There was worse to come. His eyes round with incipient hero-worship, Peter said, “Did you really back your mistress in a race against the champion jockey, and win?”
His eyes flicking to the other members of the party, Reggie said dampeningly, “This is not the time or place to discuss my misspent youth.”
Peter was mildly chastened by the reproof, but ecstatic at Reggie's implication that they were two men together, protecting the tender sensibilities of the women and children. Alys raised her brows slightly, amusement in her eyes. Remembering how fragile a young man's pride was, Reggie frowned at her, forbidding any comments.
With a suggestion of smile, she rose and suggested that it was time for William to retire to the nursery. After a brief battle of wills, which she won, William withdrew and the older members of the party adjourned to the drawing room. Reggie thought wistfully of the joys of after-dinner port, but staying at the table to drink alone didn't seem very mannerly.
Though he had intended to return home soon after dining, he found himself lingering. It had been a very long time since he had observed the interplay of a happy family, and he found that he enjoyed it. With her combination of beauty, wit, and blithe good nature, Meredith would be a sensation in London. A pity her birth was so mundane. If she were properly launched, she would have every eligible man in London at her feet.
Peter must be another source of concern for his guardian. He was on the verge of adulthood, unsure of himself, and ripe for hero worship. Clearly he was fascinated with their guest's checkered past, and asked eagerly about several episodes Reggie himself had half forgotten. Heaven only knew where the boy got his information.
The admiring inquisition was damned uncomfortable, but Reggie, whose ability to wither pretensions was legendary, found himself unwilling to snub the boy. He remembered too clearly what it was like to be fatherless.
And for the first time in many years, he wondered what it would be like to have children of his own.
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Merry was just finishing a sonata on the pianoforte when the housemaid entered the drawing room with a tall, full-bodied clerical gentleman at her heels. Alys stifled an oath. She should have realized that Junius Harper might pay a call; he was at Rose Hall almost as many evenings as at the vicarage. Junius was a very worthy man, high-minded and well-educated, with a genuine interest in the welfare of his parishioners. He had been an invaluable ally to Alys in most of her reformist projects.
He was also, alas, sometimes a self-righteous prig. Rising, Alys said, “Good evening, Junius. I imagine you have not yet met Reginald Davenport, the new owner of Strickland. Mr. Davenport, allow me to present the Reverend Junius Harper. He has been rector of All Souls for almost four years now.”
Though still in his early thirties, the vicar moved with a studied dignity that made him appear older than his years, but which would suit him very well if he ever became a bishop. After sketching a bow to Alys and Meredith and nodding at Peter, he turned to the newcomer. Davenport had risen from his chair and was offering his hand.
Refusing to take it, Junius said in accents of deep foreboding, “Surely, you are not
the
Reginald Davenport?”
“I suppose so. I don't know of any others,” Alys's employer said pleasantly, his hand still out.
A look of revulsion on his moonlike face, the vicar said in freezing accents, “I have heard of you, sir, and Strickland has no use for such as you.”
Davenport dropped his hand, his expression hardening. Gone was the quiet, amiable gentleman who had watched the young Spensers with an indulgent eye. His face fell into the practiced lines of a sneer and his weight shifted, so that he was lightly poised on the balls of his feet in a fighter's stance. “Are you proposing to ban me from my own property?”
“Would that I could!” Junius drew in his breath, his hazel eyes glittering as his black-clad form expanded like a pouter pigeon. “Unfortunately, English law goes nowhere near far enough to the regulation of morals. However, I can say with confidence that the right-thinking people of Dorset will not tolerate your duels, raking, and debauchery. There is no place for you here, sirâyou will be an outcast. Return to London at once and leave the good souls of Strickland to Miss Weston and myself.”
“Leave me out of this, Junius,” Alys said with alarm, loath to have her new employer think she shared the vicar's intolerant views.
Davenport said with a cynical gleam in his light blue eyes, “If you think the good souls of the neighborhood will cut a man who has property, money, and influence, you know precious little of the world, Mr. Harper.”
The vicar's eyes narrowed into angry slits. “When the full story of your licentious ways is known, even money and property will not suffice to buy your way into favor.”
“You are well-informed about my licentious ways,” Davenport drawled. “You must spend a good deal of time reading the scandal sheets. Hardly the most elevating material for a man of God.”
The vicar stiffened at the deliberate provocation in Davenport's tone as Alys winced, wondering if the two men would come to blows in her drawing room. When Junius spoke again, there was a hint of snarl in his mellifluous voice. “I have influential relatives, sir, among the highest levels of society. Your name is a byword among them for every kind of low behavior. Your mistresses, your gambling ...”
Davenport interrupted, saying in shocked accents, “You forget yourself, Vicar. Remember, there are ladies present.”
Indeed, Meredith and Peter were watching in fascination from their respective seats. While Junius flushed at having been caught in unseemly behavior, Alys glanced at her wards and said in a voice that brooked no opposition, “Both of you out
now
.”
Her wards departed reluctantly, probably to paste their ears against the door. Alys shrugged philosophically, feeling that she had done her duty. She could hardly leave her guests, for there was less likelihood of violence if she was present.
Besides, she didn't want to miss the end of the confrontation. Seeing a saint and a sinner square off together had all the morbid fascination of a carriage wreck.
Raising her voice, she said, “Can I offer you gentlemen a glass of port?”
Without waiting for a reply, she went and poured three generous glasses, thrusting two into the hands of the combatants. She briefly considered stepping between the two men, but decided that it would be the better part of valor to let them settle matters on their own. She might end up like a bone between two mongrels if she interfered. Subsiding into a chair, she took a rueful swig from her goblet.
