Carola Dunn (3 page)

Thomas, Viscount Danville, heir to the Duke of Stafford, had never been known to refuse an invitation to speak. “Rebecca Nuthall is a distant cousin of Muriel’s. Lady Parr’s maternal uncle was married to...”

“Cut line, Tom! I can do without the family tree. What is she doing here?”

“Acting as companion to Lady Parr; the thirteenth, I believe. She’s lasted longer than the rest. A meek, nervous creature.”

“Oh, a lady’s companion.” John’s tone dismissed the occupation as beneath his notice, but he went on to ask, “Does the old dragon starve her? She’s thin as a rail.”

“Starve her? In my house? I trust you are joking! Rebecca has a delicate appetite, I daresay. What exactly happened this morning?”

“She fell into one of your devilish watercourses and I fished her out. There was a boy, too. I wonder what’s become of Bev?”

“Mr. Bevan arrived a half hour since, while you were in your bath. He, too, was in need of a borrowed coat.”

John jumped up and headed for the door. “Bev’s less likely to split your seams than I am,” he said over his shoulder, “and our traps should arrive at any minute. The carriage set out from Stamford at the same time we did.”

“Where are you going? You cannot wander about the house in my dressing gown in broad daylight!”

“Tell me which chamber is Bev’s and I shan’t have to wander about. Or I could leave the dressing gown behind,” offered John with a grin, his hand on the knob.

With a resigned sigh Tom went to fetch Mr. Bevan and moments later the three gentlemen were once more seated cosily about the fire.

“The lad was right as rain by the time I got him home,” Bev reported. “One of your tenants’ brats, Danville, and more like to get a hiding than sympathy by the look on his father’s face.”

“Did he tell you how the accident came about?” Tom asked.

“He swore up and down the young lady jumped in to save him
,
and that she could have climbed out but she wouldn’t abandon him. Regular heroine, I collect.”

“That doesn’t sound like Rebecca.” Tom shook his head. “She’s a spiritless little thing, couldn’t say boo to a goose.”

John agreed. “She struck me as the timid sort. Delicate. I’ll wager you it’s all a hum.”

“Regular heroine,” his friend persisted. “You’re on for ten guineas. The boy would have been washed away if she hadn’t held him up. How is she? Looked to be in queer stirrups when you fished her out.”

“Yes, I’d have sworn she was half dead, yet she managed to walk above-stairs after I carried her in. Insisted on it, in fact. Come to think of it, that showed some pluck.”

“Told you so,” Bev said triumphantly.

“How is she?” John turned to Tom.

“I’ll go and ask Muriel. I’ve business to see to, can’t sit about chatting all day. We’ll talk later.” With a dark glance at his brother, the viscount heaved himself out of his chair and departed.

“Not in the way, am I?” Bev lounged back with his boots on the gleaming brass fender, reaching for the glass of brandy on the table at his elbow.

“On the contrary.
Your
presence has postponed a painful explanation of
my
presence.”

“Haven’t told him about the duel yet, eh?”

“Of all the ill-considered, muttonheaded starts,” John said gloomily, “that was the stupidest.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. Tell me about the young lady you pulled out of the river. I gather she is staying here?”

“Tom’s mother-in-law’s companion, Miss Rebecca Nuthall.”

“Not an heiress then. Pity.”

“Don’t tell me you’re looking for an heiress! Under the hatches again?”

“Not at all! Well, I admit it’s low tide with me till quarter day but that’s not far off and I’m not about to let it drive me into parson’s mousetrap. Never hurts to have an unknown heiress up one’s sleeve though. Pretty, is she?” Bev asked.

“Don’t be a clunch. If there’s a woman on this earth who looks pretty when she’s frozen and half-drowned, I’d like to meet her. Besides, pretty females have no need to become lady’s companions.”

“True.” Mr. Bevan’s sigh was philosophical. “And from what your brother said she’s not even a lively ‘un. Ah, well, daresay I ought to be on my way tomorrow.”

“You can’t mean to desert me so soon! And don’t tell me the damp is bad for your rheumatism.”

“My dear fellow, you can’t expect me to stay in the middle of a family row without even a flirtation to amuse me.”

“There won’t be a row,” said John optimistically. “Tom may be six years my senior but he ain’t head of the family yet. At worst, he’ll sermonize.”

