The withdrawing room was relatively quiet now and, the earl having demanded a full accounting, Michael Templeby, seated on a sofa beside his mother, was finishing his part of the tale. He had held nothing back, and was grateful that there had, as yet, been no major explosions.
“And so,” he said, “after Tio and Morris left, and I felt a—er, bit more the thing, we went off looking for some Owlers. Amy—I mean, Miss Consett, and Falcon, and I. By Jove, sir,” he interrupted himself, swinging around to smile at his stepfather, his face still aglow with the relief that marked them all, “that Falcon’s a peculiar sort of fellow, do you not think?”
Bowers-Malden stood with his back to the hearth, still finding it hard to credit that they were all here, safe and unharmed in their own home, when by rights they should be on a journey to the executioner. He shrugged. “He’s a splendid-looking man, but one can scarce expect a half-breed to behave as a proper British gentleman should.”
From the deep chair a little removed from the others, the viscount said quietly, “He grudged each moment spent in helping us, I grant you. But he helped just the same. I doubt we could have managed without him.”
There was a brief and rather awkward pause. After the departure of Burton Farrier and his military escort, their overwrought nerves had reacted in an emotional outpouring of joy and shared embraces. The countess, openly weeping, had demanded quiet while she offered up a fervent prayer of gratitude. Not one of them had been able to restrain tears. During the subsequent confusion Amy had slipped away, and Glendenning had retreated more and more into the background. He had not spoken for some time, and his words seemed to hang against the silence.
Templeby said hurriedly, “Oh, yes, indeed. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. Lord knows, I bless you all for what you’ve done for me.”
Marguerite, her chair close beside the earl’s, asked, “Where is Mr. Falcon? I wish he had come in so we could have properly thanked him.”
“I doubt he’d have allowed you to do so,” replied her brother. “He cannot abide the niceties of polite behaviour, and would likely cut you off, saying it was a dead bore and that he should never have allowed himself to become involved with such a set of silly gudgeons. At all events, he no sooner discovered that I was able to be up and about, than he went rushing off after Tio and Morris.”
Glendenning’s head had been nodding, but at this he jerked awake and asked sharply, “Falcon went to Dover?”
“Yes. Said he had to see you didn’t fall into a muddle, because you must second him in a duel. Do they really mean to fight?”
“They say they do.” Glendenning frowned. “Certainly Jamie Morris is in no case to fight anyone for a while. If Falcon does come up with him, he’ll be fairly gnashing his teeth to find he must wait again.”
The earl said testily, “Never mind about Falcon. Go on, Michael. What’s all this about Owlers?”
“Well, sir, it seems Miss Amy thought her uncle might have taken refuge with them when he got away from the varmints who were chasing him. So she persuaded us to go in search of them, and a dashed murky business it was, I can tell you! Creeping into forest hideaways, and caves and the like at dead of night. And when we did come up with them, be dashed if ever I saw such a set of rum customers.” He laughed. “In more ways than one!”
“Perhaps they were, Mr. Templeby. But we found Uncle Absalom, just the same, didn’t we?”
The viscount shook off weariness and was on his feet at once, and the other gentlemen stood as Amy came into the room. She had discarded her borrowed finery, and brushed the powder from her hair, and the cherry dress emphasized her dark beauty. She seemed, thought the earl, as he had thought once before, to bring sunshine into the room with her. His eyes flashed to his son.
The adoration on Glendenning’s face was very obvious and, returning his gaze, Amy blushed betrayingly. She turned away, beckoning to the man who hesitated in the hall. “Come on, Uncle Ab.”
Absalom sidled in. He looked fierce and belligerent, but his steps were halting, and there was about him the air of one who is poised for instant flight.
Glendenning limped forward. “So it was you, Ab!” Seizing the older man’s hand, he wrung it heartily. “You saved my life—my family! How may I ever thank you?”
