Duel of Hearts (6 page)

Mrs. Crome, the elderly housekeeper, returned to flutter about them with the wet cloth, while her husband, the butler, tried to reassure everyone that the doctor had been summoned. “Don't need 'im now,” Jeptha Cole snorted. “Go on about your business, both of you—got to have supper with my son-in-law-to-be!”

“No, sir,” Tony contradicted. “I think you should take to your bed and wait for the doctor. You will wish to dance at the wedding, after all,” he coaxed.

Jeptha Cole shook his head. “I'd not shame you afore the
ton,
my lord—told you I ain't the encroaching kind.”

“Can you stand, sir?” Tony asked, leaning over him to offer his hand.

“Of course I can stand!” the old man exploded as he lurched to his feet. “Damme, Leah, if he don't try to manage me. Got to have dinner—invited him, didn't I?”

“Papa, I think Lord Lyndon is right. You must not be about until the doctor sees you.”

“You, fellow,” Tony ordered a stunned footman, “assist me in getting your master to his bed.”

“It ain't seemly,” Jeptha Cole protested weakly as the two men helped him from the room and Leah hovered anxiously at his side, admonishing him to be quiet.

“Well, I never—and him a fancy lord at that,” the old housekeeper muttered, shaking her head. “Thought they was useless—the Quality, I mean—but he don't seem to mind missing his dinner. Lud, but won't he lead her a merry dance?”

“No, Mrs. Crome, he will not,” her husband told her flatly. “Our Miss Leah will lead him the dance.”

Shooed out of Cole's bedchamber by the valet and footman, Tony faced Leah in the hallway. “I think your father is all right for now, but he bears watching,” he told her soberly. “If aught is needed in the night, you can send to me.” Abruptly his manner changed as he glanced wickedly at her nearly bared bosom. “Really, Miss Cole, there was no need to go to such lengths to bring me up to scratch. I have a fair enough imagination.”

Flushing behind the rouge on her cheeks, she groped for an appropriate set-down, but the sound of the doctor's arrival cut her short. Still grinning, Tony leaned forward to brush her startled lips with his. “ 'Tisn't much of a betrothal kiss, I admit, but sometime I will do better by you.”

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she stared after him as he lightly trod the steps. At the bottom, he took his hat from Crome and tipped it jauntily. “Good night, Miss Cole,” he called up again. She stood rooted to the carpet runner until she realized Dr. Fournier was coming up the stairs. Glancing down at her dress, she turned hastily and fled to make herself presentable.

In the safety of her chamber, she scrubbed her face thoroughly and changed into one of her most demure muslins. She'd made a fool of herself, she knew, and in appearing as Hay market ware, she'd not discouraged him in the least. Dragging her comb angrily through her tangled curls, she nearly cried, knowing he'd outfaced her.

I
t was still early when Tony left the Cole house. Swinging up into his town carriage, he leaned back against the blue velvet squabs and contemplated what he'd done. Given the old man's enthusiasm for the match, Tony had not a doubt in the world that the announcement of the betrothal would be inserted as soon as possible in the
Gazette,
the
Morning Post,
and any other place Cole could think to have it printed. And that gave him pause. If his great-aunt had caviled at his venture into the shipping business, Tony knew that she would be incensed at his marriage to a shipping merchant's daughter.

He rapped on the roof of the carriage with his stick, calling out to the driver and coachmen, “Davenham House, if you please!” Settling back, he smiled to himself. By the time he was through with her, the old girl would be more than grateful to think that she had not had to rescue him herself. Hopefully, by the time she discovered she'd been had, she would have come to like Leah.

The streets were still clogged with carriages as the fashionable set off in their pursuit of the evening's pleasures. Tony's stomach rumbled, reminding him that he still had not eaten. Well, he would beard the old girl first, and then he would press on to White's for supper. A coach drew even and the dark-haired female occupant waved a greeting, reminding him that he'd not seen Elaine Chandler in over a week—not since he'd first encountered Leah Cole. A pang of regret assailed him momentarily and faded. That was one piece of business he'd have to attend to, but he had little anticipation of unpleasantness. Elaine was no simpering miss—she'd entered their association as candidly as he had—and it was not likely that her mercenary heart had even been touched. No, a handsome gift handsomely bestowed ought to put an end to any sadness on her part.

By the time he reached Davenham House, the watch was calling ten-thirty and Tony's stomach was becoming insistent. Noting with no small measure of satisfaction that the lights were still on in the front saloons, Tony stepped down from the coach, admonishing his driver to wait for him. Adjusting the sleeves of his coat, he whistled a soft tune and prepared to beard the lioness in her den.

Stodgill, belatedly answering Tony's determined knocking, stepped back to allow him admittance. “Lord Lyndon,” he acknowledged with the imperturbability born of his occupation.

“Hallo, Stodgy—m'aunt still about?”

