A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance (10 page)

Zanthe
returned to the Royal Crescent very well satisfied with her morning’s work.
Launceston could say what he liked, but that kiss proved that he still wanted
her. He was weakening and soon would succumb to the only natural, inevitable
conclusion.

When she arrived at the house in Royal
Crescent, she found Sir Marmaduke sitting with Parry. He rose when she entered
the morning-room and bowed before shaking hands.

Zanthe was all smiles. ‘How kind it is
of you to sit with Parry, Sir Marmaduke. He gets sadly bored confined to the
house as he is for the most part. Don’t you think he is looking much better?’

Sir Marmaduke smiled, showing far too
many gleaming white teeth. ‘With such a nurse as you, dear Lady Brookenby, who
would not get better?’

‘Well, that is a pretty thing to say,
but I don’t think Parry agrees with you. He complains that I’m a bully.’

‘Well, so you are. She allows me nothing
but thin gruel and porter, Duke, I give you my word.’

‘From your sister’s hands I would accept
even gruel with gratitude.’

‘Well, you can have it with my
goodwill.’

‘Never mind, Parry, Ma’am, I came to ask
if you would care to drive out with me.’

She hesitated for a moment. She was
still aglow with the excitement of her encounter with Launceston, and she did
not want to spoil the day. But Sir Marmaduke must continue to believe he had a
chance with her, for Parry’s sake. ‘I should like that very much, Sir. If you
would allow me to run upstairs for just a moment, I shall be with you directly.’

Half-an-hour later she was being driven
in a very dashing high-perch phaeton along country lanes that were decidedly
not designed for such a vehicle. Before long, the inevitable happened—one of
the tall back wheels hit a boulder;
the carriage bounced, teetered for an
interminable moment, and then fell on its side. The horses plunged in their
traces, terrified. Sir Marmaduke’s groom ran to their heads, uttering soothing
noises, which they seemed to understand and appreciate. They dropped their
heads into his hollow chest and were quiet.

Zanthe had, most fortunately, fallen on
top of Sir Marmaduke and so was not at all hurt. She was, however, annoyed and
extremely suspicious. It seemed to her that Sir Marmaduke had driven
deliberately over that boulder. Whether it had been his plan to overturn the
phaeton she could not say, but that he had intended damage to the wheel, she
was convinced. She was still crushed to his chest in arms of steel, and in a
muffled voice, demanded to be set free. She thought he was rather slow to
release her; but he did so, and she struggled to her feet.

He was half-lying with his head and
shoulders on a bank at the side of the road, blood dripping down his cheek from
a cut upon his forehead. In an anxious voice, he said, ‘You are not hurt?
Please tell me you are not hurt?’

‘No, not at all, I thank you, Sir.’ She
fished in her reticule and brought out her handkerchief, which she handed to
him. ‘You are though, I think.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s just a scratch.’ He
pulled himself out of the wreck of his carriage and strode over to inspect his
horses. ‘The leader is lame, I fear,’ he said, passing a hand down the horse’s
foreleg. ‘Collins, you will have to ride the other nag to go for help. I’ll
stay with this one.’

‘But surely there must be an inn nearby
where we could hire another carriage?’ said Zanthe, by no means anxious to be
left alone in the gathering dusk with Sir Marmaduke.

‘Oh, no need for you to walk all that
way. Collins will be back in no time, and he can bring the horses home later.’

‘You seem very familiar with the
countryside here about, Sir. Where, pray, is the nearest inn?’

‘About five miles further on. We could hardly
reach it before dark.’

‘I see.’

As Collins rode off along the lane, Sir Marmaduke
spread his cloak upon the bank and begged Zanthe to seat herself upon it. She
did so, spreading her skirts around her to discourage her companion from
sitting down at her side. It did not work. The gentleman placed himself next to
her so closely that he actually sat upon the crisp, taffeta skirt of her
pelisse.

‘Excuse me, you are sitting upon my
coat,’ she said in a scolding accent. He lifted himself slightly, and she
pulled it out from under him, smoothing the fabric. ‘See what you have done. It
is quite ruined.’

Sir Marmaduke flushed angrily but forced
a smile. ‘A thousand pardons, my dear Zanthe.’

She turned and looked at him. ‘I do not
recollect asking you to use my name, Sir.’

