Duel of Hearts (25 page)

The heavy grey sky and the cold November wind that shook her windows the next morning did nothing to dampen Corianne's spirits as she closed her bandbox and gave the final touches to her toilette. The weather might make it more difficult than she'd expected to convince her aunt that she was going to take a turn with Wilfred Shirley in his carriage, but she was sure she could manage it. She had already bribed one of the footmen to come in half-an-hour to carry her bandbox out the back door and down the street where North would be waiting in an unmarked, rented carriage. There was nothing else to do but wait.

She knew that down the hall Sarah was having yet another fitting of her ball gown. Poor cousin Sarah—how would she take the news that she was to be jilted? Corianne suddenly felt very sorry for her. Since Sarah was already so old, she was unlikely to find another suitor and would undoubtedly remain a bitter old maid for the rest of her life. Cory was smitten again with a twinge of nagging guilt. Sarah had always been kind to her—it was too bad that Cory would have to be the one to hurt her.

In a way, it was cruel of North not to warn Sarah that he'd changed his mind. If Sarah had some premonition … some warning … she could at least steel herself against the shock and turmoil that was bound to ensue when the news became widely known that she'd been jilted. Perhaps Cory ought to warn her. Of course, North had insisted repeatedly that Cory must not breathe a
word
of their plans. It would not do to have anyone learn of their elopement—she could understand that. Edward might hear of it and would be sure to follow them. So secrecy was essential. But if she left Sarah a note … and arranged to delay its delivery until tomorrow, when it would be far too late for anyone to catch up with them … she might still be able to soften the blow to Sarah and ease her own conscience.

She ran to the writing table and hastily penned a note. Carefully, she folded and refolded it and dropped a large blob of candle wax along the fold to seal it. Then she opened the door to find someone she could trust to deliver it at the proper time. The door to the upstairs sitting room—where Sarah was having her fitting—opened, and out came Madame Marie. “Oh,
Madame
, you're the very person I want,” Cory called out. “Will you come in here for a minute?”

Madame Marie scurried down the hall. “I have on'y a
petite moment
, Miss Cory,” the dresser told her. “The train on Miss Sarah's gown … they're havin' trouble wi' the way it falls. I
tol'
her ladyship to find a French
modiste
.”

“Yes, but I won't keep you. I only want to ask you a favor. Will you keep this note hidden for a day, and give it to Miss Sarah
tomorrow?
It's a kind of … of joke, you see. And part of the fun is that it must be delivered
tomorrow morning
and not a moment sooner.”

“O' course, Miss, if ye like. But I hope ye'll
pardonnez moi
if I asks ye why y'can't deliver it yerself.”

Cory blinked. She should have taken more time to think this through, she realized. “Oh … well, you see … if it came from me, it would … er … give the joke away,” she said lamely. She was struck with misgivings. Perhaps she shouldn't have done this at all. “On second thought, I suppose I can deliver it myself,” she said hastily, reaching out to take the paper back again.

Madame Marie regarded the young girl closely. “That's all right, Miss Cory. I don't mind holdin' it for you, nor deliverin' it neither. Though it sounds like a lot o' foolishness to me.”

“That's all it is, Madame. A lot of foolishness. But you won't forget, will you?”

“No, Miss,” the dresser said, tucking the note into her apron pocket and turning to go down the hall. “I won't forget.”

Cory watched her go, biting her underlip worriedly. But the sound of the large clock at the foot of the stairs, striking the half-hour, came up to her and drove all else from her mind. It was time to go!

Madame Marie might not have given the note another thought had she not visited the kitchen a short while later to talk to her crony, the cook. Cook was clucking over “the sinful extravagance of the gentry,” for someone had given Jayce, the laziest footman on the staff, a solid gold sovereign just for delivering a little bandbox to a carriage down the street.

“Who was so beetle-headed as to do
that
?” Madame inquired, shaking her head in disapproval.

“I wasn't told,” Cook said in disgust, “but I ha'e a good notion.”

