The Phantom Lover (20 page)

These words seemed to shake his audience from their stupefaction. There was a sudden babble of welcoming words, and Charles jumped up from his chair. “Not at all, not at all,” he said heartily, hurrying to his nephew's side and clapping him on the shoulder fervently. “Devilish glad to see you, boy! Devilish glad!”

Sybil, laughing with rather hysterical excitement, rushed to Henry's other side. Combining her declarations of joy at his appearance with apologies for her own, she covered his cheek with kisses. Beckwith hovered about behind his lordship, trying to wrest the greatcoat from his back and the hat from his hand. And Amelia sprang up from her chair with unusual agility and threw her arms around him in an enveloping hug. Completely surrounded by people as he was, Lord Thorne managed to meet Nell's eyes. Over Amelia's shoulder, he grinned at her—a rather sheepish grin which told her as clearly as if he'd spoken that he had at last accepted her challenge.

It seemed to Nell that she had not drawn a breath since Beckwith had made his startling announcement, and she now permitted herself a long sigh. She could feel the lump inside her melt away. What she'd felt before did not matter—she was now filled with a joyful pride in him. He had come! He had reconsidered and decided to face the world. And he had done it with courage and style.

She remembered the bitterness of his description of London society. What a struggle he must have had to overcome those feelings! Her throat tightened with suppressed tears, and she stared down at her hands, still clenched tightly in her lap, and tried to compose herself. But a tear escaped from the corner of one eye and slid down her cheek. She brushed it away hurriedly and glanced around guiltily, hoping that none of the servants had seen the small emotional display. But the only one looking at her was Harry.

He separated himself from the others and crossed to her chair. For a moment he stood smiling down at her. “Save those tears, girl,” he said in an under-voice. “I may need them later.”

Charles came up to the table and insisted on Henry's taking his place at the head. Although Charles had felt resentment in his breast against the system which had given the titles and wealth to a younger man, he had no personal animosity toward Henry himself. (If he had been endowed with any talent for self-analysis, he would have realized long since that he was secretly relieved not to have been saddled with the many serious responsibilities which accompanied the inheritance.) He was truly delighted to see his nephew looking so well. He expansively ordered every platter to be removed and replaced with freshly prepared hot food, and the dinner was resumed.

The change of atmosphere in the room was remarkable. Everyone but Nell tried to speak at once. Henry was bombarded with questions. Why had he come? How long would he stay? What were his plans? How was his health? What was the state of his body and mind? He did his best to answer them all, and his replies were so politely, casually or humorously phrased that only one person was aware that they were somewhat evasive. When the last course had been eaten and the wine decanters had been placed on the table, no one dreamed of suggesting that the ladies withdraw, so amicable and entertaining had the conversation become. There was much laughter and chatter, and the decanters were repeatedly refilled. It was not until the mantel clock struck midnight that the assemblage realized how many hours had passed.

Nell had not said much but had spent the evening drinking in every one of Harry's words. Now, she pushed back her chair and asked to be excused, pleading weariness. Her real reason for breaking away from the cheerful gathering was a sudden need to be alone, to think, to determine how to comport herself in this new situation. To her surprise, Harry rose and offered to escort her to the stairway.

It was the first chance they'd found to speak in private. As he hobbled down the corridor at her side, she noticed that he leaned heavily on his cane and that the knuckles of the fingers he'd bent round the handle were showing white. “Don't you use your crutch any more?” she asked, trying not to show undue concern.

“What a provoking wretch you are!” he declared in mock reproach. “I've spent
weeks
perfecting this technique. It's much more difficult to maneuver with the cane than with the crutch, you know. But nothing escapes your notice, it seems. It took you only a moment to see how short my new technique falls from perfection.”

“Don't be absurd. You handle yourself beautifully,” she assured him. “But I fail to understand why the change was necessary. If the crutch is more comfortable, I don't see why you bother with the cane at all.”

“Don't you?” He regarded her candidly. “As I told you before, you are a romantic. You mustn't assume that, because I've come out of my retreat, I've changed my view of London society. I still cannot accept your romantic view of it. Therefore, I've switched from the crutch to
this
inadequate thing because a cane is a less pitiable object than a crutch.”

