A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance (6 page)

It
was near five in the morning, and the golden dawn was just breaking to the east
over Sham Castle, when Zanthe was awakened from a deep sleep by the sound of
something heavy falling with a crash in the hallway below. ‘Oh, Parry,’ she
sighed. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and fumbled for the candle
beside her bed. She could not find it, but a gleam of light outside her bedroom
door seemed to indicate that someone else in the house was wakeful. As her eyes
adjusted to the darkness, she found her dressing gown and slipped into it,
tying the ribbons at random. She had just reached the door when she heard men’s
voices on the stairs. Good God! Was it not Parry at all but housebreakers? With
the utmost caution, she eased open the door and peered through the crack.

There were two men upon the stairs. One
carried a lantern in his left hand while his right arm was around the shoulders
of a younger, slighter figure, who half-stumbled, half-crawled, along. She made
no sound, but the man who held the lantern turned towards her door, as though
instinctively aware that they were observed.

‘Jarvis!’

‘Zanthe? Good! Get some hot water and
linen, quickly! Parry is hurt.’

‘Hurt?’ She darted from her room and ran
down the stairs, to where the two men had halted. She fell on her knees beside
her brother and laid her hand upon the shirt that covered his chest. It felt
warm and sticky. ‘He’s bleeding!’

‘Yes, and we have to stop it. He’s been
leaking like a stuck pig all the way here; lost a lot of blood.’

‘Take him in my room. Wait, let me light
the candles at your lamp.’

A door opened further down the landing,
and Margery called out, ‘Zanthe, is that you? Is something amiss? I heard a
noise.’

‘It is nothing, dearest. Just Parry, as
usual. He fell over a chair in the dark.’ She could not have said why it was
important to keep Margery out of this, but she felt instinctively that it must
be.

‘I thought I heard voices.’

‘Just one of the chair-men helping him
up the stairs.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, I hope he has the headache
tomorrow. Waking us all up like this!’

‘I’ve no doubt he will.’

‘You are too soft with him, Zanthe. I
have always said so.’

‘And you will say it again, I’m sure. Go
back to bed now. You don’t want the chair-man to see you in your nightgown.’

With a gasp, Margery whisked herself
back into her chamber and closed the door with a snap.

Launceston stepped out of the shadows.
‘Well done. Now, hold open the door, and I’ll carry him in.’

He picked the boy up with impressive
ease, one arm under his knees and another around his shoulders. He brushed past
her as she stood aside holding the door wide, and she glanced down to see a
smear of blood upon her white cotton dressing gown. The unreality of the
situation suddenly overwhelmed her. Could Launceston really be in her
bedchamber depositing her injured brother on her bed? It must be a nightmare,
surely.

She gave a little gasp, and Launceston
shot a look at her over his shoulder. ‘Have you any smelling salts?’

She nodded. ‘But should we not tend the
wound before we try to revive him?’

‘Not for him, for you. You look sick as
a dog.’

She giggled, dangerously close to
hysteria. ‘Charmingly put, my Lord.’ But she opened the top drawer of the dresser
and took out her vinaigrette. She sniffed deeply, and the sickness and hysteria
receded. ‘You were very right. I feel better now.’

Parry lay upon the rose taffeta coverlet.
His blood stained it a deeper crimson. Zanthe took another sniff of salts,
squared her shoulders, and prepared to deal with the situation.

‘Take this napkin and press it on the
wound,’ she told Launceston. ‘I shall go down to the kitchen. There should be
some hot water still on the stove.’

‘No, my dear. You staunch the blood.
I’ll bring up the water.’ She seemed reluctant, but he forced her to sit and
handed her the napkin. ‘You’re still too pale, and your legs will barely carry
you. Stay here.’

‘Very well. But please be quick.’

‘I will. And don’t worry. It isn’t as
bad as it looks; I don’t believe the blade touched any vital spot. The young
fool will soon mend once we’ve got the wound bound and the bleeding stopped.’