The countess and Marguerite hurried to add their own praise and thanks. Absalom tried in vain to retreat. Glendenning gripped his arm. “No. I will not let you run away. You must stay to be properly—”
“I done it for my Amy,” declared Absalom, trying to hide behind Glendenning as the earl also bore down on him. “Ain’t no need fer ye all to go making a whale out of a minnow! I’ll tell ye straight out, I got no love for you Quality lot! England would be a sight better off if ye was all—”
“You done it, Ab,” inserted Amy quickly. “That’s what counts.”
“And ’twas a masterly piece of work,” said the earl, coming forward again, having halted momentarily in the face of Consett’s odd behaviour. “Do me the honour of shaking my hand, sir!”
“We-ell,” muttered Absalom. “If that’s the way of it…” He thrust out a hand, then gave a squawk as the countess suddenly swooped to press a kiss on his tanned cheek. “Don’t ye never … do that!” he gasped, looking ready to faint.
“You dear, wonderful man,” she said earnestly. “Without your great talent, my dear son would be under sentence of death at this very moment.”
“As would we all,” grunted the earl.
They closed in around Consett, full of questions and admiration, plying him with brandy and cakes until he was quite surrounded and beginning to find this not quite so unpleasant as he’d supposed.
The viscount led Amy to a far windowseat. “Beloved,” he murmured, pressing a kiss on her hand. “Oh, my dear! I thought I would never see your adorable face again.”
“And look as if you can scarcely see it now, darling lordship.” She touched his cheek, quick to have heard the break in his voice, and to see that his red-rimmed eyes were glittering suspiciously. “My poor love, you’re proper knocked up. I ’spect ye’ve had no sleep, and you’re limping again. Is it that ankle?”
“The late Major Trethaway—er, leaned on it a trifle. With his boot.”
“What?” The earl had wandered to them. “That filthy swine kicked you? The devil you say! You gave as good as you got, I hope?”
A rueful smile crept into Glendenning’s eyes. “I’d been clubbed, and was down, and tied to a tree at the time, sir.”
“By the lord Harry! What an unmitigated scoundrel he must have been! I wish to heaven I’d had the chance to take my horsewhip to him!”
Glendenning had so hoped for a quiet word with his love. Stifling a sigh, he murmured, “He won’t be kicking anyone else, sir.”
The earl nodded. “Fellow drowned, you said? Now I want to hear about that, Horatio, among other things! And as for you, young lady, there’s a deal I want to know about you and your—er, uncle. How in the world you smuggled him in here, for instance. And how he was able to copy that accursed pin in such a short space, and—”
“And that he is a masterly chess player, melord?” said Amy pertly.
The earl caught his breath, and his eyes lit up. “Begad! You don’t mean it? Then we shall not let him escape! Hey! Consett…!” With an imperative gesture he returned to the chattering group by the fireplace.
Amy chuckled, and turned to her love. “There. Now we can—” The words died away. Fatigue had at last overmastered Glendenning. He sagged against the window, fast asleep. Watching him, Amy was seized by a deep tenderness. With one fingertip, she touched the haggard cheek, the black shadows under his closed eyes, the weary, drooping mouth. “Poor lordship. Ye’ve paid the price, my dearie.”
His eyes half opened, then closed again.
She bent and kissed his brow gently, and whispered, “And so have I…”
* * *
Leaning back against the pillows, Glendenning stirred sugar into his coffee. He had been so soundly asleep yesterday evening that they’d had to half carry him to his bed. He’d slept the clock around, awakening to find his bedchamber bright with late afternoon sunlight and to find also that he was ravenously hungry for breakfast. He had been finishing that breakfast, and lost in contemplation of the nightmare that had so nearly ended in tragedy, when August Falcon had strolled in, drawn up a chair, and demanded to be informed of developments. He had refused refreshments, but in the course of Glendenning’s account had made several forays into the covered dishes the footman had left on the bedside table.
“Then you’ve no doubt it was all contrived by our nefarious League,” he said when Glendenning was giving a brief description of having come upon Trethaway atop the cliffs.
“No possible doubt.” The viscount paused, and said gravely, “Trethaway had printed châtiment un on that damned rock.”
