Caroline, Lady Sarre looked with satisfaction at the changes she’d wrought in the south parlour. Due to the Dowager Countess’s reluctance to remove to the Dower House coupled with Adrian’s refusal to leave Sandwich Bay until she’d done so, they’d been at Sarre Park for only three weeks and it had taken Caroline all of that time to turn just one room from a chilly cavern to something more inviting. Since the rest of the house was equally unwelcoming, she could see she was going to be kept busy for quite some time.
Her one and only meeting with the Dowager had not gone well but Caroline had been polite and kept her temper. She’d continued to keep it despite the provocation of patronising remarks and disparaging glances. And she might even have gone on keeping it had not her ladyship surveyed Adrian as if he’d crawled out from under a stone and listed both his supposed failings and the many ways in which he was wholly unfitted to his position - which was when Caroline’s patience had finally snapped.
‘That’s enough, ma’am. Adrian is a better son than you deserve – and I won’t have him spoken of that way.’
The Dowager’s colour had risen alarmingly and she said, ‘You won’t have it? You – the child of some clod-hopping northern cloth-weaver?’
‘Yes. I had wondered if Adrian was being a little harsh in insisting that you occupy a separate establishment but now I see that he was not. Indeed, given your low opinion of him, I’m sure you can’t want to reside under his roof. However … as he has said, we wish to move here at the end of next week. And if your own servants are not equal to the task of transferring your belongings to the Dower House, we’ll be happy to supply you with extra help.’
‘Brava, darling,’ murmured Adrian softly and with amusement.
Caroline had nodded and turned a bright, hard smile on her mother-in-law.
‘As for the ‘northern cloth-weaver’ you referred to – he is actually my grandfather and, thanks to him, I have an extremely substantial dowry. I won’t sink myself even further in your estimation by naming the exact sum.’ She’d paused to enjoy the sight of her ladyship’s jaw dropping. ‘Oh – and we spent the days after our wedding as guests of the Duke and Duchess of Rockliffe. So you see, ma’am … you have completely the wrong end of every possible stick.’ And with a brisk curtsy, ‘Good day.’
Adrian had laughed almost the whole way back to Devereux House … and the Dowager had quit Sarre Park within four days.
Now, three weeks later, Caroline was just considering which room to attack next when Bertrand wandered in and said, ‘We have a visitor. His name is Audley and he is asking for Adrian.’
Sebastian looked with interest at Lady Sarre. Though her figure was good and her smile warm, she wasn’t the sort of obvious beauty that Adrian usually favoured. And then, in the second that thought occurred to him, he realised that she was staring.
Oh God, he thought resignedly. My damned hair, I suppose. Why do they always have to get poetic over it? Why can’t they just call it what it is? Red.
Had he known that words like garnets and Burgundy wine were floating through Caroline’s mind, he’d probably have groaned out loud. Since he didn’t, he bowed gracefully over her hand and, when she apologised for Adrian’s absence, said, ‘The fault is mine, Lady Sarre. I should have written – not dropped upon you unannounced. And I can call again at a more convenient time. Indeed, another day will do just as well. I hope Adrian is well?’
‘Perfectly well, thank you. Do I gather that you haven’t seen him for some time?’
‘Three years, give or take.’ His smile was sudden and spectacular. ‘In Venice, as I recall. I generally live abroad, you see – as did Adrian at that time.’
‘Oh.’ Fleetingly, Caroline wondered how much Mr Audley knew about the various skeletons in her husband’s overcrowded closet. ‘Well, if you’ve travelled some distance to see him, I should certainly have Adrian summoned because I’m sure he won’t want --’ Her words trailed off at the sound of carriage-wheels on the gravel outside and she turned automatically towards the window. ‘Dear me. This is unusual. You are our very first visitor, sir – and now it appears you are not to be the only one. I wonder -- ?’ Again, she stopped, eyes flying wide and both hands pressed briefly to her mouth. ‘Oh my God. Grandfather?’
