Dair Devil (56 page)

“Charles was not entrapped, Mama. He eloped with Miss Strang. And her father is not a nabob, he is a Duke in the Scottish peerage, and married to Cousin Duchess.”

“Mary! I know well enough who and
what
that man is. I have yet to recover from the shocking fact Antonia remarried, not only beneath her, but a bronzed brute who is so much younger than she. It is simply scandalous!”

Lady Mary’s violet eyes widened at her mother’s complete lack of awareness that she was casting aspersions on the Duchess’s mother-in-law, and in her presence. But Deb was used to the Countess’s tactless and often acidic remarks. And while she was angered by them, there was no time for her to be bothered offering a spirited defense, particularly when it would only delay her ladyship from following the footman upstairs. Besides, she had the anticipated satisfaction of the Countess being further scandalized, and couldn’t wait to see her reaction, upon learning the Duchess of Kinross was pregnant with her much younger husband’s heir.

But Deb did have empathy for Lady Mary, who looked bedraggled and brow-beaten, after spending a week in her mother’s company and then three days closed up with her in a carriage. So when the Countess was finally persuaded that what she needed was a hot bath and an equally hot cup of tea in her rooms, and followed the footman up the stairs, Deb detained Mary with a hand on her arm.

“I am sorry Teddy could not be with us. Perhaps, when she is much better, you could both come and stay for a month or so?”

Lady Mary’s eyes lit up at the prospect.

“Are you certain? What about the new baby?”

Deb smoothed a hand across her rounded belly. “Oh, he or she, or both—”

Lady Mary gasped. “Another set of twins, Deborah? Are you sure?”

“No. It will be what it will be. And you and Teddy coming to stay won’t change that. So please give the offer serious consideration, won’t you?”

Lady Mary nodded, sudden tears in her eyes. She kissed her sister-in-law’s cheek. “Thank you. You and Roxton have been so kind and generous since Sir Gerald’s death. I hardly know where to begin to thank—

“Mary! Hush! No thanks. Please. You were married to my brother. You are Julian’s cousin. You and Teddy are family. Now go and ready yourself for your brother’s wedding and we can talk more tomorrow, when all the fuss has died down.”

Lady Mary nodded, sniffed back tears and forced a smile. Her husband had died two years ago, in a hunting accident, in what was whispered were mysterious circumstances, but which she refused to countenance. What was not in dispute, having failed to produce a male heir the estate was lost to her and her daughter, leaving them practically destitute. Still, she did not dwell on her circumstances. What was uppermost in her mind was her brother, more particularly his bride. To this end she put her hand on the Duchess’s silken sleeve and asked in confidence,

“Deborah, tell me truly: Is she deserving of my brother? She is a Talbot to be sure, and that counts for something, but to me that is as nothing if she is not in love with him.”

“She is perfect for him. You will love her, Mary, as we all do. They love each other very much.”

“Then I will be happy for them, and welcome her as a sister.”

The Duchess and Lady Mary exchanged another kiss on the cheek, and Lady Mary followed her mother up the stairs, while Deborah bustled off to find her husband. She had left the Duke talking with his mother in the library. She prayed the letters in her pocket did not bring ill tidings. Whatever news was contained within their folded pages, Deb was determined it would not spoil Dair and Rory’s big day.

D
AIR
WAS
STARING
critically at his reflection. His valet was to one side of the long looking glass, his two best friends, mute, on the other. All three were staring at him. Dressing for his wedding had taken some time and was conducted in solemn silence. Lord Grasby and Mr. Cedric Pleasant were dressed and ready, and upon being given admittance to their friend’s closet, found him as he was, dressing almost complete and before the long looking glass.

The groom had chosen a silk suit of dark burnished gold, almost chocolate brown, depending on the light, with matching breeches, waistcoat, and frock coat. The front of the waistcoat and its pocket flaps, the lapels and collar of the frock coat, the knee bands of the tight-fighting breeches, and the fabric buttons to all three garments were heavily embroidered with delicate arrangements of lavender, rosemary, dianthus blooms and arum leaves.

It was a stunning ensemble, completed with white clocked stockings over muscular calves, highly-polished black leather shoes with a low heel, diamond buckles to shoes and breeches, and frothy layers of lace at firm wrists, with matching lace in the white cravat about the strong neck.