Madame Marie had a good notion as well. She left the kitchen, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. Why would Miss Cory give Jayce a gold sovereign to carry a little bandbox down the street when he would certainly have done it just for the asking? The answer was obvious—the girl wanted to spirit something out of the house
secretly
. But why? And what? And did it have anything to do with the note that lay, at this moment, right in her pocket?

It might all be only part of the joke Miss Cory spoke of, but the maid didn't like the feel of it … not one bit. She went to her room, removed the paper from her pocket and studied it carefully. The wax seal was overly thick, and although it was hastily and sloppily applied, it gave an air of significance and mystery to the letter. Madame Marie was uncomfortable about this entire business. It had the distinct smell of trouble.

The entire house smelled of trouble, in Madame Marie's view. She was with Miss Sarah when her betrothal had been arranged, and she knew quite well that Miss Sarah was not happy about it. Madame had her own ideas of why this was so, and although she'd kept her peace, she sincerely wished she could do something to stop the forthcoming nuptials. It was not her place, of course, to make judgments about the way her employers ran their lives, but she saw what she saw, and she knew what she knew. And one of the things she knew was that all this trouble started when Miss Cory came to stay. In less than two months, a pleasant, cheerful and self-assured Miss Sarah had become a pale, nervous and unhappy being. And if Miss Cory was plotting anything to give Miss Sarah additional grief, Madame Marie would like nothing better than to stop her in her tracks.

Madame had been
entrusted
with the note, and she did not like to betray a trust, but if Miss Cory had not been telling the truth about the contents—and she was sure the girl had lied—it might be better to turn the paper over to Miss Sarah as soon as possible.

If she gave the letter to Miss Sarah now, the worst result would be that she'd have spoiled some “joke.” And she'd have to face Miss Cory's displeasure. When Miss Cory was displeased, she could make everyone miserable with her sullens or her tantrums, but Madame Marie didn't intend to worry herself over
that
. It would be worth any unpleasantness if, as she suspected, there was something more in this letter than what met the eye. “
Allons!
” she muttered firmly, marching to the door. “I'll give Miss Sarah this here
billet doux
right now … and take whatever comes like a
Comptesse
facin'
la guillotine
.”

She quickly climbed the stairs and made her way to Miss Sarah's bedroom. “It's a note from Miss Cory,” she explained, handing the letter to Sarah hesitantly. “She said I wasn't to give it to ye 'til tomorrow, but there's somethin' funny goin' on … so I thought…”

“Something
funny?
” Sarah asked, looking at the letter in complete bafflement. “What do you mean?”

The dresser shrugged. “I ain't certain, Miss Sarah … but Miss Cory's been acting strangely this
matin
. That's why I thought y'd better read it.”

“Well, it
is
addressed to me,” Sarah said, looking at the missive dubiously, “but if she said I wasn't to read it until tomorrow …” She looked up at Madame with a suggestion. “Why don't I just
ask
her about it?”

“She ain't home. She's gone off for a ride with Mr. Shirley.”

“What? In
this
weather?” Sarah's brows knit as she looked down at the paper once more. “That
is
strange, Madame. Especially since she declared only a few days ago that she never intended to see Mr. Shirley again.”

Without further hesitation, Sarah broke the seal. Her eyes flew over the contents, and she gasped and whitened. “The little
idiot!
” she said to herself, reading the letter again. Then she looked up at Madame Marie with unseeing eyes. “My pelisse … I'll need my pelisse. And … the carriage. Have them bring it round at once, will you, Madame? At once.”

“But … it's real nasty and damp outside, Miss Sarah. And it looks like it'll come down rain … or even snow … any time now. Where're ye
goin'?
” Madame was alarmed. If she'd ever seen trouble in a person's face, she'd seen it now.

“Going?” Sarah echoed abstractedly. She looked up, her eyes focussing slowly on Madame's face. She blinked bewilderedly and sank slowly back against her chair. “I … I just don't
know!
” she murmured in baffled dismay.

