Had We Never Loved (30 page)

The lace cap quivered again, but Glendenning chuckled. “You are in error. I have not soldiered for our king.”

Like lightning came the riposte. “Either of them?”

Lady Nola said hotly, “How
dare
you imply—”

“No, no, ma'am,” said Glendenning. “Is as well that this person come far enough out of his hole to make a cake of himself. I can scarce refer the matter to my solicitors if there has been no more than finicking half-threats and sly innuendo.” He strolled closer to Farrier, looking down at him as one might view a repellent insect. “'Tis clear to see what has held you back in your—career, poor fellow. You are by far too timid. Speak up now. Play or pay. Only—do be very sure before you accuse, for I promise you that a false accusation will land you properly in the suds. Neither my father nor I are quite without influence in Whitehall.”

This was perfectly true, but Farrier knew the powers which backed him, and was undaunted. Glendenning saw a secretive grin, and drew his own conclusions. He had hoped to so enrage this slimy creature that he would make a mis-step. He had evidently failed in that. What he did not know was that Farrier was thoroughly enraged. The half-smile on the viscount's lips was so infuriatingly disdainful; the set of the broad shoulders, the proud tilt of the head, the bored manner, all bespoke an aristocratic superiority that made Farrier positively yearn to see my lord's head on a spike atop Temple Bar.

He said silkily, “I could wish my innuendos were without foundation, sir. It grieves me to find that Lady Bowers-Malden's tale of the Comyn Pin having been sold is without substance.”

Lady Nola gasped, her hand flying to her throat.

“Do you know, Farrier, it almost sounds as though you were accusing my mother of lying to you. I trust I am mistaken.”

The viscount's voice was quiet, but Farrier saw the gleam in the green eyes, and stood rather hurriedly, as the viscount stepped closer. “How well I comprehend your feelings, my lord. Alas, what I said is perfectly true. I have but now returned from interviewing Major Harris Trethaway. A fine gentleman, who tried to be—ah, kind until I informed him of the gravity of the situation. He then reluctantly admitted that…” He paused, and sighed, shaking his head. “I found it difficult to believe, but—”

“Perhaps you would find it easier to believe that I have had enough of your weaselly grin and your posturing, and in five seconds from now will toss you through that window.”

Glendenning looked not only capable, but downright eager to do so, and Farrier retreated a step. He said, “Major Harris Trethaway has never even heard of the Comyn Pin! Nor did Michael Templeby offer such an item to him in payment of—”

“That is not true!” cried the countess, white as death.

“Of course it's not true,” said Glendenning fiercely. “Please leave us, Mama, so that I can step on this little snake!”

“Stay back!” warned Farrier, taking refuge behind a sofa. “We shall call Trethaway to testify 'gainst—”

“Hell you will! If you're not lying, which I doubt, then this alleged Major Trethaway is! I'll go down there and shake the truth out of the conniving rogue! And if you bother my mother by presenting your slippery carcass on my doorstep before I return—”

“Do not dare to threaten an officer of the king!” shouted Farrier as the viscount advanced. “Unless you can put the Comyn Pin into my hands—”

“Why the deuce,” rumbled a new voice from the now open door, “should my son put any blasted needle, pin, or thimble into your hands, fellow? If you came here seeking employment as a seamstress you should have consulted my housekeeper!”

Lady Nola closed her eyes briefly.

Glendenning thought, ‘Oh, hell!'

The Earl of Bowers-Malden marched into the room, his face a thundercloud.

Farrier recovered his aplomb and, emerging from behind the sofa, bowed so low that his wig almost dusted the floorboards. “Permit me to introduce myself, my lord,” he began unctuously.

“Certainly not. Be off about your business at once. Ah, my lady, I have been searching for you … this…” The earl interrupted himself to frown, and look from the strain in his wife's eyes to his son's enigmatic countenance. His frown darkening, he turned again to Farrier. “Whoever you are, you have disturbed my wife. I do not permit anyone to do so. Glendenning, why did you allow this person inside?”

“My name is Farrier, my lord. Burton Farrier.”

“I wish you joy of it. Good day, sir!” The earl stamped to the bell pull.

