Lady Helen’s voice changed, becoming taut with
anger. “And so her father, who should have been her natural protector, stood by and watched his daughter
raped in her own home. I was asleep in the opposite
wing and heard nothing, but I heard later that the ser
vants in the attic above were wakened by her screams.
When he was done with her, somehow she found the
strength to escape. She left the house before Barford
and my husband realized her intent. She ran bleeding
and barefoot through the streets in her shift. Thank
God the house where Julius had lodgings was only a
few blocks away, and nothing worse befell her on the
way over.”
Oblivious of her present surroundings, Lady Helen
had turned her eyes to her inner vision as she contin
ued in a hoarse whisper, “I learned the rest of this from my son, Robert, who was with Julius Davenport. Mary
pounded on the door, crying hysterically. Julius ran
down to let her in and she poured out the whole story on his front steps as he held her. Barford and my hus
band came up then and tried to take her away.”
She gave a faint smile, a smile of vengeance satisfied. “They fought a duel right there in the streets, by
torchlight. My son stood second to Julius, my husband
to Barford. Barford chose swords. He was reputed to be one of the best duelists in England, but young Julius
was better. Apparently he could have killed Barford
quickly, but he didn’t. Instead he played cat and
mouse, slashing him, causing him to bleed from a
dozen wounds. In a proper duel it would have been stopped, but my son wouldn’t interfere and my hus
band didn’t dare.”
She stopped for long moments. Her voice was a
whisper as she said, “Finally Julius had enough of
butchery and stabbed Barford through the heart. He
turned to my husband and said the only reason he
wouldn’t kill him too was to avoid distressing Mary
further. Then they went inside. Robert had been hold
ing Mary throughout the duel; he said she refused to
leave.”
Lady Helen shrugged. “The next morning Julius
and Mary were gone from his house. Robert came and
told me what had happened and said they were leav
ing England. My son and I left my husband’s house
that day never to return. I received a short note from
Julius several months later, saying they were married,
Mary was well, and neither would ever set foot in Eng
land again.
“I bought a house near here, thinking if they ever
came back, they would visit Wargrave. Even that was a faint hope. Julius’ father, the Earl of Wargrave, had not gotten on with the boy for years, and now he publicly disowned him. The full story was hushed up, but
enough was known to cause a ghastly scandal.”
“How did you come to where you are now, Lady
Helen?” Richard asked the question almost absently as
he studied the face of his grandmother.
This time when she smiled there was peace in the
expression. “God was good to me. Reverend Chandler helped me come to terms with my guilt. He and I were widowed about the same time. Eventually we married
and have been happy these fifteen years. My son is
Lord Rankin now, with his main estate a dozen miles
east. He married whom he chose and is content with
his life. You can be sure I cast no rub in his way.”
“So you learned by your mistakes. That is no small thing.”
She sighed, sadness returning to her eyes. “Perhaps
not.” Her eyes sharpened on the captain. “Why am I
telling you this? Reverend Chandler is the only one I
have ever told before.”
Richard crossed and knelt by the railing a scant foot
away from her. “Your heart knows why. Look at me.”
Her faded blue eyes widened as she examined him
closely. “Who are you?” she breathed as wonder
dawned on her face. “Is it possible ... ?” She stopped,
unable to continue.
Richard completed the thought for her. “I am the
son of Julius Davenport and Mary Rankin. And you are the grandmother I never knew I had.”
She gasped and pressed her hand to her heart. “Merciful heaven!!” Her expression turned wry. “If I hadn’t been too vain to wear my
spectacles, I would have known you before.
You are very like your father,
but I see my Mary in your face as well. Tell me about
her. Tell me
everything.
”
He described the life they had shared across Eu
rope, the sailing death in Greece, ending with, “She
was the happiest woman I ever knew, with love to
spare for everyone who crossed her path. It is possible
the unusual closeness she had with my father was
born from the pain their marriage began in. They both
had the gift of living in the present day. I can under
stand now why she had no wish to look back, but I
would swear on the sanctuary Bible that she had no anger or resentment against you.”
The old lady closed her eyes, a sparkle of moisture
on her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I want
very much to believe that.”
“And you, young man,” she continued, her eyes
now open and worldly, “are the new Earl of War
grave.”
“Not yet, and probably never. I am nearly decided to
take a small estate near the south coast, and leave the rest to my cousin Reginald Davenport. He wants it, I
don’t. I can’t say that consequence and money seem to
have made any of my relations very happy”
“But...” she started to protest, then smiled dryly.
“The lesson of minding my own business is one I must
teach myself over and over. You will stay in England? I
don’t have so many grandchildren that I would wish
to lose any.”
He smiled. “I promise you I shall
stay in touch, no matter what transpires. In return, I
ask you to keep my secret from everyone except your
husband and son until matters have been resolved. In
fact, I would ask a favor of you. I came here to ask per
mission to use the organ. Not for myself, but a
...
friend of mine might wish to soon.”
“That’s easily arranged,” she said briskly as she
rose from the chapel railing. “There is an extra key to
the organ loft in my husband’s office. I’ll get it for
you now.”
