A Season for Love (26 page)

“
You know, Huntley” said the viscount,
overriding Caroline’s instant sisterly rebuke, “you are in more
than a wee bit of danger of being declared a spoiled brat. As much
as I agree with your papa’s decision to keep you home another year,
I cannot but regret it has added unduly to your consequence. Too
much petticoat government, I fear. I believe I shall recommend that
Longville prepare you for Eton by toughening up your backside with
a few judicious applications of a paddle—or perhaps a birch
rod.”

Caroline struggled to feel proper outrage,
but could not manage it. Unfortunately, Tony was quite right.
Laurence was in much need of a strong man in his life. “We should
be delighted with your escort, my lord. “Micah,” she said to the
second footman, “we will not need you after all.”

“
You’re
walking
?” Tony exclaimed.

“’
Tis scarce three blocks, uncle,”
Laurence announced with scorn.

“
Nonetheless,” the viscount protested,
“what about Longville’s precautions?”

“
A scant three blocks along Upper Brook
Street in full daylight?” Caroline mocked. “Come, Tony, do not be
absurd. We go every Thursday afternoon. I assure you there has not
been a single menacing creature in sight.”

“
Oh, very well,” the viscount grumbled,
“I shall send my curricle back to the stables with my groom
and”—with a grand gesture, he offered his arm to Lady Caroline—“we
shall be off to Upper Brook Street. Step lively, sprout,” he said
to Laurence. “Not even I have the audacity to keep your grandmother
waiting.”

When Georgiana, Dowager Duchess of Longville,
caught sight of Viscount Frayne, her eyes lit with the feral gleam
of a cat stalking a mouse. She could not have been more pleased by
this addition to the Thursday afternoon tea party. She could
scarcely wait for her guests to be seated. Her attack came the
instant all four cups of tea had been poured.

“
I trust your addition to our small
group is not in the nature of being avuncular,” she
declared.

“
Ma’am? Ah—Your Grace,” Tony hastily
corrected, surprised to discover how easily the dowager had pierced
what he had thought was his impenetrable social façade.

“
I have been informed you run tame at
Longville House and have been in my granddaughter’s pocket at
every
ton
event; that you, in
fact, made a complete cake of yourself at Harriet Grantley’s
come-out ball. Now, young man, is that, or is that not,
true?”

“
Grandmother,” Caroline interjected
grimly, “even my papa would not dare to ask such a
question.”

“
Oh, yes, he would,” Tony contributed.
“He would, and he did.”

Lady Caroline stared. The dowager chortled.
“And what was your answer?” she demanded.

Tony winked at her. “Men’s talk, dear lady. I
daresay Lady Caroline already wishes me in Hades. I will not add to
her perturbation. Nor to yours, Your Grace.”

The old woman actually smiled. “If your
intentions had not been honorable, Frayne, Longville would have
given orders to have you turned away from the door, friend or
no.”

The viscount raised one eyebrow, but
said nothing. Caroline, ready to sink, studied the carpet. Was it
possible Tony and her papa had actually discussed his
intentions?
Marriage?
Surely
not. She had managed to be comfortable with Tony because he was
safe. He had never made a secret of the fact that he did not plan
to marry for many years yet. He was her step-mother’s brother.
Family.
Safe.

She knew perfectly well he was not. Just
because he had not kissed her in the Dark Walk did not mean the
atmosphere had not crackled between them. Their heightened emotions
had practically lit up the air around them. And that fit of
temperament at the Grantley’s ball? Mortifying. Positively
mortifying.

And excessively satisfying.

“
Are there more ginger biscuits, Your
Grace?” Laurence asked his grandmother, his ingenuous blue eyes
declaring that he was still starving.

“
You may ring for more,” the dowager
replied absently as she studied her granddaughter and the exemplary
sprig of the
ton
who sat
before her. “Frayne’s position as your uncle is awkward,” she said
to Caroline, “but since Longville and I are well acquainted with a
half dozen bishops and Canterbury as well, there should be no
difficulty having the banns read.”

