Had We Never Loved (32 page)

“With Sir Louis Derrydene!” finished Morris.

Glendenning stared, thunderstruck. “Derrydene!” he whispered. “Then, 'tis very probable that this Major Trethaway is in fact…”

“One of the League of Jewelled Men,” said Morris.

*   *   *

The fire leapt and crackled up the chimney of the private parlour, the clock on the mantelpiece ticked away the seconds, and the rising wind drove rain in occasional busy chatterings against the casements of the small inn. The three young men gathered about the fire were silent, however. Glendenning had taken a bedchamber for Amy, partly because he wanted her to have a few minutes to rest and refresh herself before they resumed their quest. She suspected that the men desired to hold a small council of war and would be able to talk freely without her presence. What she did not suspect was that there were things to be discussed which they were forbidden to speak of to anyone outside their own very select group. Several minutes had passed since Glendenning finished his terse account of what had befallen him during these two weeks. He had not spared himself; his voice becoming not altogether steady as he spoke of the nightmarish confrontation with his father.

Morris was first to break the silence. Not looking at Glendenning, he muttered sympathetically, “What a devilish fix to have landed in.”

“In more ways than one,” murmured Falcon.

Glendenning's eyes flashed. He snapped, “If you refer to my betrothal—”

Falcon waved a languid hand. “Miss Consett is one of the fairest Fairs these eyes ever beheld.” He turned his head to meet the blaze of Glendenning's anger. “To that extent, certainly, I congratulate you.”

“If you
dare
—if you
dare
suppose her to be beneath—”

Morris leaned forward and interrupted placatingly, “Do not gratify him, my dear fellow. You know that he delights to be a thorn in the flesh of anybody he encounters. 'Tis for no one—save perhaps your own family—to comment on such a personal matter as the lady you choose for your wife.”

Perhaps because he was under such a great strain, Glendenning said wildly, “Comment and be damned! She's an angel! I've told you that she saved my life—how bravely she fought, God bless her! How can you think anything save that
I
am the one who is unworthy?”

“Never doubted it for an instant,” said Falcon.

Morris laughed, and Glendenning's ferccity eased a little.

“Anyone must be blind not to see that the lady is a veritable diamond.” Falcon finished wickedly, “In the rough.”

Glendenning was on his feet in a swift pounce. “Stand up, damn you!”

“So that you may knock me down? Certainly not. Why invite me to comment? Did you assume I would say only that which would please you?”

Glendenning glared at him, but his innate honesty could not deny the truth of those sardonic words, and he sat down again.

“A baby starling can stretch its mouth very wide,” sighed Morris, “but rarely says anything sensible.”

“'Twould afford
me
enormous pleasure to confound the
ton
by doing just as you propose to do,” said Falcon. “But…”

“That—is—enough!” said Glendenning through clenched teeth.

“True,” Falcon acknowledged. “The ‘buts' are obvious.”

Morris suggested helpfully, “You can always call him out, you know, Tio. After me, of course.”

“To expedite which eagerly anticipated event,” said Falcon, “might we perhaps devote some thought to what we're going to do next?”

Glendenning drew a hand across his eyes. “Yes, of course. What a fool I am!”

“No, no,” said Morris kindly. “Nerves tied up in knots, is all. Understandable—damned if it ain't. You're in a proper vise, dear boy, and we must get you out of it—somehow. Don't know how. Wish I did. But you may be sure I'll stick by you.”

“If you say you will march to the block with a man who has only himself to blame for his present peril—you're a blithering fool,” sneered Falcon. “Which should surprise none, of course.”

Glendenning's jaw set, and his fists clenched, but he said in a voice of ice, “I mean to make damned certain that
no one
accompanies me to the axe, Falcon. But I thank you for your loyalty, Jamie.”

Morris suppressed a shudder at the thought that so splendid a fellow as Glendenning should meet such a ghastly fate. To hide his consternation, he stood and, walking to the door, held it open invitingly. “Adieu, Lord Haughty-Snort. Scamper back to Town, and forget you ever knew us. Tio won't name you as having shielded a Jacobite, so do not be shivering in your boots.”

