The Riddle of the Deplorable Dandy (38 page)

“Valerian.”

“He—he
galloped?
But—but he was near to collapse! He could not possibly have managed to come for you!”

“Should not have, perhaps. But as soon as I was able to bring him round he started screaming at me that Swift meant Joel Skye's execution for disobeying orders and giving aid to a known traitor, and that your heart would be broken if he succeeded, and—Would it, Ellie? Is your heart given to Joel Skye?”

At the moment her heart was thundering, but despite a delicious surge of joy she was touched by the wistfulness she saw in his fine eyes. Still clinging to his hand, she said gently, “My heart is given, dear Nicky. But not to Joel.”

“And not to me, alas,” he said wryly. “Oh well. I need not tell you he's a rogue and a rascal. That you already know. Still, I suppose he cannot be the irresponsible here-and-thereian he portrays, else he'd not count so many good men among his friends. And whatever else, clearly he is true to those he loves.”

Her cheeks very hot, she said with an uncertain little laugh, “You are so generous, Nicky, but you go too fast. Mr. Valerian may affect frippery ways, but his behaviour was not at all offensive whilst we was in France. He never once uttered a word of—of endearment, and he most certainly has not declared himself.”

Nicholas Drew nodded and, like the fine gentleman he was, asked, “Would you like to go and see him?”

*   *   *

Seated in the parlour of Gervaise Valerian's comfortable London flat, Vance Clayton frowned into his tankard of ale and said slowly, “The thing is, I simply cannot remember the gentleman, except as someone very tall with a great booming voice. Why he should have chose to name me his heir is beyond understanding.”

Valerian asked curiously, “How does your cousin Beech come into the picture?”

“Sir Brian Beech is my mother's half-brother. My father detested him and held he was a proper Captain Sharp. I've no doubt he was right. I know Mama found it hard to defend him because he was always getting into some sort of scrape. I believe Papa had to pay his debts more than once to avoid a scandal, and was vastly relieved when he and his son left England.”

“Still, had you not been in his way, young Conrad would stand to inherit? Jove, there must be a considerable fortune involved to warrant an attempt at murder!”

“Yes, I believe there is. And only think how cunning they were. Had it not been for you and my little sister, I'd have been done away with at that ghastly chateau and not a shadow of suspicion would have fallen upon the Beeches! I cannot—” He broke off as Valerian's man opened the door.

“I told you I was not to be disturbed,” snapped Valerian, irked.

Despite the fact that he was a very large individual, Mr. Maltby's salary enabled him to patronize a good tailor, and he presented an elegant appearance. At the moment, every inch of his rotund person radiated disapproval and with disdainfully raised eyebrows he advised the ceiling, “As I informed her, sir. But the lady insisted—”

Clayton grinned.

Valerian lost all his colour and leaning forward in his chair demanded the name of the lady.

“She calls herself Nurse Brocade,” Maltby informed a painting on the wall. “But she had no card, and—”

“Idiot!” growled Valerian. “Show the lady into my study at once, offer her refreshments and my apologies and say I will join her directly.”

Startled, Clayton had sprung to his feet. “Wait!” he commanded, and turning to his host, he said, “If Elspeth has come to find me it must be of some urgency! She would never call at the home of a bachelor in this vulgar fashion!”

“Do as you're told, Maltby!” ordered Valerian, coming painfully to his feet and leaning on a cane for support.

His man, recognizing that dangerous tone of voice, abandoned stateliness and fled.

“And as for you, Clayton,” said Valerian, frowning, “What convoluted reasoning leads you to suppose that she would call at
my
flat to see
you?
I give you good day!”

“What the devil d'you mean—‘good day?'” argued Clayton indignantly. “Oh—I see. Very well, I'll collect my sister and—”

“Damn your ears!” exploded Valerian. “
Will
you take yourself off and leave your sister alone?”

Clayton stared at him. “Now, see here, Valerian. I comprehend that you're a very sick man still, but—”

“Not too sick to throw you through the window,” snarled his rude host.
“Go—away!”

Bemused, Clayton said feebly, “But—”

Valerian took a step towards him. Moving hurriedly to the door, Clayton rallied. “Look here, Valerian, she is
my
sister, and I've a right to guard her even if she were not also an—”

“Also—what? An heiress? Is that what you fear? I am
very
well aware of that fact, sir!” Valerian raised his cane. “Now are you going, or must I—”

Clayton beat an ignominious retreat.

Elspeth was standing by the bookcase, glancing at some well-worn volumes, when she heard the study door open and turned, smiling. Her smile died. She had expected him to look pale and ill, but the cane frightened her.

“Don't maudle,” he said, reading her expression rightly.

“Well!” she exclaimed. “Is that all you have to say to me, sir? As a nurse, I have a right to maudle!”

He glanced around and said irritably, “I told them to offer you refreshments!” He reached for a small silver bell on the desk.

Elspeth said, “I did not come here for a glass of wine, Gervaise.”

Ushering her to a wing chair, he occupied another. “I expect you will tell me why you did come. It had better not be to babble your thanks. Ours was a mutual collaboration, nothing more. I had as well start mouthing a lot of fustian about your invaluable assistance tossing boxes of…” His words trailed off as the flirtatious curl at her temple caught his eye. Recovering, he said hastily, “Er, where was I?”

“Mouthing a lot of fustian.” Her voice softened. “And Nicholas told me how you rode to find him. It was—forgive me—most gallant.”

“Well, of course it was. I am gallantry personified. 'Tis as well you realize that, ma'am.” Her smile was very tender. Struggling, he asked, “And how is friend Joel? Gad, but the poor fellow has a scoundrelly sire! And why do I always say what I should not, I wonder? My apologies.” He bit his lip, clenched his good hand hard and asked in a rush of words, “Shall—shall you mind having a scoundrel for a—er, papa-in-law?”

