Time's Fool (34 page)

“To what end? The old fool has bungled away our wealth, our houses and lands! Collington is full of juice and would not miss a few hundred to avoid a scandal. And a few hundred would help in the New World!”

“Help yourself only, my brave fellow? Or did your plans perhaps include a thought at least for Gwen?”

Despite his selfish panic, Newby was genuinely fond of his sister. He bit his lip and muttered, “She'd never leave my father.”

“But
you
would. Knowing you are his favourite, still you would carelessly abandon him! You'll strive to better purpose, twin, do you forget these megrims and help me. I'd be glad of your assistance, for there are—”

“Assistance in what? Gathering your so-called
facts
? Gathering rubbish, more like! The committee will laugh at you. But you'd best gather fast, my poor simpleton. Papa's lawyer brought word the committee is to meet again on Tuesday. The creditors will present their claims, and my father will surely be adjudged guilty of fraud—where will your famed pride be then?”

Stunned, Gideon pushed past and hurried to Sir Mark's study, Newby's angry titter following him.

His knock went unanswered, and he opened the door. Sir Mark was leaning back in his chair, staring at the pile of papers on the desk before him. He looked for the first time an old man, crushed and defeated. Longing to be able to tell him that all was well, that disaster had been averted, Gideon walked in. “My apologies that I was delayed, sir. But I fancy you will—”

Sir Mark looked up. His face was haggard and twitching, his eyes full of tears. “I am to appear … before the committee … on Tuesday,” he said brokenly. “I tried so hard to right the wrong, Gideon. I—I
did
repay many men. But I have failed you all … My lawyer says there is no hope. I shall be found … guilty of—of fraud and criminal neglect. They will take everything that is left. I sold the Conduit Street house and the shooting box in Leicestershire. You knew that, of course. Promontory Point will go too … The estate where Rossiters have been born for centuries … I shall be clapped up or deported. A despised and dishonoured … bankrupt!”

His own eyes blurring, Gideon hurried forward. “No, no, sir. Never say so! I've gathered much information to substantiate your theory that you were the victim of—”

“Of—whom?” The older man's eyes searched his face. He pleaded, “Have you discovered why 'twas done? Have you learned the name of my enemy?”

“Not definitely. But—”

With a flash of temper Sir Mark interrupted, “You might have done, had you tended to your investigations instead of frippering about chasing nonsensical chess pieces that have nothing to say to
anything
! I wonder you bothered to come home at all! All you achieve is to quarrel with Newby, who has always been devoted to me!”

Gideon said quietly, “I think you do not mean that, sir. You know I have tried.”

The blaze died from Sir Mark's eyes. “Aye. You have.” He sighed heavily. “I'm sorry, boy. Pay me no heed. Newby was right, I suppose. We should have taken what was left and … and run.”

“No, no! Indeed you must not despair, sir.”

Sir Mark bowed forward and sank his face into his hands. “Do you know—what it
means
?” His voice was a groan, the words muffled. “It means I cannot ever be elected to the House of Commons. I can no longer be a justice of the peace. I could never be a mayor or—or an alderman. I cannot serve the poor, or be a member of a county council, or a parish council … God knows what else. I am thoroughly disgraced. God knows how I shall ever hold up my head again! Oh! Lord help me! I am truly beyond the pale!”

With a sobbing cry Gwendolyn limped past Gideon and gathered her father into cherishing arms. “Do not! Oh, do not grieve so, dearest Papa. Gideon is here now. He will help us. He will not—not let them…” Lifting an anguished face, she blinked away tears, and gulped, “Will you … Gideon?”

He threw aside his reserve and hastened to put his arms around them both. “No indeed,” he said huskily. “We will win yet, Papa! I promise you!”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

In the century and more since King Charles I had graciously opened Hyde Park to the common people, it had become a popular place. In addition to the innocent pleasures of walking, picnics, and games, many duels had been fought here. The mile-long Rotten Row was a parade ground for the elite. Rossiter had not expected it to be crowded at seven o'clock on a cloudy morning, however, and he was more than a little exasperated to see some half dozen riders escorting three ladies, one of whom was Naomi. She was wearing a creamy beige habit with big gold buttons. Her hat was a jaunty, high-crowned creation, and as he approached he could see that she was all light-hearted coquetry, her merry little laugh trilling out in response to some remark, the orange ribands of her hat fluttering in the rather chill wind as she swayed to the cavorting of her high-spirited bay mare.