“Taking her brandy before retiring. I shall—”

“No, I'd as lief announce myself, if you do not mind,” Tony murmured, stepping past the aging butler. “Rose room?”

“Aye, my lord, but—”

“Thank you.”

The old fellow shrugged perceptibly and moved back. Lord Lyndon had run tame in the house since he could walk and had never been known to stand on ceremony with the duchess anyway. “As you wish, my lord, but her temper's not the best tonight.”

Tony found his aunt and Mrs. Buckhaven sitting before a small fire, his aunt sipping her brandy and Bucky quietly plying her embroidery needle to what appeared to be a pillowslip. He moved into the room before clearing his throat audibly to gain their attention. Startled by the intrusion, his aunt's mousy companion jumped visibly.

“Oh, my lord!” she tittered with the nervousness born of sudden fright.

“Eh . . . what . . . ?” His aunt twisted her neck around to survey him irritably, and then she relaxed her frown enough to greet him with, “Oh, 'tis you, Tony. Naughty boy—you have overset Bucky.” Her black eyes traveled over him, taking in his evening clothes. “Humph! In my day, a gentleman wore silks and satins at night—don't know why they call 'em dandies now when they are plain as Methodists! Well, well, do not be standing there gaping, Anthony! You ain't here for dinner, but you must have reason, else you'd not have come.”

He crossed the room to plant an affectionate kiss on her rouged and wrinkled cheek. His eyes twinkled as he leaned closer to tease her, “I am come to share my good fortune with you, you old Tartar, but now I've half a mind to hold my tongue.”

“Is this going to cost me?” she demanded suspiciously.

“Not a penny, I promise you.”

“They found your ship afloat, and ‘twas but rumor it sank,” she ventured to guess, intrigued in spite of herself.

“Alas, no, but I think you will be pleased.”

“Humph! How can I be expected to be pleased when my only nevvy's wasted his fortune on a leaky ship?” she queried tartly. “And don't tell me you ain't in dun territory, Tony, because 'tis all over town that you are.” Out of the corner of her eye she noted Mrs. Buckhaven's acute interest and put a damper to it. “Bucky, see if Mrs. Cox has any of those sweet cakes left over in the kitchen. I'll be bound that Tony'd have one or two if he was offered 'em.”

She waited impatiently for the woman to reluctantly lay aside her needlework and go in search of the dessert. “And pray close the door behind you.” Turning back to Tony as the latch clicked shut, she fixed him with those sharp eyes of hers. “Now, I'll not be put off, Anthony—out with it.”

“Poor Bucky,” he murmured, drawing out the suspense. “If you do not take care, you'll find yourself alone one of these days.”

“Humph! Much you know of it then,” she retorted. “If you was around here more, you'd know I am more of a companion to her than she is to me. Poor thing cannot seem to do anything but sew, you know. But I did not send her away to speak of her—'tis you who concerns me.”

He appeared absorbed in adjusting his coat sleeve for a moment, and then he looked up, flashing her that engaging smile of his. “Have you ever heard of Jeptha Cole, Aunt Hester?”

“Cole? Oh . . . I collect you mean the fellow who made all that money building ships,” she decided.

“Not building them, Aunt—sailing them. He speculates on rich cargoes, trading at ports all over the world. Rich as Croesus, by all accounts.”

“Shows you that you ought to leave trade to men of his class,” she sniffed. “They know what they are doing.”

“Wish me happy, Aunt Hester.”

She blinked, unable to quite assimilate the sudden shift in the direction of his conversation. “You are getting married Tony?” she asked blankly. “But just last week—”

“Jeptha Cole is to be my father-in-law.”

“
What
!” she gasped in shock. “You cannot be
serious
! The man is a Cit!”

“A rich Cit,” he reminded her bluntly. “I thought you'd be pleased,” he added untruthfully.

“
Pleased
?” Her voice rose in a shriek of displeasure. “You cannot have thought such a thing, Anthony Barsett! Do you not know what you owe your name, Boy? No, I won't have it—I'll not countenance such an association with
my
family!”

“He offered forty thousand in settlement.” He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen in shock at the enormity of the offer. “Just so—a man in my circumstances would be a fool to reject such a sum.”

“Forty
thousand
?” Her mouth made a round O, emphasizing the “thou,” and she sank back in her seat. “Surely not,” she managed weakly. “ 'Tis a fortune.” Her bony hands gripped the padded arms of the chair until the veins stood out even more prominently than usual. Then, as the initial shock waned, she exhaled heavily and shook her head. “Even so, you should have come to me if your pockets were let that badly, Tony.”

“You said you would not help me,” he reminded her. “Jeptha Cole will.”

“Yes, I did say that, didn't I?” she admitted. “But I also told you I'd not let you go to Newgate. If you'd only explained the extent of your losses, Tony, I'd have seen you come about—and you cannot say you did not know it.”