He grasped her hands and held them
between his own. ‘How else can I name you in my heart? It is not Lady Brookenby
but Zanthe, lovely Zanthe, that I adore.’ He slid to his knees before her,
still clasping her hands to his breast. ‘I bless this accident that has allowed
me to be alone with you for long enough to ask the question that has trembled
upon my lips ever since I first laid eyes upon you.’

‘The same could have been achieved by
asking me for a private interview.’ She removed her hands and clasped them upon
her lap. ‘What is this question?’

 From the look of chagrin upon his face,
she deduced that the scene was not being played out as he had imagined it.
Silly man! Did he really think she would have fallen into his arms?

He gritted his teeth but continued
doggedly, ‘Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Without the slightest hesitation she
answered, ‘I thank you, Sir Marmaduke, for the compliment you have paid me, but
I must decline your very obliging offer.’

He stood then, brushing the dust and
crushed leaves from his buckskins. She had disliked the counterfeit ardour in
his expression while he was upon his knees before her, but infinitely preferred
it to the way he was looking at her now. He was angry, but he was also, she
thought, relieved from the necessity of wearing a mask. He could be himself now
there was no advantage to be achieved by keeping up the pretence. He smiled,
and she was irresistibly reminded of a book of fables she had possessed as a
child in which there was an illustration of a hungry wolf about to pounce upon
a frightened hare.

‘Do you know, I think you may wish to
reconsider your answer when you have had time to reflect. We are very much
alone here, are we not?’

Determined not to show any fear, she
lifted delicate eyebrows and said, ‘Do you think I shall be compromised by
being alone with you for the time it will take your groom to return? I hardly
think so.’

He laughed, and she winced at the harsh
sound. ‘I do not expect to see Collins before the morning, I assure you.’ His
eyes narrowed, and he looked her up and down with insolent appreciation. ‘And
you can be compromised beyond hope in a very few minutes, my dear. You have
been married. You must know that.’

She inclined her head. ‘So you intend to
ravish me? You said it yourself—I have been married; my situation is hardly
that of an innocent schoolgirl. I should not hesitate to have you arrested.’

‘Bravely said, Lady Brookenby; but I
don’t think you would enjoy standing up in court and describing before twelve interested
jurors just what had passed between us. And I should deny it, of course, most
vehemently.’

She shuddered involuntarily but said in
a composed voice, ‘That would not weigh with me, Sir, I assure you.’

He sat beside her and put an arm around
her waist, pulling her into his side. ‘Why put us both through such
unpleasantness? I am not such a bad bargain. I swear I’ll make you a better husband
than that old stick you were married to. A little beauty like you needs a real
man.’

‘Exactly so, Sir.’

She should not have said it. His face
darkened, and he pulled her roughly into his embrace. For the second time in
twelve hours, she was crushed against a man’s breast and kissed. But while
Launceston’s kisses
—
hard and ruthless though they had been
—
had
thrilled through every fibre of her being, in Carlyle’s arms, she felt nothing
but disgust.

What might have happened next she would
never know. Whether he would have carried out his threat or whether he was
merely trying to frighten her, his plan was foiled by the sound, most welcome
to Zanthe’s ears, of a team of horses being driven at a spanking pace along the
narrow lane. Carlyle was obliged to release her as a very smart equipage
rounded the bend and drew to a halt beside them.

‘I say, can I be of any assistance?’
called the gentleman on the box of the yellow-sided curricle. A respectable-looking
groom sprang down and went to the horses’ heads.

Zanthe jumped up. ‘Oh, Sir, could you
take me on to the next post house, where I may hire a chaise to take me back to
Bath?’

‘Permit me to introduce myself—Huntington’s
the name, of Walton Hall, you know. Take you back to Bath myself, Ma’am, if you
will entrust yourself to me. But what about the gentleman?’

‘Oh, the
gentleman
must wait with
the horse for his groom to return.’

Young Mr Huntington caught the bitter
note of that ‘gentleman,’ cast a quick look from Sir Marmaduke’s face to hers,
and drew his own conclusions. ‘Hand the lady up, Jim,’ he told the groom.
‘There’s a spot half a mile down the lane where we can turn the horses, and
I’ll have you back in Bath in time for dinner. My word upon it.’