“In that case,” Bev resolved, “I’ll be gone at first light!”

When Tom cornered him later that afternoon, John’s optimism proved well-founded. The viscount tut-tutted at the story of the duel, but agreed that the outcome had been an unfortunate accident.

“Rawley’s not likely to die, is he? Barring a fever or putrefaction of the wound? So that’s why his Grace has sent you to rusticate.”

“Worse than that. He’s sending me abroad. I’ll be leaving as soon as he’s arranged a post for me in one of our embassies.”

To John’s indignation, his staid brother roared with laughter. “You—a diplomat!” he spluttered. “This is too rich!”

“I daresay I can be as good a diplomat as the next man.”

“Where are you going? I suppose he will not reward you with Paris or Vienna.”

“More likely some godforsaken hellhole like Calcutta or Cairo. The sort of place Teresa and Andrew would love to visit.”

“They are off to far more civilized parts on their next posting. I heard from them only this morning. They will be coming to stay for a few days next week on their way to Hull to take ship for St Petersburg.”

John brightened. “Coming here? Famous! I haven’t seen Teresa since they stayed with us in London in the autumn, just after they arrived back in England.”

“Muriel hopes to persuade Teresa to leave the little girl with us.”

“She’ll catch cold at that. The child was born in China, wasn’t she? She has already travelled half round the world. I’ll lay you a monkey Teresa will think nothing of taking her to Russia.”

“That’s one wager I’ll not take you up on, though I don’t say I approve. Our cousin may be an intrepid traveller but it is the outside of enough to endanger her daughter unnecessarily.”

“Russia’s not so very different from England. I met Prince Nikolai Volkov when the Tsar was here in ‘14, and I assure you he was up to every rig and row.”

“That is hardly reassuring! However, it is certainly safer than China and I do not mean to pinch at Teresa about it. I beg you will not lead her into mischief while she is here.”

“Come, Tom, she is a respectable matron now.”

“If she has changed, you have not.”

Foreseeing the expected lecture on his here-and-thereian ways, John made his escape.

Chapter 3

“Is that Miss Nuthall? You had me expecting a muffin-faced drab!” Bev’s whispered indignation was just audible above the crackle of the drawing-room fire.

John turned towards the door. He was pleasantly surprised by the slight figure poised there like a nervous doe. The hair he had seen in lank strands intertwined with duckweed turned out, when dry and wound in a coronet of braids about her head, to be a glossy bronze. Her brown eyes had a slight, attractive tilt, and her thinness was less obvious when her clothes were not damply revealing every inch of her figure.

Muriel bustled forward and took her hand. “Beckie, dear, come and be introduced.”

The gentlemen bowed and murmured, “Delighted,” as the girl curtsied, a flush mantling her delicate features.

“Thank you, my lord, Mr. Bevan, for rescuing me.” Her soft voice was composed, but before she lowered her gaze John noted the look of apprehension she cast at him.

“Our pleasure, Miss Nuthall.” Eager to put her at ease, he continued, “Bev tells us you are a heroine.”

“Heroine?” She seemed bewildered.

“The farmer’s lad told me how you jumped into the river to save him,” Mr. Bevan explained.

“Oh no, I did not jump in, I slipped.”

John had never before met a female who would deny a story so much to her credit. It intrigued him. “And you did not stay in the water to hold him up, when you might have climbed out on your own?” he asked.

“I...I doubt I am strong enough to have climbed out unaided.”

“Then you did not even attempt it? That qualifies you as a heroine in my book, ma’am. You must accept the title.”

“Of course she is a heroine,” said Muriel, “but pray do not bother her about it now, John. She is not yet quite recovered. Come and sit down, Beckie.”

John had a distinct feeling that the girl was glad of an excuse to escape. Wealthy, titled and handsome, he was more used to being chased by hopeful maidens. He watched thoughtfully as she followed his sister-in-law across the room.

Bev dug him in the ribs with his elbow and muttered in his ear, “Ten guineas.”

John scowled at his inoffensive friend. He had completely forgotten their wager and now it struck him that if Miss Nuthall came to hear of it she might think he had questioned her with the ulterior motive of disproving her heroism. “Hush!” he hissed. “We’ll be going in to dinner at any moment. I’ll pay you tonight.”