Chapter Nineteen

T
HE SNOW THAT
Madame Marie had predicted did not materialize. Instead, a dense fog crept in and cloaked the city in its thick invisibility. It caused Sarah to stumble against a curbstone when she alighted from her carriage in front of the building on Curzon Street where Fitz had his apartments. She had come to see Clara. She felt that she desperately needed her friend's counsel. Fog or no fog, she could not remain safely at home today.

She knew she
had
to stop Cory somehow, but she had no idea as to how to go about it. The
proper
thing to do, she realized, would be to enlist Edward's help, but the danger of a duel still loomed over the situation, and that prospect terrified her. In addition, she didn't want to hurt him. If only she and Clara could think of a way to rescue Cory without enlisting Edward's assistance, they might, with luck, keep him from ever learning anything about it.

Fortunately, Edward was not at home. “He's gone on his usual morning gallop through the park,” Fitz told her, ushering her into the drawing room where his wife sat at the writing table penning a letter to her mother.

“Gone
riding
?” Sarah asked Fitz in some surprise. “But … the fog…”

“Ned would answer
that
,” Clara said, looking up from her letter in amusement, “by saying that it's a mere nothing. The fellow declares that city life would be completely unendurable if he couldn't spend
some
part of each day in the open air. He never fails to take his daily—” At this point, Clara noted that her friend was even paler than usual. “Good heavens, Sarah, is anything amiss?” she asked, rising from her chair.

Sarah nodded. “Read this,” she said tensely, handing her note to Clara.

Clara perused the letter quickly and raised her eyebrows. “What a foolish, impulsive creature that child is, to be sure!” was her brief comment.

“Is
that
all you have to say?” Sarah queried, astonished.

“What else
can
I say? We already
know
that North is a bounder.”

“But … what do you think I should
do?
” Sarah was beginning to feel that her friend lacked a deep enough understanding of the situation. “Don't you see—?”

“Of course I see. It's a dreadful situation, I admit. But Sarah, to be truthful, I don't care a fig. Let her run off with him—serves 'em both right!”

“Clara, you can't mean that!”

“I
do
mean it. Ask Fitz if I'm not right.
You
agree with me, don't you, Fitz?”

“Of course, love … that is, I expect I would, if I knew what you were talking about,” he responded placidly.

“Oh! You haven't yet read the letter. Well,
read
it, you gudgeon,” his wife said with affectionate impatience. “He
may
read it, may he not, Sarah?”

Sarah made an acquiescent gesture and dropped down on the sofa. “I can't permit Cory to do this to herself, Clara. She doesn't know…! She can have no
inkling
—”

“Good Lord!” Fitz exclaimed, gaping at the note. “What a cork-brained wet-goose! Ned will be
livid!
”

Sarah sighed despairingly. “That's why we mustn't tell him about this. I've got to get her back, before
anyone
learns of this.”

Clara sat down beside her friend. “Nonsense, Sarah. Let the matter go. You've been making yourself ill over the prospect of your marriage to North. Now you needn't go through with it. On the other hand, your silly little cousin is obviously beside herself with joy. Let her have him.”

Sarah shook her head. “How can I? She's such an innocent. I can't permit her to fall into such a trap. She has no idea what marriage to such a man can mean. Besides …” Her voice faltered, and she turned away.

“Besides?” Clara prodded gently.

“I … I won't have Edward hurt this way!” Sarah admitted, her head lowered.

Clara put a hand on her friend's shoulder and patted it sympathetically. “Do you love him so much?” she asked softly. “My poor child, can't you think of
yourself
for once?”

Sarah merely shook her head again. Fitz chewed his moustache thoughtfully. “I can understand your wish to bring the girl back, I suppose, Sarah, but I don't see how you can expect to accomplish it.”

Sarah turned to face him. “I want to go after them. But I don't know where they've gone.”

“To Gretna, of course,” Clara stated in disgust. “Where else?”

“Yes, my love, you're probably right,” Fitz agreed, “but that's not much help. There are so many roads out of London. Who knows what route they may have chosen?”

“Can you help me decide which route is most likely?” Sarah asked, looking hopefully from one to the other.