The Rambunctious Lady Royston (27 page)

In retrospect, it all did seem somewhat shoddy. But he also knew that his feelings now—indeed, almost since the beginning if he just agreed to face facts—were above all things honorable. Not one to beat his breast crying
mea culpa
over unalterable facts, he told his brother (and, incidentally, Isabella, who had not been successful in her bid to blend in with the upholstery): "There is nothing I can say to that, Robin. In any case, my initial reasons no longer apply. You—my heir, should I choose to cock up my toes any time soon—would make an estimable Earl, not to mention being the cause of such transports as to which such an event would send dear Grandmama, so I need have no fears on that head. As for the ability to amuse mine own self, I do believe that the natural melancholy of a bereaved brother somewhat distorted my view of life for a time, and I would have recovered eventually in any event— Samantha or no Samantha.

"So you see, Robin," he continued, striving to exonerate himself of any hint of having married only to serve his own selfish interests, "if I am to be judged guilty of using Samantha to my own advantage, then it must be acknowledged that I have been neatly trumped by your return. Thus, the reasons for my marriage, most happily, no longer apply. I now have my brother, a renewed interest in living and, for good or ill, an impetuous, headstrong, unorthodox bride—who is little more than a baby herself. Surely I have been paid out for my folly," he ended, with a broad wink at Robin.

The young Viscount hadn't lived all his young life with his brother without learning to recognize when Zachary was poking fun at himself. Why, it was as plain as the nose on his face that Zachary was totally besotted with that

scapegrace wife of his, and more than apparent that he would gladly let her lead him along in a merry dance for the remainder of their lives.

Zachary, in his turn, knew that Robin had instinctively understood that he was being facetious. He flashed his famed, devilish grin as he reveled in that rare communion of minds he and Robin were fortunate enough to share.

Watching that faintly satanic grin grace a face that had so recently borne the proof of the depth of Samantha's outrage, Isabella admitted to herself that she was living dangerously indeed—contemplating marriage into a family that already boasted a positive demon of a dowager and (as it seemed to her now) had the Devil incarnate for its head. Poor Samantha! For all her beauty and fine spirit, she had not escaped becoming nothing more than a temporary convenience for this enigmatic Earl.

But Robert—Robin, that is—is different, she told herself. He is nothing like the rest of his family.

She peeked up at Robin through her lashes and surreptitiously inspected him for any hidden flaws. Her love-blinded eyes could find nary a one, although even a likable young man such as Robin St. John must have at least a single blemish. But then, love was never known to be an emotion conducive to objective thinking.

Comforting herself with the sure knowledge that in Robin she had found herself a jewel beyond price, Isabella again turned her mind to the plight of—she thought, affectionately—her dear baby sister. She looked over at Royston, engaged now in a deep conversation with Robin, and vowed never to breathe a word to Samantha of what the Earl had said. She must be oh-so-careful never to let anything slip out inadvertently. The poor girl would be totally crushed, as Isabella was well-nigh convinced her sister had a decided tenderness for her supercilious husband.

Isabella might as well not have worried her pretty head about somehow spilling the soup to her sister. Zachary—whose meaningful sniffs, winks, and other miscellaneous clues to his brother would have served to inform Samantha (who was beginning to know her husband's ways at least a little bit) that Zachary's tongue had been firmly stuck in his cheek throughout his entire speech—might conceivably have given up his hope of Heaven to have had Samantha as a witness to his facial histrionics.

For while Isabella was weighing the pros and cons of aligning herself with the Royston family and Zachary was earnestly discussing Napoleon's disastrous retreat from Moscow, they were unaware that Samantha's withdrawal from their company had taken her no farther than the other side of the salon doors, which were slightly ajar.

She had heard every word that had been exchanged after her exit—with only Zachary's vital gestures missing—and had quickly learned to respect Aunt Loretta's recitation of the axiom that eavesdroppers seldom hear good of themselves.