Nell almost winced. “Oh, Harry …” she murmured, shaking her head in discouragement, “I wish you were not so … so censorious.”

“What a tyrant you are, my dear,” he said, his grin reappearing with captivating charm. “You demand complete capitulation. It is not enough for you that I have
acted
according to your wishes. You now demand that I
think
as you wish.”

“I did
not
demand,” Nell said with an answering grin. “I only
wished.
” But her smile vanished, and she asked him frankly, “If you haven't changed your mind about how people will behave, why did you come?”

“Because of you.”

Her eyes flew to his face. “M-Me?”

“To prove to you that I'm not as cowardly as you seem to think,” he said, smiling at her discomfiture.

“I
never
believed you to be cowardly,” she denied saucily, “so if that
was
your reason, you might as well have saved yourself the trouble.” She ran up the stairs, but before turning at the landing she looked down at him. “But I
am
glad … very glad … you decided to come,” she added, smiling mistily down at him, and with a wave, she disappeared round the turn, her voice floating down to him as she called over her shoulder merrily, “Goodnight, my lord.”

Henry's first excursion into society did not occur for two days, the snow keeping all of them prisoners indoors. But no sooner had the storm abated and the roadways cleared than Charles declared his intention to spend the evening at White's. He urged Henry to accompany him. Henry had as yet no great confidence in his ability to handle himself in society, but he realized that an evening sitting at a card table would not be beyond his capabilities, and he agreed to go.

His entrance into the club rooms caused no great stir at first, for his face was not familiar to most of the men present. Charles introduced him to a few of his cronies who welcomed him warmly and made a place for him at their table. But when, a short while later, Sir Owen Alcorn left the table to greet a friend across the room, his arm was grasped by the elderly, very deaf Lord Billingham, who demanded to know the name of the gentleman with the military bearing. “Oh, you must mean young Thorne,” Sir Owen said loudly enough for Lord Billingham to hear. “He's just back from the Peninsula.”

“Young Thorne?” shouted Lord Billingham, in the manner of the very deaf. “I thought 'e was dead.”

“Confound it, Billingham,” Sir Owen said disgustedly, “you can
see
he's alive, can't you?”

“Eh? Alive, you say? Good news, that,” Billingham said loudly. “Glad the fellow came through it all right and tight. Good sort of fellow, if I remember 'im rightly.”

“He didn't come through it all right and tight, old man,” Sir Owen corrected him. “Left a leg in Spain, you know.”

“No! A leg, y' say? Damned shame!”

Since this exchange was heard throughout the room, it was not long before Henry was surrounded. Old friends pressed round to welcome him back with eager, enthusiastic affection. Strangers demanded introductions and shook his hand warmly. Shy youths looked up at him with unmistakable admiration, and distinguished gentlemen sought him out to ask his views on the progress of the war. And two members of Parliament who were present engaged him in debate over Wellington's inaction and Napoleon's intentions. It was heartening to be lionized and to realize that he'd been missed and was truly welcomed back. But to be causing a stir and to find himself the center of attention was also somewhat disconcerting, and as soon as he could politely do so, he took his leave.

As he was about to descend the front stairs, he came face to face with a young dandy who sported a pair of mustaches of elegant proportions. The fellow was about to brush by when he stopped and gaped at Lord Thorne in astonishment. The surprise immediately changed to delight. “Harry!” he shouted gleefully. “
Harry
, you crusty old
clunch
!”

“Roddy?” Harry asked in equally delighted surprise. “Is that
you
behind those enormous mustaches?” The two men laughed and pounded each other's shoulders with an enthusiasm bordering on hysteria. “Roddy, you jack-a-dandy popinjay!” Harry exclaimed when the excitement of their greeting had spent itself. “What are you doing in London looking like a damned coxcomb?” He fingered the lapel of his friend's coat of shiny green Ducapes with amusement. “I never dreamed that the Honorable Roderick Driffield, late of Sir Arthur's personal staff, had such a talent for alamodality.”

“Never mind my alamodality, you make-bait. I've been trying to find you for
months
! Where've you been hiding, man?

