Romantic Rebel (20 page)

A flushed and disheveled Lord Ronald was trying vainly to pull Isabel into his arms. His dainty coiffure was all askew. He had flung off his kerchief and opened his shirt halfway to his waist. There wasn’t a hair to be seen on his white but well-muscled chest. The glazed appearance of his eyes and the empty bottle of wine bore testimony to his condition.

Isabel looked even worse. Her gown, though in no danger of being ripped from her body, was totally destroyed, with mud splashes all over the skirt. Her face was grimed, and she was fighting off Etherington’s advances. When she saw us, her face screwed up into a knot and tears spurted out.

“Geoffrey!” she bawled, and went running into his arms, where she cried herself to a pulp.

“Now, see here!” Lord Ronald blustered, but in a slurred voice.

Geoffrey set Isabel aside into my keeping and turned the wrath of Jehovah on the villain. “You will answer for this, sir!”

“This is none of your affair,” Etherington said.

Isabel clutched on to my arm. “Oh, he’s going to challenge Ronald to a duel. Do you think he’ll kill him?”

It was soon clear that a duel was not what Geoffrey had in mind. He raised his fists and laid Etherington flat with one well-aimed blow at his handsome nose. Etherington subsided gracefully onto the sofa. Blood did not spurt from the nose, but it oozed in an ugly dark dribble. Geoffrey pulled him up by the collar and went at him again.

I used the time to quiz Isabel. “Did he do anything?” I demanded. I did not refer to her muddied and frazzled state, of course, but to her intrinsic virtue.

She understood perfectly. A fierce light glowed in her eye, and she said, “No, but he meant to, and before we were married! You were right about him, Emma. I was never so taken in in my whole life. He didn’t even have a wedding ring for me!”

The second blow either knocked Etherington unconscious, or showed him the wisdom of pretending it had. He lay prostrate on the floor, motionless.

“Get him out of here,” I said.

The harridan appeared at the doorway. “Friends of the young lady, are you? Shall I have it removed?” she asked, nudging at Etherington’s carcass with the toe of her shoe.

“If you please,” I said.

She whistled down the hall, and two stout ruffians came bounding in. “Put Mr. Jones to bed,” she ordered them, and left, carrying his curled beaver and coat. I noticed her fingers sliding into the coat pockets, but could not have cared less.

Geoffrey cast one frustrated look on Isabel, trying to decide whether to ring a peal over her, or crush her into his arms as he wanted to. She decided the matter for him by rushing into his arms and claiming him as her hero. He had little recourse then but to pat her on the back and comfort her, while she, sobbing and gasping, poured out her story. This, then, was how I ought to have behaved with Paton. Fancy Isabel being so wise, when she had not a particle of common sense or actual experience.

Sensing it was to be a long story, I asked the harridan to bring us wine, and we all found seats. I left the sofa to the lovers and made do with an uncomfortable, hard chair. Isabel held center stage, and was crafty enough to heap abuse on herself before we could do it. E’er long Geoffrey was persuaded she was fortunate to have survived her ordeal at all. He clung to her hands as if she might vanish before his very eyes.

“I have been so foolish,” she said, casting sheep’s eyes on Geoffrey. “But he told me we would be married immediately. I thought he had got a license, for I am over twenty-one, you know. He was supposed to have a minister here, waiting for us. But he didn’t have one, or even a wedding ring.”

“How did you get so dirty?” I asked.

“He brought me in an open carriage,” she said, fire sparking from her eyes. “In case anyone recognized his own, he said, but I learned later he had to give it to someone called Quincy to cover a bet, and all he could borrow was a curricle. So we had to drive in a freezing rig. He brought a bottle of brandy to keep himself warm, but what of me? Then we lost a wheel outside of town, for the roads are a disgrace. Ronald despises manual work, so
I
had to run down the hill after it myself in my best slippers. He wanted to sleep under the starry sky, by a rippling brook. Only there were no stars, and besides, he didn’t even bring a blanket! He used my money to get the wheel fixed, and once we got here, he didn’t order a thing to eat, only wine.”

“The bounder!” Geoffrey said, clasping her hands tightly.