“
There will be great difficulty if the
banns are read for a couple who have no intention of marrying,”
Caroline declared roundly.

The viscount, although well aware he should
be outraged by the dowager’s interference, studied the carpet, lips
twitching in something close to amusement. It was high time
Caroline faced up to the realities of their situation. He had. The
snap of the trap had thudded ominously some time since. He had had
time to grow accustomed to the chains that bound so tightly. It was
Caroline—so young, yet sometimes so worldly ancient—who had yet to
come to terms with what had developed between them.

“
My dear child,” declared the dowager,
“this young man has been your shadow for weeks now. The
entire
ton
is expecting an
announcement.”

“
The
ton
thought my brother an imposter.”

“
And I pointed out their mistake,” the
dowager reminded Caroline. “As I point out the mistake you are
making if you are not aware this fribble is courting
you.”

“
He is not!”

“
Caroline,” pronounced the elder Lady
Longville quite severely, “one expects young girls to be foolish,
but not a Carlington. Pray recall who and what you are. If this
young man is not courting you, then he is playing fast and loose
with your emotions, which, I assure you, Longville would never
allow. Therefore, I, too, am in expectation of an imminent
announcement.”

“
You know, Your Grace,” Tony drawled
reflectively, “if I had realized the extent of your ability to run
away with the bit, I believe I would not have offered to play
escort this afternoon.”

“
Think I’m frightening off your quarry,
do you?” the dowager snapped.

“
I fear so.” Tony heaved an elaborate
sigh.

Laurence gaped, a fresh ginger biscuit caught
between his teeth, while Caroline regarded both Lord Frayne and the
dowager with disgust. “Come, Laurence,” she declared, rising to her
feet and holding out her hand to her brother. “We must be gone.
Your grandmother needs time to regain her senses.”

Ignoring her grandchildren, the Dowager
Duchess of Longville continued her colloquy with Viscount Frayne.
“I shall expect an announcement, Frayne. Too long to wait for
Huntley to produce great-grandchildren, but I expect I shall live
to see yours, if you but put your horse to the gallop.”

Caroline gave a tiny shriek, while Tony put
one hand over his face to cover his expression. Laurence, puzzled,
looked from one to the other, seeking an explanation for his
grandmother’s conversation, which was even more odd than usual.

“
You are quite right, Lady Caroline,”
Tony declared briskly, standing up, “it is time we left. Your
Grace.” He bowed, signaling Laurence to do the same. Caroline
dropped a stiff curtsy, and then they were out on the front steps,
with barely enough warning for the footman to open the
door.

“
Merciful heavens,” Caroline moaned as
they set out toward Longville House, “I know she is difficult, but
that was beyond belief. My apologies, Tony. That was perfectly
shocking. I fear she is beginning to suffer from
senility.”

“
I am not so sure about that,” Tony
murmured, almost beneath his breath. “I fear she is more astute
than you give her credit for—”

The viscount’s final remark was never
finished. Perhaps they should have been more aware of a wagon
rumbling down Upper Brook Street in the late afternoon when most
deliveries were made early in the morning, but—thoroughly absorbed
in the problems raised by the dowager duchess—they paid no heed.
With one of Bert Tunney’s most close-lipped drivers at the reins,
the three conspirators threw back the canvas covering the rear of
the wagon and leaped out at the unsuspecting pedestrians. Alfie
Grubbs, the slightest among them, grabbed the young marquess,
pulling a grain sack down over his head. It was Flann McCollum’s
happy assignment to do the same for Lady Caroline, while Bert
Tunney, well armed with a cosh capable of killing if used with
sufficient force, felled the viscount from behind before he could
so much as raise a cry.

In a trice, the conspirators were back
beneath the canvas, their victims immobilized or unconscious beside
them. The wagon continued leisurely on down Upper Brook Street,
heading east out of Mayfair into the heart of the city. Into the
grime, the stews, the docks, and the God-only-knew-what of the East
End.

