Gayle Buck (25 page)

Lady Pothergill’s impression was confirmed by Mrs. Nessering, who commented that nothing had been less guilty than Lady St. John’s demeanor when confronted with the tale.

Lawton had been a fool to dredge up that dead rumor.

He had been unlucky in the extreme to have done so within Lord St. John’s hearing. The viscount was not one to let such an insult slide by, of course, and none could blame him for upholding his wife’s honor over it.

However, there was no denying that Lady St. John’s credit had suffered something of a blow with the discovery that she possessed such a vulgar sister.

“Why, the woman was as bold as brass in asking for my patronage,” said Mrs. Nessering with a titter. “Naturally I played along, just to see how far she would go. I expect a visit from her daily to demand an explanation of my defection, I assure you!”

Lady Pothergill’s and Mrs. Nessering’s circle laughed themselves into stitches, but others maintained that Lady St. John could not be held accountable for bad relations when they could all point to at least one personage in their own respective families that they would rather not claim. Still, the importance of bloodlines could not be denied. Even when there was a bad sheep in the family stock, blood overrode every other consideration.

All in all, however, the consensus was that the lady was well-matched in her lord. The viscount might be of good birth, but his reputation was considered to be a bit ragged ever since the Duke of Alton had made such a surprising move and disinherited him. This latest dustup revolving around Lord St. John only served to point up his lordship’s extremely volatile character.

Oddly enough, some began to wonder whether the viscount did not hold his wife in more than passing affection.

This opinion was roundly rejected by most. It was not possible that his lordship could actually care for the woman to whom he had given his name. Oh, Lady St. John was not displeasing to the eye and her manners and her comportment were surprisingly good. But after all, theirs had been naught but a marriage of convenience built upon a trade of title for a fortune.

The viscount had behaved with astonishing attentiveness in view of that fact. He had escorted his wife for weeks about the social round until he had made certain that she was acknowledged with all the courtesy due to her title. No doubt it was but an expression of his lordship’s freakish nature that he had demanded such a fine adherence to protocol on the viscountess’s behalf.

In truth, it was just like Lord St. John to fly in the very teeth of society and thrust his shopkeeper wife forward as a lady of the realm. The Earl of Cowltern gave it as his considered opinion that the
ton
had made a grave error in allowing so much slack to one of Lord St. John’s wild stamp.

“I would not have allowed the fellow to step back inside the club, let alone put foot inside my own drawing room,” he pronounced. “Unfortunately, I am not the only arbitrator of membership.”

Since it was well known that Lord St. John had not even attempted to darken the doors of the Cowltern house, the earl’s widely circulated statement was held up to subtle mockery amongst many, even of his lordship’s own set.

The Countess of Cowltern and Lady Althea also tried their fortune at striking a blow against the touch of commonness that had invaded their august society.

“I have spoken to the woman but once, and only for the simple reason that I wished to inquire whether her merchant father would give me a good price on some fabrics that I had seen. I found her to be rather an upstart in her manners,” said the countess austerely.

Her friends murmured their sympathy, though a few hid inner smiles. Most had been present when the countess had deigned to speak to Lady St. John in company concerning the expense of particular fabrics. Certainly it was shocking that a mere merchant’s daughter had delivered a setdown to none other than the Countess of Cowltern, but it had been done so civilly that surely one must stand in admiration of such aplomb.

On the opposite end of the ballroom. Lady Althea was holding court with her admirers. When talk of the duel sprang up, she gave a light laugh.

“Poor Sinjin is obviously quite beside himself. Imagine finding oneself burdened with a milliner for an in-law,” she observed with a pretty moue. “And now this horrid duel! I pity his lordship most sincerely, I do assure you.”

Captain Hargrove chanced to be one of Lady Althea’s court. Amidst the ripple of amusement around him, he alone frowned. “I count his lordship and her ladyship to be my friends, Lady Althea.”

