Rosemary Stevens (3 page)

“Love, eh? I can understand that. But you haven’t told me why you are going to serve as this man’s second, Brummell.”

“Because I saved his life Saturday night,” I explained. He was going to end it all after gaming too high. I talked him out of it, and now I feel responsible for him.”

There was no need to mention the added motive: that Mr. Jacombe had insulted Miss Lavender. My protective feeling toward the lieutenant was enough in and of itself.

Prinny nodded slowly. “Very well. But after the duel, you are to come directly to Carlton House and tell me what the devil happened.”

“It shall be as you say, sir.”

Just then, I saw John, Count Boruwlaski, a dwarf the Prince has befriended, walking in our direction. Standing only two feet and four inches, the Count’s child-like size often causes Prinny to treat the man as a little boy. My patience with this sort of behaviour is, er, short.

“Excuse me,” I began, but, his attention diverted, the Prince had already turned away to greet his friend. I walked in the direction of the soldiers, hoping for a word with Nevill. More precisely, I was hoping to convince him to abandon the idea of the duel and to send Mr. Jacombe a note of apology. I could fight the man myself. I did not have much hope for this plan, but I felt I must try.

I was halted in my tracks by the vision of Frederica, the Duchess of York, accompanied by her husband, Prinny’s brother, the Duke of York. She saw me at the same time and offered me a small smile.

“Good evening, George,” she said in her light, sweet voice. Tonight she wore an elegant gown of fine white India muslin, scalloped around the bottom and with long sleeves laced with gold twist. A bandeau made of pearls and white satin held her curly brown hair back from her face.

“Your Royal Highness, may I say how lovely you look tonight? More luminescent in that white gown than the moon.”

“Thank you George,” she replied, one gloved hand entwined in the crook of her husband’s arm. I felt a knot entwine around my heart at the sight of that hand.

Freddie, as I am privileged to call her in private, had been my closest female friend until recently. You might remember my telling you another time about that sordid situation regarding a letter from the Royal Duchess I foolishly kept and the murders it inspired. Yes? Well then you know that our relationship has been strained since that time.

The other impediment to any closeness between us stood next to her: her husband. The tall, cold man who is the Duke of York greeted me. “Brummell, what’s this I hear about a duel between Jacombe and some nobody? Are you involved?”

Freddie’s eyes rounded at her husband’s words. She looked to me for an explanation.

My heart sank. How would Freddie feel about my being involved in a duel?

Unfortunately, I think I know.

Blast.

Damn Fairingdale. For I was sure he was the reason why every cursed person at Vauxhall knew about the duel. I felt my frustration increasing—and not just about the proposed pistols at dawn, I thought, as I gazed upon Freddie.

I especially did not want to speak of the duel to the Duke and Freddie. Being near her caused a longing for a return of our previous closeness. Any possibility of making amends would be put back even further if Freddie thought I was out fighting duels.

“Mr. Jacombe insulted a soldier’s lady,” I responded.

The Duke of York is the Commander-in-Chief of England’s land forces. I hoped that by making it clear one of the duelists was a soldier, the Duke’s curiosity might be satisfied.

“Who is he?”

“Lieutenant Nevill.”

The Duke concentrated for a moment. “Never heard of him.”

“His grandfather recently purchased a commission for him.”

“Who is his grandfather?”

“Elsworth Nevill.”

“What? Old Elsworth? I thought him six feet under, but no, stay a moment. He’s a recluse, isn’t he? Not been seen out of the house these past five years since his only son died.”

“How terrible,” Freddie said.

“From what I understand, that is true,” I said. The lieutenant had said as much during that long talk Saturday night. “Nevill told me that his father drank himself to death over his mother’s wild ways. She is somewhere on the Continent now. Young Nevill has not seen her since he was fourteen. I believe Elsworth Nevill holds her responsible for his son’s death.”

“I cannot understand how a mother could leave her child,” Freddie said.

Her husband addressed her. “And you’ll never know, since you’ve not given me an heir. All you have are dogs and plenty of those.”

My body tensed. His tone of voice and his words infuriated me. How dare the Duke of York speak of his wife that way when he paraded his mistress, Mary Anne Clarke, in front of all of London? Poor Freddie. I wanted to strike her husband with the full force of my right fist.