“Your generosity is equalled only by the dimness of your wits,” jeered Falcon. “Do you not yet realize there's a deal more to this than the fact of Glendenning's misplaced loyalty to the Stuarts?”

Morris closed the door, and said with a grin, “I think what he tries not to say, Tio, is that he's with you.”

“We are all with him,” said Falcon. “If only in the interests of self-preservation.”

Glendenning said sombrely, “You really think the League of Jewelled Men wove this beastly web?”

“
Assurément!
Can you doubt it?”

“Well, I can, if Tio cannot,” declared Morris, returning to his chair.

“You would!” The slim hand holding Falcon's wineglass gestured impatiently. “Make an attempt to use your heads, gentlemen. We know that Sir Louis Derrydene helped engineer the tragedy that damn near ruined the house of Rossiter. We know that Gideon Rossiter found the lapis figure of a jewelled man in Derrydene's home, and we have other clues that established Derrydene as having been a member of the League. We believe that because he failed to completely destroy Sir Mark Rossiter, Derrydene was executed by the League and his death passed off as suicide. Now, we find that this same villain was bosom bow to a murky individual calling himself Major Harris Trethaway. And that Trethaway has manipulated Glendenning's brother into giving him a piece of antique jewellery now purported to have been donated to the Jacobite Cause. Glendenning cannot prove his innocence without the Comyn Pin, and Trethaway has conveniently left the country. Good God! Is it not plain? This entire ugly business is a scheme of the League!”

Glendenning said, “But—why? To take personal vengeance on me because I was one of those opposing them in the Rossiter fiasco? 'Twould have to be a murderous group indeed deliberately to plot the execution of my entire family when they could simply have me killed.”

“Besides,” put in Morris, “I'd think that whatever they're up to would keep them sufficiently busy. To go to all the trouble to stage such an elaborate revenge don't seem very likely.”

“Not if 'tis only a matter of revenge,” murmured Falcon thoughtfully. “The question becomes—do they scheme to kill two birds with one stone?”

Glendenning said, “Gideon Rossiter believes they plot 'gainst England. Do you say they've a grudge 'gainst my father as well?”

Falcon shrugged and with his rare grin said, “Bowers-Malden is not the most amiable of men.”

Fighting against betraying the pang that transfixed him each time he thought of his sire, Glendenning said, “To my knowledge he doesn't even know of the existence of the League of Jewelled Men.”

“In company with most of England,” said Morris glumly. “I wonder what the deuce they
are
about.”

Falcon murmured, “Perchance we can come at it. Let's see now, exactly what have we thus far?”

Glendenning said slowly, “A burned-out shipyard. A fraudulent trading company. A great estate seized for debt.” His head jerked up. “Good God! Are they after the Abbey, then?” He answered himself impatiently, “No, what fustian! 'Tis entailed.”

“Unless,” said Falcon, “it should become property of the Crown—due to treason on the part of its owner.”

Glendenning exclaimed, “Yes, by Jove! In which case 'twould likely be sold!”

Morris said eagerly, “As the Rossiter's Promontory Point estate was sold!”

His eyes brilliant, Falcon said, “Neither of which could ever have been purchased had not their rightful owners first been disgraced and ruined! Jupiter!”

“But why in the name of creation would they go to such lengths?” said Glendenning. “There are other estates that
could
be purchased. Why all the chicanery?”

Pondering this, they were silent until Falcon muttered, “Should we perhaps consider those involved? Two highly respected, powerful men, much in the public eye. Sir Mark Rossiter. The Earl of Bowers-Malden.”

“And coming on top of that ghastly scandal involving Lord Merriam,” began Morris.

Glendenning shook his head. “A quite different matter, Jamie. Merriam was caught cheating at cards, and shot himself. How should that…” He paused, frowning.

“Just so,” Falcon murmured. “I've no love for England's bluebloods—my own being so vastly inferior—but I'll own to having judged Harlow Merriam to be the last man to cheat—at anything.”

“M'father would agree with you, August,” said Morris, apparently forgetting Falcon's objection to the use of his Christian name. “Served with Merriam in the East India fleet. That was before he became a peer, of course. Merriam, I mean.”