“Had he, by Jupiter!” Falcon appropriated another slice of bacon, then leaned back and settled his booted feet on the bed once more. “Charming fellow, your friend Trethaway.”
“Mmm,” said Glendenning thoughtfully. “At least, I think ’twas Trethaway. Though it might, I suppose, have been the Lillibulero fellow.”
The bacon arrested in midair, Falcon looked up. “The—what?”
“No. The who. And why on earth you refuse to let me order you another tray, instead of—”
“You may order trays to your heart’s content. I, however, not being hungry, shall not eat whatever they may hold.” Falcon popped the bacon into his mouth and wiped his fingers on the sheet. “Meanwhile, pray enlarge upon your fascinating ‘who.’”
The viscount took a swallow of his coffee, edged a plate of crumpets toward Falcon, and recounted what he and Morris had overheard.
“Truly a case of being in the wrong place at the right time,” said the “not hungry” Falcon around a crumpet. “How they must yearn to have our heads. And damn near got yours! But still, they failed.” A faint grin curved his mouth. “They won’t like that. D’you think we should trot to the Metropolis and advise the great man at Whitehall?”
Glendenning said dryly, “Farrier works for Underhill.”
“Well, yes. But— Good God! You never think…?”
“I think that there can be little doubt but that the League of Jewelled Men is much larger and more powerful than we’d assumed. Which being the case, they could very well have members in high places. I do not mean to criticize, my dear fellow, but you are dripping butter all over the rug.”
Falcon, who deplored untidiness, was aghast, and hurriedly used Glendenning’s napkin in an attempt to rectify matters. Standing then, he said impatiently, “What a block you are! There’s a general officer in Whitehall who might be implicated in some damnable scheme ’gainst England, and you pinch at me because I spill a little butter! What the deuce are we to do?”
Glendenning sighed. “I have barely escaped the ghastly fate of being directly to blame for the shameful deaths of my entire family. I have been ambushed and beaten and come within a whisker of handing my own stupid head to that wart, Farrier. I have also, God be praised, found the lady I mean to make my wife, and I long to see her. For several days—at least—I refuse to even think of the League of Jewelled Men, damn their dirty hides!”
“Hum.” Falcon sat down again. “Whereby I am, I take it, de trop.”
“Decidedly de trop. However, I am so grateful for my reprieve that I cannot quarrel with anyone today. You may finish the crumpet to which you are apparently committed, although—” He stopped, frowning.
Glancing at him, Falcon said, “You have remembered something.”
“Yes. Something the Lillibulero Man said to Trethaway. He suspected that the masterminds of the League may actually be planning something even more dastardly than whatever was their original scheme. He called them fanatics, and I’d the impression he was disturbed by what might lie ahead. Trethaway asked him if they—the rank and file members—were being played false.”
“Ominous, to say the least of’t, unless it leads to dissension in the ranks. And you were unable to identify this Lillibulero Man? Either of you?”
“Morris had been knocked out of time at that point. I really thought the poor fellow was dead. Did he not tell you?”
“Lieutenant Morris was too busy chortling in his infantile fashion that you and he had ‘done the thing’ whilst I’d been lollygagging about with Miss Consett.” He scowled darkly. “I’d no sooner arrived at that confounded inn than the clod was tossing his repellent homilies at me. Gad, Tio! How you can endure him is past all understanding.”
Glendenning’s lips quirked, but he asked gravely, “Then you are come to arrange your meeting, is that it?”
“Eh? Oh—yes. Of course. These crumpets would be the better for some of that jam. Thank you.” Concentrating on jam and crumpet, Falcon drawled, “I’ll own I was also curious to see if you’d rushed here to offer yourself up for execution.” From under his lashes, the dark eyes watched Glendenning obliquely. “As you evidently intended.”
“In which case,” the viscount evaded, “you’d have been obliged to find another second. Is Jamie well enough to fight?”
