Had We Never Loved (40 page)

Glendenning assured him that he had no objections. And watching the door close behind him, thought, ‘Barring more disasters.'

Half an hour later he was shaved and dressed, and Whittlesey was assisting him with his coat, when the earl came into the room and with a gesture dismissed the valet.

Glendenning stood, his stomach twisting into knots. Much of yesterday afternoon was a confused muddle in his mind, but he knew his volatile parent well enough to be prepared for a change of heart.

His face enigmatic, the earl stared at him. Clearing his throat, he said gruffly, “Well, sir? We brushed through that fiasco. Are you satisfied?”

“I would say rather, that I am most humbly grateful, sir. Though I cannot expect you will ever forgive me.”

The earl marched straight at him, clapped him on the back, then stamped on to gaze out of the window, and said a little unsteadily, “Had you not found your pretty gypsy, we would all have perished, Horatio.”

“I am very aware, sir.”

“Are you also aware that her alleged ‘uncle' is a positive genius?” Turning back into the room, hands clasped behind him, the earl went on, “I've not enjoyed a game of chess so much in years! Lady Nola and Marguerite hid him in the Indian Suite, and brought everything he needed to design the spurious Comyn Pin, did you know it? They ruined your grandmama's ruby ring; your great grandmama's tiara; and Lord knows what else in the process! Those rascally women! And, Zounds! what a splendid craftsman Consett is! How he mastered the carvings on the piece, to say nothing of creating it in so short a space is little short of incredible. I dare to think his work will pass muster even if 'tis subjected to examination by real experts. I mean to make ample provision for him. If his exquisite niece had not decided you might not be able to retrieve the real pin, and had she not found her uncle and brought him here…” He pursed his lips, his eyes very grim. “Well, we can but see she is well recompensed. You must ensure that, my boy.”

“I mean to do more than that, sir. In fact, I intend to wed her.”

The earl's jaw dropped. “You mean to—
what?
Have you lost your wits? The lass is a beauty, and I'll own we've a debt to her we're never like to repay. But—a common gypsy to be the future Countess of Bowers-Malden? Pshaw! You surely cannot suppose I would ever agree to such a disaster?”

Glendenning walked to face him. “I love her, sir. With all my heart. And I dare to hope she returns my affection. No—please do not say she is not good
ton.
Her birth is unknown, I admit, but certainly she was stolen. 'Tis very possible her family may rival our own.”

“Flim flam! You've no least chance of proving such an unlikely circumstance and must accept her as she is, not as you wish she might be! Horatio, be sensible, lad. She is an enchanting minx, but a minx nonetheless, who would disgrace you a hundred times a day! You'd be bored with her in a week, irritated with her in a month, and ready to strangle her in a year! And can you not foresee what the
ton
would do to the poor child? For
her
sake, if not for your own, give up this impossible piece of chivalry!”

The viscount said with a slow smile, “No, do you think it that, sir? It is not, I promise you. Amy is more than enchanting. She has a fine mind that darts about like any butterfly, and is full of curiosity and eagerness to learn. Most of the young ladies of Quality whom I meet at social events would, I feel sure, bore me, even as you say. I mean no unkindness, and do not doubt they are gentle and kind. But they have not a thought among them that goes beyond gossip and fashion and parties. When I am with Amy, I see something I have seen all my life—and she imbues it with magic, so that I find I've never really seen it at all. She is as lovely as she is exasperating; her nature is generous; she is kind, but also fiercely independent; and certainly she can be outrageous. I suspect we will have some lively quarrels, but as to my becoming bored with her—never! My life will be busy, I acknowledge, for 'twill be a struggle to keep up with her interests and, perhaps, to keep her from some shocking exploit or other. I think, sir, that you are right, and the
ton
may scorn her. I hope they will grow to love her. I know I do, and always will. If it distresses you, I shall take her far away. My apologies for making such a speech, but…” A wistfulness came into his green eyes. He said tentatively, “Whatever your decision, I pray you do not mean to forbid that I name you my father?”