Just for a second, Sebastian wondered if she was going to faint. Then she whirled past him saying breathlessly, ‘Forgive me, Mr Audley – and please don’t think of leaving!’
Through the open doorway, Sebastian watched with amusement as her ladyship hurled herself on a lean, grey-haired gentleman while the sandy-haired French fellow who had answered the door looked on over very un-butler-like folded arms.
‘Grandpa!’ she cried. ‘Oh Grandpa – I can’t believe it. You’re here – really here!’
‘Of course I’m here, you daft lass.’ He wrapped her in a hard embrace. ‘Did you think I’d wait forever for you and this earl of yours to get up to Halifax?’
‘But the snow? The roads? You might have been stranded!’
‘Very nearly was – and more than once.’
Lady Sarre took his cloak and handed it to the Frenchman whilst taking the opportunity to whisper something that provoked an even more un-butler-like crack of laughter.
Then, as she drew her grandfather towards the warmth of the parlour, the old man said, ‘Now, Miss … where’s this husband of yours? Ah.’ He stopped as his eyes lit upon Sebastian. ‘Well, young man. I reckon you’ve got a bit of explaining to do, don’t you?’
A gleam of laughter lit the dark blue eyes. ‘Not really, sir. No.’
‘No?’ Mr Maitland’s chest expanded alarmingly. ‘Running off with my grand-daughter without so much as a --’
‘Grandpa – stop,’ interposed Caroline hastily. ‘This gentleman is a visitor.’
‘So he’s not the earl?’
‘No. Bertrand is sending someone to find him. Oh!’ A sudden thought seemed to strike her and, turning back, she called, ‘Bertrand – have Grandfather’s carriage taken round to the stables, would you? And when Adrian gets here --’
‘Yes, yes.’ The Frenchman flapped a dismissive hand. ‘I know. But on your head be it.’
The Countess merely grinned, turned back to her guests and made the necessary introductions. Sebastian shook hands with Mr Maitland and prepared to enjoy himself. He’d grasped the situation within seconds and was looking forward to seeing how his friend was going to extricate himself from the trouble it appeared he was in.
Adrian arrived, hot-foot and agitated, some half hour later to fling open the parlour doors, saying anxiously, ‘Caroline? What’s wrong? Are you all right?’
Then he stopped dead, presumably absorbing the fact that his wife was not only perfectly composed and sipping tea, but also entertaining one man he recognised and another he didn’t – but whose identity he could probably guess.
Managing not to laugh, Sebastian watched Lord Sarre swallow a curse. His hair was damp and windblown; he was wearing neither cravat nor vest; his shirt was filthy and he himself was sweat-stained and dirt-spattered, with grime under his fingernails. Standing ramrod straight, he nodded a brief acknowledgement at Mr Audley and then looked, with a total lack of expression, at his wife’s grandfather.
Not appearing in the least discomposed, Caroline rose and smiled sunnily at him.
‘Adrian. I’m sorry – did whoever Bertrand send not explain? There is no emergency. It is merely that we have guests. I believe you know Mr Audley. And this is my grandfather, Mr Maitland.’ She turned affectionately to the older man. ‘Grandpa, allow me to present my husband, the Earl of Sarre.’
Despite his growing hilarity, Sebastian spared a moment to feel sorry for his lordship – who was quite clearly wishing the ground would swallow him up. If there was one thing he recalled about Adrian Devereux, it was that he’d never seen him less than perfectly groomed. Right now, he looked like a farm labourer.
Mr Maitland fixed Adrian with a gimlet stare and eventually said, ‘You’re the earl?’
‘Unlikely as it may seem – yes,’ replied his lordship stiffly.
‘My little Caro’s husband?’
‘I have that honour, sir.’ This time Adrian managed a slight bow. Then, on an indrawn breath, ‘You must forgive me, Mr Maitland. I would very much like to offer you my hand but am afraid it must wait until I’ve washed. You too, Audley.’
‘Oh don’t mind me.’ Sebastian grinned. ‘I can only apologise for intruding at such an inopportune moment.’
