Major Lord David (17 page)

Indeed, I hope you will not be offended by this communication from me. However presumptuous, I claim the
right based on the circumstances under which we parted,
which were-to my mind-entirely amicable. I have no
wish to prove a nuisance. I know that by now you must
have written your father regarding the state of your
heart, though in all these weeks I have heard naught of
the matter from mine. But surely, whatever the case, Sir
Moreton will understand that such a course never did run
smooth.

Please forgive this letter’s length. I am not usually
long-winded, but I find I miss your company. Believe me
sincere in wishing you well and happy.

She could hardly complain that this letter was “cryptic”;
she could hardly complain that it was terse. But in giving her
less over which she might puzzle, he had also given her imagination less room. Were his sentiments still as strong as he had
earlier implied? Despite the warmth of its tone, the missive
struck her as merely genial and somehow reserved-as though
he were just there amid a roomful of callers and speaking not
to her alone.

“Is it bad news?” Ephie asked sharply. And Billie was at
once conscious of holding the letter limply open upon her lap.

“No-no, not at all.”

“You were frowning.”

Billie forced a smile. “He tells me of the unease in Brussels. There is little new in that.”

Ephie’s gaze was too discerning. “It looks a longish letter,”
she said, “simply to speak of ‘unease.’”

“He writes also of the preparations for war. And that he has
just seen Miss Athington in Brussels.”

“Indeed?” Again Ephie’s gaze was too bright. “She always
appeared to have quite a preference for the major’s company.”

Billie gratefully turned her attention to the tea that had just
been brought to them. She would reread the letter later. There
had been something encouraging, perhaps, in his comment
that “such a course never did run smooth” The allusion, as
she remembered it, was to Shakespeare, and the course of true
love never running smooth.

“I never do take milk in my tea, Billie dear,” Ephie reminded her.

“Yes, I am so sorry, Auntie.” As she poured another cup,
feeling her heightened color, she could hear Monty’s angry
voice in the hall. When her brother joined them in the parlor,
he looked furious.

“Kit has run off,” he snapped. “Borrowed more funds from
a moneylender. A moneylender, Billie! And without leave
from his regiment he maneuvered a spot as an army aide in Brussels. How they shall employ the bedlamite, I haven’t a clue!
Probably have him polish the general’s boots! Well, he was wild
for going over and action. Now he has what he wanted! Might
even be there by now. No one’s seen him for two days. But I
shall have to explain it to Father!”

Billie could not restrain a shiver. “Dumont must have aided
him to-”

“Dumont?” Morty scoffed. “Dumont wouldn’t have helped
him do anything of the sort! Use your head, Billie! Dumont
holds most of Kit’s vowels. What creditor wishes to see his
debtor decamp, especially with the fair chance he might never
come back? Oh, don’t-don’t look like that, Billie! No one of
sense will have him anywhere near an actual battle. But Dumont has to be livid. And ‘twill bring disgrace on us all. Kit
owes thousands! I’ve just left Esther weeping. She’s afraid her
father will now refuse the marriage.”

“Surely not,” Billie ventured. “The debts are Kit’s-”

“Devil it! Of course they are! But Father might feel honorbound to make good. And that means less for the settlements.”

“My brother is not a numbskull, Morty,” Ephie inserted
severely. “He would never be so harebrained as to jeopardize
your chance at a match with Miss Urquhart”

“P’rhaps so, Auntie. But Mother might prevail upon him to do
anything-anything in Kit’s interest!” he added bitterly. And
wheeling about, he strode, red-faced, from the room. They heard
his heavy tread echoing on the hall’s marble stairs.

“They are so short of men,” Billie said, looking to her aunt.
Lord David’s comments were fresh in her mind. “Mightn’t
they simply use Kit wherever they might need him? Even if
he is quite unprepared?”

“They are just as likely to punish him, Billie, for failing to
obtain proper leave. We must simply wait and see. But do recall that Kit is a good horseman and a fair marksman. Though
he is the most ill-disciplined rascal in the world, and clearly
lacks necessary sense, he is not so entirely unprepared.”