It occurred to the earl that he had missed something: that somewhere he had failed to see that his son was not a foolish fribble after all, but a man he could be proud to have sired, and that if the viscount's political persuasions were ill-judged, they had nonetheless been followed with commendable courage and loyalty. His heart swelled with affection, to hide which, he said grumpily, “If Michael were my own flesh and blood, by Jupiter, I'd be tempted! But I'll have no gypsy caravans around the ornamental water, Horatio, and so I warn you!”

Speechless, Glendenning blinked at him.

The earl held out his hand regally. “Go on with you,” he growled. “If you will persist in this tomfoolery!”

His son dropped to one knee. The earl's hand was dutifully kissed, and a radiant grin was levelled at him. Then the door was flung open, and the viscount all but ran along the hall.

*   *   *

Lady Nola was quiet for a long time, and Glendenning's apprehension deepened. He shifted uneasily in his chair, and said at last, “Mama—you
do
like her?”

Her eyes turned from their contemplation of the fragrant bowl of sweet peas on her parlour table. Looking at him gravely, she said, “I think she is a
rara avis,
Horatio. But she is no fool. And she would be very foolish to marry you.”

Relieved, he said, “If she should be so foolish, Mama, will you give us your blessing?” He saw her small frown and added quickly, “My father voiced all the arguments I am sure you must feel, but he has agreed.”

“An I do not give you my blessing, shall you give her up?”

He stood, walked to the window, and came back to stand before her. “'Twould grieve me to marry 'gainst your wishes. But—no, ma'am. I'll not give her up.”

She nodded. “Then I suppose you must have your gypsy, my love. Almost, I have lost you. I really could not bear to do so again.”

*   *   *

There was only Absalom to see now, and Absalom might be the most difficult of all. But, striding rapidly across the courtyard, Glendenning's heart was so light he felt he might have floated. The nightmares were done at last. Now came the joy, the love, the great and so undeserved happiness.

The old house looked quite beautiful at this golden hour. It was surprising, in fact, that after all the rain so few people were out here enjoying this balmy late afternoon. Not so much as a gardener to be seen. The only person he really wanted to see, of course, was Miss Amy Consett, and, Lord, but he longed to see her! He'd not be surprised to find her awaiting him in the great hall. With luck, Absalom would be with her, and he could petition the dear old fellow for her hand. Amy was willing, of course. A little scared, perhaps, but she would not refuse him. Would she? His rapid stride faltered slightly.

‘I couldn't live here, Tio … Your life's like another world, compared with mine.'
Her voice was so clear it was almost as if she stood beside him.

He began to walk faster.

He had a blurred memory of her kissing him as he'd fallen asleep in the withdrawing room yesterday. And of a sadness in her eyes.

He reached the great hall, almost running. It was deserted, save for a lackey who swung open the door for him.

Turning on the man, he said, “Have you seen Miss Consett?”

“She was with Miss Templeby, my lord.”

Glendenning sprinted up the stairs.

The lackey's voice floated after him. “This morning…”

Marguerite was not in her room, and her abigail said she believed her mistress was showing Miss Consett and Mr. Consett about the grounds.

Somewhat reassured, Glendenning hurried to the window, but he could not discern the faintest splash of colour that might be a lady's gown, nor, in fact, any sign of life, save for a solitary peacock. Returning to the hall, he went first to his own, then to his brother's suite, both of which were empty. The absence of servants was beginning to alarm him. They were always about. The confounded house fairly crawled with them. But it was stupid to be so afraid. She wouldn't leave him? She wouldn't run away?

He raced to the stairs again, tore down them, and went outside. And never dreamed how many eyes watched him.

The sun was going down when he returned to the house, and by now, terror had him in its grip. Almost the first person he saw was Whittlesey, coming slowly down the stairs. The man looked startled, and backed away as Glendenning took the stairs two at a time, and stopped in front of him.

“Tell me,” said the viscount grittily. “You know. You all know. That's why everyone is avoiding me like the plague! Where is Miss Consett?”

“Sir, 'tis not my place—”

“Don't be roaring at yer man, milor'. He don't know nought.” Absalom stood on the landing, surprisingly distinguished in a simple brown habit, though his wig was as untidy as ever.

With a sigh of relief, Whittlesey escaped.