I swallowed my smile and urged her on to tell all. That she hadn’t had a bite since leaving home featured as large as the real outrages. The runaway had been engineered wholly by the ineffectual Etherington, by means of notes smuggled to her in the park. He left them in a bush, she rescued them while pretending to admire the foliage, and left off a reply the next day. When Geoffrey refused to take her to the park, Lord Ronald risked throwing pebbles at her window, and they agreed to flee that very night.

“We were to be married here, and go on to London,” she explained. “And I am glad now the minister wasn’t here, for I have come to see Lord Ronald is very selfish. Why, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if it was only my money he was after. He certainly took no pains for my comfort.”

I did not hesitate to utter the dread words, “I told you so.” Geoffrey was all sweetness and understanding. Isabel was all contrition, and we were eager to get away.

“But first we must eat something,” she decreed.

“Not here, Isabel,” I said. “Let us go to one of the better inns. The food in this place will be even worse than the wine, and this drink tastes like paint thinner.”

“Is there someplace you can clean up?” Geoffrey asked her.

There were no facilities in the parlor for making a toilette. The hag showed Isabel to a little cubbyhole with a dingy mirror and a grimy washbasin. I was going to help her, but there was hardly room for one, so I said, “Just wash your face and brush your hair. Your pelisse will cover the state of your gown.” Then I returned to Geoffrey to discuss the matter.

“You’d best have a word with Etherington, warning him not to mention this affair,” I suggested.

“Yes, I will before we leave. Should I challenge him to a duel?” he asked doubtfully.

“Don’t be such a clothhead, Geoffrey. What good would that do?”

“But if her reputation is ruined ...”

“Then you’ll just have to marry her.” I smiled.

He looked as if I had conferred a title on him.”Do you think she’ll have me?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised. I believe she’s learned her lesson now.”

“I’ll see Etherington at once, and we can leave as soon as Isabel returns.”

He left, and I poured myself another glass of the paint thinner, which was slightly better than nothing. I was just sipping my wine when the door of the inn burst open and flying footsteps were heard in the hallway. The old hag spoke. “We don’t supply girls. You have to bring your own,” she informed the customer. Apparently the place was a well-known den of iniquity.

“I’m not here for sex. I’ve come to commit murder,” a man’s voice growled. I hardly recognized Lord Paton’s usually polite accents, but the timbre of the voice was familiar.

“Don’t do it in here,” the hag said sharply. “I don’t want the constable sniffing around. Take him down to the river. That’s a fine place for it. You can throw the corpse in the water and no one will be any the wiser.”

Lady DeGrue must have been in touch with Paton, and he’d come to help. I hastened to the doorway. He was just turning from the desk. He saw me, and I watched in astonishment as his face congealed to white ice. I had thought he’d be happy to see he had caught up with us. But of course he had no way of knowing we had rescued Isabel. He was still worried about her, but it was not worry that distorted his features so. It was hatred.

“In here, Paton,” I called, trying to behave as normally as the conditions permitted.

He advanced at a stiff stride, as though his knees had turned to wood. His eyes were like burning coals in his white face. Lines were etched deeply from his nose to the edge of his lips, and the lips were thin.

“Are you sure it isn’t a case of three being a crowd?” he asked ironically. Those burning eyes never left mine. Why was he behaving so weirdly? Apparently he saw I was alone without looking at the rest of the room, for he asked, “Where’s Nesbitt?”

“Just taking care of a little necessary business so we can leave immediately. How did you find us?”

“I was told Gretna Green was the destination. It seemed an illogical choice to me, but that’s what the lady said.”

“Why did you find it odd?”

The blood returned to his face all in a tide, till he was nearly the color of a beet. “You’ve reached the age of consent. You don’t have to indulge in a runaway match, to have the nuptials performed over the anvil. He has no intention of marrying you, or he’d have done it in Bath, or Milverton.” This was delivered in an angry rush.

“I am not getting married!” I stood, dumbfounded.
I
had reached the age of consent. He thought
I
was the runaway—and Mr. Nesbitt my bridegroom! Before I could recover sufficiently to correct him, he lashed out at me again.

“Then the more fool you! If you are to be had for a carte blanche, you would have found me a more pleasing and generous protector.”

Protector! So it was only a mistress-ship that occurred to him. A memory of Isabel’s tears and accusations came to me, only to be rejected. The sane course would be to correct Paton at once, but I felt a strong urge to hear him go his length. I would use no inferior, feminine wiles to beguile him.