“Oh, do you, Captain? Then pray do forgive my unknowing insult, sir! It had not occurred to me that anyone with whom I am acquainted could possibly claim friendship in that direction,” said Lady Althea. She was still smiling, but there was a challenging look in her blue eyes.

It was clear that Lady Althea had laid before the military gentleman a choice and onlookers waited curiously for the outcome.

“I agree, ma’am.” Captain Hargrove bowed and stepped back out of the favored circle. Another immediately took his place.

Lady Althea’s eyes flashed, but then she turned her shoulder and promptly deemed the captain’s existence of little importance. No matter how admirably the regimentals suited Captain Hargrove’s trim physique, he was, after all, of no consequence on the social ladder. She had only smiled on him to begin with because he was rather more handsome than several of her other suitors and he had been a very neat dance partner.

As Captain Hargrove left the gathering, he reflected that he could sympathize with Lord St. John’s difficulties. At least on the battlefield it was immediately evident which were the enemy. He decided it was time to return to his duties; he would wait only long enough to hear the outcome of the viscount’s duel before leaving England.

Though it had quickly become common knowledge that there was a duel to be fought, the actual date and location was a tightly guarded secret, known only to the principals and their seconds, against the possibility of information being lodged with the law.

The law frowned heavily on such illegal activities, but polite society awaited with collective baited breath the outcome of the affair of honor. Really, the season had never been so entertaining before Lord St. John’s unfortunate reversal of fortune.

Mr. Lawton’s seconds did their utmost to scotch the encounter by persuading their principal that it was in his best interests to offer an abject apology to the viscount. Mr. Lawton did so, writing out in a shaking hand the phrases that he desperately hoped would free him from the nightmares that plagued him each night.

Mr. Lawton’s profusely worded apology was not accepted.

His seconds conveyed the news to an anxious Mr. Lawton with grave countenances and shaking heads. “His lordship is determined to uphold his honor in the matter, more’s the pity,” concluded one with a sigh.

Mr. Lawton felt the abyss that had yawned at his feet for several days come rushing up to meet him. He knew himself to be a fair shot; but Lord St. John was said never to miss. His own skill with the rapier was considerably better than many; but the viscount was rumored to be a perfect devil with steel. Whichever way he jumped, he was sure to be the loser.

“Make it pistols,” said Mr. Lawton abruptly, tossing back a reckless measure of brandy.

Mr. Lawton’s seconds stared at him. “No, but think, man—!”

“I am thinking, and I’d a dashed sight rather have a hole blown in me than to be carved up into little pieces!”

The duel was fought three days later.

It was a chilly dawn. The principals laid aside their greatcoats, each revealing a somber black toilette, unrelieved by either the gleam of a white cravat or the wink of a jewel.

Each made their choice of weapon and took their position. Back to back, in time with the count, the principals strode away from one another. On the mark, the gentlemen turned, raised their pistols, and fired.

Mr. Lawton stared across the mist-wreathed green at the tall dark figure opposite. Lord St. John would not fall, for Mr. Lawton had deliberately deloped. However, a numbness was spreading through his own side. He could feel the warm stickiness of his blood seeping into his shirt. Strangely enough, there did not seem to be any pain associated with it.

“You’re hit, Lawton!” exclaimed one of his seconds, who had reached him.

Mr. Lawton’s head swam. He decided to sit down, and his legs rather inelegantly gave way under him. His friends lowered him safely to the ground. The physician in attendance knelt beside him and prosaically opened a black bag. Mr. Lawton closed his eyes under the physician’s probing fingers, rough treatment that seemed to bring to life searing pain.

“It is a grave wound, but he will live.”

“Thank God for that. You’ll not have to flee the country after all, Sinjin.”

“There was never any doubt.” The voice was very cold. “I meant to kill the man, but unfortunately I recalled just as I fired that he holds a few of my markers. I did not want it bruited about that I had killed a man in order to escape my debts of honor.”

Mr. Lawton did not open his eyes to watch the viscount leave the field in the company of his friends. Mr. Lawton was instead breathing a prayer of thanksgiving to Providence, whom he had not realized until that instant had been at work on his behalf.