As well as being uncharacteristically clean-shaven, the groom’s hair was pomaded and scraped back out of his eyes. A wide ribbon of white silk was chosen by his valet to tie off his hair, but Dair had his own ideas. He gave Reynolds a much narrower ribbon of lavender silk. This was obediently tied up in a neat bow, without Reynolds batting an eyelid; he rightly assuming the ribbon had once belonged to his master’s bride. And while it might not look as elegant as the white silk ribbon he had chosen, to Reynolds the romantic sentiment brought a tear to his eye.

It only remained for Dair to be shrugged into his frock coat, slip on his gold signet ring, which he rarely wore except on the most formal of occasions, and collect up the various gentleman’s accoutrements that belonged in his pockets: Silver pocket watch, white linen monogrammed handkerchief and silver tinderbox.

Yet he lingered before his reflection and tweaked at the lace under his shaved chin as if all was not satisfactory.

“It’s all a bit too much, isn’t it?”

The valet looked worried. Lord Grasby and Mr. Cedric Pleasant grinned and shook their heads.

“Not a bit of it, dear fellow. You’re getting married. You’re supposed to look like a prize fighting cock!”

“Fighting cock? Ha! More like a peacock. And I feel as weak as a bloody blancmange!”

“All perfectly natural,” Grasby replied, still grinning.

He hadn’t stopped grinning since breakfast. He grinned through a quick game of billiards with the Duke, Dair and Cedric, all to calm the groom and make him forget what was to come. He grinned through the impromptu toasts, and even grinned while smoking a cheroot, his first. He just couldn’t help himself. If his face didn’t ache, his throat did from imbibing too much cognac mixed with tobacco smoke, and all this before midday. He was just so happy that his best friend and his sister were to be husband and wife.

“And while my limbs feel as wobbly as a pudding, my head pounds,” Dair grumbled. “It’s as if I’ve just been told I’m destined for the gallows, not the chapel. And I don’t want to feel like this at all.”

“Yes. Yes. All quite normal,” Grasby assured him and gave Mr. Cedric Pleasant a nudge in the ribs so he would add his assurances.

“What? Oh! Er, yes, all perfectly normal,” Cedric Pleasant added. “Not that I’ve ever been in your dire—I mean euphoric—condition, Dair. But I’m told by reliable sources that feeling God-awful is perfectly natural for a groom on his wedding day.”

Dair’s head snapped round at his two best friends and he glared at them and growled,

“You’re both enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Cedric Pleasant started to shake his head when Grasby laughed out loud.

“Yes! Yes we are! Why not? The tables are quite turned, dear fellow. I’ve been there and done that. And who better than my best friend, and soon to be brother-in-law, to experience the unmitigated terror as the bell tolls the last hour of a groom’s freedom. I was unequivocally petrified, I don’t mind telling you!”

“Don’t worry, Dair,” Cedric assured him. “Grasby and I will be right beside you the entire ceremony, to prop you up, should you falter.”

“I won’t falter, and I won’t need propping up. And I am not terrified! I want to marry Aurora. I love her. You both know that, don’t you?”

His two best friends lost their smiles and nodded.

“Yes. Of course.”

“Yes. We know that. Wouldn’t let you marry my sister otherwise. Come on, let’s get you into your frock coat and downstairs,” Grasby added, a nod to the valet, who stepped forward with the frock coat opened wide. “The Duke must be wondering where we are by now…”

Dair nodded. He allowed himself to be shrugged into his silk frock coat without argument, and remained docile while Reynolds fussed with the fit at the shoulders and tugged gently on the skirts so that the silk folded nicely. He even allowed the man to take one last look at him from hair ribbon to shoe buckle, before turning away from the looking glass.

“Thank you, John, I’ll take it from here,” he said quietly to his valet, who nodded and with a bow retired to stand on the other side of the dressing table.

“I have it,” Grasby said when Dair started to pat the pockets of his frock coat as if he had misplaced something. He patted the inner pocket of his silver spangled embroidered waistcoat. Contained within it was a small velvet box that had nestled inside it Rory’s gold wedding band.

“And I have your cheroot case,” Cedric offered. He smiled kindly. “For after the service, at the breakfast. If you need to slip outside…”

A sharp single knock to the outer door had all three gentlemen looking that way. Farrier poked his head around the door jamb.

“Just your vedette, m’lord. Come to tell you that this is definitely the last call-to-arms. Your piquet of his Grace, with Lord Alston, Lord Henri-Antoine and Sir John Cavendish, are all waitin’ downstairs to take you on through to the chapel.”