There was still some water left in the
ewer placed there by her maidservant that evening. Zanthe poured some into the
bowl and moistened the napkin. With shaking fingers, she unbuttoned Parry’s
coat and waistcoat and ripped open his shirt to reveal a deep, jagged wound
just above his heart. She pressed the napkin against the flesh and pushed down
with all her strength. Parry moaned and moved his head restlessly from side to
side on the pillow. She bit her lip and swallowed hard to stop the nausea
rising in her throat. Where was Launceston? How could it take this long? Oh, at
last!

‘I built up the fire; we’re going to
need more water.’ He handed her a glass. ‘This is brandy. Drink it down; you
need it.’

‘No, horrid stuff. I am perfectly—’

‘I said drink it!’ He advanced on her in
a purposeful manner, and she hurriedly tossed down the spirit.

She shuddered. ‘Ugh!’ Then, as a glow of
warmth seemed to penetrate her chilled bones, she hiccoughed and laughed. ‘I
think you must have a lot of experience dealing with hysterical females, Jarvis.
You are so good at it.’

 He smiled at her. ‘You’re doing very
well. Most females I know would have fainted at the first sight of blood. Here,
I’ll lift him while you strip off his clothes.’

She pushed the sleeves of her dressing
gown up to her elbows and came to the head of the bed. ‘What happened? He was attacked?’

‘Clearly.’ He slid his arms around
Parry’s chest under the horribly reddened garments. ‘Try to get everything off him
at once. We mustn’t move him too much.’

Carefully, she eased his shirt over his
shoulders and tugged gently at his coat sleeves until the coat slid down his
arms, bringing with it the shirt and waistcoat.

‘Good. I’ll get his breeches off after
we’ve dealt with this.’ Launceston dipped a towel in the hot water and skillfully
swabbed the wound. ‘I think you’ve stopped the bleeding. Here, fold this napkin
into a tight wad.’ She did so and held it in place while he bound torn strips
of what looked like a linen petticoat around Parry’s chest, holding the
dressing in place.

‘You’d better leave while I finish undressing
him,’ said Launceston as he settled Parry back on the pillows.

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

He shrugged. ‘Very well; make yourself
useful then and untie his points while I get his boots off.’

She did so, saying over her shoulder,
‘How did it happen? Was it footpads?’

He laughed grimly. ‘Footpads? In Bath?
My dear girl, no. It was merely a husky carter who took exception to Parry’s
interest in the little game-pullet who was enjoying his, the carter’s that is,
embraces.’

She turned paler yet and put a hand to
her breast. ‘You mean, you can’t mean—Parry was in a—a—house of—ill-repute?’

‘Poor Zanthe. Don’t look so shocked. Did
you really think your brother was a pure young Knight of the Grail—Galahad in
person?’

Her lip trembled a little, but she
attempted a smile. ‘No, but—he is so young. It had never crossed my mind—oh,
did you take him there?’

‘I? Why should I do that?’

‘Oh—no—I know you would not.’

He looked at her fixedly across Parry’s
prostrate form. ‘But you did think it, for a moment. Why, Zanthe?’

She looked away, blushing, and murmured
something of which he could only catch the word ‘—revenge.’

‘Revenge, eh? And why should I wish to
be revenged on you, my lovely one?’

‘I thought—not me—Papa!’

His face hardened. ‘What a very high opinion
you have of me, to be sure. So, to revenge myself upon your father for parting
us, I attempt to bring his only son to ruin?’

‘It was but the thought of a moment—I
know you could not—’

‘No, I could not. But don’t think too
well of me, I beg. I might, if Parry had been blessed with a fortune, have
attempted to relieve him of some of it at cards. Fortunately, he has no
fortune, nor indeed any means of support that I have been able to discern.’

‘Papa keeps him very short,’ she agreed,
trying for a more normal tone. ‘I think it a great mistake.’

‘Your Papa would find it very difficult
to do anything else. Papa is very short of cash himself. Why do you think he
was so anxious to marry you to Brookenby? His concern for your happiness? Think
again.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, you little innocent, that you
were sold to the highest bidder, and Papa has been living off the proceeds for
the last eight years. From what I can gather, the money is now almost all spent
on the purchase of his precious antiquities. It is well for Parry that the land
is entailed, or he should be lord of nothing but a pile of dust when Rothmere
shuffles off this mortal coil.’

Zanthe fell silent, digesting this
information while Launceston stripped Parry of his breeches and pulled the
bloody coverlet out from under him. ‘This will probably have to be burned.’