Billie did recall, and tried to set her mind at ease. But the
knowledge that two men she held dear were now living at the
same threatened Belgian address did not further peaceful
slumbers.

The third of June brought a break in the weather and a lawn
party at the gorgeous Richmond estate of Lord and Lady
Turnbull. Morty, restored to the good graces of his fiancee’s
family by an assurance that Kit Caswell’s debts would in no
way affect marriage plans, was once again squiring Esther
Urquhart. Morty now seemed oblivious to all but his own contentment. Their father, Sir Moreton, had refused-most surprisingly, in Billie’s estimation-to accept that Kit’s debts
should be met from Morty’s intended legacy. Though her father
had not gone so far as to deny any obligation on the part of the
Caswell family, Sir Moreton had for once-encouragingly and
very pointedly-proved deaf to the entreaties of his indulgent
lady, who had always chosen to aid the wayward Christopher
in everything.

While Morty paraded the Turnbulls’ extensive grounds
with Esther, Billie and her aunt enjoyed a similar walk with
Lord Hayden, who had sought them out upon their arrival.
Billie was feeling generous to the greater part of humanity.
She had had two days in which to conclude, after frequent
readings of his letter, that David intended to renew his suit,
and on the basis of the warmest sentiments. Else he would
never have written so much so soon after seeing the beauteous
Charis. Billie’s qualms regarding Kit, Dumont, and Napoleon
Bonaparte himself had to be subsidiary.

“You are smiling, Miss Caswell,” Hayden remarked. “You
find this outing entertaining?”

“I have always preferred to be out-of-doors, my lord. And
after such a bout of wet weather, the sun, weak as it is, is particularly welcome.”

“It certainly flatters you,” he said with a bow to her. “I have
never seen you in finer looks.”

“I thank you, my lord.” She might have suspected Hayden
of flummery, but his blue gaze was sincere and guileless. She
realized that she rarely looked directly at him, perhaps because those eyes reminded her so disturbingly of his brother.

But he immediately threw her into confusion by asking, “You
have heard from David?”

“I have-that is, yes,” she managed. “I had a letter from him
two days ago”

“He must have been unusually communicative, as I also
had word from him two days ago, from Brussels. Perhaps we
needn’t compare notes” Hayden smiled. “He was certainly
well.”

“He sounded so”

“And busy about his affairs.”

“Yes”

“He had been dining and dancing in the city twice.”

“Twice?”

They walked on. The party’s lively chatter, now flooding the
lawn and drifting out across the river, sounded like the noisy
hum of many bees.

“The deprivations and hardship associated with soldiering
have never appealed to me,” Hayden confessed. “I should be
quite out of sorts without lighter detail now and then.”

“Certainly,” Billie agreed abruptly.

Hayden’s eyebrows rose. “You were meant to protest at
that, Miss Billie, and assure me that soldiering should suit me
admirably.”

“Oh, but I meant-my lord, you misunderstood me. Of
course I agree that one must understand a soldier’s hardships
and deprivation.”

Again he smiled. “David is a most obliging fellow,” he said.

“Yes”

“He finds it very difficult to say no”

“Apparently.”

Hayden laughed. “You were meant to protest at that as well,
Miss Billie. For I assure you that my brother is as stubborn as
a man might be. He would not command the hundreds he does
if he yielded as easily as that”

Billie glanced away from Hayden’s amused gaze and, despite the shade from her bonnet, shielded her eyes as she
looked back toward the gaily-decorated party tents, set like a
caravan amid an oasis of towering oaks.

“Why do you tease me so, my lord?” she asked.

“Because you mustn’t worry,” he said simply. “No man ever
had a truer heart-should you desire it.” Again he bowed to
her. And she permitted him to lead her back toward the company. Billie was aware that their amble had been closely observed; Lord Hayden’s attentions were always remarked. But it
was a large group after all, and Ephie had accompanied them.
Billie ignored the speculative glances and proceeded to make
her own way across the grass to the site of the archery competition, where she was expected. But May Sanders stopped her.