Colour rushed into Freddie’s face. I could see a hint of tears forming in her eyes.

That settled it. I looked at the Duke. “Your wife has one too many dogs.”

His eyes met mine. He did not mistake my meaning. We stood that way, gazes locked, until the sound of the military band behind us forced our attention back to the troops on review.

The Duke turned without another word, Freddie still holding his arm, and walked away to stand next to the Prince of Wales, his brother.

I thought of going after him right then, of finally, after all these years, telling the Duke of York exactly what I think of the callous, dishonourable way he treats the most precious of women. Freddie. I thought of the pleasure I would derive out of connecting my fists with his flesh, of seeing him in pain for a change, rather than Freddie.

But then I remembered my precarious position in this Society of London, and more importantly who I am
not
to Freddie. It went down a bit hard, but there was the situation in a nutshell.

At least it appeared that, for the moment, she did not know of my involvement in the duel. If she did, she would surely have taken me to task.

“Mr. Brummell? Mr. Brummell, did you not hear me?”

I tore my gaze from Freddie to look at the woman beside me.

“Er, forgive me, Miss Lavender, my thoughts were elsewhere.”

“I can see that,” the Scotswoman said. Tonight she wore another of her sensible gowns, this one a dusky shade of grey. The colour complimented her dark red hair and emerald-like eyes.

But there was nothing fussy or extravagant about the gown. The directress of the Haven of Hope shelter for “destitute and downtrodden” females, as Miss Lavender is wont to say, is too busy to bother with feminine frills.

I made her a bow. “Are you enjoying the Pleasure Gardens this evening?” I asked, hoping that Mr. Jacombe’s words about the Haven of Hope had not reached Miss Lavender’s ears.

“Yes, I am. I brought the girls from my shelter with me. I thought they deserved a treat. With the money Lord Perry gave me last year, I have been able to do more for them.”

Lord Perry had given Miss Lavender a large sum of money to thank her for helping save his wife and baby during a difficult childbirth.

“How good you are, Miss Lavender. The girls are fortunate to have you and your establishment.”

Miss Lavender’s chin came up. “Someone must help them.”

“I saw one of your charges here tonight. Molly.”

Miss Lavender’s lips curved upward. “I am proud of Molly. She has grown up. Remember how she used to flirt with your chairmen?”

“Yes.”

“No doubt you’ve noticed she no longer behaves that way. In fact, she has found the most wonderful young man, and the two plan to marry.”

“I recently became acquainted with Lieutenant Nevill.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I’m sure you must agree with my high opinion of him.”

I nodded. Obviously word of the impending duel, and the reasons for it, had not reached Miss Lavender’s ears. I would not tell her. The thought crossed my mind that she would appear at Chalk Farm at dawn and attempt to halt the proceedings.

Or no. Should the spirited Miss Lavender find out what Mr. Jacombe had said about her establishment, she would probably bring her own dueling pistol and face the man across the grass herself. Do you see why I like her?

“Nevill is a bit rough around the edges, but a fine soldier,” I said. “Since you say Molly has changed, and assuming she truly loves him, then the match is a good one.”

Miss Lavender smiled at me. Before we could continue our conversation, Lionel came dashing up to her side. Lionel is a boy of thirteen years, the only male Miss Lavender houses. She took him home after he had been arrested by her father for pickpocketing. Hunger had forced him to steal after he ran away from the master who had used him as a chimney-sweep in his younger years.

“Lionel, must you always race from place to place?” Miss Lavender scolded with affection.

His face split into a grin. “Iffen I’m to be a Bow Street Runner one day, I ‘ave to keeps in practice. Evenin’ Mr. Brummell, sir.”

“Good evening, Lion,” I said, using my nickname for him. He reminds me of a lion, with his wild mane of short light-brown hair that has streaks of blond at the top. One big cowlick in front only serves to accentuate his short nose. “Are you happy to have a night at Vauxhall?”

The boy grinned again. “I sure am. I’m told there’s to be a great display of the Cascade tonight. I reckon that’ll be mighty excitin’. Then the fireworks!”