She nodded, then, quite suddenly she
said, ‘What were
you
doing in a bawdy house?’

He broke into laughter. ‘What does
anyone do in a bawdy house?’

‘But you have the Signora. You do not
need to—find relief—in that way.’

‘Find relief? How very broad-minded of
you, my love. What a wonderful wife you would have made.’

A thought struck her. ‘Did you follow
him there?’

For the first time, he looked a little
uncomfortable. ‘What makes you ask that?’

‘Did you? Jarvis, did you?’ She reached
across the bed and laid a hand upon his arm. ‘Tell me.’

Involuntarily, he covered her hand with
his own. ‘I did. I don’t like the crowd he’s running with
—
wild, vicious, young brutes, the lot of
them. That fellow Carlyle is the most dangerous because he’s clever and cunning,
as well as being a very ugly customer. I’m pretty sure he has plans for Parry.’

‘What kind of plans? What do you mean?’

He frowned. ‘Parry’s been playing at Hazard
with him, and losing heavily. God knows where the young fool thinks he’s going
to get the money to pay his debts.’

‘Gaming debts are not recoverable in
law. That much I do know.’

‘Good God, Zanthe! This is not a case of
his being asked to resign from his clubs! If he does not pay these debts,
they’ll be dragging his body out of the river.’

She sank onto a chair, quite overcome.
After a few moments she said, ‘It is no matter. I can pay.’

He nodded. ‘Of course. Carlyle knows that.
Why else would he let him punt on tick to the tune of over a thousand pounds?
The scheme isn’t to bleed Parry of his fortune, my sweet Zanthe. It is to bleed
you
of
yours
.’

The
news that Mr Parry was laid up in bed with a severe brain fever was accepted by
the household without the slightest suspicion. Had they not all been
prophesying some such thing would come to pass for weeks? And was it not like
the mistress, soft-hearted dear that she was, to give up her bedchamber, the
best in the house, to him? She did not allow anyone else to tend him, either, nor
let them in the room while the doctor was there
—
not
even Miss Margery. Such devotion was an example to them all and more than the
young scapegrace deserved.

Zanthe did not feel particularly
admirable. Indeed, she was very bored and extremely cross with her brother for
putting her in this situation. But her pride would not permit her to admit to
the world that her brother had been stabbed in a drunken brawl over a harlot,
and so brain fever it must be.

To do him justice, Parry was most
contrite, in addition to being very sorry for himself indeed. ‘It won’t happen
again. I promise you that. I’ve never had as close a shave, and I don’t want
another such.’

‘It would not have happened if you had
not been odiously drunk. You must stop this, Parry. You will destroy your
constitution, not to mention your good looks.’

‘Well, I will, though I don’t drink near
as much as some fellows, I promise you. Duke, Carlyle that is, can drink me
under the table and walk away sober as you please.’

He was sitting in a winged easy chair
next to the fire, wrapped in blankets, for the loss of blood and consequent
fever had left him very weak and liable to be chilled.

Zanthe was perched on the arm of his
chair, her fingers laid against his wrist in a very professional way. ‘I can’t
find a pulse at all. You are obviously dead.’

He laughed weakly and brought his hands
up, clawing the air in front of him, grimacing. ‘I’m a ghoul, that’s what I am!
You had better watch out!’

She caught his hands and tucked them
back under the blanket. ‘Silly boy!’ The laugh died from her eyes, and she slid
from the arm of the chair to kneel on the hearth rug, looking up at him.
‘Parry, is it true that you owe this man, Sir Marmaduke, a great deal of
money?’

‘Who told you that? Oh, Launceston, I
suppose.’

‘Yes, it was Jarvis. Do you really owe
him a thousand pounds?’

Parry shifted uncomfortably in his
chair. ‘All I need is a run of good luck, and—’

‘Parry! You are not going to play with
him again?’

‘Damn it! How else am I to pay him off?’

She laid her hand on his knee. ‘I will
give you the money you need on condition that you will never, never play at
dice—or anything else—with this man again.’

The easy tears of an invalid filled his
blue eyes. ‘I can’t let you do that. You know I can’t.’