“He is so well that I must lose no time in rushing back to Town. I’ve no doubt he is already annoying my unfortunate sister. Besides which, an I fail to keep an eye on the Rossiter female—”
Glendenning asked with a lift of the brows, “Do you refer to Gwendolyn?”
“Is there another? Oh, Lord! Never say so!” Upon being assured there was only one Miss Rossiter, Falcon mopped his brow. “You may smile, Tio, but the wretched creature delights to cut up my peace, and fairly haunts Falcon House. I mean to tell Katrina to find a less argumentative friend! Much more of Miss Rossiter’s interference, and Apollo will be useless!”
“Gwendolyn argues with Apollo?” asked Glendenning innocently.
Falcon gave him an irked look. “Our meeting is set for next Monday, though the others will have to be approached, of course. Is that convenient for you? Be very sure, if you please. Damned if I propose to suffer through another put-off.”
Glendenning assured him that he had no objections. And watching the door close behind him, thought, ‘Barring more disasters.’
Half an hour later he was shaved and dressed, and Whittlesey was assisting him with his coat, when the earl came into the room and with a gesture dismissed the valet.
Glendenning stood, his stomach twisting into knots. Much of yesterday afternoon was a confused muddle in his mind, but he knew his volatile parent well enough to be prepared for a change of heart.
His face enigmatic, the earl stared at him. Clearing his throat, he said gruffly, “Well, sir? We brushed through that fiasco. Are you satisfied?”
“I would say rather, that I am most humbly grateful, sir. Though I cannot expect you will ever forgive me.”
The earl marched straight at him, clapped him on the back, then stamped on to gaze out of the window, and said a little unsteadily, “Had you not found your pretty gypsy, we would all have perished, Horatio.”
“I am very aware, sir.”
“Are you also aware that her alleged ‘uncle’ is a positive genius?” Turning back into the room, hands clasped behind him, the earl went on, “I’ve not enjoyed a game of chess so much in years! Lady Nola and Marguerite hid him in the Indian Suite, and brought everything he needed to design the spurious Comyn Pin, did you know it? They ruined your grandmama’s ruby ring; your great grandmama’s tiara; and Lord knows what else in the process! Those rascally women! And, Zounds! what a splendid craftsman Consett is! How he mastered the carvings on the piece, to say nothing of creating it in so short a space is little short of incredible. I dare to think his work will pass muster even if ’tis subjected to examination by real experts. I mean to make ample provision for him. If his exquisite niece had not decided you might not be able to retrieve the real pin, and had she not found her uncle and brought him here…” He pursed his lips, his eyes very grim. “Well, we can but see she is well recompensed. You must ensure that, my boy.”
“I mean to do more than that, sir. In fact, I intend to wed her.”
The earl’s jaw dropped. “You mean to—what? Have you lost your wits? The lass is a beauty, and I’ll own we’ve a debt to her we’re never like to repay. But—a common gypsy to be the future Countess of Bowers-Malden? Pshaw! You surely cannot suppose I would ever agree to such a disaster?”
Glendenning walked to face him. “I love her, sir. With all my heart. And I dare to hope she returns my affection. No—please do not say she is not good ton. Her birth is unknown, I admit, but certainly she was stolen. ’Tis very possible her family may rival our own.”
“Flim flam! You’ve no least chance of proving such an unlikely circumstance and must accept her as she is, not as you wish she might be! Horatio, be sensible, lad. She is an enchanting minx, but a minx nonetheless, who would disgrace you a hundred times a day! You’d be bored with her in a week, irritated with her in a month, and ready to strangle her in a year! And can you not foresee what the ton would do to the poor child? For her sake, if not for your own, give up this impossible piece of chivalry!”