The
young gentleman of the curricle was as good as his word: He deposited Zanthe at
her door just as the Christ Church clock struck seven. Margery, within, had by
this time arrived at the nerve-wracking stage of wondering if she should alert
someone to Zanthe’s disappearance and if so, whom she ought to tell. The fear
that Zanthe would tell her she was making a goose of herself, however, made her
hesitate to set the wheels of officialdom in motion. Thus, when Zanthe entered
the house, she fell upon her neck and wept over her.

‘Oh, my dearest, I have been so worried.
I was sure you had been in some accident. What kept you so late?’

Zanthe sank onto a sofa and said, ‘Well,
I did have an accident, of a sort. For Goodness’ sake ring for a glass of wine,
Margery. I am quite exhausted.’

‘Of course, dear.’ Margery rang the bell
and gave the order for refreshments. ‘But what
happened
?’

‘If I tell you, promise me not to repeat
it to a soul.’

Margery looked quite bewildered. ‘Of
course not, if you say so.’

The door opened, and the butler entered
with a tray. Zanthe accepted a glass of Madeira and sipped it gratefully. ‘Well,
I went for a drive in the country with Sir Marmaduke—’

‘Yes, Parry told me that. And there was
an accident?’

‘If you want to call it that. I should
rather say Sir Marmaduke contrived to overturn his phaeton, so very convenient,
for it gave him an excuse to send off his groom—then he offered for me—’

‘Did he so? I was hoping he would.’

Zanthe sighed. ‘I know you were. Margery,
dearest, you are probably the worst judge of character I have ever met. Let a
man but be handsome and agreeable, and you think him everything noble and good.
Let me tell you that, when I refused him—’

‘You refused him?’

‘I did, with enthusiasm. And then he
pointed out that we were all alone and it was getting dark, and when this did
not frighten me as it should, he threatened to—to—compel me to—oh, you
understand me.’

Margery was pale and trembling. ‘Oh, my
love, then what?’

‘I practically dared him to—which was a mistake.
He kissed me and mauled me about a good deal—and then, just when I was in
despair, a carriage came along, and Mr Huntington, a very chivalrous young man,
took me up in his curricle and brought me home.’

‘Oh, thank God,’ exclaimed Margery,
clasping her hands together. ‘I have never been so deceived in anyone.’

‘Well, I was not deceived for a moment because
Launceston warned be about him ages ago. He told me he was an ugly customer,
and the Signora said it, too.’

‘Then why did you encourage him to dangle
after you? For you did, Zanthe. You cannot deny it.’

Zanthe looked a little uncomfortable.
‘Oh, I had my reasons.’

‘What will you do now? He should be
brought to book.’

‘Nothing would give me greater pleasure,
but it cannot be. What do you think Parry would do if he found out about all
this?’

‘I don’t—’

‘I will tell you. He would call him out,
make a great scandal, and very probably get himself killed. Do you doubt that
Carlyle is a crack shot; I don’t.’

Margery ventured to say, ‘Shall you tell
Lord Launceston?’

For the first time that day, hot tears
filled Zanthe’s eyes. ‘You do not know how much I should like to. Oh, he would
be so very angry with me for not heeding his advice, but I know he would kill
Sir Marmaduke
an
d then where should I be?’ She laughed,
but the laughter trailed off into a sob. ‘I thought to make him worried and jealous
so that he would forget his stupid scruples—but this goes so far beyond
anything I had imagined. No—no—I cannot.’

‘Do you think—that Sir Marmaduke—will
try again?’

Zanthe turned a shade paler. ‘I had not
thought of that! Oh, Margery, what have I got myself into?’

‘We must take the greatest care. John
shall accompany you whenever you go out alone, even if you take a chair.’

‘It will be a great bore, but I expect
you are right. But after all, I am hardly ever alone. I am always with you or
Susanna or Parry. He would hardly dare to abduct me in broad daylight in front
of witnesses.’

‘No. No, you are quite right,’ agreed
Margery unconvincingly.

But it appeared that Zanthe was right,
for there was no sign of Sir Marmaduke in Bath in the next few days. Zanthe,
duly escorted by her young giant of a footman, scanned the streets for him in
vain and concluded that he had taken himself off lest she press charges against
him. Gradually, she forgot the unpleasant experience and devoted herself once
more to her various schemes. Foremost of these was to arrange for the marriage
of her sister-in-law to the hapless Mr Cholmondeley.