“I am here,” Farrier went on silkily, “representing General Underhill.”

Bowers-Malden's outstretched hand checked. “Are you, by Jupiter! Coming down, is he? Be glad to welcome him. Underhill's a devious fellow at times, but plays a splendid game of picquet. I'd sooner enjoy a halfway proficient chess partner, but they are scarce as hens' teeth, unfortunately. When shall he arrive?”

Slightly bewildered, Farrier said, “The general sent me here on a matter of business, my lord—”

“Which is nothing that need take your time, sir,” interposed Glendenning. “I know you are eager to talk with mama, so—”

The earl, who had been looking at Farrier narrowly, lifted one hand. “Farrier … I think I have heard that name. You're a bounty hunter or some such damnable thing!”

“No such thing, my lord! I am a special investigator, assigned to the tracking down and unmasking of traitorous Jacobite curs who have invaded every level of our—”

“I do not tolerate bounty hunters in my house,” growled the earl, seizing the bell pull and tugging it vigorously. “Leave, or be put out. You may take your choice, sir!”

“It would be exceeding unwise in you to resort to violence before you know the charges that I bring 'gainst Viscount Glendenning,” warned Farrier, his voice a trifle shrill.

The earl's steely glance raked his son. “Charges?”

Glendenning said coolly, “This silly fellow demands to see some pin or other, sir. Without it, apparently, I must lose my head.”

“Without a
pin?
The fellow's short of a sheet is what it is!”

The doors were flung open and two majestic footmen entered.

“Show this out,” said the earl.

The footmen bowed and stood one on each side of the doorway.

“I have the greatest respect for your name and your position in Society, Lord Glendenning,” said Farrier, keeping a wary eye on the earl's massive figure. “And because your illustrious parent cries friends with General Underhill, I will stretch a point, and grant you one more day to find your brother. At five o'clock tomorrow afternoon, I shall return with a military escort. If you cannot produce the pin—”

“A pox on your pins!” roared the earl. “Out!”

Farrier's words had alarmed the footmen, and they exchanged uneasy glances as they each seized one of his arms, and dragged him toward the door.

“—at that time,” shouted Farrier, struggling and enraged, “you will be conveyed to the Tower and charged with—”

The footmen released him as if he had been white hot, and turned scared faces to the earl.

Glendenning took three quick strides.

Farrier fled, the words “High … Treason” echoing after him.

The footmen encountered the earl's glare, recovered their wits, and ran.

As the doors closed, Bowers-Malden jerked around, and looked grimly from his son to his wife. “Pray leave us, my lady.”

Lady Nola stood. She was deathly pale, but her voice was steady. “No, Gregory. This concerns me, you see.”

“An it does,” he growled, “'tis because Glendenning has involved Templeby in his nonsensical starts, no doubt. I had prefer you left, my dear.”

She said again, “No, Gregory.”

“Very well.” He shrugged, and walked over to the hearth. “I await the flower of your inventive mind, my lord.”

The viscount knew that the moment of truth was upon him. He did not evade it, but began to speak quietly and firmly and, to an extent, put his father in possession of the facts.

Throughout, the earl stood leaning back against the mantel, arms folded across his mighty chest, his piercing gaze locked on his son's face. Occasionally, a stifled grunt escaped him. Gradually, his complexion darkened but, however outraged, he did not speak.

Glendenning finished, and there was a long taut silence.

Bowers-Malden stood straight. In a hushed voice more deadly than his bull-like roar, he said slowly, “So I was right. Because of your damnable traitorous connivings—because of your lies and cheating and evasions—you have brought death and dishonour to this house!”

Glendenning took a deep breath and gripped his hands tightly, preparing himself for the thundering denunciation; the accusations; perhaps—and understandably—the blows.

Lady Nola went to her husband and took his hand. “Horatio did not tell you all, my dear. 'Twas Michael gambled away the Comyn Pin. Horatio had no part in that. You must not rest all the blame on his shoulders.”

The earl looked at her steadily. His high colour had faded, leaving him very pale. He said, “My sweet wife. Always so loyal; so loving. And, as usual, you are perfectly right. The fault lies not with my son—but with myself.”