I suddenly longed to be at Lion’s side as he watched the Cascade exhibition and the fireworks display. Perhaps my jaded gaze would be able to appreciate the entertainments more if I viewed them through his eyes. “I am looking forward to the same activities. Why don’t we watch them together?”

“Odsbodikins!” Lionel cried. He looked to Miss Lavender.

“Of course,” I said, “I would be grateful for your company as well, Miss Lavender.”

“I should like it above all things,” she replied, eyes sparkling.

“Wait,” Lionel said. “I almost forgots why I came to get you, Miss Lavender. Your father is over by the music pavilion with that starchy Mr. Read fella’. He wants you to come over.”

Miss Lavender sighed. “Lionel, I’ve told you that Mr. Read is one of the important Bow Street magistrates. You must be polite to him if you wish for future employment with Bow Street.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lionel muttered, his eyes downcast.

“Excuse us, please, Mr. Brummell.”

“Certainly. Could we agree to meet back at this spot in a quarter of an hour? That should give us time to get a good place by the Cascade exhibition.”

“Yes,” she replied before walking away.

A sense of awareness caused me to turn my gaze toward the entrance of the Pleasure Gardens. A quieting of the crowd in that direction told me someone of significance had arrived. A moment later, Theobald Jacombe came into view. He was alone and bore an expression of confidence on his face.

All eyes were on him. He waved a hand as if in acknowledgement that everyone knew about the duel, and he was signalling that all was for a good purpose and would be well.

A spontaneous cheer went up as he made his way to the supper boxes. I could hardly believe my own ears. And there was Fairingdale, rushing to toady to Mr. Jacombe, to let everyone know that he was standing as Mr. Jacombe’s second in the duel.

I procured a glass of wine and stood drinking the contents. Nevill must not fight this duel. I must convince him to withdraw. Then I could face Jacombe on my own. Intuition told me that a man of Jacombe’s years who would fight a youth was a coward inside. The whole thing would be much too easy for him. What would be Jacombe’s reaction if he were forced to fight me instead? I am more than a decent shot, if I say so myself.

With these thoughts firmly in mind, I sought out the lieutenant.

Yet another arrival caused a stir just as I was about to reach him. A very tall, thin man with hunched shoulders seemed to be the object of a great deal of whispering. I studied him, noticing first that he wore a long sable coat around his stringy body and a dark red velvet turban on his head, even though it was July. Past his seventieth year, the man’s face was heavily lined and pinched-looking. His pale blue eyes scanned the ranks of soldiers before coming to rest on Lieutenant Nevill. From everything the lieutenant had told me, I judged this to be the young man’s grandfather.

A breeze blew through the gardens at that moment, sending the ladies’ gowns fluttering and the trees swaying. The old man wrapped the fur coat around his thin body even tighter. “Nicky,” he called to the lieutenant.

Shamelessly, I decided to eavesdrop on the conversation. Lieutenant Nevill had told me his grandfather had purchased him a commission in the army but had refused to release funds for him to marry Molly. Recognizing that I knew only one side of the story, I wanted to hear what Mr. Nevill had to say to his grandson. If I stayed in my place, pretending to observe a nearby juggler of oranges, I could listen. Then, if the opportunity arose, I might be able to use Mr. Nevill to help convince the lieutenant to withdraw from the duel.

Molly was with the lieutenant when his grandfather confronted him. The soldier started at the appearance of the older man. “Sir! I had no idea you would come to the Pleasure Gardens tonight.”

“Neither did I,” Mr. Nevill spoke in a raspy voice. “You are aware that I do not like leaving the comfort of my home to go about in the throngs of common people. But you forced me, Nicky. What the deuce is this I hear about you fighting a duel?”

The lieutenant’s jaw dropped. “How did you—”

“Never mind how I found out,” Mr. Nevill rasped, banging the tip of the cane he had been leaning on against the ground for emphasis. “How dare you drag our name through the mud this way?”

“Mr. Jacombe was cheating at cards,” the lieutenant replied. He glanced at Molly standing at his side. I thought he must be loath to tell the rest of it within her hearing.

As it turned out, he did not have to.

“My eyes are not good any more, as you know, Nicky, but my ears have not failed me. The reason for this duel is standing right next to you. You are a foolish boy. Theobald Jacombe will kill you and rightly so.”