This gentleman had returned to Bath but
avoided the society of the Brookenby ladies. He did not call at the house in
the Royal Crescent, nor did he approach them in the Pump Room now that the
Dowager always accompanied them thither. Zanthe would have been disheartened
had she not seen, while at a final rehearsal for the concert, a look of flat
despair in his myopic eyes as they followed Margery around the room.

‘I am so glad you have returned to us,
Mr Cholmondeley,’ she said, having finally cornered him in a window embrasure
looking out over the Pump Room. ‘We missed your hand upon the reins, I assure
you.’

‘I regret that I was compelled to desert
you.’

‘What compelled you, Sir?’

He seemed taken aback. ‘I had—business—to
attend to.’

‘Oh? We all missed you very much.’

‘All?’

‘All,’ repeated Zanthe firmly. ‘Come sit
with me. We must talk comfortably together.’

‘I—very well, Ma’am. If you wish it.’

‘I do.’ She patted the window-seat
beside her and fixed her eyes upon Susanna, who was standing upon a dais at the
far end of the room, preparing to sing. For once, as the lovely notes sounded,
Zanthe paid no attention. Instead, she said, ‘Forgive my plain speaking, Mr
Cholmondeley. But my sister has no friends other than myself in Bath, and I
feel responsible for her. I fear it is incumbent upon me to ask just what are
your intentions towards her?’

The reverend gentleman did not appear to
see anything ridiculous in the idea that a blooming young girl of
five-and-twenty should call him to account regarding a lady who had dwelt upon
the earth for more than forty summers.

‘My—my intentions?’

‘Yes. In the weeks before you went away,
nothing could have been more obvious than your admiration for her. Indeed, you
monopolised her society—yes, Sir, I said
“
monopolised.”
And then, you left quite suddenly and, since you have been back, you have
hardly approached her. I should hate to think, Sir, that you have been trifling
with her affections.’

‘But—but—but—’

‘And I have to inform you,’ continued
Zanthe, ruthlessly, ‘that my mother-in-law, the Dowager Lady Brookenby, has the
intention to carry poor Margery back to Baguely Hall post haste, where she will
be persecuted and tormented until the end of her days, which will not be long
in coming, for she will very likely go into a decline. You offered her hope,
Sir, and now you have dashed it from her lips.’

‘I—I—what can I do? It was an
impertinence in me to raise my eyes to Miss Brookenby. I have nothing to offer
her.’

‘You have a loving heart.’

He smiled at that. ‘You are very young,
Lady Brookenby. A loving heart is not enough in this world.’

‘It is enough for Margery.’ She laid her
hand upon his, where it rested on his knee and pressed it. ‘Don’t be a coward.
Ask her. I promise you she will not think you impertinent.’ She bethought
herself of something else she had meant to say. ‘And do not pay any attention
to that nonsense about her being an heiress. It is no such thing, so you may be
poor but happy together. It will be delightful.’

‘But I could not allow her to be cut off
from her family because of me,’ he protested in alarm.

‘I assure you it is the best possible
thing that could happen to her. When you know the Dowager better, you will
understand. You must rescue her, Sir, for if ever there were a damsel in
distress, Margery is she.’

‘You are sure?’

‘Yes, I am sure.’ She gave him a little
push. ‘Go and speak to her now. No shilly-shallying, Sir. Do not let “
I dare
not wait upon I would, like the poor cat i' th' adage
.” There, that is the
only bit of Shakespeare I have ever remembered, and it fits excellent well.’

She watched as the gentleman hesitantly
approached the lady. He touched her arm, and she turned. He spoke. Minutes
passed. A look of such radiant happiness filled Margery’s face that she seemed
quite a different creature. They clasped hands, and had not all eyes been upon
Susanna as she sang, their mutual joy must have been apparent to the entire
company.

 Zanthe let out a long breath of
satisfaction. ‘Well, that is Margery taken care of. What next do I have to do?’
At that moment, Susanna ceased to sing, and rapturous applause, led by Mr
Templeton, greeted her. She smiled at her admirer and sank into a deep curtsy.

‘Oh, yes. Susanna.’