“You'd heard I had it?” Harry asked, his smile fading.

Roddy nodded. “Ran into Algy Blount in Scarborough last fall. He was on leave. Told me they'd had to leave some of the wounded behind at Talavera, though everyone on staff who could be spared searched for you wildly before pulling out.” He frowned and shook his head. “Talavera was a bloody disaster. Don't know why they keep calling it a victory.”

“Only because the French fared worse,” Harry said wryly.

“What happened to you?” Roddy demanded.

Harry tapped his leg against the banister, and Roddy nodded silently. Forgetting his intention to spend the night gaming, Roddy asked Harry his direction and turned to walk along with him. Sir Roderick Driffield had been with Sir Arthur's staff during the early days of the Peninsular War, but when his father had died, he'd had to sell out to help his mother. The two men had not laid eyes on each other since. As they walked along, companionably filling in the gaps that time and distance had made in their relationship, Harry realized how much he'd missed the close comradeship that soldiers find in each other. Of all the men he'd conversed with that evening, it was only now, with Roddy, that he felt completely without constraint.

Their conversation continued the following day, when Roddy appeared at Thorne House before eleven and the two ex-soldiers closeted themselves in the library. There they remained for the rest of the day. The only signs of their existence were the repeated requests for madeira they sent out and the sound of their voices and their raucous laughter. Finally, at twilight, they emerged hungry and happy. For both of them, it had been a most satisfying day.

Roddy was easily persuaded to remain to take dinner with the family. Since Lady Sybil was engaged to dine elsewhere, and Lord Charles had already left for the club, a small party of four took their places at the long table. Harry had made the introductions earlier, but now Roddy looked accusingly at Nell. “I've been introduced to you before, Miss Belden,” he reminded her. “In fact, you stood up with me for a country dance. It was at the Denholm's ball last year.”

“How flattering that you should remember after all this time,” Nell said by way of apology.

“Not at all. You are not a partner one easily forgets,” Roddy said fulsomely.

Harry chortled. “Evidently you
are
, old boy,” he teased.

“Oh, Harry, how unkind,” Nell remonstrated. “The only reason I don't remember—”

“—Is that all those fellows with mustachios look so damnably alike?” Harry supplied mischievously.

Nell looked at him in disgust. “No, of course not! I was going to say—”

“—That you've danced with so many, you can't be expected to remember every Tom, Dick and Roddy who comes along?” Harry said incorrigibly.

“I am quite capable of finishing my own sentences, my lord,” Nell said quellingly. “What I started to say, Sir Roderick, is that the only reason I don't remember you is that I was betrothed at the time, and it would not have been seemly for me to have taken
particular
notice of
any
young man.”

“Oh, what a shocking bouncer!” Harry hooted. “Everyone knows you are an incorrigible flirt, betrothed or no.”

Nell turned to Roddy for support. “Really, Sir Roderick, are you going to permit him to malign me in that way?”

Roddy looked away in feigned embarrassment, his eyes glinting with amusement. “What can I do, ma'am? In the first place, he is my host. In the second place, you
did
flirt with me a bit on that occasion.”

Nell drew herself up in offended dignity. “I can see that the military has allied itself against me,” she declared. “Come, Amelia, we shall have to join forces to achieve a strategic balance. Can
you
not find something to say in my defense?”

Amelia looked up from the slice of roast goose she was contentedly devouring and smiled at them benignly. “I can only note,” she said mildly, “that you all seem to be in remarkably high spirits. It is quite entertaining listening to you.”

The two men burst into laughter and Nell gave up in disgust and turned her attention to her dinner. Her attempt to cut and eat her food while maintaining an expression of lofty indifference caused the men to laugh even more. By this time, even Amelia began to giggle. Nell finally surrendered to her urge for laughter, and they all made a very merry meal. Harry was much inclined to think it was the very best day he'd had since Talavera, until Roddy, taking his leave, remarked that Miss Belden was a regular out-and-outer. For some reason, this simple little comment bothered Harry. Why it should have bothered him, he had no idea, but he couldn't help being aware that it took a bit of the brightness out of the day.