A hastily scribbled note from her husband
informed the Duchess of Longville that word had come of an attack
on the Belgian village of Charleroi. It was suspected the
long-awaited challenge from Boney was happening at last. She was to
make the duke’s excuses to Lord and Lady Randolph as he would miss
their soirée that evening. He would be home when she saw him. Jen
drew in a sharp breath. It had come at last. The great
confrontation between Wellington and Bonaparte, with the future of
Europe at stake. Although most of Captain Gordon Wharton’s
surviving friends had been sent to fight the Americans, the Duchess
of Longville still knew a great many of the men who would be going
up against the French troops that had rallied to their former
Emperor’s cause. Men who might, in fact, already be engaged in the
battle to determine if countries could hold up their individual
heads or must bow to the ambition of the Corsican Monster who
wished to rule greater Europe. Including England, Wales, Scotland,
and Ireland. A shiver wracked the duchess’s sturdy frame. How many
more good men would be lost because of the greed and arrogance of
Napoleon Bonaparte?

“
Your Grace.”

Jen looked up from the duke’s note to
discover the butler, looking grim, with Sarah Tompkins hovering
behind him.

Sims cleared his throat, shot a quick glance
at Miss Tompkins. “Your Grace, I do not wish to alarm you, but Lady
Caroline and Lord Huntley visited their grandmother as usual at tea
time. They were escorted by Lord Frayne, who happened along just as
they were leaving. When they did not return at their customary
time, I sent ’round a footman to inquire. Lady Longville has just
responded that the trio left her shortly after the hour of five and
thirty.” Behind Sims, Miss Tompkins could be seen wringing her
hands. “There was no sign of them along the walkway, Your Grace. I
sent Kerby, Micah, and the stableboy to check alternate routes.”
The butler’s face crumpled from its habitual aplomb, genuine fear
now clearly visible. “I’m that concerned, Your Grace. I believe we
should send at once for the duke.”

Jen, who had been caught up in the rumble of
gun limbers, the roar of cannons, the pounding of hooves, the
shrill call of trumpets, the screams of the wounded and dying,
gaped at the two in front of her. Caroline and Laurence gone, with
Tony at their side? On Upper Brook Street in broad daylight.
Impossible!

Sims forestalled the obvious question. “Lord
Frayne would never have taken them off without sending word, Your
Grace. I am certain of it. I have sent a messenger to speak with
his groom.”

“
Thank you, Sims,” Jen murmured, head
awhirl. “We will wait for the messenger’s return before we send for
the duke. It seems Bonaparte has made his move at last, the first
gambit on the battle for Europe. His Grace is very much occupied at
the moment.”

At these words Sarah Tompkins gasped, and the
stately butler seemed to withdraw into himself, shoulders drooping
into dejection. “Of course, Your Grace,” he muttered, looking
grave.

After seeing that Miss Tompkins was
comfortably situated on a sofa, Jen paced the drawing room, acutely
agitated by her inability to do anything more. Should she have sent
for Marcus immediately? Drawn him away from his duties at what
might be one of the most critical moments in the history of the
world? Was she an idiot to take on this burden alone, even for so
short a time? Would Marcus be furious?

What did it matter? With Tony and the
children gone, the wrath of the Duke of Longville was a very small
matter indeed.

“
Your Grace?”

The duchess’s head snapped up. “Yes?” she
demanded.

Sims’s Adam’s apple moved convulsively.
Again, he tried to speak. “Lord Frayne’s groom reports that he has
not seen his master since he was dismissed here at Longville House
this afternoon. Lord Frayne’s curricle and horses have been tucked
up in the mews for hours.”

Jen’s knees gave way. She clutched at the
back of a chair, her knuckles turning white in the effort to keep
her feet. The escritoire. Pen. Paper. She must write . . .

No! A waste of time. “Sims,” the duchess
snapped, struggling to regain her much-vaunted courage, “send both
Kerby and Micah to find the duke and fetch him home. They are to
try the War Office, the Horse Guards, the Foreign Office, Carlton
House itself if they must. His clubs, of course, but they are to go
there last, for I very much doubt he is whiling away his time while
Bonaparte is on the march.