She stood rooted to the floor in the hallway, unable to run even though her every instinct cried out for flight and the preservation of blessed ignorance. By the time Zachary had done with his tongue-in-cheek disclosure (which, in reality, seemed more like a foot-in-mouth disaster), Samantha felt sorely tempted to shove open the salon doors, cry "Aha!" and confront Zachary with what she had heard. She did not succumb to the urge.

She did not because she could not in good conscience dispute what he had told Robin. St. John had been quite above-board with her as to his reasons for wanting the marriage, and it was equally true that those reasons no longer applied.

Now Zachary was stuck with a "baby" of a wife, whose usefulness was a thing of the past.

What a pickle! Wally would probably have said "damn and blast" if he were confronted with a problem of this magnitude.

"Damn, damn, and blast!" Samantha muttered grimly, once in the privacy of her chamber. The words provided her with only a limited amount of relief. Swearing wasn't after all as grand as Wally had it trumped up to be. It was merely another invention designed by men to impress each other with their masculinity and to hold over the heads of the female gender as proof of their more relaxed code of behavior. Frankly, as an aid to relieving her frustrations, it left Samantha totally cold.

Daisy came in to assist her mistress in wriggling out of her breeches and into a nice hot tub, as Samantha—so clearly subdued that Daisy worried that the child might be sickening for something—submitted to the maid's ministrations with an air of resignation most unlike her usual self. When Daisy suggested a supper tray in her chambers and an early night, Samantha meekly agreed, thereby convincing Daisy that she indeed was ailing—and so she informed the Earl when he rapped at the door, only to be denied admittance.

St. John was concerned, but he was not unduly upset. He knew Samantha was incapable of maintaining her anger for any great length of time. By morning she should be mellowed sufficiently for the two of them to cry friends (for St. John really did consider his wife to be his friend, as well as the custodian of his heart), and all would be well all around.

Robin was home; Isabella would make him an admirable wife; and he and Samantha would be free to enjoy London Society until such time as she conceived and they retired for a space to Kent and they began to raise a brace of little St. Johns.

Ah, the Earl mused to himself as his valet helped him into his dressing gown in preparation for an informal meal with Robin in the study—at last I feel free to confess my love to Samantha. With Robin back, and my original motives no longer of any import, she'll have to believe I'm sincere in my feelings for her. He felt confident he could change her infatuation for him into a love as strong as his for her. Yes, he smiled to himself complacently, suddenly life was very, very good.

So much for the reliability of that sixth sense called the power of perception when it is exercised by the male of the species...

They had been three days in Kent, and at last the excitement of Robin's return had begun to abate. Everyone was slowly returning to a more normal existence.

Robin's reunion with his grandmother had been an emotionally fraught scene, with the proud old dame near overcome with joy. After a lengthy session spent weeping into Robin's cravat, she was so mellowed as to embrace Samantha, thanking her profusely for having taken Robin under her wing and only once making reference to the fact that she was even willing to forgive the more bizarre details of that little escapade—details she'd rather forget.

Robin's tenure as an assistant glover was only mentioned as being a "lamentable episode," and then—carrying her new benevolence to quite astonishing lengths —she even embraced Zachary and gifted him by pressing her rouged cheek to his in a gesture of affection.

After settling herself close beside Robin, the dowager snatched up a small dish of comfits from a nearby table, and—keeping her eyes riveted on her younger grandson in a look of slavish adoration—she announced herself ready to be formally introduced to Robin's intended bride.

Oh, yes, she admitted freely, she had clapped eyes on the chit once before. She had not, however, taken time to thoroughly inspect her, as she had no idea both her grandsons would be picking their brides from the same nest. Isabella, flushing and stammering as she made her curtsy, was cooed over by the dowager as an excellent choice (by that meaning she looked biddable, and no match for a managing grandmother) and the woman even commiserated with the poor child, comparing her to a "pigeon thrown in amongst the hawks."

Patting Isabella's cheek condescendingly, she congratulated the girl for having the good sense to leave her flutterbudget aunt back in London, and promised her own presence as chaperon would strike just the correct moral tone as her sister Samantha—though a Countess in her own right—could not be supposed be exercise any restraining influence if her past behavior was to be used as a guide.

