Valentine (38 page)

Edward was just leaving his lodgings when Theo arrived. “Oh, good, I’ve caught you,” she said without preamble. “I need to talk with you for a few minutes.”

Edward had an appointment at Manton’s Gallery, but it didn’t occur to him to turn Theo away. “Come on in,” he said amenably, ushering her through the front door and into his sitting room.

The footman stationed himself at the foot of the steps leading to the front door.

“So what can I do for you, Theo?”

“I need you to accompany me to a tavern on Dock Street.” Theo came straight to the point.

“Now what are you up to?” Edward bent to warm his hand at the fire.

Theo explained the events of the previous evening. “And Stoneridge refuses to tell me anything,” she finished. “I’m convinced he recognized the man in the tavern, so he knows
who’s behind these ‘accidents,’ and he won’t let me help. So I’m going to have to find out for myself.”

For once Edward was uncooperative. “If Stoneridge says it’s not your business, then you can’t make it so, Theo.”

Her mouth took its familiar stubborn turn. “I have made it so.” She paused and then with visible effort broached the most difficult subject. “You saw what happened at Mama’s reception the other afternoon. He won’t say anything about that, either. I can’t ask him about it because …” She paused again, chewing her lip. “Because it … it must be something that he’s ashamed of. There must be something that happened to him that he can’t talk about…. It pains him deeply, I know.”

She took a turn around the room, her stride impatient and agitated. “But I’m beginning to think that and the accidents have to be connected. It’s too much of a coincidence otherwise, don’t you think?”

She turned back to Edward. He was looking uncomfortable. Stricken almost, as he had done during Sylvester’s humiliation in her mother’s salon.

“What is it?” she demanded.

Edward shook his head. “It’s just something I heard in the Peninsula. I don’t believe a word of it, but I imagine it explains what happened at your mother’s.”

“Tell me.” She came close to him, her eyes fixed on his face.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, because there can’t be anything to it. Anyone who knows Stoneridge has to realize that. I gather the Peer took his side at the—” He stopped. Court-martial was such a grim concept, even when it was part of due process: when a naval captain lost his ship, or an army commander lost the regimental colors.

“Cut line, Edward.” Theo’s expression was taut, and he could read anger in her eyes.

“Perhaps you should ask him yourself?” he suggested awkwardly.
“I’ve only heard it third or fourth-hand. I don’t want to speak out of turn.”

“Goddammit, Edward. If you’ve known something about this all along and haven’t told me, I take it very ill in you,” she declared furiously. “Now
tell
me!”

Edward sighed. He was in too deep to back away now, and he could understand Theo’s anger, but it still felt like spreading gossip.

Succinctly, he told her what he’d heard. Theo listened in incredulous silence.

“Stoneridge a coward!” she exclaimed when he’d fallen into an unhappy silence. “That’s impossible. Oh, he has any number of difficult characteristics, but I’d stake my life on his courage. Wouldn’t you?”

“Certainly,” Edward agreed. “And he was acquitted, as I said. But Colonel Beamish said it was still murky. Damn murky, he kept saying. A man of few words is Colonel Beamish.”

“But Sylvester was wounded—severely wounded.” Theo struggled to fit what she knew of her husband into this history.

“A French bayonet to the head,” Edward said. “But
after
he surrendered, according to Beamish.”

“I don’t believe a word of it.” Theo began to pace the room again, her skirt swishing around her ankles with her impetuous stride. “I’m certain all these ‘accidents’ are connected to this, Edward. We must go to the Fisherman’s Rest immediately.”

“No,” Edward said. “We’re dining with your mother and then going to Almack’s.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks! This is so much more important.”

“Theo, I am not going to poke and pry into Stoneridge’s affairs,” Edward stated flatly.

Theo stared at him. “What’s happened to you, Edward? This is an adventure. We’ve always had adventures together.”

“I’m not much use in an adventure now, Theo.”

“Oh, you do talk such nonsense.” But she flung her arms around his neck and hugged him. “You can shoot with one hand, can’t you?”