“Shall one brother do as well as another for you then, Miss
Caswell?” she asked pertly. Her tiny hand rested possessively
on Lord Grenby’s arm. With the comment, Grenby attempted
to force an apologetic smile. Again Billie wondered how the
gentleman could so promptly transfer his interest from one
lady to another, one so entirely different. But that, indeed, was
the very essence of May’s question.

“My family and that of the Duke of Braughton are Leicestershire neighbors, Miss Sanders,” she reminded her.

“Oh, yes, I see!” May said with a laugh, and, pulling upon
Grenby’s arm, she led him off toward the Turnbulls’ famous
yew maze.

“‘Tis a most puzzling thing,” Ronald Dumont said behind
her. “I had credited Grenby with better taste”

Billie wheeled to Dumont. She had scarcely exchanged ten words with the man, though he had been so frequently in Kit’s
company this spring. Billie knew him to be a blackguard, a
rogue who had so thoroughly entrapped her brother in debt
that Billie feared Kit would never be free of him. That in itself would have made Dumont ugly in her eyes, though in his
finery, with his hair carefully coiffed in the Grecian style,
he appeared no less a gentleman than anyone else attending
the afternoon party. Dumont was easily a decade older than
Kit and, in Billie’s estimation, should have been honorable
enough not to press the younger man’s back to the wall.

“Lord Grenby has fine taste,” she countered coldly. She
thought Dumont’s eyes beady. “Miss Sanders is an acknowledged Incomparable.”

Dumont bowed to her. “But she is not as incomparable as
his previous interest.”

“You presume,” she snapped, and turned away from him.

But he stepped closer and blocked her path. “Miss Caswell,
your brother has chosen to flee his obligations.”

“That is unfortunate, sir, for you. It has nothing whatever to
do with me”

“Doesn’t it? Should you really like to see Christopher
Caswell in filthy Fleet prison?”

“It will not go that far.”

“What shall you do to prevent it?”

Billie’s hands tightened into fists. For one moment she
wished she were again twelve years old and might give the
man a hearty shove. She would enjoy ruffling his smooth confidence. Instead she fixed him with a glare.

“Do you threaten me?”

“Threaten?” His smile was humorless. “Rather `offer,’ Miss
Caswell. Offer you a way to cancel your brother’s debts and
free the Caswells from disgrace.”

“Your `offer’ is the disgrace, Mr. Dumont,” she said, understanding him only too clearly.

Again he smiled. “How delightfully refreshing you are! By all means, let us be frank, Miss Caswell. I acknowledge my
interest in your portion. I also acknowledge that you are beautiful and that I admire your spirit. Should you desire more?
Perhaps you would despise me less were I less honest-and
pretended to sentiments that you would know to be false.”

“I could never despise you less.” She watched the blaze of
anger settle into his features, but that anger was quickly controlled and masked. “And as for your `honesty,’ you make a
mockery of the word, Mr. Dumont. You would describe thieves
as `honest’ in their thievery.”

As she stepped away from him, he spoke to her back. “Take
care you do not trade your brother for your absent major, Miss
Caswell.”

But Billie refused to turn back. Morty and Esther Urquhart
awaited her at the archery pavilion, where several ladies had
already fielded their first shots.

“You took your time,” Morty muttered. “Here Esther already had to take a turn, and the wind blew her arrow clear
away from the target.”

Billie forbore to comment, though she’d perceived not the
slightest bit of breeze all afternoon. She smiled at Esther, who
held the bow as though it might turn viciously upon her.

“Miss Urquhart, do let me see the bow,” she offered, taking it
from her trembling hands. “There is something wrong here with
the tension.” Billie made great play of checking it, while Esther
sighed in relief and Morty viewed her with a skeptical eye.