Taken aback, Glendenning protested, “No, sir! How should you be blamed for my—”

Ignoring the interruption, the earl went on, still in that quiet, saddened voice. “I knew what he was. Always, I knew where his sympathies lay. But I closed my eyes. Perhaps, in a way, I was proud because he held such strong convictions, and was man enough to act on them. I lacked his courage, for I should have disowned him long since. I should have realized it might come to this. That he had the power to destroy all those I love.”

Glendenning had been prepared for wrath; such quiet resignation from this man whose fierce rages were feared by all, struck him to the heart. A lump came into his throat, choking off any attempt to defend himself.

Lady Nola gave a muffled sob, and the earl took her in his arms. “Surely it will not … come to that, Gregory?” she faltered, her frantic eyes searching his face. “Surely … they will not kill us? N-Not Marguerite and—and Michael?”

Shattered, Glendenning said brokenly, “As God is my judge, Mama, I
swear
I had no thought to bring such peril upon you! I'll go at once to find Michael, and—”

As if he had not spoken, Bowers-Malden murmured, “If it lies within my power, dear heart, neither you nor your children will suffer. I am not without influence. You may believe I shall use every last iota of it, to protect you.”

Lady Nola raised her head from his shoulder, and looked at the viscount. “Horatio.” Her hand went out.

Glendenning reached for it, but Bowers-Malden pulled his wife back, as though from contamination.

Looking into his suddenly implacable face, Glendenning pleaded, “Sir, I—I cannot ask that you forgive me. The responsibility is mine. I accept it. But truly, I believed—”

“Your beliefs, my lord,” said the earl coldly, “no longer interest me. Your beliefs have destroyed this family, our good name, and all that our ancestors down through the centuries have struggled to achieve. I only hope that if my innocent wife and her children have to pay with their lives for
your
beliefs, you may be satisfied.”

“No! My God! Don't say that, I beg you! I'll find the pin and bring it back! If 'tis humanly possible, father, I—”

“Do me the favour,” said the earl, holding his wife close, “to refrain from reminding me of our relationship for as long as we have left. I doubt you can even begin to guess how bitterly I rue the day you were born.”

Glendenning gave a gasp, and shrank away as though he had been struck.

“Come, my love,” said the earl tenderly, guiding his stricken wife from the room. At the threshold, he turned back. “Be so kind, sir, as to take your beliefs, and your treachery, and your whore, and leave this house, so that if we must die, at least we can do so with some semblance of decency.”

Lady Nola's quiet sobs faded as he led her away.

The room they had left was quiet now. The man who stood there was so silent and still that it was as if he was turned to stone, the only movement being a glittering drop that channeled silently down his haggard face.

*   *   *

The drizzle that had materialised earlier was settling into rain, and a brisk wind blew droplets into the coachman's eyes causing him to swear as he kept the team to a steady canter. Inside the rocking carriage there had been little talk for some time. Cuddled close against the viscount, her arm linked through his, Amy peeped up at him. She could not see his expression, for his head was turned from her as he stared through the rain splashed window.

She squeezed his arm and said gently, “He never meant it, my dearest, you know as he never meant it.”

He looked down at her, and she was shocked to see his face so white, his eyes haunted by despair. “Ah—never grieve so!” she cried. “He spoke in anger, and fear for his lady. He'll be wishing he could take the words back this very minute, I shouldn't wonder.”

“I would,” he said dully. “He meant every word. And he was right, Amy. I've brought this on him. On them all, may God forgive me!”

“But you never wished them no harm, love,” she said, patting his clenched fist. “You was willing to risk yer life, fighting for what ye thought was best fer England. None of us can do no more'n what we thinks is right. Only…”

His mouth twisted into a faint smile. “Only…?”

“I can't help thinking, Tio, that—maybe 'twould have been better if ye'd not deceived him so.”

He sighed and leaned his head back against the squabs. “I didn't dare tell him. It would have made him a fellow conspirator because, knowing for certain that I'd fought for Prince Charles, he should have reported me to the Horse Guards, and he'd never have done so. It would have worn and worn at him. He's so moral a man, Amy. He holds his word sacred. I couldn't place such a fearful burden on his conscience.”