“Thank the Lord!” Glendenning hurried up to the landing. “Absalom, I've been unable to find her. She's teasing me, the saucy scamp, is that it?”

Consett couldn't help but feel sorry for the man who scanned him with such desperate intensity, but, “Run off,” he said, not softening the blow. He saw the lean features become very white, and added, “Well, you mighta knowed she would. Yer brother's gone after her. Won't find her. If my Amy don't want to be found, she won't be found, and she didn't want no part o' being a Quality mort. What's more, I don't—” He stopped, perforce, as Glendenning seized him by the throat.

“
Where
has she run? Tell me, or by God, I'll—”

“Are you run quite mad, Glendenning?” The earl ran to wrench at his son's arm. “Let Mr. Consett go at once! Damme! Let go, I say! This man is a guest in my house!”

“Amy has disappeared, and this rogue won't tell me—”

“Rogue, is it! You've a damnably short memory! Only hours since, Mr. Consett saved all our necks! I would suggest that you make him a profound apology, sir!”

His father's powerful hands and the voice of reason broke through the viscount's maddened fury. His fingers relaxed their grip, and he stepped back.

Clutching his throat, Consett advised in a fierce croak that he wouldn't tell such a madman where his niece was if he knew—which he didn't.

“She's got herself lost is all,” declared the earl. “Where's that fool of a butler? Ah—there you are, Darrow! Have all the staff out at once! Miss Consett is lost somewhere. I want the house and grounds searched!”

The butler hurried off. Shaking his head, Consett followed.

The earl lowered his voice, “Pay no heed to what he said, Horatio. He's a good man, but a revolutionary, I fancy. Likely don't like the notion of his niece marrying into the Quality. I'll wager there's nothing more to this than that your lady's found a quiet place to sit in peace and get her thoughts sorted out. Very sensible. Just be easy, m'boy. We'll find her, never fear.”

But they did not find her.

At dusk, Glendenning swung into Flame's saddle, the earl watching him glumly.

“You're a fool not to wait until morning. Templeby's not yet back, and may well have come up with her. Even if he has not, what can you hope to accomplish at this hour?”

“I only know I must try, sir.”

“Then try in the morning! I shall call in special constables. She can't have gone far, and—”

“She is
alone,
sir! I daren't wait another second, much less till morning!”

“But—”

Horatio bent lower, gripping his father's hand strongly. “Papa, I beg you—get word to Morris, and August Falcon. They'll help, I know it. I'm going to her—er, cottage in the woods. It's near Epsom. If she's not there, I'll try Mimosa Lodge. Kadenworthy may have seen her.”

“But, Tio,” pleaded the earl, using his son's abhorred nickname in this moment of distress, “it don't make sense to—”

“If anything should go wrong, sir, go to Gideon Rossiter. He'll explain.”

“Wrong? Now see here Horatio—is there something more to—”

But Glendenning was already riding out.

CHAPTER XVI

More than three weeks passed before Glendenning again crossed into Berkshire. Thunder was bumping down the clouds, and he pulled his cloak higher about his ears, ducking his head when a gust of wind drove rain into his eyes. Another grey day, as these past three days had been grey. He sighed wearily. A fitting return home, perhaps.

Despite his determination to devote years, if need be, to the search, he'd been sure he would find his love within a very short time. He knew so many of her haunts; surely, she could not for long escape him. Yet this was the twenty-fourth day, and he had found not so much as a trace of her.

He had reached Absalom's cellar at about noon the day after leaving home. He'd approached the ruins very cautiously, and watched for a good quarter hour before venturing from the trees. And he'd known by the time he went inside that she was not there. The League had been there, however. The shelves once so neatly stocked had been ransacked, glass and chinaware smashed, the contents of pots and cans strewn over the floor in a wave of senseless destruction that ants were doing their best to tidy up. A small pile of ashes and some scorched pages were all that remained of Absalom's peerless sketches and notes. The painting Amy had so treasured had been slashed with a knife, and the frame smashed. Bedding had been piled in the centre of the kitchen and set alight. Apparently, the hunters had ridden away, assuming the cellar would burn to the ground, but the fire had gone out after most of the bedding and the table was consumed.