Elspeth folded her hands in her lap and, gazing at them, replied demurely, “Joel's mama is delightful, and would be pleased to have me for a daughter-in-law, so she says.”

“Oh.”

“And Joel has been reprieved, had you heard?”

“No.”

Her lips twitched as she heard the despondency in his tone. “Then you will be glad to know he was congratulated by Admiral Lord Branscombe, who is apparently very much Somebody, because that wretched letter my brother carried has put them all in high gig. Lord Hayes was delighted. Colonel Skye went off grinding his teeth with frustration—though I think he became alarmed when he realised his son stood in real danger and wanted only to see Joel leave the Navy. Anyway, Joel is promised command of a new frigate! What d'you think of that?”

“Jolly good,” said Valerian in a voice of doom. “So he'll be promoted to captain or some such high rank, and will be able to afford a wife, eh?”

“Oh, I should think so. At least, that's what he told me.” He was silent, and glancing up under her lashes, she saw his scowl and said innocently, “When he offered for my hand, you know.”

“Did he! And I suppose you twittered and fluttered and piped, ‘Yes, poor dear Joel,' or something romantically asinine.”

“Well, I probably should have. I expect you think I am at my last prayers.”

A gleam crept into his grey eyes. He said, “Decidedly. An ancient crone. But then, you're an heiress now and will likely have lots of offers from—”

“From gazetted fortune-hunters, is what what you mean, Gervaise?”

“Yes.” Desperate, he drew in his breath and took the plunge, saying in a strained and shaking voice, “Like—like me, for instance. I have always w-wanted to marry an heiress!”

“Really?” Elspeth stood. “I shall add your name to my list, Gervaise. Now I expect my brother is waiting for me on your doorstep. I caught a glimpse of him through the window and he appeared to be most agitated for some reason.”

Standing at once, he moved too fast, flinched and had to resort to his cane. “And would be more so if he guessed you were to be annoyed by—by another gazetted fortune-hunter.”

Elspeth regarded him gravely.

He threw the cane down, reached blindly for her arm and toppled to his knees.

“Great heavens!” she exclaimed in alarm. “There is not the need to—”

He said with a gasping laugh, “I should allow you to misinterpret my rare humility, darling Elspeth. Truth is—this ridiculous pose is—was involuntary!”

“Oh, my poor—”

“No! For God's sake—do not pity me! I'm just a trifle unsteady—all the brandy I've been … Oh, to hell with it! Jupiter! What a cake I'm making of myself! Forgive, and do give me a hand up, Nurse Brocade! This is dashed hard on the knees…”

“Impossible creature!” With a broken little laugh, Elspeth bent and put her arm around him. In some peculiar fashion that she could not comprehend, both his arms were around her and she was on her knees also and being ruthlessly kissed.

“Gervaise!” she gasped, when she could say anything at all. “Is that all I get in the way of an offer? No! Gervaise!”

“I am … a Deplorable Dandy … and a gazetted fortune-hunter…” he said between kisses. “But, oh, my gallant little love, my heroic tosser of pussycat commodes … lady I worship, and will for as long as I live … Will you take this most unworthy Dandy to … to be your deplorable husband…?”

There was a shout from outside.

The door burst open.

Rushing in, Vance Clayton cried, “How
dare
you! Unhand my sister, you—you dastardly villain!”

“You got my titles wrong, Vance,” said Valerian, still clasping Elspeth shamelessly in his embrace and smiling up into Clayton's outraged face. “No, you cannot shoot me until I have my answer.” His grey eyes, brighter than Vance had ever seen them, gazed adoringly into Elspeth's blue ones. “Well, little love of my life? Will you take my name? It is—I dare to think—an honourable name, and I swear will never disgrace you.”

Elspeth smiled and touched his cheek.

Vance did not hear what she said, but he saw the glory in her eyes and there could be no doubt of her answer. Awed, he closed the door softly and left them to their happiness.

In the hall, Mr. Maltby waited anxiously. “Please, sir,” he stammered, wringing his hands. “I am most fond of my master! Is—is everything all right?”

Vance wandered past, shaking his head numbly. “Be dashed,” he murmured, and then, with a broad grin, he snatched up the tricorne he had left on the hall table and tossed it into the air. “Be jolly well
dashed!
” he exclaimed, catching it again. “Oh—yes, Maltby. Everything is just about perfect! In fact, I think you and I are entitled to partake of a glass of Mr. Valerian's finest cognac in honour of my future nieces and nephews!”

Mr. Maltby readily agreeing with this excellent plan, they sat together and enjoyed not one but several glasses, after which Mr. Vance Clayton walked jauntily into the rain.

ALSO BY PATRICIA VERYAN

The Riddle of the Shipwrecked Spinster

The Riddle of the Reluctant Rake

The Riddle of the Lost Lover

The Riddle of Alabaster Royal

Lanterns

The Mandarin of Mayfair

Never Doubt I Love

A Shadow's Bliss

Ask Me No Questions

Had We Never Loved

Time's Fool

Logic of the Heart

The Dedicated Villain

Cherished Enemy

Love Alters Not

Give All to Love

The Tyrant

Journey to Enchantment

Practice to Deceive

Sanguinet's Crown

The Wagered Widow

The Noblest Frailty

Married Past Redemption

Feather Castles

Some Brief Folly

Nanette

Mistress of Willowvale

Love's Duet

The Lord and the Gypsy

THE RIDDLE OF THE DEPLORABLE DANDY
. Copyright © 2002 by Patricia Veryan. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.stmartins.com

eBooks may be purchased for business or promotional use. For information on bulk purchases, please contact Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department by writing to [email protected]

First Edition: December 2002

eISBN 9781466884335

First eBook edition: September 2014