‘You cannot stop me, my dear. I have
asked Launceston to arrange it. He will say that you are still too ill, which
is true, and so have asked him to make payment on your behalf. No one need know
I have anything to do with it.’ She stared into the fire. ‘Launceston thinks
this man is dangerous, that he drew you in deliberately. Is there not a word
for such a man?’

‘Oh, certainly
—
Beau-trap,
Captain Sharp, Gull-groper—take your pick. I was a fool.’ He laid his hand over
hers. ‘I’m sorry, Sis.’

She smiled up into his face with misty
eyes. ‘Stupid—we’ve always helped each other out of scrapes, haven’t we?’ She knelt
for a few minutes, staring into the fire while Parry dozed a little. Presently,
she said in a thoughtful voice, ‘I wonder if Sir Marmaduke might not be very
useful to me.’

‘What—what’s that?’ Parry opened his
eyes and tried to appear as if he had been awake the whole time.

A little smile played about Zanthe’s
mouth, and her eyes sparkled. ‘I’ve just had the most brilliant idea! Tell me,
is he well-born? I mean, is he received?’

‘Who—oh, you mean Duke Carlyle. Well,
not by the high-sticklers, but generally, yes. The ladies like him. Very
charming fellow.’

‘Jarvis says he’s an ugly customer.’

‘Come to that, a lot of people say the
same thing about him.’

She nodded. ‘Yes, that’s just what I was
thinking. Parry, why don’t you ask Sir Marmaduke to call? I should like to further
our acquaintance.’

‘Ask him to call? Why should I? I mean,
what reason could I give?’

‘You will tell him you wish to apologise
for keeping him waiting for his thousand pounds. It is only polite, after all.’

He gave her a straight look. ‘What’s
going on in that yellow noodle of yours, Zan?’

She laughed. ‘You don’t need to know
that, brother dear. Just do as I ask.’

He shrugged and then winced as the
movement jolted his wound. ‘Very well. I suppose you know what you’re about.’

‘I do.’

As Parry was now well enough to be moved
to his own bedchamber and left occasionally to the tender mercies of his valet,
Zanthe resumed her post as Susanna’s chaperone, which she had delegated to her
sister-in-law in the interim. Susanna confided that she was glad to have her
young mentor returned to her.

‘For, although Miss Brookenby is very
amiable and did her best, we spent rather a lot of time with the Cholmondeleys.
And they are so very earnest about everything. Everything gloomy, that is.’

Zanthe laughed. ‘Poor Susanna; I agree
with you about Miss Cholmondeley, but I have sometimes suspected that Mr
Cholmondeley has a sense of humour, if only someone would encourage him to
display it.’

They were walking arm-in-arm along
Milsom Street, intent, in light of the much warmer weather, on the purchase of a
new bonnet for Susanna. At that moment, they stopped, as one, in front of a
milliner’s establishment, which displayed a ravishing chip-straw confection
with a low crown and upturned poke, trimmed with large pink silk roses and frivolous
bows of ribbon.

‘Should you like to try it on?’ asked
Zanthe, smiling.

Susanna shook her head. ‘It is lovely,
but really, I am not the pink rose type. Now
you
would look enchanting
in it.’

‘Yes, but we came out to look for a hat
for you.’

‘Well, there is no law against buying
two hats, is there? While you are trying on that one, I shall see how that
gypsy bonnet in the corner of the window becomes me.’ She pointed at a
flat-crowned, wide-brimmed plain leghorn hat with broad, white satin ribbons that
passed from the crown over the brim and which were tied in a bow, rather
daringly, at the back of the neck. Zanthe could not but admit that she was
perfectly right. The plain, elegant straw was much more suited to the classic
style of Susanna’s beauty. They entered the shop, much to the delight of the little
proprietress, who had been watching their discussions anxiously through the
plate-glass window. When they departed, each carried a pink-striped bandbox and
was in the highest spirits. As they made their way through the genteel crowds,
they became aware of a slight stirring of interest among the pedestrians and
looked up to see the Signora’s eye-catching equipage advancing down the street
towards them. Lounging carelessly against the cushions of the barouche by her
side, with his cravat all askew, his coat unbuttoned, and his long legs
stretched out so that his feet, crossed at the ankles, rested upon the seat
opposite was Lord Launceston.

