The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (11 page)

She dodged toiling men and wharfrat boys and ducked as a mast creaked and groaned overhead. Feeling a little silly, she shaded her eyes and looked toward the ship that had brought her niece to England. She needed to shove aside her tangled feelings about Tony and concentrate on Diana's needs.

A dark-haired young woman stood clutching a reticule and chewing her lower lip. Felicity could see, even from the distance of several yards, that the girl looked apprehensive. Was that her niece?

Felicity stopped.

Hadn't Layton told her that Diana resembled the portrait of his sister with nut brown hair and...? That was twelve years ago when the girl was eight. Layton wasn't necessarily an accurate reporter of details, either. Still she did remind her of someone, Felicity just couldn't connect the memory. Perhaps she bore a resemblance to one of the paintings of Layton's parents that resided at home.

Felicity glanced back to see Tony steadily making his way toward them, but his progress was hindered by the traffic of the workers. She winced, thinking how easy it had been for her to weave around the obstacles. He really should use a cane.

Moving toward the girl who kept taking tentative steps away from the gangplank and the somewhat steady flow of sailors on and off the ship. "Diana?"

"Aunt Felicity?"

The girl's voice shook, and Felicity moved forward to embrace her niece. Diana seemed startled by the affectionate embrace and belatedly responded. Obviously the poor girl had been too long away from her family.

"Did you bring Charles?"

"He's in the carriage, waiting eagerly to greet you."

Tony gained their side. Felicity put her hand on his elbow. "This is my niece, Diana Fielding. Diana, this is Major Sheridan."

"Pleased to meet you." Diana bobbed an awkward, almost subservient curtsy. "It feels so strange to be on land and back in England." She cast a glance over her shoulder at the ship and shuddered.

"Takes a while to get your balance back, doesn't it?" said Tony.

Diana stared up at him, wide-eyed, nodded, and then proceeded to stare at Tony. Not that Tony wasn't handsome, but her niece was staring as if she wanted to devour him.

"How was the trip?" asked Felicity.

"The trip was fine. Could we go?"

Felicity was taken back by the abruptness of her niece's request.

"Where is your baggage, Miss Fielding?" asked Tony.

Diana suddenly looked at her aunt. Felicity could see her throat work as her niece swallowed. Tears sprang up in the girl's eyes.

Felicity was torn between sympathy and an odd animosity that seemed to spring from nowhere.

"Mrs. Brown! Mrs. Brown, have you found your party?"

Diana flinched.

Felicity might not have separated the voice from the surrounding shouts and the screech of gulls around them if not for Diana's reaction.

Her niece spun around to stare up the gangplank, where a middle-aged man had started down. "That's the captain," she whispered, and her whisper wavered.

She closed her eyes and seemed to steel herself. She opened them and tossed a halfhearted wave in the captain's direction as if to say, "All is well." Then she turned a pleading gaze to Tony. "I believe the trunks are over there."

She strode across the dock to the growing pile of baggage and bandboxes being carried from the ship by the sailors.

Tony took off after her. Felicity started to follow when she heard the gruff voice behind her.

"You must be Mrs. Merriwether."

"Yes," Felicity answered while watching Tony lean close to Diana and hold out his elbow to her. Diana wrapped her arm around his and clung much too tightly to his arm.

Felicity nodded to the captain, aware that she hadn't heard above half of what he said. The masts of the ship creaked, and Felicity looked up, wondering if the ominous sound portended a fall of the mighty timbers holding the furled sails, or if the noise was just an expected sound of the ship.

"Mrs. Brown has been a great help during the voyage. She often took Miss Fielding her meals and the like."

"Very good," said Felicity.

"Miss Fielding was ill most of the voyage."

She had probably missed the explanation of who Mrs. Brown was, while she watched Tony bend solicitously toward Diana. She didn't like the way Diana leaned against him. She didn't like Tony's overly attentive manner toward her niece. The girl was pretty in a dark-eyed and dark-haired way Felicity hadn't expected.

She wanted to run over and interpose herself between them. Once upon a time she would have followed the impulse.