The viscount said with a slow smile, “No, do you think it that, sir? It is not, I promise you. Amy is more than enchanting. She has a fine mind that darts about like any butterfly, and is full of curiosity and eagerness to learn. Most of the young ladies of Quality whom I meet at social events would, I feel sure, bore me, even as you say. I mean no unkindness, and do not doubt they are gentle and kind. But they have not a thought among them that goes beyond gossip and fashion and parties. When I am with Amy, I see something I have seen all my life—and she imbues it with magic, so that I find I’ve never really seen it at all. She is as lovely as she is exasperating; her nature is generous; she is kind, but also fiercely independent; and certainly she can be outrageous. I suspect we will have some lively quarrels, but as to my becoming bored with her—never! My life will be busy, I acknowledge, for ’twill be a struggle to keep up with her interests and, perhaps, to keep her from some shocking exploit or other. I think, sir, that you are right, and the ton may scorn her. I hope they will grow to love her. I know I do, and always will. If it distresses you, I shall take her far away. My apologies for making such a speech, but…” A wistfulness came into his green eyes. He said tentatively, “Whatever your decision, I pray you do not mean to forbid that I name you my father?”
It occurred to the earl that he had missed something: that somewhere he had failed to see that his son was not a foolish fribble after all, but a man he could be proud to have sired, and that if the viscount’s political persuasions were ill-judged, they had nonetheless been followed with commendable courage and loyalty. His heart swelled with affection, to hide which, he said grumpily, “If Michael were my own flesh and blood, by Jupiter, I’d be tempted! But I’ll have no gypsy caravans around the ornamental water, Horatio, and so I warn you!”
Speechless, Glendenning blinked at him.
The earl held out his hand regally. “Go on with you,” he growled. “If you will persist in this tomfoolery!”
His son dropped to one knee. The earl’s hand was dutifully kissed, and a radiant grin was levelled at him. Then the door was flung open, and the viscount all but ran along the hall.
* * *
Lady Nola was quiet for a long time, and Glendenning’s apprehension deepened. He shifted uneasily in his chair, and said at last, “Mama—you do like her?”
Her eyes turned from their contemplation of the fragrant bowl of sweet peas on her parlour table. Looking at him gravely, she said, “I think she is a rara avis, Horatio. But she is no fool. And she would be very foolish to marry you.”
Relieved, he said, “If she should be so foolish, Mama, will you give us your blessing?” He saw her small frown and added quickly, “My father voiced all the arguments I am sure you must feel, but he has agreed.”
“An I do not give you my blessing, shall you give her up?”
He stood, walked to the window, and came back to stand before her. “’Twould grieve me to marry ’gainst your wishes. But—no, ma’am. I’ll not give her up.”
She nodded. “Then I suppose you must have your gypsy, my love. Almost, I have lost you. I really could not bear to do so again.”
* * *
There was only Absalom to see now, and Absalom might be the most difficult of all. But, striding rapidly across the courtyard, Glendenning’s heart was so light he felt he might have floated. The nightmares were done at last. Now came the joy, the love, the great and so undeserved happiness.
The old house looked quite beautiful at this golden hour. It was surprising, in fact, that after all the rain so few people were out here enjoying this balmy late afternoon. Not so much as a gardener to be seen. The only person he really wanted to see, of course, was Miss Amy Consett, and, Lord, but he longed to see her! He’d not be surprised to find her awaiting him in the great hall. With luck, Absalom would be with her, and he could petition the dear old fellow for her hand. Amy was willing, of course. A little scared, perhaps, but she would not refuse him. Would she? His rapid stride faltered slightly.
‘I couldn’t live here, Tio … Your life’s like another world, compared with mine.’ Her voice was so clear it was almost as if she stood beside him.
He began to walk faster.
He had a blurred memory of her kissing him as he’d fallen asleep in the withdrawing room yesterday. And of a sadness in her eyes.
He reached the great hall, almost running. It was deserted, save for a lackey who swung open the door for him.
Turning on the man, he said, “Have you seen Miss Consett?”
“She was with Miss Templeby, my lord.”
Glendenning sprinted up the stairs.
The lackey’s voice floated after him. “This morning…”
Marguerite was not in her room, and her abigail said she believed her mistress was showing Miss Consett and Mr. Consett about the grounds.