Hubert Maitland continued to gaze at Adrian through narrowed eyes for a moment or two. Then, on a sound resembling a snort, he advanced, hand out-stretched, saying, ‘There’s nowt wrong with a bit of dirt, young man – and it says a lot about you. So take my hand and tell me what you were about when my little lass sent for you?’
Adrian accepted the proffered hand and found his fingers seized in a powerful grip. He said helplessly, ‘I – we are in the process of repairing the roofs of the estate cottages.’
‘Ah. And not enough workmen to get the job done without you rolling up your own sleeves, my lord?’
‘No. That is we have plenty of willing hands, sir. I help out from choice, not necessity.’
‘And why might that be, lad?’
Adrian blinked. He didn’t think that, in his entire life, anyone had ever addressed him as ‘lad’. Not even Betsy, who’d known him since he was six. He looked at Caroline, positively glowing with satisfaction. And that was when he realised what she’d done and why he was standing in the middle of the south parlour and meeting Hubert Maitland for the first time whilst looking as though he’d been rolling in a ditch.
His shoulders relaxed and he said simply, ‘My father was an indifferent landlord and I want our people to know that I am cast in a different mould. Working alongside them seemed the quickest way to prove it. And now,’ he finished pleasantly, ‘if you will all excuse me, I am going to restore myself to some degree of respectability. I believe I will also have a few choice words with Bertrand.’
As the door closed behind him, Caroline tucked her hand into her grandfather’s arm and said, ‘There. He’s not what you expected, is he?’
‘He’s not much like any aristocrat I ever saw, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Unless he’s changed a great deal since we last met,’ murmured Sebastian, ‘I suspect he’s currently remedying that.’
‘Oh - undoubtedly,’ agreed Caroline. And to her grandfather, ‘I knew if you saw what Adrian really is, that you’d like him.’
‘Who says I like him?’ grumbled Mr Maitland. ‘The fellow may not be too grand to get his hands dirty – but that don’t change the fact that he ran off with you in that hole-and-corner way.’
‘Actually,’ she said wickedly, ‘it was the other way about. I ran off with him. How else do you think I was going to catch an earl?’
The old man gave a bark of laughter.
‘Minx. Good thing I know better than believe that, isn’t it? But I reckon you better explain it to this young fellow over here.’
‘No.’ She smiled at Sebastian. ‘No. I think I’ll leave that particular task to Adrian.’
Once more dressed to his own satisfaction, Adrian submitted to an hour-long grilling from Mr Maitland from which he emerged mentally exhausted but triumphant. He’d admitted that, despite having inherited little save debts, he was now part-owner of a lucrative gaming-club and thus made it clear he didn’t need to marry for money; but he’d successfully avoided all mention of the Evie Mortimer scandal, his acting career in Paris and the fact that when Caroline had eloped with him, she’d believed him to be a French highwayman.
At the end of their conversation, Maitland had contemplated him in silence for a time. Then he said bluntly, ‘I reckon you’ll do. You’re not some useless fribble and you make my lass happy. Do you love her?’
‘Yes.’ Adrian coloured slightly. ‘And count myself fortunate to have her.’
‘Good.’ The old man’s face creased into the first real smile Adrian had seen. Then he said unexpectedly, ‘One wing of this house looks ready to fall down. Been like that a while, has it?’
‘Years. Indeed, I don’t recall the north wing ever being habitable. But the rest of the house is in a good state of repair – unlike most of the tenants’ cottages. So --’
‘So you’re investing in them first. Yes. I’ve understood that.’ Mr Maitland got to his feet. ‘Right, then. Let’s go and take a look at it.’
‘The north wing?’ asked Adrian, startled and every nerve in his body recoiling from the idea. ‘Sir – it’s in bad shape. Bad enough to be dangerous, which is why we keep it closed off. There’s every kind of rot you can imagine and … to be honest, I haven’t been there myself in over a decade.’
The old man shot him a sharp glance.