She stood on tiptoe, placing her hands on his shoul
ders and brushing his cheek with her lips. Her voice
was soft again as she said, “Thank you for bringing my
Mary back to me.” She turned and was quickly gone.
After receiving the key, Richard headed back to War-
grave Park. Halfway through the home wood he
stopped, found a tree trunk to sit on, and loosed the fury he’d suppressed in front of
Lady Helen. The thought of his gentle, lov
ing mother raped by a vile old man . . .
He took a
fallen branch and methodically broke it to pieces with
explosive violence. The one consolation was knowing
his father had been amply qualified to avenge the
crime.
Julius had been a brilliant swordsman and often
taught the art to young sprigs of the nobility in cities where they had lived. Though Richard much resem
bled his father physically, his disposition was more like his calm, slow-to-anger mother’s.
But on a few
memorable occasions he had lost his temper with a violence and thoroughness that would have done justice
to his intense and volatile father. It was always in
stances of innocent people being threatened that
roused his fury; perhaps on some unconscious level he
had sensed what happened to his mother. In this, his
rage was thirty years too late.
After a few minutes of giving vent to his anger, he
threw the fragments of wood away and drew a deep
calming breath. It would be some time before he came
to terms with what he had just learned; turning
branches into flinders did not begin to release the rage
he felt. But his parents had learned to live with the
past, and he could do no less.
At the moment, it was more pertinent to consider
his new relatives: a grandmother of distinction, worthy of respect and eventually love; a step-grandfather of saintly disposition; an unknown uncle and cousins
he would surely like.
The Davenport side of the register was less prepos
sessing, but even Reginald had his worthwhile mo
ments. After three years of being absolutely alone in
the world, it was strange to think a whole network of people and relationships were waiting for him. But
cousins or even grandparents were not what con
cerned him now. What he really wanted was a wife.
* * * *
Caroline pushed herself back from the writing desk,
checked the clock, and stretched her cramped fingers.
It was time to make her escape. For the last three days,
Lady Edgeware had kept her busy writing invitations
to the ball and making lists of things to do. If Lady
Edgeware was a general in the social wars and Caro
line was a line trooper, Jessica at least qualified as a
major. Many of her ideas on refreshments and decora
tions had been reluctantly accepted as worthy.
Caro
line was as amused to listen to the genteel skirmishing
as she was appalled to realize she would be expected
to participate on a future occasion. At the moment
they were discussing whether it would be paltry to
have a mere twenty dishes in each course of the dinner
that would be served before the ball.
On the previous day, Caroline had received a note from Richard, inviting her to the Wargrave parish church to play some organ music he had found in the
music library. She had not felt like discussing the note
even with Jessica, so now she said a few vague words about going for a walk as she wafted out of the room.
Her gift for slipping away unnoticed stood her in good
stead; they barely noticed she was gone.
She was so eager for the meeting that she was
halfway to the church before noticing that the long
spell of fair weather seemed about to end. The sky was
filling with dark clouds while the air hung heavy and
motionless.
She shrugged; if she went back for a cloak,
she would be late, as well as running the risk of being
caught again in the party preparations. It wouldn’t
hurt her to get wet, and every moment spent with
Richard was precious because it might be the last. He
was coming to the ball in four days, but that hardly
counted; as guest of honor, she could do little beyond greeting him. Propriety and marriage would be catch
ing up with her very soon, and she would no longer be
free.
He was sitting on a bench by the side door when she
reached the church. When he rose and gave her his
warm, intimate smile, she wished time could stop
right there, holding her in this moment of happiness. It
was easy to pretend he felt as pleased to see her as she
was to see him.
“I’m glad you could get away,” he said as he took
her hand. “I wanted to give you the publisher’s agree
ment and the bank draft for your compositions. Mr.
Chelmsford and I have devised a way for you to han
dle all your business through him without exposing
your identity. You may choose another business repre
sentative if you like, but you know Mr. Chelmsford
and he is an honest man. Is he acceptable?”
She let go of his hand reluctantly. “That will be fine. I liked him very much. I never thought to make money
from my work, so anything is a bonus.” She paused,
then continued shyly, “Is there really any organ music
or was that a ruse to get me here?”
“Not at all. Look what I found.” He handed her sev
eral sheets of music. She knit her brows and asked,
“Johann Sebastian Bach. Is he related to Johann Christ
ian Bach?”
Richard nodded. “His father. Apparently there have
been many generations of Bach musicians in the Ger
manic states. Johann Sebastian is not so well known in
this country as his son, but if this sounds as I imagine
it, he is surely as fine a composer.”
She studied the score with rising enthusiasm. “Toc
cata and Fugue in D Minor. Not an exciting title, but it
looks wonderful. Let’s try it!”
After unlocking the organ loft, Richard went behind
the instrument to pump the bellows that produced the
necessary volume of air. Caroline forgot his presence
as she warmed up, gaining a feel for the splendid in
strument the last Countess of Wargrave had donated.