“Not as well as with two. Anyway, Theo, that’s beside the point. If Stoneridge wanted you to know, he’d have told you himself. And if he wanted your help getting to the bottom of it, he’d have asked for it.”

“He just doesn’t know he wants it,” she said stubbornly. “He’s dreadfully reserved, and he simply won’t confide in me.” It occurred to her that there’d been a time when she hadn’t been able to share her own pain with Sylvester. But now she knew that she could. When had that changed?

Edward looked uncomfortable. He didn’t like these glimpses into the intimacy of his friend’s marriage. But he didn’t think Theo would see it in that way. She was direct and candid to an almost embarrassing degree.

“So you won’t come with me?” Theo said after a minute.

“It’s a bad idea, Theo.” His voice was cajoling, pleading almost. “Stoneridge can look after his own concerns. You don’t know what stones you’ll turn up if you go barging into something that you know nothing about.”

“Very well.” She shrugged in acceptance. She knew she could probably persuade him if she pushed it, but it would make him miserable. However, she didn’t accept his reasoning, only that she must do this alone. “I’d better get home, if I’m to be in Brook Street for dinner.”

Edward regarded her, doubt in his eyes. “I’m sorry if you feel I’ve let you down, Theo.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think that. Still, I think the army’s made you stuffy.” Her smile teased him, taking any sting from the words.

“I think it’s maturity and experience,” he retorted. “And it’s not so much being stuffy as behaving responsibly, Theo. We don’t know what we’d be looking for, and what the hell do you think we’d do with whatever it is if we found it?”

“That would rather depend on what it was,” she said. “But we won’t talk of it again.”

Edward saw her out and went on to Manton’s, still uncertain. He was not convinced Theo had dropped her planned excursion to the Fisherman’s Rest, and if she was going to insist on going, then he’d have to accompany her. She certainly couldn’t go alone to the kind of place she’d described. If he knew about her plans and let her go into danger alone, Stoneridge would be entitled to call him out. Or more likely take a horsewhip to him. A man couldn’t in honor bound meet a one-armed cripple on the dueling field.

The dismal reflection did nothing to improve his frame of mind later as he dressed for dinner at Brook Street. But neither would it ever have occurred to him to tell Stoneridge of his wife’s intentions. A man didn’t rat on his friend.

S
YLVESTER SAW
N
EIL
Gerard as soon as he entered White’s. The captain was playing faro and seemingly absorbed in his cards. Excitement prickled along Sylvester’s spine. The excitement of a huntsman scenting his quarry.

He stood for a minute in the doorway, watching the scene, then casually sauntered into the room. A group seated around a port decanter on a table fell silent as he passed; then the conversation picked up again. Heads were turned. He knew his face to be bloodless, his eyes to be veiled, all emotion wiped clean from his countenance as he strolled across to the faro table.

Neil Gerard felt Sylvester’s arrival, and his fingers trembled slightly as he took up his cards. There was an almost imperceptible hush in the room, a sense of suspended animation as the Earl of Stoneridge reached Neil Gerard’s table and paused beside his chair.

Neil looked up from his cards and nodded pleasantly. “Stoneridge, how d’ye do.” A collective breath was released around the faro table, and now people were looking openly at
the scene. Gerard held out his hand. Sylvester took it in a firm clasp. The hand of a man who was trying to kill him.

“Well, I thank you, Gerard.” He laid the faintest emphasis on the word “well,” and his eyes were hooded, hiding the raging speculation. For some reason Neil was not going to cut him again.

Gerard indicated his cards. “Care to take a hand?”

“Delighted, if there’s no objection.” Pointedly, the earl glanced around the table at Gerard’s fellow players. The Duke of Carterton held the bank. It was almost amusing to see how faces were rearranged to adapt to the idea of Sylvester Gilbraith back in Society’s fold.

“Take a chair, Stoneridge,” the duke boomed, and a little rustle of relaxation ran around the table. Lord Belton moved his chair sideways, gesturing to the space beside him. “Porter, bring another chair for Lord Stoneridge.”