The gentlemen silently filed out of Dair’s rooms. On the landing, Dair sent Grasby and Cedric on ahead so he could have a quiet word with Farrier. His best friends weren’t going anywhere. They continued down the sweeping staircase but only far enough so their friend remained within eyesight, if not within earshot.

“Very smart, Mr. Farrier.”

The batman, dressed in a new suit of fine blue linen, courtesy of his master, made him a bow, then held up his silver hook with a smile. “All spit and polished and gleaming, m’lord.”

Dair smiled, and in a move that had the batman swallowing the emotion back down his throat, he gave Farrier’s upper arm a squeeze as he said, “You’ve always been there for me, Mr. Farrier. Whether it be running through a hail of enemy fire, helping me escape a painter’s studio, or watching me go up before parson. Thank you.”

“Always, m’lord.”

“I wanted to reassure you. I may be getting married and rusticating on the family farm, but it doesn’t mean I won’t have need of you. I’ll have an estate to run, and I need someone who knows me, whom I can trust implicitly. A home steward of sorts, to run my private household. To see her ladyship and I have everything we need. Someone to oversee that our family—and I include Jamie and the Banks’s in my definition of the word—that we have the privacy we need. Her ladyship and I are in accord on this, and we both want you to take on the job. That’s if you’re up for it.” Dair smiled. “That’s if you don’t think you’ll be bored in such employment.”

“It would be an honor and a privilege, m’lord. Always saw m’self retirin’ to the country someday.”

Dair laughed and nodded, and became serious. Something else was weighing on his mind.

“Keep an eye on the boy and his grandparents for me. While they’ll be accorded every welcome, there are those who won’t be pleased to see them here.”

Dair was thinking specifically of his mother and the straight-backed sticklers of her ilk.

Farrier knew his lordship was talking about his natural son Jamie and the boy’s grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Banks.

“Don’t you worry about a thing, m’lord. I looked in on ’em yesterday evening. They’d settled in nice and snug at the Bull and Feather. And then this morning, her Grace sent a carriage to bring ’em here, and I went with it.”

“Did she? That was kind of her. And of you. Thank you.”

“And her Grace and me, we put our heads together about the seating arrangements—”

“Her Grace of Roxton and-and you—
put your heads together
…?”

“Beggin’ your lordship’s pardon—the Duchess of Kinross. Her Grace didn’t want to trouble you. Said you had enough on your mind. So it was decided, I would sit with Master Jamie and his grandparents in the chapel, and later, to sit at the wedding breakfast with the Bankses, while Master Jamie is to sit with her Grace of Kinross at a table with Lord Henri-Antoine, Sir John Cavendish, and Lord Alston.”

Dair was surprised but also relieved. “Well, then there’s nothing for me to concern myself about…”

“Nothin’ whatsoever, m’lord. You just ease up and enjoy the moment with her ladyship. That’s all you’ve got to do.” Farrier grinned. “It ain’t like you are ever goin’ to do this again!”

“Too bloody right, Bill! Never.”

Farrier came to attention and saluted his Major. He then stuck out his only hand.

“I wish you both all the happiness in the world, m’lord.”

Dair returned the salute and then took his batman’s hand in a firm grasp.

“Thank you, Mr. Farrier.”

“Dair! Dair? Oi! Fitzstuart!”

The shouts came from the first landing. It was Grasby and Mr. Cedric Pleasant.

“For God’s sake, Alisdair! Get a move on or the bride will be there before us!”

This last exclamation came from the Duke, and it had Dair, with his batman following, down the stairs in an instant, to the applause of his wedding troop.

T
HIRTY-THREE

E 
ARLIER
, before the Duke of Roxton joined the groom and his party and headed for the chapel, he was having a quiet respite with his mother in the splendor of his library, his favorite room in the ancestral palace.

There was something about being surrounded by floor-to-ceiling leather tomes and the paraphernalia that went with such a magnificent setting that comforted the Duke: The painted plaster ceiling, the large twin globes, one of terrestrial bodies, the other celestial, the large mahogany desk, the comfortable sofas and deep chairs, and the plush carpets. It reminded him of his happy childhood, of his father behind the big mahogany desk writing, while his mother sat curled in a wingchair, or propped on the chaise, always in a cloud of soft petticoats, with her shoes kicked off, and always reading.