‘Bad memories, are there? No. You needn’t tell me. We all have ’em. We just don’t need to let ’em rule us. Come and show me the damage.’
‘Mr Maitland, I really don’t think this is --’
‘Nonsense. If I fall through the floor, you’ll just have to pull me out. But if I’m going to give you the money it’ll take to put matters to rights, I’ll need to see how bad the problem is, won’t I? Now – let’s go.’
While Lord Sarre was closeted with Mr Maitland, Sebastian was given the chance to become acquainted with her ladyship – who immediately surprised him by saying, ‘If you’re to see anything of Adrian at all, sir, you’re going to have to stay the night.’
‘That is an extremely kind offer … but I don’t wish to intrude.’
‘You won’t be. Can you stay?’
He hesitated and then, since she seemed to actually mean it, said, ‘Yes.’
‘Excellent.’ She rose to pull the bell. ‘Adrian will be pleased. And by the time my grandfather has finished with him, I think he’ll have deserved the chance to sit down with an old friend over a glass of wine.’
Sebastian eyed her thoughtfully.
‘You’re very understanding. Adrian is fortunate.’
‘So am I. And I hope Grandpa is beginning to realise it. We’d intended to travel to Halifax as soon as the roads were fit but he has beaten us to it. Goodness knows how he managed to get here … but he’s a very determined gentleman.’
A tap at the door was followed by the housekeeper.
‘My lady?’
‘Mr Audley will be staying the night, Betsy. So you’ll need to prepare another bedchamber – and have someone locate his bag.’
‘I’ve already done so, my lady. Mr Maitland will occupy the Willow Suite and this gentleman, the blue room. Fires have been lit and their things are waiting for them. Will dinner in an hour suit, do you think?’
‘Perfectly. Oh … are the gentlemen still locking horns in the library?’
‘No. They are not.’ Mrs Holt’s face expressed severe disapproval. ‘They’ve gone tramping through all the mildew and filth of the north wing – and his lordship only just having cleaned himself up from this morning.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Caroline, trying not to laugh. ‘That is unfortunate. Still, I’m sure they must have had a good reason.’
‘If they’re both to come out treading mouse-droppings on my clean floors and with their hair full of cobwebs, I would certainly hope so.’
‘Well, that’s odd,’ remarked Caroline, when the door closed behind the housekeeper. ‘But if they’re invading a part of the house that is quite unusable, it at least means that Adrian isn’t still under interrogation. I know it was naughty of me to make sure he turned up in all his dirt – but if the first thing Grandpa had seen was one of his outrageous vests, he might never have recovered.’
Sebastian grinned. ‘He still wears them, then?’
‘Oh yes. The collection is vast.’ She paused. ‘Are the two of you close friends?’
‘In that we don’t meet very often, perhaps not. In other ways, I’d like to think so. Adrian was rattling about Europe due to his family’s fear of some scandal or other; I was doing it because I was being stifled with over-protectiveness. That created a bond of sorts … and somehow it never mattered how rarely we met.’ He made a slight careless gesture with one hand. ‘My wandering lifestyle results in a myriad of acquaintances but very few real friends. I count Adrian one of them.’
‘I see.’ Caroline rather thought she did see and felt a little sorry for him. Knowing better than to show it, however, she said, ‘Yet somehow you lost touch?’
He nodded. ‘It was after I returned from Russia --’
‘Russia?’
‘Yes. I play chess, you see.’
‘Chess? No. I don’t see at all.’
‘Russians take the game very seriously,’ he explained. ‘Some of the best players in the world are to be found there. I wanted to … test my skill.’
‘And did you win?’
‘Sometimes. And when I didn’t win, I learned.’ His smile was fleeting and a little self-deprecating. ‘But after Russia, it was as though Adrian had vanished. Until three days ago, I didn’t know he’d inherited the title – let alone returned to England and married.’
‘Well, the last two events are relatively recent,’ said Caroline, rising to pour two glasses of sherry. ‘As for where Adrian disappeared to … I suggest you ask him. He may even tell you.’
