Had We Never Loved (31 page)

“Of course. I can see that, all right. You done—did just as ye ought, then. Like you always do.”

He gave a wry smile and shook his head, but said nothing.

Watching him anxiously, worried by this unfamiliar apathy, she sought about for words of comfort, yet hesitated to intrude on his thoughts.

After a while he muttered, “D'you know, I'm almost relieved it happened. All these months of living with the fear that he might find me out. Of how grieved he would be. Now, at last, it's over.”

Fear touched her. She argued, “No, it ain't over! We got to find that pin, lordship! We got to make sure nothing bad comes to your family!”

“It won't. I promise you that.”

There was a quiet finality to his words; a determined set to his firm chin that caused her to peer at him anxiously. He said in a lighter voice, “Now do not be worrying, sweetheart. We'll contrive, never doubt it. Lord, but I'd give a lot to have seen your breakfast meeting with my—with Bowers-Malden.”

Despite the obvious correction, his whimsical smile reassured her a little. She said, “Good thing you didn't. Ye'd have been proper shocked.” She chuckled reminiscently. “Lor', but he's a fierce one. And to think I called him a poor old gaffer and told him he had a bad case of the dafts!”

“You never did!”

“I wouldn't of, if I'd knowed—known who he was. I thought he were a groom or something. I give him a good laugh, but I should've seen right off he was a real gent.”

“He is, isn't he?” Glendenning sighed.

She swooped to kiss him, and he asked, “What was that for?”

“For not being cross because of all them things he said.”

“How should I dare, when most of what he said was well justified? Only … I had no thought to lead my brother astray. I tried never to discuss the Rebellion with him, though I fancy he suspected my involvement in it. I took him to my clubs, of course, and got him admitted. But I've never gone in much for gaming, Amy. I swear he never saw me a heavy loser.”

“Well then, ye never set him a bad example, did ye?” She hesitated, then said gently, “Perhaps yer fault was that ye didn't take the trouble to set him a good one.”

He nodded. “Very true.”

“Still,” she went on, “yer brother's a man, ain't he? Old enough to know what's right, I mean. I think your papa didn't really expect as ye'd watch Mr. Templeby's every move. After all, everyone's got to stand on their own trotters, sooner or later. So I wouldn't worry too much about that, love.”

Not looking up, he lifted her hand and kissed it wordlessly. Again there was silence until he said in a very low voice, “If he just hadn't forbidden me to ever call him … my father. If he hadn't said he—wished I'd never been born.” He drew a hand across his eyes, and thus didn't see her horrified expression. She'd been unaware of those bitter words, and she stifled a sob and hugged as much of him as she could, and ached with sympathy.

Pulling himself together, he sat straighter and said firmly, “A fine blancmanger you must think me! Well now, most resourceful lady, enough of pointless regrets. We must move forward, and make a push to outwit Fate, eh?”

“Oh, yes. But—how, Tio?”

“Find my brother. Somehow.” He forced away the dread that this might not be possible and said, “I've until five o'clock tomorrow. Please God it will be time enough.”

“Amen,” she said fervently. “Where does this here major live? D'you know?”

“I don't.” He added with a decidedly grim smile, “But I know a woman who does, so we'll go first to Town.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I'll stay in the carriage while you go in.” He looked at her, one eyebrow lifting enquiringly. Blushing, she said, “I—er, ain't used to these high-heeled slippers yet, darling Tio.”

What she meant, of course, was that she feared lest she disgrace him. He kissed her lingeringly, feeling her mouth responsive under his own, feeling her slight body press eagerly against him. And knowing how unworthy he was of her faith and trust, he said huskily, “How do I deserve you, my brave little love? An you were wise, you'd run fast and far away from me, lest I blight your beautiful life as well.”

For answer, she took his drawn face between her hands and said, “In that case, I'm perishing glad I ain't wise. And that'll be quite enough tripe out of you, lordship!”

CHAPTER XII

It was past four o'clock when the coachman, for the fifth time, walked the team around the corner of the quiet street in Bloomsbury. This time, the viscount was waiting on the steps of a neat villa, his cloak drawn close against the rain. The footman scrambled down to open the carriage door. Glendenning called instructions to the coachman, then climbed inside. His cloak and tricorne were wet, and he took them off and threw them on the opposite seat.