* * * *

Mary was told the history of the duel and its outcome by any number of well-meaning acquaintances. She felt the sharp glances and endured the scrutiny of her face and manner, but except for a certain paleness of countenance she did not betray the leap of agitation that she had felt at the news. When she was free to do so, she fled home to her sitting room to think.

She was appalled at such barbaric behavior. She could scarcely believe that modern gentlemen had indulged in such dangerous work. But more than that, the very thought that Lord St. John could have been wounded, perhaps fatally, made her physically ill.

She could not possibly bear it if she were to be faced with the same thing in future. Though Mary shrank from it, she knew that she had to say something to her husband about his part in the duel. She had to make him understand that no insult to her was worth putting his life in jeopardy.

Mary left quiet instructions that she was to be notified when the viscount came in and then endeavored to pass the afternoon in a productive manner. Despite her attempts to remain busy, she could not help speculating about what the viscount’s reaction would be to what she had to say. She was anxious that he should not misunderstand; but their relationship was not as close as she so earnestly desired.

Since the morning that Lord St. John had so thoroughly kissed her, a new wall seemed to have been erected between them. She did not feel at all secure about unburdening her heart to him.

She and Lord St. John had drifted further apart as each had become involved with their separate activities. Long gone were the days when Lord St. John escorted her to every function. It was a rarity now. She hardly saw him except to exchange polite pleasantries. The instance in the breakfast room might never have happened for all the good it had accomplished.

Mary’s bedroom door had never been locked, but it might as well have been. On more than one occasion, when she was unable to sleep because of the loneliness of the night, she had wanted to go to his room. But her courage had always fallen sadly short. She did not think that she could have borne the rejection if he had repudiated such a bold advance. It was surely better to endure her longing than to have it flung back into her face, as had seemed the likely outcome.

Mary had given her unhappy status much thought and she had come to a most painful conclusion. It was overwhelmingly obvious that her husband had become altogether bored with her. The risk that she had taken in entering the marriage of convenience had been a stupid one, after all. She had loved him, but he had never come to love her.

It was said that Lord St. John had fought the duel to uphold the honor of her good name, but Mary thought she knew better. Lord St. John had fought to uphold the name that he had bestowed upon her. It was an important differentiation. In actuality the viscount cared little what was said or thought of her, as long as it did not directly insult him.

Mary’s hurtful reflections did nothing to shore up her confidence. She was reduced to painful suspense as she waited to speak to Lord St. John. She had hoped that he would join her for dinner, but he did not return to the townhouse until it was time to escort her to the ball at Lady Pothergill’s. There was no time to request an interview with him before he went upstairs to change into formal attire.

When he handed her up into their carriage, his expression was so forbidding that her courage utterly failed her. She had not regained it before they had reached Lady Pothergill’s. Her best chance to capture the viscount’s ear was lost. She swallowed the disappointment she felt in her craven self and summoned up a calm smile as she descended from the carriage. Accepting Lord St. John’s arm, Mary entered the residence and greeted their hostess.

Chapter 24

“So delightful that you could attend my little soiree,” said Lady Pothergill, bestowing an arch smile on the viscount. “One was not certain that you would be in a position to do so, my lord.”

Lord St. John allowed his cynicism to color his words. “My position has proven to be more than once precarious this Season, has it not?”

Since Lady Pothergill had been one of those ladies who had originally snubbed the viscount upon his disinheritance, his lordship’s reply could not have been said to be auspicious. “Indeed!” said Lady Pothergill freezingly.

Mary murmured her own greeting, very certain that Lady Pothergill did not care in the least what she had said. She passed on into the ballroom with Lord St. John at her side, determined to enjoy the evening as best she could. Perhaps an hour or so of congenial company would tease her mind away from the subject that she must eventually broach to Lord St. John.

However, that was not to be. It did not take very many encounters with other guests for Mary to realize that the duel was the uppermost
on dit.
There were so many broad allusions to it that she could not set them aside.