As the carriage drove by, the prima
donna superbly ignored her lovely daughter while bestowing the slightest of
bows upon Zanthe. The Viscount merely scowled at his own boots and thrust his
thumbs into his waistcoat pockets. Zanthe, a smile quivering upon her lips,
returned the bow with equal formality. She heard a little gurgle of laughter
from her companion and turned towards her.

‘Does it bother you to be so publicly
disowned?’

‘Oh no. She does it for my own sake.’

‘Just as Launceston cuts me for my own sake.
How silly they both are.’

‘Silly?’

‘Yes, very silly. For, instead of
enjoying the company of persons they love and who love them, they sacrifice us
upon the altar of respectability.’

‘Love—?’ Her eyes widened. ‘Do you then
love Lord Launceston, Zanthe? I should never have guessed it.’

Zanthe sighed, and her sparkle faded. ‘I
have loved him for almost eight years. Like, who was that man in the Bible—the
one who toiled for seven years for the woman he loved only, of course, the
other way around.’

‘Jacob.’

‘What?’

‘It was Jacob who toiled seven years for
Rachael. But, on their wedding night, they gave him the wrong sister, and then
he had to serve another seven years for Rachael.’

Zanthe sniffed. ‘More fool him! Seven
years is quite long enough to wait for anyone, and so Launceston shall discover
before he is very much older.’

‘Do forgive me if I seem to pry, but,
how
came you to marry Lord Brookenby if you were in love with the Viscount? You do
not seem to me to be the kind of young lady who could be forced into a marriage
you did not wish for. You told me once that you thought you had been abandoned
by the man you cared for. Was that it?’

Zanthe was silent for a moment,
remembering.

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Susanna,
misinterpreting her reticence. ‘I should not have asked. It was impertinent.’

‘No, no, I was the one who introduced
the subject, after all. And, to be truthful, I should like to talk about it. I
never have, you see, and it would help me to get it clear in my own mind. It is
such a lovely morning, I do not feel like being indoors. Let us find a bench in
Sydney Gardens and enjoy a comfortable cose.’

They made their way along Great Pulteney
Street towards Sydney Place and entered the gardens through the Sydney Hotel.
They found a bench overlooking the Chinese bridge and watched the rowing boats
pass by, carrying ladies in white muslin and gentlemen strenuously wielding the
oars.

‘It was the spring of the Year Nine, and
I had just been presented by my aunt, Lady Forester. Mama and Papa were
travelling somewhere, I cannot recollect where, but were to be in London within
the month. Parry was still at Eton, of course, and to tell the truth, I was
very lonely. I knew no one in Town, and my aunt is not an entertaining
companion.’

Susanna pressed her hand
sympathetically. ‘I can understand just how you felt.’

‘Yes, I realised that the first day we
talked on the way to the Pump Room. We have a lot in common.’

‘How did you meet Lord Launceston? At a
ball?’

‘Oh no. It was much more romantic than
that. At the time, I had the dearest little dog, a tiny Maltese terrier. He was
just a little ball of white fluff with two coal black eyes and a shiny little
black nose like a button. Indeed, I called him Button because of it. Well, one
morning, I was walking him in the park, Hyde Park, my love, and all at once a
great, hairy beast of a dog came bounding up and chased my poor little Button, so
that he pulled his leash out of my hand and ran off across the Row. I screamed,
for I thought the dog would kill him or he would be trampled by a horse. Then,
all at once, a gentleman who had been cantering by pulled up, slid sideways out
of his saddle, and scooped Button up in his hand.’

‘And it was Lord Launceston?’

‘Yes, and then he called off the big dog,
which was jumping up, trying to get at my dog.’

‘And it obeyed him?’

‘Well, it was his dog, you see.’

‘Was Button hurt?’

‘No, just very frightened. Jarvis
explained that his dog had been merely funning and would not really have harmed
him.’

‘And you fell in love?’

‘Yes, but I did not realise it. I was
very angry.’

She clasped her hands in her lap,
remembering how she had berated him like a fishwife and how he had flung
himself off his horse and fallen on his knees before her.

‘I will tell you just how it was,’ she
said.