The Chadwick Ring (21 page)

Amalie clicked the reins to speed her carriage’s progress around the ring, closing the gap between her and Bysshe. Her mouth hardened into a smug grin. All at once she knew how she was going to get her revenge.

Ginevra wrapped her dressing gown about her and asked, “Well, am I right?”

Jules Perrin wiped his hands on the towel Susan held out to him, and he said, “Of course, madame. You didn’t need me to tell you you are with child.”

She smiled. “No, I suppose not.” Her gold eyes became thoughtful. “Do you think there will be any difficulty? Pray be frank. I helped deliver a baby once, so I do have some idea of what is involved.”

He spread his hands in a very Gallic gesture and said, “There is no way to tell at this point. You are in good health and are probably stronger than your fragile appearance would lead one to believe. However, you are also
tres petite.
Your husband is very tall, and the baby may be a large one. Beyond that, it is impossible to surmise.”

“I see. In that case, monsieur, I shall leave my care in your capable hands and will not worry unless you tell me to.”

“A most sensible attitude, madame.” He began to pack his medical bag. “Does your husband know yet?”

“No. I shall tell Richard directly he comes in tonight.”

“
Bon
,” the doctor said. “I know he will be delighted. If it you wish, I can suggest that he take you out of London soon. You will be more comfortable away from the heat and the bad air.”

“Thank you. I’d like that.” When he made as if to go, so Ginevra exclaimed, “Oh, please don’t leave yet. At least to have some refreshment first.” She signalled for Susan to fetch tea, and when the girl had curtsied and departed, of Ginevra led the doctor into her sitting room.

As they made themselves comfortable, Perrin noted with eager eyes that belied his outward placidity, “I do not see Mademoiselle Jarvis about. Is she frequenting the bookstores once again?”

Ginevra stared at him. “Didn’t you know?” she asked in dismay. “I thought someone, perhaps even Emma herself, would have told you. She has left my service to return to Surrey.”

He did not move. “Surrey,” he echoed thickly, his face grey. “Why?”

Ginevra watched him with compassion. His pain was almost tangible. She stammered, “Emma had to get away from ... from London. She ... hates the city.”

“Who does not?” he muttered. Under his breath he swore violently in French; then he looked up at Ginevra with bleak eyes. “Tell me truthfully, I beg you, did she leave because of me—or do I delude myself by thinking I might have influence on her actions?” Ginevra hesitated, and he continued desperately, “When we worked together at Dowerwood, Emma and I, we contrived well, I sensed a certain sympathy in her, and I hoped ... But as soon as the young
vicomte
recovered, she changed, became distant, and here in the city I have scarcely seen her at all.” He leaned forward in his chair to plead, “
Chère
madame, you know her so well: did I offend her in some way?”

Ginevra bit her lip and shook her head. “No, monsieur,” she said gently, “the fault is not with you personally, nor with any deed of yours. I will admit, however, that she is attentive to the difference in your ... stations.”

“Station?” Perrin repeated ironically. “I have no station. My title disappeared when the rabble shouting ‘
Liberté, égalité, fraternité
! burned my home and slaughtered my family. There is no difference now between a physician and a lady’s maid.”

“Schoolteacher now,” Ginevra corrected, and the doctor looked puzzled. While she explained the plans Emma had outlined to her, Susan returned with refreshments, and they drank their tea in pensive silence. The doctor rubbed the aching muscles of his crippled leg, an action that Ginevra was beginning to recognize as a sign of tension. He said, “I approve very much of what Emma wants to do. We would have made a very good team, she and I, she attending to the minds of the poor, I to their bodies.”

Ginevra ventured awkwardly, “Forgive me for prying, but truly I don’t understand how you can feel such mercy toward the people who robbed you of so much.”

He sighed. “I have tried to put bitterness behind me. Besides, the people who sheltered and cared for me in those days were no less indigent than the ones in the mob is. The hungry have no politics.”