Amy said eagerly, “She saw you, then? Did she tell you?”

He put his arm around her and kissed the end of her nose. “Mrs. Alvelley received me. And she told me. Reluctantly, and very little.”

Amy's wide eyes were on the kerchief wrapped around his left hand.

He glanced down at it. “I was obliged to give her the choice of telling me what I asked, or of having me go to the authorities and report her for using loaded dice. Thus, her reluctant compliance.”

“Clawed you, did she? A proper cat!” She peered out of the window as the carriage clattered around a corner and mud splashed up. “London ain't so big and noisy as what I'd heard.”

“This is Bloomsbury, my darling. Far on the outskirts of Town.”

She asked hopefully, “Shall we go through May Fair, then?”

“I'm sorry, no. I instructed the coachman to skirt the more travelled roads and avoid traffic. We are going to the east now, to London Bridge, and thence across the River to Southwark, and—”

“London Bridge!” She gave a squeal of delight and clapped her hands. “Oh, how I wish it weren't raining, but—!” Guilt overspread her animated face, and she put a hand over her lips. “What a silly I be! As if this weren't a matter of life and death, and here I act like a foolish child! Only, all my life I've heard about London Town, and I've never seen it, Tio. But I ai—is not forgetting the fix we're in, honest I ain't, so don't be vexed, please, dear lordship?”

He kissed her fondly. “How could I be vexed when you shine like a ray of sunlight through this ugly business?”

Breathless, she pulled away at last, and again turned her fascinated gaze to the window. “Only look at all the carriages and waggons! Why do the folks live so close together, I wonder? It is not so pretty here, is it? What they do with all the trees? Where does we go after we cross the bridge?”

“Into Kent. A long and tiresome drive for you, I'm afraid. All I could pry out of the wretched woman was that Trethaway owns a house somewhere near the Wells. 'Tis going to be a rainy night, and will likely be dusk before we arrive, but I cannot stop, love. I'll settle you into a comfortable hostelry until I've run down Trethaway, and call for you when—”

“Oh, yus you won't!” said Amy indignantly, her careful accent coming to grief. “You ain't going after no viper like that all alone, young man!”

He laughed into her militant eyes. “I take it you envision a pitched battle. But having neither blunderbuss nor cooking pot, most beloved and daintiest of warriors, what shall you fight with?”

A flash of petticoats, a glimpse of a shapely limb and a red satin garter, and her knife was glittering under his nose. Her dark eyes sparkled. She said, “And won't they be surprised when they find I is not a gentle and perlite lady o' quality, but a gypsy lass which knows to help her man in a shining-bright!”

Deeply moved, he marvelled at her courage. Faced with danger, there was no shivering dread for Amy Consett; no whimpering. She set her dauntless, dimpled chin, and took her dagger into her resolute hand. And she would back him, all right. To the last, she'd stand beside him. It must not come to that, of course, but to know how faithful and steadfast was her love was balm to his grief. Bowing his head, he kissed her hand, so that she cried out for fear he would cut himself.

He looked up at her, and said, “If we come through this safely, my Amy, how very proud I shall be to make you my wife.” And he thought ‘But if we cannot come through safely, my little love, I shall make very sure that you are not dragged down with me!'

They travelled at breakneck speed now and, despite the rain, made excellent time. Even so, it was dusk when the carriage approached Tunbridge Wells. Glendenning gazed at the passing countryside with eyes that saw little of winding lanes edged by dripping hedgerows, or cottages and scattered farms where the warm glow of lamplight spoke of families gathered cosily together. All his thoughts turned on his own family. He could not get the echo of his father's bitter words out of his mind. He could see with wrenching clarity Lady Nola's tears, and could picture her present state of mind. Poor mama. Torn between her love for her husband and her love for his errant heir.

Amy stirred in his arms and yawned sleepily, and her hand came up to caress his cheek. “You look so tired, darling lordship. Wasn't you able to snatch a little kip? Ye'd oughta—”

The carriage lurched. Shouts. The door was torn open, and a familiar voice cried, “Good Gad, Tio! What we've been through in your behalf, and here you lounge, frippering about with a—”

“Falcon!” gasped the viscount, staring disbelievingly at the very damp young Corinthian who clambered into the coach.