“I did not want to know. 'Tis not your responsibility to pay for my mistakes, Aunt Hester.”

“Do not be getting noble with me, Tony Barsett!” she snapped. “I'd as lief settle your debts myself as see you marry a Cit! I suppose the girl smells of the shop—or have you even see her?”

“Leah Cole will be a credit to you, I promise. There is nothing displeasing in her looks, and as for her manners . . .” He stopped, recalling the way she'd looked earlier. “Well, all I can say is the chit's as high in the instep as you are. In fact, she views me with about as much enthusiasm as you view her. And she's got a devil of a temper.”

“She didn't want you?” his aunt asked incredulously. “Surely not—not with your looks and address. I'll not believe it. Why, you are a veritable Corinthian, Tony! And you are a Barsett, after all.”

“Think on it—I'll not be the last one if I marry,” he cajoled.

“But this Cole person—everyone knows that he is but a Cit. Tony, even if this girl is a paragon, which I am not ready to concede, there is Mr. Cole.”

“On his last legs. Wants to see his girl settled before he pops off.”

“That kind live forever,” she countered. “I ought to know—been threatening it for years, but I don't mean it.”

“He had some sort of attack tonight, Aunt Hester. I thought for a moment he'd bought his ticket already.” He leaned closer and put his hands on her chair arms. “She is his only child, Aunt Hester.”

“Even so—”

“She stands to inherit a fortune as big as yours—bigger maybe.” Backing off, he walked over to lean on the mantelpiece. “Not that I want the old fellow to pass on, you understand. Miss Cole is uncommonly fond of her parent, by the looks of it, and I'd not distress her for the world.”

The duchess opened her mouth and closed it without uttering a sound. After eyeing him suspiciously for a moment, she found her voice. “Tony,” she asked finally, “have you thrown your hat over the windmill for this girl?”

It was his turn to be silent as he considered the answer. “I don't . . . Yes, Aunt Hester, I think I have.” He met her eyes almost sheepishly, nodding. “ 'Tis rich, isn't it—Lyndon caught by a Cit, of all things.”

“Well, why did you not say so?” she uttered bracingly. “Puts an entirely different complexion on the matter! When you speak to me like a gazetted fortune-hunter, I know the cheese is rotten! Have too much pride to marry for money! Dash it—you are a Barsett!” She hobbled to her feet and made her way to face him. “But if it's the gel herself you want, and not her father's fortune, then that's a different tune.” Her black eyes softened as they scanned his face. “Will I like her, do you think?” she asked him.

He was taken aback by her sudden about-face and knew not what to make of it. He'd expected to insinuate that he'd had to take Leah Cole out of desperation and to enlist her aid in presenting his betrothed to society. Never in his furthest imagination could he have thought she'd see through the ploy. But she was a downy one, when one considered the matter. In spite of himself, he grinned. “I don't know,” he answered truthfully. “She'll put every Incomparable on the Marriage Mart to shame, I can tell you, but she's not insipid in the least. And she's certainly not in the conventional style. I have never seen eyes like hers.”

“You sound besotted.”

“Oh, I am not blind to her faults, Aunt Hester—I suspect she's a bluestocking and a reformer—but I am willing to wager you will think her an Original.”

“As long as she ain't peculiar-acting. Well, you have seen enough females to know your mind, I suppose,” she decided. “Then there is no help for it, is there? If you are caught, we will have to see the girl established. I would not for the world behave shabbily to your wife, Tony, and I'd not see her cut by the
ton
either. Mind you, I do not like it that she is a Cit, but if she carries on the Barsett line, I'll give her her due.”

“Interrupted by a timid knock at the door, the old woman barked impatiently, “Yes—what is it?”

The door opened slowly to admit Mrs. Buckhaven bearing a small tray of sweet cakes. “Cook did not have many left,” she apologized as she set the tray down.

“Sweet cakes! Humph! Ring the bell-pull and see if there's aught substantial left of dinner, Bucky! M'nevvy's nigh famished—ain't you?” she asked Tony. “Well, whilst you eat, we shall plan how best to present Miss Cole this Season. Bucky”—she turned her attention to her companion again—“we are opening Davenham House for a party in honor of m'niece-to-be. Tony's marrying an Original! And, Bucky, do get my glass and a pen—we've got a guest list to plan. I mean to set the
ton
on their ears! Invite everybody! Give 'em enough to gossip about each other so's they'll leave the gel alone!”

“Everybody, Aunt Hester?” Tony asked, suppressing a grin.

“Everybody! Don't mean to leave any of 'em out! Rakes, gamesters—the whole lot of 'em!”

“But, Your Grace—the Season calendar is set for April, I am sure,” Mrs. Buckhaven ventured timidly.

“Nonsense! London's thin of company yet, ain't it? Besides, 'tis Davenham House I am opening to them, Bucky—they'll come.”