Rossiter rode to join them as Viscount Glendenning was complaining that Lady Naomi was cruel to refuse his offer to drive her down to Richmond.

“But I attended your ball, Tio,” she answered mischievously, “and I must not be too particular, you know.”

“Besides which,” put in Lord Sommers, “Lady Naomi goes with me to the military review at St. James'. Now do not break my heart by refusing, sweet enchantress. You said you would, you know you did.”

“I said I
might,
my lord,” Naomi qualified, tapping his arm gently with her riding whip, her green eyes smiling at him.

Trying to edge his black between Sommers and Naomi, Mr. Harrier lisped, “And she might
not,
Sommers! Especially since I can offer a boat party—”

“Which will be rained on,
assurement,
” laughed a clean-cut young major who was unknown to Rossiter. “You will be far better advised to go with me to my mama's musicale, lovely one.”

“You are all so good to me,” said Naomi. “And did I intend to accept any of these delightful invitations, Hilary, I would certainly consider—”

“Gideon!”

Rossiter had been so intent upon his beloved that he'd scarcely noticed the other two ladies. Now, he was amazed to hear Gwendolyn's voice call his name, and to discover her mounted on a quiet chestnut gelding, and watching him fondly. Gordon Chandler rode beside her, and beyond Chandler were Miss Falcon and Cyril Crenshore. Quite aware that the cheery banter had ceased, and that several frigid glances came his way, Rossiter guided his mount close to his sister.

“What on earth are you doing here, cheerful sparrow? I'd fancied you snug in your bed at home.”

“Luckily, you are mistaken,” said Chandler, ever gallant. “Are you well, Ross? Miss Gwendolyn tells me you'd a pair of narrow escapes on Wednesday.”

“Which is surprising to none,” observed Mr. Crenshore, sardonically.

Ignoring him, Gideon said, “I'll own time has not hung heavy on my hands since I came home. Now tell me, Gwen, how came you here? And what are you about letting this hedgebird escort you?”

Chandler laughed, and Gwendolyn said blithely that no lady could wish a more pleasant escort. “You know I love to ride in the early morning, and Miss Falcon was so kind as to invite me to join their party today. Tummet brought me. I thought you must have known, for he said he left you a note.”

It had taken Rossiter some minutes to decipher that note. Several words were quite incomprehensible, but the gist of it appeared to be that Tummet had gone to the port with a hen to hide her bosom in a box. At that point, amused but mystified, he'd abandoned the effort. Glancing back now, he saw that Tummet was indeed plodding along behind.

The valet doffed his hat and enquired with a leer. “Get me note, Guv?”

“I did,” called Gideon. “What did it say?”

Tummet looked at a sympathetic cloud. “Cor!” he told it. And to his employer added with offended dignity, “I writ plain as what anyone could see that I'd gorn to escort Miss Gwen to ride with her bosom bow—which is a word, or words, meaning friend what is closest to her 'eart.”

“Perfectly correct,” said Gwendolyn, and added softly, “what did you think he said?”

Gideon chuckled. “Never mind. What the deuce is he riding?”

“King Arthur's charger, by the look of it,” said Chandler. “I'll allow you to chat with your pretty sister, Ross. Only provided you are polite to the lady.” He drove home his spurs, and joined the forward party.

Crenshore clearly wished to ride ahead also, but Katrina would not be manoeuvred into abandoning the Rossiters and said with her kind smile, “Do you go on, sir, for there is a matter I must discuss with Miss Rossiter.”

Scowling, Crenshore left them.

Katrina lowered her voice. “Lady Naomi is anxious to speak with you, Captain Rossiter. She asks that you meet her in the large clump of willows by the Serpentine.”

“Thank you, ma'am” he said gratefully. “You are very good. Especially, since you must have formed a very poor first opinion of me.”

She looked at him with anxiety in her fascinating eyes. “My brother and I are not accepted, as you must know, and—”

“Stuff,” interrupted Gwendolyn, ever loyal. “I saw how the gentlemen fought to be beside you, and would still be doing so had you not been so kind as to stay by me.”