"If you need any more help with Miss Fielding, let me know."

Felicity jerked her head back toward the captain. "I'm sure we won't need any further assistance. Thank you so much for everything."

"If you would like me to show you to her cabin..." The captain gestured toward the gangplank. Felicity took one look at it and decided she really didn't like the idea of climbing up the narrow, sloped board with only cross slats for traction. She liked the idea of Tony navigating it even less.

No reason to board the ship. At least none more than the mild curiosity that tempted Felicity. "That will not be necessary."

Tony advanced toward her, alone, lurching around coiled ropes and cartons littering the dock.

"But..." said the captain.

"Felicity, your niece says she feels unwell. If you would like to take her home, I can see to her trunks."

The captain crinkled his forehead. Felicity thanked him again and hurried toward her carriage. She didn't have time to puzzle out that expression. She was too busy trying to ignore the relief she felt that Tony's care of her niece was probably due to Diana's state of health and not any amorous motives on his part.

Or Diana's.

* * *

Truth to tell, Meg suspected she was simply having hysterics or a fit of the vapors. She sat in the carriage, alternately wishing her newly acquired aunt would hurry or never arrive. Silently reproaching herself, Meg clenched her fists.

What had she done?

The memory of Diana's body toppling down the stern rose unbidden in her mind.

Meg giggled, then quickly clapped a hand over her mouth. Horrified that such an inappropriate response had erupted from her lips, the enormity of what she'd done struck her. She reached for the door handle, wondering what would happen when she was caught. Would they think she had murdered the girl? Christ, she wouldn't be able to talk or sleep her way out of that.

"Are you getting out?" asked the small boy who studied her balefully. Charles, the cousin Charles. Diana had been so eager to meet him.

Meg wanted to run, to forget that she'd ever thought of impersonating Diana. She removed her hand from the latch. She couldn't now. Her few belongings were stashed in Diana's trunks. She would have absolutely nothing. If she fled now, she'd be working flat on her back before nightfall.

She had no choice but to go forward, pretending she was the sickly Diana.

She shook her head.

Was the captain even now alerting Felicity to her masquerade? Meg had the terrible suspicion she was doing everything wrong. The major had looked at her quite strangely when she offered to solicit help from the dockworkers to move Diana's trunks.

"Are you scared?" asked the boy.

"Terrified," muttered Meg.

"My mother is very nice. She only yells at her mama and papa. Mr. Merriwether used to yell all the time, but he is dead now."

She was being reassured that the family life Diana would have was not so terrible. Meg was afraid she would be forced back into prostitution or worse before night fell. She put her fists to her head.
No more, no more, no more.
No more sleeping with strange men who cared nothing for her.
I'm Diana. I'm Diana. I'm Diana,
she chanted to herself.

"Diana?" Felicity opened the door. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry." Meg was sorry, sorrier than she could ever express. Tears dripped down her cheeks.

Felicity patted her hand and handed her a handkerchief. "There, there, if you aren't feeling well, it is understandable."

Which only served to make Meg feel worse. "I'll be fine momentarily. I'm sure I will." If she could just stop shaking. Stop the sure suspicion that it was just a matter of time before she was put to death for murder.

"We will get you home and see what can be done to make you feel better."

Meg reminded herself that Diana had been sick—sick unto death, actually. "I should like to take a rest before dinner, but in truth I am much better than I was before leaving France. The trip has been quite restful, and that helps. If I tax my strength too much, I shall end up in bed."

Felicity studied her as if surprised at her answer.

As she spoke the words, almost an exact quote of Diana's rather quixotic explanation of her illness, Meg wondered what strength-sapping things a girl in finishing school could have got up to. "The battlefields were horrific," she said vaguely. "There was no avoiding—" She broke off, uncertain of what to say next.

Felicity squeezed Meg's hands.

The gentleman, Major Sheridan, tossed a wry look in Felicity's direction. "That's why we must get her home. I'll hire a cart for her luggage."

Felicity swirled around and gave a hard look at the major.