Somewhat reassured, Glendenning hurried to the window, but he could not discern the faintest splash of colour that might be a lady’s gown, nor, in fact, any sign of life, save for a solitary peacock. Returning to the hall, he went first to his own, then to his brother’s suite, both of which were empty. The absence of servants was beginning to alarm him. They were always about. The confounded house fairly crawled with them. But it was stupid to be so afraid. She wouldn’t leave him? She wouldn’t run away?
He raced to the stairs again, tore down them, and went outside. And never dreamed how many eyes watched him.
The sun was going down when he returned to the house, and by now, terror had him in its grip. Almost the first person he saw was Whittlesey, coming slowly down the stairs. The man looked startled, and backed away as Glendenning took the stairs two at a time, and stopped in front of him.
“Tell me,” said the viscount grittily. “You know. You all know. That’s why everyone is avoiding me like the plague! Where is Miss Consett?”
“Sir, ’tis not my place—”
“Don’t be roaring at yer man, milor’. He don’t know nought.” Absalom stood on the landing, surprisingly distinguished in a simple brown habit, though his wig was as untidy as ever.
With a sigh of relief, Whittlesey escaped.
“Thank the Lord!” Glendenning hurried up to the landing. “Absalom, I’ve been unable to find her. She’s teasing me, the saucy scamp, is that it?”
Consett couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man who scanned him with such desperate intensity, but, “Run off,” he said, not softening the blow. He saw the lean features become very white, and added, “Well, you mighta knowed she would. Yer brother’s gone after her. Won’t find her. If my Amy don’t want to be found, she won’t be found, and she didn’t want no part o’ being a Quality mort. What’s more, I don’t—” He stopped, perforce, as Glendenning seized him by the throat.
“Where has she run? Tell me, or by God, I’ll—”
“Are you run quite mad, Glendenning?” The earl ran to wrench at his son’s arm. “Let Mr. Consett go at once! Damme! Let go, I say! This man is a guest in my house!”
“Amy has disappeared, and this rogue won’t tell me—”
“Rogue, is it! You’ve a damnably short memory! Only hours since, Mr. Consett saved all our necks! I would suggest that you make him a profound apology, sir!”
His father’s powerful hands and the voice of reason broke through the viscount’s maddened fury. His fingers relaxed their grip, and he stepped back.
Clutching his throat, Consett advised in a fierce croak that he wouldn’t tell such a madman where his niece was if he knew—which he didn’t.
“She’s got herself lost is all,” declared the earl. “Where’s that fool of a butler? Ah—there you are, Darrow! Have all the staff out at once! Miss Consett is lost somewhere. I want the house and grounds searched!”
The butler hurried off. Shaking his head, Consett followed.
The earl lowered his voice, “Pay no heed to what he said, Horatio. He’s a good man, but a revolutionary, I fancy. Likely don’t like the notion of his niece marrying into the Quality. I’ll wager there’s nothing more to this than that your lady’s found a quiet place to sit in peace and get her thoughts sorted out. Very sensible. Just be easy, m’boy. We’ll find her, never fear.”
But they did not find her.
At dusk, Glendenning swung into Flame’s saddle, the earl watching him glumly.
“You’re a fool not to wait until morning. Templeby’s not yet back, and may well have come up with her. Even if he has not, what can you hope to accomplish at this hour?”
“I only know I must try, sir.”
“Then try in the morning! I shall call in special constables. She can’t have gone far, and—”
“She is alone, sir! I daren’t wait another second, much less till morning!”
“But—”
Horatio bent lower, gripping his father’s hand strongly. “Papa, I beg you—get word to Morris, and August Falcon. They’ll help, I know it. I’m going to her—er, cottage in the woods. It’s near Epsom. If she’s not there, I’ll try Mimosa Lodge. Kadenworthy may have seen her.”
“But, Tio,” pleaded the earl, using his son’s abhorred nickname in this moment of distress, “it don’t make sense to—”
“If anything should go wrong, sir, go to Gideon Rossiter. He’ll explain.”
“Wrong? Now see here Horatio—is there something more to—”
But Glendenning was already riding out.