“And me,” said Morris, climbing in after him with a flurry of raindrops. “How de do, ma'am? I must—” His honest eyes widened appreciatively. “By Jove!”

Bewildered, Glendenning demanded, “What d'ye mean? What have you been through in my behalf?”

The coachman opened the trap and peered in at them. “We've tied the gents' hacks on behind, melord. Shall I keep on?”

“Yes. Er—yes.” The trap shut, and he said, “Jamie, will you please explain what this is all about?”

Morris hesitated, then nodded to Amy, his face solemn.

“Oh, Lord,” exclaimed Glendenning. “Your pardon, ma'am. May I present Mr. August Falcon and Lieutenant James Morris? Gentlemen—Miss Consett. My betrothed.”

Amy saw astonishment come into one rather guileless face, and a faint amusement dawn on the other, which was so handsome as to make a girl's knees weaken.

“My congratulations, Glendenning,” drawled Falcon.

“Oh. Yes. Er—jolly good, what?” mumbled Morris, turning very red.

“It's all a fudge,” said Amy, with a shy smile. “I is not betrothed to no one.”

Morris' eyes became even rounder at this artless speech.

Falcon looked at Glendenning thoughtfully. “Where in the devil have you been all this time?”

Morris observed, “You look awful, dear boy. Sorry, but there 'tis.”

The viscount said, “It's a long tale that we can sort out later. Now, will you please tell me why you are here?”

Despite some interruptions from Morris, Falcon contrived to explain. When he finished, Glendenning said, “Then you've discovered where Trethaway lives! 'Pon my soul, I do not know how to thank you! To have gone to so much trouble for me!”

“Do not be deluding yourself,” said Falcon. “I am here only because”—he slanted an oblique glance at Amy's wondering face—“I need you to act for me. Even so, I think we are entitled to hear why you saw fit to disappear these two weeks.”

“Yes, of course. But first—how on earth did you find us?”

“Luck, dear boy,” said Morris, scarcely able to tear his eyes from Amy. “We was heading back up to Windsor, to see if you'd gone home, and—”

“And if you do not wish to be recognised,” drawled Falcon, “you should not jaunter about in a carriage with your crest on the panel. Do I mistake it, or are you also here to see Trethaway?”

“You don't mistake it. 'Tis vital I see both that bas—er, rogue, and my brother.”

“Won't do it,” said Morris. “We called at Trethaway's house not an hour since. He's gone. Hopped the twig, I shouldn't wonder. Likely one leap ahead of the constable, for he's a bounder from what I hear.”

Watching Glendenning's worn face anxiously, Amy slipped her hand through his arm, and smiled encouragement.

“Did you learn where he is gone?” he asked in a controlled voice.

Morris looked severe. “His people said he was off to Portsmouth to take ship for Italy. 'Twill be no great loss to Eng—”

“My God!” exclaimed Glendenning, frantic. “Then we must stop him! When does he sail?”

“With the morning tide, I believe,” said Falcon. “But I promise you, your brother ain't with him. Trethaway's man said there had been no visitors for several days.”

“But Michael
must
have gone there! He took funds to buy back— Oh, Lord, you don't know!” The viscount ran a hand across his brow distractedly, then said, “That nail, Farrier, claims that the Comyn Pin was donated to the Jacobite Cause! And—”

“Hmm,” said Falcon. “I recall my father mentioning once that your stepmama was a Comyn.”

“Jupiter!” Morris shook his head. “Shouldn't have donated the lady's pin, Tio! Very bad business!”

“He didn't donate it,” said Amy defensively. “His brother sold it.”

“To cover some—debts,” said Glendenning. “He didn't know it was on the Jacobite list—if it is, which I doubt! The thing is that I must prove 'tis still in our possession. I've to show it to Farrier by tomorrow afternoon, or—” He shrugged, wordlessly.

Morris and Falcon looked at each other.

Morris said, “Best tell him the rest.”

Again, Falcon glanced at Amy, then said, “Owen Furlong says Trethaway cried friends—”