At that moment Lady Parr came in. With a regal nod to the young gentlemen, she sailed past them and plumped into a chair beside the sofa on which Miss Nuthall now reclined. Her piercing voice easily reached John’s ears.

“Well, girl, where have you been hiding?”

“Cousin Muriel would not allow me to rise from my bed, ma’am. I hope my absence has not been troublesome.”

“Of course it has been troublesome,” said her ladyship testily. “I mislaid my spectacles and could neither read nor set a stitch without you to find them for me. What is this shocking tale I hear of you jumping into a river after a village urchin? I expect more decorum of my companion.”

The girl seemed not in the least discomposed by the combined interrogation and tongue-lashing but John found it acutely irritating.

“May I join you, ma’am?” He took a seat nearby before any objection could be voiced. “I think you cannot have heard that Miss Nuthall is something of a heroine.”

Lady Parr raised a quizzing glass that had quelled many an impertinent jackanapes. Lord John was made of sterner stuff and withstood the scrutiny with scarcely a blink. However, to his dismay he saw that his taking up arms in her behalf, far from pleasing the girl, had brought back the look of alarm to her pale face.

Why was she afraid of him? Surely she could not suppose him such a blackguard as to tell anyone how he had stripped her nearly naked on the bridge!

“Heroines are best left between the pages of a novel, or on the stage,” Lady Parr was declaring. “It is, to say the least, indiscreet for a young woman to put herself forward in such a way.”

John smiled at the girl, reassuringly he hoped. “They say discretion is the better part of valour, but since your valour saved a child from drowning, I cannot agree. Allow me to help you, Miss Nuthall,” he added as the butler appeared to announce that dinner was served.

“Oh no, I can manage very well, my lord. Pray take in Cousin Adelaide.”

He acquiesced, though with a bad grace. Doubtless had she accepted his aid it would have led to another scolding for putting herself forward and he wanted to spare her that.

Tom escorted Miss Nuthall into the dining room, but she did not take his arm, John noted. While bearing his part in the general conversation, he watched her. She scarcely spoke, seldom raising her eyes from her plate though she ate very little. To be sure her position was awkward, both companion and relative, yet such reticence seemed excessive. And she was too pretty to waste her life away jumping at the bidding of the old tartar.

John sensed a mystery.

     It might be amusing to try to fathom her secret before the duke sent him off to the ends of the earth. In any case, he must seek her out privately to assure her that she need fear no scandalous revelation from his lips.

As it happened, his continued silence had already reassured Rebecca on that head. Neither by word nor by look had he so much as hinted at having seen her
en
extreme
déshabille.
She was grateful, but nonetheless embarrassed by his presence. She also found him even more intimidating than his brother.

She mused on this when she retired to her chamber, shortly after dinner and long before the gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room. Lord John was taller than the viscount, to be sure, though not by much, and broader in the shoulders. Yet it was not so much his size that disturbed her: after all her uncle, who terrified her, was not a large man. It was his air of vitality, perhaps, the sense of boundless vigour barely held in check.

Muriel had intimated that her brother-in-law’s energies were chiefly expended on such frivolous pursuits as gambling, drinking and wenching. However, Rebecca had seen no signs of the flabbiness of dissipation. On the contrary, Lord John possessed a splendidly muscular figure as well as a face certain to guarantee success with any number of wenches.

Taken one by one, his features were very like Cousin Tom’s, but whereas Tom’s expression in repose was definitely haughty, John’s liveliness made a quite different impression. It attracted Rebecca even as she fled him.

She had just slipped into bed when there was a light knock on the door and Muriel came in.

“I just wanted to make sure you are all right, Beckie. You may make nothing of it but it must have been the horridest experience. John has been making us all laugh with his description of his valet’s disgust at the condition of his clothes. It seems that Pierce made John promise that if he ever again jumps into a river he will not do so in a coat from Weston.”

“Oh dear, I had not thought, his things must be quite spoiled. That is a poor reward for his gallantry in saving me.”

“I assure you he does not regard it in the least. You must not suppose that because he is a younger son he is purse-pinched. His allowance from the duke is excessively generous. Besides, Tom says he is amazingly lucky in his gaming and wagering on horse-races and prize-fights and such. He may be a scapegrace, as Tom calls him, but he is very droll and always ready to laugh at himself. I wish you had stayed to hear his joking.”