Dinner passed pleasantly despite a good deal of talk about rising damp and sagging roof timbers but no explanation of the sudden interest in either. And when the meal was over, Mr Maitland elected to join Caroline for tea in the parlour, thus leaving Adrian and Sebastian to take their port in private.
‘It seems a little late to be saying it,’ remarked Adrian, sliding the decanter in Sebastian’s direction, ‘but welcome to Sarre Park. It’s good to see you.’
‘And you – though I should apologise for arriving at such an awkward moment.’
‘Don’t. Your presence didn’t make it any more awkward than it would have been anyway. You can’t fail to have realised that Caroline and I eloped. Naturally, Mr Maitland wasn’t going to be thrilled about that; and equally naturally, he was bound to wonder if I was only after the money.’
Sebastian’s brows rose. ‘Money?’
‘Yes. The man has vast quantities of it and has settled a hefty sum on Caroline. Given what he’d already seen of the state of this house before he laid eyes on me, he couldn’t be blamed for suspecting my motives,’ replied his lordship dryly. ‘But enough of that. How was Russia?’
‘Uncomfortable. The nobility spy on each other and everyone spies on the foreigners. I don’t think I took a step without feeling eyes on my back.’
‘And the chess?’
Sebastian’s face lit up.
‘Extraordinary! There was one fellow in particular – Dimitri Makarovsky. I played him three times and didn’t even come close to winning. The man’s a genius. But in the end, when he was sure I was worth his time, he taught me a brilliant stratagem involving the Queen’s rook which …’ He stopped, laughing. ‘I’m sorry. The technicalities are wasted on you, aren’t they?’
‘Completely.’
‘And yet you count cards as naturally as breathing.’
‘No accounting for it, is there?’ Adrian took a sip of port and sat back, contemplating his glass. ‘Actually, that particular ability is a nuisance now I’ve assumed the title and turned respectable. One doesn’t want to fleece one’s friends, even by accident.’
‘I suppose not.’ Sebastian hesitated and then said, ‘Was it difficult – re-entering society after so long?’
‘Less so than I’d expected.’
‘The past didn’t come back to haunt you?’
‘No – or only by the man largely responsible for it.’ Adrian’s tone gathered a note of grim amusement. ‘It’s a long story and I’ll tell you about it some time. But it was the things I had done that could have created the biggest problems if they’d become generally known. Fortunately, they didn’t.’
‘Your lady wife hinted at something of the kind when I told her you’d disappeared.’
This time Adrian laughed.
‘I didn’t disappear. You just didn’t look in the right place.’
‘Which was?’
‘On stage at the Comédie Française – and no. I’m not joking. Ask anyone in Paris about an actor called L’Inconnu.’
Sebastian blinked. ‘Good God!’
‘Exactly. And that’s not all – though it will do for now.’ Adrian reached for the decanter and re-filled both glasses. ‘Why did you ask about my resurrection? Are you contemplating something similar?’
‘Perhaps. I came back because my father is ill but he’s no longer in danger so I thought … I was considering spending some time in London. The trouble is that I’ll have every Tom, Dick and Harry hurling challenges at me.’ He gave an irritable shrug. ‘Truth to tell, I’ve had my fill of all that – or grown out of it, more like.’
‘Then you’ll simply refuse.’
‘There’s nothing simple about it. They don’t give up. And it’s damned tiresome.’ Sebastian gave a sudden, short laugh. ‘From what you say, you’ve managed to keep all your misdeeds quiet. Mine – both the real and the imaginary – have been trumpeted across the length and breadth of Europe to the point where there’s no escaping them.’
‘Yes. I see.’ Adrian fell silent for a moment. ‘You could say your father’s ill-health has made you realise it’s time to settle down.’
‘Who’ll believe that? After the idiotic things I’ve probably said --’
‘Such as what?’
‘Lord – I don’t know. I spent the first six months after Cambridge making up for twenty-one years of sobriety. I was drunk often enough to have bruited my supposed woes to half of London.’