Davenport casually sipped his port. He seemed to be getting more relaxed as his opponent became more agitated. “Perhaps you should list the varieties of low behavior for me, in case I have missed any, Mr. Harper,” he said in a conversational tone. “I should hate to ruin my record for vice through ignorance or lack of imagination.”
Furious, Junius spat out, “You mock me, but God will not be mocked. Do not the faces of the three men you have killed in duels haunt your dreams?”
Davenport cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “Surely it is more than three. Let me think a moment ...” He pondered, then said with an air of discovery, “Ah, you must not have heard about the one in Paris last year. You really must try harder to keep up, Mr. Harper. We rakes don't rest on our laurels, you know. Wickedness requires constant effort.”
Alys almost choked with suppressed laughter. Her employer was the picture of calm reason, while the self-appointed guardian of public morality appeared on the verge of an apoplexy.
His teeth audibly grinding, Junius Harper said, “Would that you had been prosecuted for dueling as you deserve!”
“When even Cabinet ministers duel, it's hard to get a conviction,” Davenport pointed out. “Particularly since I've never actually killed anyone who didn't deserve it.”
Unable to find a suitable riposte, the vicar abandoned dueling for another topic. “They say that you own a brothel in London.”
Arching his dark brows in surprise, Davenport said, “You are well-informed, Vicar. However, it's only a partial ownership. I'm a”âhe grinned maliciouslyâ“sleeping partner, you might say.”
Junius gasped at the double entendre, then said furiously, “Don't think you can kidnap our innocent country girls to supply the vile needs of your whorehouse, or ravish them so they must flee their homes from shame.”
“You certainly have a lurid opinion of me.” Davenport drank half of his port off. His voice was still casual, but his grip on the stem of his goblet showed increasing tension. “I don't recall ever ravishing anyone, though. I'm sure I'd remember, unless I was too drunk, and then I'd be incapable of ravishing.”
The vicar barked, “You'll burn in hell, Davenport, for eternity. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“I've always had my doubts about heaven and hell,” Davenport said genially. “Still, if they exist, I'll be better off in the fire, since all my friends will be there. It might even be a pleasant change after a lifetime of damp English weather.”
“Bah, you are beneath contempt!” Junius shook with rage. “I despise you and your whoring, your lying, cheating ways. Iâ”
The rest of the diatribe was lost forever. Davenport's right hand shot out and wrapped around Junius's neck, the strong fingers tight against the nape and his thumb pressing the windpipe with carefully calculated pressure.
As the vicar gasped for breath, too shocked to fight back, Davenport's gaze locked with his opponent's, his eyes as cold and hard as his sharply enunciated words. “I do not cheat. Neither do I lie. So far, I have never killed a vicar in my blood-drenched career, but if you persist in slandering me, I will be tempted to make an exception. Do I make myself clear?”
Junius's horrified reaction must have been satisfactory, because Davenport released him, disgust on his face. After draining off the last of his port, he turned to Alys and said courteously, as if he hadn't just been involved in a near-brawl, “It is time I look my leave. Thank you for a most pleasant evening. If it's not inconvenient, I would like to meet you in your office at nine in the morning.”
At her nod he set his empty goblet down and bowed twice, first with a distinctly mocking air to the vicar, and then more deeply to Alys. As he straightened up, his light eyes caught hers for a moment, but she couldn't interpret his remote expression. Would his anger with Junius carry over to her? She hoped not.
Davenport turned on his heel and left, followed by the vicar's stupefied gaze. Ever practical, Alys rose and poured another pair of drinks, this time of brandy. She took one to her guest and urged him into a chair.
A sip of brandy brought healthier color to Junius's face. He raised his eyes to his hostess. “The audacity of the man ... ! That he should speak so to a man of God, that he actually threatened physical violence ...” He shook his head and drank more brandy.
Alys decided that her guest would survive the experience and chose a nearby chair for herself. “Well, you did provoke him, Junius,” she said candidly. “He behaved in a perfectly gentlemanlike fashion until you started insulting him.”
“Bah, that rakehell is no gentleman! That you should permit such a man under the same roof as Miss Spenser ...” He bit off his words, then continued more temperately, “Forgive me, I shouldn't blame you. It is not to be expected that a respectable, godly woman would be aware of his evil reputation.”
“I'm no cloistered innocent, Junius,” she said crisply. “I have a fair idea of what rumor says about Mr. Davenport. However, he's my employer, and I must work with him. More than that”âinspiration struck and a pious note entered her voiceâ“remember that the Bible says âJudge not, lest ye be judged' and âWho among us is qualified to cast the first stone?' I certainly am not.”
Even though she was mixing her quotes, the words were effective. The vicar paused; his face stricken, before he finally said in a halting voice, “How noble is your spirit, Alys, how great your charity. Once more you are right, and I am most grievously wrong. We are all sinners in the eyes of the Lord.”
Junius brooded for a moment on his sins, but his humility ebbed rapidly. “Even the Lord would admit that some are greater sinners than others, and Davenport must be one of the worst.”
“Perhaps he intends to reform his way of life,” Alys said seriously. “If so, it is our duty as Christians to encourage him.”
A snort of disbelief greeted her statement, and Junius stared dourly into his brandy. If William had behaved that way, Alys would have reprimanded him for sulking, but she could hardly scold the vicar.
She reminded herself how helpful he had been in organizing the school, how he had used the church poor money for those who truly needed it rather than lining his own pockets, and the numerous other ways he had helped make Strickland the thriving community it was. When the vicar had first come to All Souls, he had been shocked to learn that a woman was the most important person in his new parish, and it was to his credit that he had overcome his initial disapproval and accepted her as a near-equal.