Glendenning said, “I believe Merriam was—”

Amy opened the door, and they all stood. She had tidied her hair and looked neat and fresh and enchantingly pretty as she smiled at them, her gaze lingering on the tenderness in Glendenning's eyes. “I'm sorry to interrupt, gents,” she said.

The viscount crossed to take her hand, and murmur that he was far from sorry.

“The thing is,” she said, “that your coachman says the horses are ready now, Tio. We can go on.”

Morris said, “To Portsmouth? An we ride hard we can reach there by dawn. But your lady…”

“Goes with me,” said Glendenning, to Amy's obvious delight. “Only—first, I must stop at Trethaway's house.”

Falcon sighed. “We told you—”

“I know.” Glendenning's jaw set stubbornly. “Even so—I will stop there.”

“Then 'tis as well I telled the cook to pack us a picnic hamper,” said Amy, twinkling at them.

“Jove! What a treasure you've found, Glendenning,” said Morris fervently.

Falcon took up Amy's hand and kissed it with easy grace. “Ma'am, your slave.”

She laughed. “What a rasper!” and then, as she saw Morris' jaw drop, she added hurriedly, “Ye can both hop— I mean ride in the coach with us. Is that all right, lordship? We can tie their horses on behind.”

Not giving a button what they thought, Glendenning said, “Anything you want is all right, my dearest.”

“Did you ask 'em to put in some cold chicken, ma'am?” asked Morris holding the door open for her.

Amy had indeed requested that cold chicken be added to the hamper, and, trying to ignore the dark shadow that hung over them, they enjoyed their supper as the carriage once again rolled down the darkening country lanes.

“Glendenning has been telling us of your exploits, Miss Consett,” said Falcon, reaching for a crusty roll and a slice of cheese.

Amy hesitated.

Glancing at her, he asked, “Do I offend?”

“Oh, no,” she said brightly. “I just dunno what that jawbreaker— I mean, I think you're very nice.”

He stared at her.
“Nice…?”

“You don't know him, Miss Consett,” warned Morris around a chicken leg.

“Well, I don't, a'course,” she admitted. “But he's a fine handsome co— gent. I never see such glims— I—er, I mean eyes,” she added, with a guilty glance at the viscount.

Falcon wiped his fingers fastidiously, and drawled, “Perhaps you find their shape displeasing?”

“What? Oh, no. I did notice, a'course. But I'm too well breeded to say anything.” Unaware of the bomb she had tossed into the suddenly quiet coach, she laughed her lilting laugh and leant forward to pat Falcon's knee. “I ain't really, mate. No use pretending, lordship love. I ain't well breeded at all. What I meant was I never see eyes that colour before. I thought they was black at first. I 'spect they really set the ladies a'swooning, eh?”

His breath held in check, Glendenning thought, ‘Let him
dare
give her one of his damned sardonic set-downs!'

August Falcon put back his handsome head and laughed as he had not laughed for many a day. “Do you know, Glendenning,” he said breathlessly, “you don't deserve her! Be dashed if you do! Have you any sisters, dear ma'am?”

She sighed, and said in a suddenly wistful voice, “I don't know. Have you?”

“Yes, I'm proud to say.”

“One of the most beautiful ladies in England,” said Morris, also wistfully.

“I ain't surprised,” she said, and peeping up at Glendenning, very conscious of how drawn he looked, she said with a dimple, “I wonder you didn't fall in love with her, Tio.”

“
He
didn't,” sighed Morris. “I did.”

“Ooh,” she exclaimed, before Falcon could utter the crushing remark he had ready. “I think as we're in Owler country.”

Glendenning peered through the dusk at dimly seen wooded slopes, and echoed curiously, “Owler country?”

“Smugglers,” she nodded. “Folks what work at the dark o' the moon, like the owl. Ab's brother's one of 'em, and a fine living he's made of it. Though a bit chancy, y'know.” She frowned thoughtfully. “I wonder if…”

Falcon pulled on the check string, and shouted, “Stop here, coachman!”

The carriage jerked to a stop, the footman swung open the door and let down the steps. Glendenning jumped out, scanning the good-sized house set back from the lane in a grove of trees. Amy reached for his hand, but he said quietly, “Wait here, my love. I'll just—”