‘Then you’ll have to wait until the furore dies down – as it will do, eventually.’
‘I’d thought that myself – until my brother-in-law told me he’d had a note from Nicholas Wynstanton saying that the clubs are already taking bets on my possible re-appearance,’ said Sebastian bitterly. ‘Can you believe that? I’ve spent the last four months lurking quietly in Buda and only been back in England just over a week, for God’s sake!’
‘Ah. That doesn’t sound good.’
‘Good? It’s bloody appalling!’ Then, seeing laughter tugging at Adrian’s mouth, ‘All right – have your revenge for earlier. I know I sound ridiculous. But devil take it, Adrian – if Nick’s right, I’m doomed. I’ve promised my father I’ll remain in England through the spring but I can’t spend the whole time at Audley Court without going insane.’
‘In which case, you’ll have to brave London.’ The ghost of an idea stirred and his lordship took a moment to let it crystallise. Then he said slowly, ‘What you said about bets being laid in the clubs … you might make use of that.’
‘How?’ asked Sebastian dubiously.
‘Since accepting wagers is principally what you’re famous for, you could let it be known that you’ve already entered into a private one. Something that takes precedence – and which means the wilder challenges can’t be accepted.’ He paused, thinking rapidly. ‘You have Aristide record it in the private betting-book at Sinclairs so the exact nature of the wager won’t become common knowledge.’ A faint smile dawned. ‘Yes. That might work. Considering your reputation, it’s as near perfect a solution as you’re likely to find.’
‘I haven’t followed any of this,’ objected Sebastian. ‘What wager? And Aristide – Sinclairs – private betting-books? What are you talking about?’
‘Sinclairs is a fashionable gaming-club and Aristide Delacroix is the Frenchman who runs it. In addition to the usual public betting-book, he keeps a private one for wagers between small groups of gentlemen or individuals.’
‘I know I’ve been away from London a while – but is a handshake no longer enough?’
‘Of course. But some men like to have things recorded.’
‘Each to their own, I suppose. However … this notion of yours. I don’t suppose I need to ask with whom I’ve made this fictitious wager. So I imagine you must have some idea of what it’s to be about.’
‘I have,’ agreed Adrian, amusement lurking behind his eyes. ‘And it won’t be fictitious. If Aristide is to record it, the bet will be real enough – make no mistake about that.’
‘Point taken.’ Sebastian leaned back and folded his arms. ‘So?’
Entirely without haste, Lord Sarre stood up and looked down upon his friend. Then, very slowly and with a great deal of enjoyment, he said, ‘Mr Audley … I am wagering that, within eight weeks of your arrival in London, you cannot make yourself sufficiently acceptable in society that a respectable parent will permit you to pay your addresses to his daughter … in person and in private.’
It was a long moment before Sebastian could make his lungs work. Finally, he groaned, ‘Hell, Adrian. That is truly evil.’
‘Take it or leave it.’
‘But you’re basically challenging me to get married!’
‘No. Think about it. There’s nothing to stop you losing. Equally, there’s nothing to stop you winning … but choosing to propose to a girl you know would never, in a million years, accept you.’ Adrian grinned. ‘And meanwhile, you have eight weeks in which to refuse all other wagers whilst allowing your reputation to die a natural death. Well?’
‘You have a very devious mind,’ complained Sebastian. ‘What are the stakes?’
‘Something more interesting than money. I’ve an interest in horse-breeding and have acquired a particularly fine mare. I’ve also seen that magnificent black you rode here. It occurs to me that their combined offspring might be something out of the ordinary.’
‘Ah. And then?’
‘Whoever wins the wager gets the first foal. What do you think?’
‘I must be mildly insane.’ Mr Audley held out his hand and, when his lordship grasped it, said, ‘All right. I agree. But if something goes disastrously wrong and I end up at the altar, don’t be surprised if I shoot you.’
‘You’re not a complete idiot, Sebastian. If you end up at the altar, it will be because you want to.’