A dainty gilt chair appeared instantly, and Sylvester sat down, nodding to his neighbor. “I trust all’s well, Belton. It’s been a while.”

“Yes … yes, so it has,” his lordship mumbled.

“Lady Belton quite well?”

“Oh, yes, in the pink … in the pink,” his lordship declared, taking up his claret glass. “Try a glass of this, Stoneridge. An excellent wine.” He gestured to the porter again, and a glass of claret appeared at the earl’s elbow.

He smiled his thanks and picked up the cards the duke dealt him. So Neil was prepared to behave as if the court-martial had never happened. Such an attitude from the man who’d started the scandal in the first place would oblige others to follow suit and would put a stop to any further speculation. But why would he reverse himself in this way?

A man who could forget ties that went back more than twenty years was capable of anything, Stoneridge thought with a surge of bitterness. Ties and obligations. Neil Gerard owed him for countless acts of friendship during those years,
and he chose to repay them by destroying his reputation and threatening his life.

They played for half an hour; then Gerard cast in his cards and rose from the table. “Care to join me in a glass, Sylvester?”

“By all means.” Sylvester excused himself from his fellow players and followed Gerard to a secluded table in the window embrasure. His expression was bland, his eyes as cool as ever, but he was as much on his guard as he would be if he were manning a picket at the front line on the eve of battle.

“Congratulations on your marriage, Stoneridge.” Neil filled two glasses from the decanter on the table. “Is Lady Stoneridge also in town?”

Whom did he think he’d seen in the Fisherman’s Rest? Sylvester wondered as he said, “Yes, indeed, she is. Her mother and sisters are here, also.”

“Not all under your roof, I trust,” Neil said with a laugh. “A man can’t call his soul his own with a monstrous regiment of women at his table.”

Sylvester smiled faintly at this sally. “Lady Belmont has her own establishment on Brook Street.”

“I shall do myself the honor of calling upon Lady Stoneridge,” Neil said. “I assume she’ll be attending the Subscription Ball at Almack’s this evening.”

“Yes, with her mother and sisters.” Sylvester sipped claret, leaning back in his chair, legs crossed, his eyes resting placidly on his companion across the table.

“I thought I’d drop in myself,” Neil said. “Show m’ face, you know. I’ve only just come to town.”

“I thought I hadn’t seen you,” Sylvester said deliberately. Did he imagine the twitch of Neil’s eyelid? But his companion was continuing in the same hearty tone.

“You must dine with me, Sylvester. It’s been a long time since we dined together.”

“At least three years,” Sylvester agreed without expression.

“Good … good. Shall we say Thursday?” Neil’s flat brown eyes shifted, although his mouth smiled. “I should be honored.”

“Good. Half Moon Street at eight, shall we say? And a few hands of whist after. You were always a formidable opponent at the whist table.”

“You exaggerate,” Sylvester said, with the same placid smile.

“You’re not thinking of dropping in at the Assembly Rooms yourself tonight?”

“I hadn’t been,” Sylvester responded.

“It’s a trifle insipid, of course,” Neil agreed. “But one must be seen, mustn’t one?” He laughed, but his eyes shifted again. “I don’t suppose you’d care to accompany me?”

If he entered Almack’s at the height of a Subscription Ball in the company of Neil Gerard, his rehabilitation would be complete. Just what in the devil’s name was the man up to? But if he didn’t play along, he’d never discover.

“Why not?” he said casually. “I’ll have to go home and change.” He gestured to Neil’s satin knee britches, striped stockings, and white waistcoat.

“Then I’ll meet you here later and we can stroll across together.”

Sylvester nodded his agreement and took his leave after another five minutes of desultory chat. As he left the salon, a few hands were raised in greeting. He responded with a bow, but his cool smile couldn’t disguise the ironical glitter in his eye. Two old friends had publicly made up their quarrel; how very satisfying for the audience.

But the game was now in the open, and he had an enemy he could see. And an enemy he knew he could defeat. His heart lifted on a surge of jubilation. He knew Neil Gerard’s weaknesses as if they were his own. He’d known them from childhood. And within those weaknesses lay the answer to Vimiera.