Mr. Bellows. Mr. Ames, I give you good day. This shouldn’t take long; I hope to be back in time for breakfast with none the wiser. Then, alas, I’ll have to leave, because I’m sure word won’t be long getting out. I only ask that you keep the matter close until I do leave, Mr. Ames. I have some farewells to make. I hadn’t planned to leave Virginia just yet. But needs must when the devil drives.” He shrugged. “I’m sorrier than you know to have to leave your fine hotel so soon, and so precipitously.”

“And I’m that sorry to see you go, my lord,” Mr. Ames said, bowing.

“It’s by no means certain
you
will have to be the one to go!” William shouted. He heard how his voice sounded in the quiet morning, and fell silent, scowling.

“By no means,” Wycoff agreed, but his smile denied his words. “How vexed your poor mama will be with me,” he went on pleasantly as he began stripping off his gloves. He raised one hand before William could speak. “
Either
way. If I succeed, certainly. But just as certainly if I do not. For then you’ll have to leave the country, or at least the district, for a long while. A bad business all the way ’round, but what’s a man to do?” He shrugged off his greatcoat. Perkins caught it, and folded it over one arm.

“After all, I was insulted, most grievously,” Wycoff said as he began unbuttoning his tight-fitting jacket. “I suppose you were so flushed with victory after you heard what our dear Annie Truesdale invented you couldn’t wait to confront me. But I do wish, for both our sakes, that you’d thought about it for a moment. It would have saved me so much bother.”

“So it would,” William grudgingly agreed, as he fumbled with the buttons on his own jacket. “I should have waited…” he muttered, wishing he’d left on his gloves to the last, too, realizing the cool morning air had numbed his fingers.

Wycoff checked. “Indeed? So you admit that?”

William looked up. His words had been taken wrong, but now he saw how they might serve him right. “Oh, aye,” he grumbled, “I was vexed, so I shot in the dark without sighting down my barrel first. For
that
, I’m sorry.”

“And not for insulting my late wife?” Wycoff asked curiously.

“Oh, as to that, I never meant…I didn’t think. I’d no wish to insult a lady’s memory,” William said gruffly. “I didn’t even know she was dead! For that, I’m sorry too.”

Wycoff inclined his head. “Very gracious of you. And so. All that remains is the matter of your insulting me.”

William glowered. “I spoke only the truth as I saw it.” He paused, and swallowed hard as Perkins approached him with a long, polished wooden case, which could only contain dueling pistols.

“The truth as you saw it?” Mr. Ames said quickly. “But William, you saw it through a woman’s eyes. And one bent on mischief.”

“That’s true, and for that I am truly sorry,” William said, though it sounded more like a snarl than an apology. “She needs her neck wrung!”

“Well done!” Mr. Ames cried gladly.

Wycoff looked up, interested. William did, too, but he was confused.

“See, my lord?” Mr. Ames said. “There’s no need to uncase those fine pistols, is there? For here’s our William saying he’s sorry for the misunderstanding, sorry for insulting your late wife, and
sorry for confronting you with false accusations. Don’t that settle honor? What more do you want?”

William looked up from the case Perkins had unsnapped to Wycoff for his inspection, his hopeful expression badly concealed.

But now Wycoff’s easy smile faded. He looked at William gravely. “Yes, many a sorry, all drawn, like bad teeth. I need something a bit more sincere. Those were, you’ll admit, very small sorrys. I
was
insulted. I should like to hear something from Mr. Bellows indicating that he is actually apologizing for it.”

William was silent, his jaw working, as he stared at Wycoff.

“Because he certainly would ask as much of me, I think,” Wycoff added softly.