“Monsieur,” Ginevra asked suddenly, “if Richard takes me back to the country for my confinement, will you come with me?”

“Of course, madame. You know I am always at your service.”

“I thought...” She paused, framing her request. She id, continued more firmly, “I thought you might use the time to look around the countryside, with an eye to remaining there permanently. You know we are in desperate need of on a new physician at Queenshaven, and you said you prefer rural life. I am sure Richard would be delighted to provide you with a house, in exchange for attending the tenants, and you would be available to ... anyone else who might need you...”

“Such as a certain schoolmistress?” Perrin asked dryly.

Ginevra colored. “It was but a thought.”

He nodded. “And a thought I like very much. I should be delighted to do as you request.”

Afraid she had said too much, Ginevra added hastily, “Of course, there is no guarantee that Emma would—”

“
Je vous ecoute,
madame,” he agreed sagely. “There is not a guarantee. But in any case it would not be a hardship for me to leave London.
Au contraire
!” He smiled warmly. “As to the other, I will just have to be patient, won’t I?”

Ginevra sat curled up in a massive armchair in the library, leafing through a volume of Byron’s poetry without absorbing any of it. The room was silent except for the faint whisper of the gaslight and the pounding of her heart. She had dressed and come downstairs once more to await her husband’s return, and now every footfall in the hallway made her leap up expectantly, only to subside with disappointment when the steps passed by without pausing. At last she heard the front door open, and the butler greeted someone in a low monotone. Hard booted heels strode across the marble entryway and turned down the long corridor, approaching the library. She glanced up eagerly, her golden eyes shining with anticipation at the tall man who loomed in the doorway.

It was Bysshe.

Her hopes blasted yet again, Ginevra forced her mouth into a smile and said politely, “Hello, Bysshe, how are you? I haven’t seen you all day.”

His young face was oddly pale and intent as he stared at her silently for a long moment. “Ginnie,” he gulped hoarsely. After another pause he stammered uncertainly, “The ... the butler told me that ... that Dr. Perrin was here to see you. You aren’t sick, are you?”

Ginevra’s smile was genuine now, sweetened with the secret she was determined to relate first to her husband. “No, I am excellent well, thank you. I merely needed to consult with him about something.”

Bysshe glanced around, brown eyes furtive. “
He
is not here, is he?” he asked, and Ginevra knew at once that he meant the marquess. He never referred to his father by name, she noticed curiously.

She said, “No, Richard is out for the evening.” She gestured to a chair. “Won’t you please sit down? You make me quite apprehensive, hovering like that.”

He looked at her strangely. “You mustn’t be afraid of me, Ginnie. You know I’d never hurt you.”

Her brows lifted. “I never suggested that you would. Whatever can be the matter with you, to think such a thing?”

He brushed one hand across his eyes. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Perhaps ... perhaps it is just the heat.”

She watched him with concern. Indeed the boy did not look well; she had the impression that he had been living on his nerves for weeks. She rose and crossed the room to him. “You’re sure your ear is not troubling you again?” She touched his forehead experimentally, to check for fever. His skin felt clammy.

He caught her fingers in his own and smiled weakly. “Little mother,” he mused fondly, “how you’ve always taken care of me...” He dropped her hand and brushed his lank hair from his eyes. “I could do with a bit of fresh air,” he said brightly, “and I expect you could too. Will you come for a ride with me?”

“A ride?” Ginevra hesitated, remembering Susan’s admonition earlier. “It’s rather late to be taking out the horses, isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “You still think in terms of country hours. Here the evening is just beginning. Besides, I did not mean for us to go on horseback. I have a curricle we could—”

“But we don’t have a curricle,” Ginevra persisted.

He said impatiently, “I borrowed it from ... from someone. I thought I would see how I like driving a light vehicle, in case I have a mind to purchase one later.” When she still looked uncertain, his tone softened, became cajoling. “Please, Ginnie, it would do you good to get out of the house, and I promise I shan’t put us in a ditch.”