Katrina smiled. “They enjoy to flirt with me, perhaps. And we've a few friends, like Lord Horatio, who acknowledge us. But I know how most people feel about us. That is why—having been judged myself and found beyond the pale, I hesitate to judge others.”

“But you do judge me, I think,” said Gideon quietly.

She hesitated, then said, “I fear you, rather. Naomi is my dearest friend. I'd not see her hurt again.”

This implied criticism caused Gwendolyn to frown a little, but she kept silent.

Gideon prompted, “And you think I will hurt her?”

“Sir,” said Katrina, “I wish I did not. But—I will speak plainly. Although Naomi and the earl have not enjoyed a close relationship, he
is
her father, and she was much too well bred-up to now run counter to his wishes. With both your parents so bitterly opposed to the match”—she gave a regretful little gesture—“I see only heartbreak ahead—for both of you.”

Ten minutes later Gideon was pondering those words as he waited in the small grove of willows by the lake. Perhaps in other eyes their prospects for happiness did not seem too bright just at the moment, but he was quite sure now that his lady still loved him, and nothing could dim that wondrous knowledge. Failure was not to be thought of; Fate could not be so cruel as to reunite them only to part them forever. Besides, they had located the ruby chess piece, and when Morris brought it to Town another part of the puzzle would fall into place. Morris would likely not arrive until this afternoon, however, which should allow plenty of time for the small matter he meant to attend to. He reached down to his saddle holster and transferred the pistol into the right-hand pocket of his coat. Just in case.

A slight drizzle began to add to the air's dampness. Logically the riding party would soon break up. He had given Tummet strict instructions not to desert Gwendolyn this time, and Horatio Glendenning had been trying to persuade the girl to take luncheon at Laindon House, where his step-sister was staying. The prospect of seeing an old friend had brought stars of happiness into Gwen's blue eyes, and it was more than likely that she would accept the invitation.

He heard an approaching rider then, and Naomi cantered to join him. Her eyes radiant, her cheeks a little flushed, she reached out to him and he took her hand and kissed it, murmuring, “I wish I dare kiss you properly.”

“So sure as you did, Reggie Smythe would chance to pass by. Besides, I have had a horrid time trying to elude Camber.”

He knit his brows. “Camber?”

“Of course, you've not seen him. He worked for us in Italy, and now Papa has decreed he is to be my groom. I fancy he has orders to protect me from gentlemen with the kind of gleam in their eyes that I perceive in yours, sir!”

He grinned and led her under the leafy umbrella of the willows. “He won't see any gleams under here. And now I can claim my proper kiss.”

He leaned to her, his arm slipping around her shoulders, and she lifted her face. After a rapturous moment her mare began to dance about nervously, and they were torn apart.

Naomi said dreamily. “I am not sure that kiss was entirely ‘proper,' Captain Rossiter.”

“True.” He sighed. “And it might have lasted a little longer had—”

“Sshh!” she hissed. “Camber!”

The rider on the tall piebald horse was indeed a big fellow. His stock was immaculate, his livery sat well on his broad shoulders, and his modest wig was neatly curled. But not all the efforts of tailor or wig maker could ameliorate the heavy overhanging brow, the truculent look in the extremely deep set eyes, the lantern jaw. He was coming straight for the trees, but a woman's laughter sounded from beyond some massed rhododendron bushes, and he at once touched home his spurs and rode in that direction.

“Phew!” said Rossiter. “I think I'd as well not have to deal with that one! He's a rough-looking customer.”

“I'll own I've never cared for him. His hand was crushed in an accident a few years ago, and Papa feels he would never find work elsewhere, so he keeps him on. I think … he is very loyal.”

“Then I cannot fault him for his looks, can I? He may yet find us, however, and I've little time, so you'd best tell me your news.”

She found herself reluctant to do so, and evaded, “First—what happened with the constable? And what did your father say?”

He possessed himself of her hand again. “The constable was dignified and surprisingly intelligent, but could do little more than promise to post descriptions of the culprits. More to the point, none of my people was badly hurt. I found my father…” He paused, his expression becoming sombre. “Well, I thought it best not to tell him about the farm.”