He stepped back and held up his hands. "No recompense necessary. Take care of your niece."

Perhaps things were not going as badly as Meg thought.

Meg relaxed her fists. "I'm so very sorry to be such a nuisance."

Felicity—Aunt Felicity—gave a slow shake of her head and said to the gentleman, "Very well." She turned brown eyes that were full of concern on Meg. "You are not a nuisance."

His expression still wry, Tony handed Felicity into the carriage. She tapped on the panel between the closed coach and the coachman's box. The carriage lurched forward.

Meg swiveled to look out the window, wondering about the tall major with the unusual eyes.

"Is he..." Meg's voice trailed off. She couldn't ask if he was Felicity's lover. The unworldly Diana would have no understanding of that kind of relationship, nor would she ever ask such an impertinent question.

Felicity's face flamed, and the question was understood even though Meg had stopped herself from speaking it out loud.

"He is just an old friend." Her expression said clearly to stay away.

"I understand," murmured Meg. Of course she would stay away from him. She planned to keep her distance from any man she couldn't bring up to scratch.

Shouts outside the carriage had both women looking out the window, and Charles jostling them, trying to see, too.

"What is it?" whispered Meg.

The shouts and the running men, one with a grappling hook and another with a length of netting, made the cause of the commotion all too clear.

"Oh, my God, they have found a body in the Thames," said Felicity.

Meg clamped a hand over her mouth, tasting bile as the skin of her face went cold and clammy under her palm.

"Mama, I think Cousin Diana is going to lose her breakfast," said Charles.

Chapter Seven

Bedford stared at the closed door. Nervous sweat trickled down his back. He wanted nothing to do with visiting the remaining Lungrens. He was the last person on earth who should have been charged with this responsibility—who should be charged with any responsibility, for that matter. Yet he couldn't ignore it.

He'd tried, but Lungren's shade was disturbing his peace. Not that he actually believed he was being haunted by his former friend and gambling buddy, but too many times last night he'd woken up in a cold sweat for no reason at all. "Hell, man, if you were looking for someone to avenge you, you should have gone directly to your major."

As he was speaking out loud to a ghost that wasn't there, the door swung open and a maid looked at him as if he might be dicked in the nob. To tell the truth, she might be right. "I'm here to see the Misses Lungren."

"Yer name, sir?"

"William Bedford." William fumbled for his card case and finally retrieved a calling card. He didn't recognize the maid. He'd only been here a couple of times, and usually late in the evening.

"I'll see if they're at home," she said and closed the door in his face.

William looked down at his blue coat. Was if so threadbare that it looked secondhand? Should he have his landlady turn the cuffs and give a newer look to the sleeves? Maybe he'd do better to commence a flirtation with a seamstress working in one of the Bond Street shops. Perhaps he could get the work for free.

Maybe it was the sorry horse he'd ridden that prompted the maid to leave him standing outside. A man was in dire straits when he couldn't even hire decent horseflesh. He turned to retrieve the tethered nag and go back to town when the door swung open.

"They will see you in the drawing room. They are having tea with the other callers." The maid stepped back inside, closing the door and scurrying away.

William stepped into the darkened interior and waited for his eyes to adjust. Should he guess his way to the drawing room? In previous visits he'd almost always been shown directly to the library. Perhaps he should smell his way. He sniffed. His nose wasn't good enough.

"This way, sir." Impatience colored the maid's voice. She stood halfway down a passageway, next to the sagging stairs that dominated the entryway.

He gave her a long look and a slow smile. Obviously he needed to practice charming women. Especially since it looked more and more like he would need to marry a woman of means, most likely a horse-faced heiress since his breeding wasn't good enough to recommend him to a pretty one.

But the maid only rolled her eyes as she opened the door for him.

Inside the room, Major Sheridan and Lieutenant Randleton sat stiffly with mismatched cups of tea in their hands. The three Lungren sisters stared at him with varying degrees of animosity.

William managed to stammer out his condolences, which had the younger sister nodding. The middle sister turned toward a window, and the oldest kept up her glare.