On their second day together, the subject of Robin's trials in the war was at last broached and Robin—ignored in his protest that the tale was no more than a "dull hash"—was forced to explain the events that had led him to Conduit Street.

After Napoleon's dismissal to his island prison, Robin's regiment was sent to Gibraltar to await transportation back to England. In the heat of the summer months, yellow fever broke out among the troops, and the physicians in charge of the small overcrowded hospital—having been given permission to accept fees for treating the affluent Jews and Moors on the Rock—deserted their charges, leaving their care in the hands of drunken orderlies.

Soldiers who had arrived on Gibraltar already weak from wounds received in battle were the first to succumb to the fever, and Robin—sickened at the sight of the sad waste of so many brave young lives—spent all his free time at the hospital, tending to his mates.

As corpses began to pile up in the corridors outside the wards, tempers inside the wards ran as high as did the fear of death. One sultry night these fears erupted in a small crowd made up of rioting foot soldiers, all bent on escaping what they felt to be certain death by the simple means of leaving the hospital in a group and commandeering some civilian household for their barracks. Crawling or leaning on crutches, the more badly wounded trailed after their comrades as Robin and a handful of fellow officers tried in vain to stop them.

Robin was talking to a group of the men from his position at the head of some stone steps, frantically appealing to the men to reconsider their plans and not subject innocent townspeople to the chance of infection. He need not have bothered. Just as he held up his hands in one more appeal, a soldier in the crowd hacked at him with his rude crutch, calling for the officer to stand aside, and Robin—unbalanced by the blow—tumbled backwards down the stairs to land heavily on the stone floor below.

When he woke, he was in a side ward, his whole body battered and bruised, having been nearly trampled by the panicky soldiers. His uniform was in tatters, his head ached abominably, and without the ministrations of a fellow calling himself Jack Bratting he might have been in a sad state indeed.

It was the whim of fickle Fate that Robin should become a victim of the fever and Jack Bratting his nurse. During the days of Robin's delirium, Bratting found a letter in Robin's pocket (a letter from Zachary, it was later discovered), the script rendered almost unintelligible by dirt and bloodstains. All that Bratting could decipher was that the letter was addressed to "Dear Ro—" and ended with the words "Your loving brother."

In the mad rush to take passage on the troop ships that had belatedly sailed into the harbor, Bratting was unable to find anyone who knew his young patient. He decided to wait for a later transport, as he was convinced the young soldier would die for sure if he were taken aboard ship.

It was only when Robin regained consciousness that Bratting discovered that amnesia had been brought on by the blow to the young man's head. Months passed as Robin—now Robert, in Bratting's mind—regained his strength, and the pair was able to take ship to London. By then, Napoleon had broken free from his prison and was arriving in Paris, even as Jack Bratting and Robin were sailing into Dover harbor.

Once installed in a small room above the glover shop, Robin was able to regain enough strength to eventually assume a helpful role as Bratting's assistant. In this way, he could at least hope to begin repaying his friend for his kindness, while at the same time his very presence in the shop might lead some customer to recognize him and help him regain his identity.

Bratting was sure, said Robin, that the young man was a gentleman, and just three months later he was proved right—by Zachary's discovery while confronting his wife's supposed paramour. Which, he'd concluded, had been a good thing indeed, for Robin had made a rather uninspired glover, save for his attention to detail when fitting out one particular customer.

His story finally told, Robin was free to accept the ministrations of his adoring grandmother, while laughingly telling Isabella that her claim that he was a hero was "pitching it rather high." Instead, he put all claim to heroism squarely where he felt it belonged: on Jack Bratting's humanitarian shoulders.

At that, Isabella was moved to include Samantha in any list of heroes, a sentiment her sister acknowledged with only a slight inclination of her head before excusing herself to go to her chamber and lie down for a short nap before luncheon.

Isabella's sunny spirits didn't incline her towards any detailed thinking, and she remained oblivious to Samantha's unusual dampness of spirit.