“I should hope not,” Ginevra declared with a smile, relenting. It had been so long since Bysshe had spoken to her in anything approaching a normal manner that she hated to spoil this new-sprung amity by rejecting his overture. Besides, the alternative was to spend what might prove to be several hours alone, becoming increasingly tense and agitated as she awaited her husband’s return. “Very well,” she agreed, “let me fetch a wrap.”

Susan’s disapproval was evident as she helped Ginevra into her lightweight pelisse. “You must be extra careful now, my lady,” she cautioned. “ ’Twould be a sorry thing indeed if aught were to happen now that—”

“Susan,” Ginevra laughed, “we’re not going racing, for heaven’s sake! Lord Bysshe is simply taking me out for a brief drive, a chance to enjoy the cool of the evening. I expect we’ll be back in less than an hour.”

“Whatever you say, my lady,” Susan grumbled, and Ginevra was still chuckling at her tacit rebuke when Bysshe handed her into the jaunty yellow-wheeled curricle pulled by a pair of high-spirited matched blacks.

“This is quite an elegant equipage,” Ginevra observed as Bysshe settled beside her and took up the ribbons. “Who did you say lent it to you?”

“A ... friend.” Bysshe shrugged, snapping the reins. The horses responded instantly, and the carriage pulled away from the block with a jolt.

“Must be a good friend,” Ginevra said nervously as she clutched at the armrest. “Are you certain you can handle this?”

Bysshe growled, “Yes, Ginnie, I promise nothing will happen to you.”

His increasing recklessness alarmed her suddenly, the stress that seemed to radiate from him. When the curricle did not turn into Hyde Park as she had expected, but instead continued unabated westward along the Kensington Road, passing the moonlit depths of the Serpentine and leaving the city traffic behind to plunge deeper into the darkness of the rolling countryside, she cried, “Bysshe, for the love of God, where are you going?” His only answer was to urge his cattle to greater speed.

The road out of London was twisted and bumpy, and the thick, eerie shadows cast by the silvery moonlight reminded Ginevra of just how dark a country night could be. Only the jouncy yellow light cast by the two lanterns on the front of the curricle gave any hint of the road before them. Bysshe snapped his whip and the horses raced still faster. “Bysshe!” Ginevra cried again. She grabbed at his arm, and he swore violently and knocked her away with his elbow. The galloping horses swerved at the tug on the reins, raising the light rig on one wheel and almost oversetting it. They seemed to sense the novice hand driving them, and they began to panic. Bysshe struggled fiercely to regain control, straining on the leather ribbons with all the power of his adolescent muscles, and by the time he was able to pull the panting, lathered animals to a halt on the grassy verge alongside the road, his coat was drenched with sweat and his hands were blistered and bleeding. He turned on Ginevra, who huddled in the corner of the seat shaking and nauseous with fright, and he shrieked, “You stupid fool, you could have killed us both!”

Her body felt battered and jolted, and her heart seemed unable to accept that that mad race had ended, that the carriage was now at a standstill. She bowed her head and clutched at her thin arms, trying to fight off the dizzy sickness that threatened to overwhelm her. Whenever she tried to look up at him, fear rose like gall in her throat and choked her. At last she was able to gasp, “Have you ... taken leave of ... your senses? Why ... why are you doing this?”

One of the lanterns had blown out in their wild flight, and the murky light from the remaining lamp cast wavering shadows that distorted and aged Bysshe’s youthful features. He gazed down at her with eyes that seemed sunken and unfathomable, and he said slowly, “I have to save you, Ginnie.”

She could only gape. When she did not speak, he amplified urgently, “I have to get you away from him. I can’t let him ... defile you.”

She forced her heart to slow its pounding; she commanded her breath to smooth its ragged gait. When she felt she had the strength, with great care she eased herself upright on the seat and asked, “Bysshe Glover, what on earth are you talking about?”

“Him—the marquess,” he said. “I have to get you away from him before he ruins you.”

Ginevra’s warm eyes turned cold. “You are talking about my husband,” she said steadily.