My voice was cold as crystal, and I donned a chilly, uncaring smile. “You have a high opinion of your charms, sir! Neither that shack in the wilds nor a second-hand pair of cream ponies tempted me in the least. As to the charms of your person, I’d sooner live with a hottentot.”

A flame leapt in his eyes. “You seemed eager enough to drive out with me in the beginning!”

“Yes, indeed, for as you so cleverly surmised, you had one thing that interested me. All I ever wanted from you was a favorable review in your magazine, and I made no effort to conceal the fact. I wanted that very much, but not enough to have you into the bargain. That lofty journal, of course, is reserved for scholarly gentlemen like Coleridge, who enlighten the world with their dream ravings of magic castles and dead albatrosses. Nor could I hope to compete with such monsters of dissipation as Lord Byron. I am neither foolish nor lecherous enough to merit your literary attention. Whatever induced you to imagine I was interested in any
other
sort of attention I cannot conceive.”

“We reviewed Hannah More too!”

“That sanctimonious old spinster was careful not to tamper with your prejudices, and supported your theory that women’s place is in the home, mending your socks!”

“You were eager enough for my friendship, even after the farce of...”

“I should have thought a heavy reader like yourself knows Hope springs eternal in the human breast, milord. While there was a chance you realized a piece of writing ought not to be judged by its cover, but actually read and considered, I continued to see you.”

He stiffened up even straighter. “And I would have thought a young lady who is so intimately aware of man’s base, rapacious nature and society’s conventions would know more than to jeopardize her reputation by such behavior as this. This is even worse than the manner in which you celebrated your father’s passing.”

“It’s none of your affair what I do!”

His nostrils dilated, and his loud voice lowered a notch. “No, but it was when I made the error of haring off after you. I had intended to marry you, you see, in spite of all your self-imposed ineligibility.”

It was all I could do to keep from slapping him. It was not a proposal, but even a
mention
of a proposal ought not to be delivered in such an arrogant, self-consequential way, as though he were offering a crown, or a ticket to heaven.

“A pity you hadn’t mentioned it to me sooner, and you would have saved yourself the trip. Marriage to anyone, and most particularly to you, is not a part of my plans.”

He stared so hard, I felt he was looking inside my head. Frustration and impatience and anger were all mixed up in that look. “What, exactly, is your plan, Miss Nesbitt? I see no pattern in your behavior, no sane plot, but only the folly of a misguided woman reeling giddily, till she finally succeeds in throwing herself off a cliff.”

“My plot, obviously too convoluted for you to grasp, is to return Isabel to her aunt before anyone discovers she ran off with Lord Ronald.
That is
why Mr. Nesbitt and I are here.”

He looked ready to contradict me, but before I had the pleasure of further discommoding him, Geoffrey and Isabel appeared at the doorway. She wore the chastened air of the lamb gone astray, and Geoffrey the undeniable face of the saviour. Lord Paton was speechless. To forestall his blurting out something to reveal our conversation, I hastened into speech.

I fixed Paton with an imperious eye and announced, “Lord Paton came to help us.”

Paton looked relieved. Geoffrey was loud in his thanks, Isabel more muted in her apologies. I said not a word, but enjoyed the little entr’acte immensely. Geoffrey mentioned that Lady DeGrue had suggested asking for Paton’s assistance, and Paton did not deny that she had done so.

“I’m sorry I could not have been of some real assistance,” he said.

Geoffrey, trying to butter up the nobleman, made a complete jackass of himself. “You were a great help, Lord Paton. We couldn’t have done it without you. I’m sure I speak for Isabel and Emma as well when I tell you how delighted we are that you’re here.”

“But you must not tell anyone!” Isabel cautioned.

Geoffrey gave her a chiding look. “I don’t think you need deliver Lord Paton a lesson in chivalry, my dear. He would never do anything to embarrass a lady.”

I gave Paton a cool look. “No indeed. I’m sure he has
read
all about chivalry, and is eager for a chance to put his knowledge into practice. Shall we go?”

“Isabel wants to have a bite before we begin the trip home,” Geoffrey said. “Where would you suggest, Lord Paton?”