Fortune's fools (18 page)

commented on the transformation of Miss O'Connor's face. Her smile could not have been brighter.

And wasn't it odd that Mr. Darby's smile appeared more genuine than it had when his betrothal was announced?

Most odd, said those in the know.

Eight

"Never let it be said that the Darby men have too much sense for their own good," said Tristram, looking from his brother to his father the afternoon following the Laceys' ball. "You, Papa, made a perfect cake of yourself, losing all that money at whist and then allowing Lady Anne to settle the debt for you."

"It was her debt, too. We were partners!" exclaimed liis father, holding his head at the effort this speech had caused him. "Devil take you, boy, it is not right to ring a peal over a man after a night of drowning his sorrows."

"Someone has to talk sense to you," said Tristram.

"But I am not half as bad as that brother of yours," said the viscount.

"And may the devil take you, old man," muttered Max. "At least I did not embarrass myself in front of all my friends. You will be lucky if you are allowed to play anywhere after that scene."

"And at least I am not going to get myself killed in some idiotic duel!" yelled his father. "How could you be so stupid, boy? Haven't I taught you better than that?"

"You? Teach me? When did you ever teach me anything except by showing me the road not to travel?"

yelled Max. "Besides, I am not going to get myself killed. You know perfectly well that Palmer is no match for me with pistols or rapiers."

"So you will only be thrown in prison for killing your man," said the viscount.

"It seems to me," said Tristram, "that is what brought us to London in the first place, trying to keep you out of prison, Papa. Now, let us quit squabbling and see what can be done."

The viscount hunched his shoulders, but he leaned forward to listen. Max, however, folded his arms and remained aloof, glaring at his father and brother in turn.

Finally, he said, "I shan't kill the bastard, though he richly deserves it. Miss Beauchamp says he makes her feel like a mouse, and he is the cat. Palmer's a nasty fellow all the way around, and if you are trying to get me to issue an apology, you can forget it, for I won't."

"Spoken like a five year old," said Tristram. When Max stood up, he said hastily, "No, no, do not run off. We have some repair work to do. First of all, Papa, I want to show you something."

Tristram pulled out his sketchbook and opened it. With a few quick strokes, he had outlined a table with cards strewn upon it and a man and woman sitting across from each other.

"That's very good, son, but I don't see ..."

"No, you would not. Max, would you care to tell our father about the stir I created last year, selling my little drawings to the scandal sheets?"

"I never knew that," said the viscount. "Selling them, you say?"

Max laughed at the memory and said, "It was quite a stir. He drew a picture of Adele Landis, the heiress

Monty was courting. You know, our Clarissa's cousin, the shrew."

"Oh, yes, but what about Tristram's drawing?"

"It depicted a spider, with Adele's face, on her web. Trapped there, too, were Monty and Benchley, struggling to get free," said Max.

"But what about the one where I drew her as Medusa? That made quite a splash, too," said Tristram with a laugh as he continued to draw. When he was satisfied, he held it out to his father. "See, Papa, this will put everything in a new light. You will no longer be seen as a kept man."

"I'll be seen as a kept husband!" protested the viscount, throwing the sketchbook to the floor. "What are you thinking, showing me looking at Lady Anne like a lovesick puppy?"

"Only this: If people think you are truly in love with her, no one will question your marrying her and accepting her money."

"He has a valid point, Papa," said Max, unable to contain his laughter anymore. His brother joined in while their father fumed.

"That's all well and good for the two of you to laugh, but you're not having to marry the blasted bulldog."

"Papa, she is a very nice bulldog, uh, lady, and I think she genuinely cares for you. Why don't you just give in?" said Tristram.

Turning the tables, the viscount said, "What do you have in mind for Max? Everyone thinks he's a madman, announcing his betrothal to one girl and then getting into a duel over another one. There's nothing you can do about that with your blasted drawings."

"Oh, I think there is. The real problem is how people perceive this challenge. I mean, Max, here, is not going to kill Palmer. Are you, Max?" asked Tristram.

Max pondered this question a second and then shook his head. "I suppose it would be suicide to kill him, so no, I won't do that, though I may wound the blackguard."

"Right, though not mortally. So what I will do is publish a drawing that shows Palmer as a cat, perhaps a tiger, menacing poor, innocent Philippa, who will be a very pretty little mouse. That should do the trick. In the background, I will put Max, not easily identifiable, except as a man with a dueling pistol or sword."

As he spoke, Tristram drew the picture, and when he was done, both his listeners had to agree that it would probably be enough to defuse the situation Max had created after stealing Kate away from Palmer.

"Very well, my boy. Draw your pictures and see that they are published just as soon as possible. I do not enjoy being the brunt of people's jokes. And as for Max here, I really do not wish to see his chances with Miss Beauchamp ruined. At this point, her father would have every right to pull his consent to the marriage. And you, Max, you had better smooth things over with that girl yourself—only the way you can do it," said the viscount with a leer.

"Then are we to wish you happy, Papa?" asked Max.

"No, pray do not bother. I am not happy, nor am I likely to be so ever again," came the glum reply.

"Cheer up, Papa. Perhaps you can do something to disgust Lady Anne, and she will throw you over for someone else."

"Who else would have her?" said the viscount, reaching for his hat and heading for the door.

When he was gone, Max slouched in the chair, his chin resting on his chest. He watched as Tristram continued to perfect his sketches.

"You are a deep 'un, Tris."

"How so?"

"A year ago, if anyone had told me that it would be you, time and again, who would come up with solutions to our problems, I would have said they were all about in the head. Now I begin to think you are the only one among us who has any sense at all."

"That is kind of you, Max, but I think you exaggerate."

"As you wish, but I thank you for your help in the matter. I wish I could think of some way to repay you."

"The morning paper has arrived, gentlemen," said Barton, entering the room and placing it on a table.

Max leaned forward and turned to the announcements. There it was, the announcement of his forthcoming nuptials to Miss Philippa Beauchamp. His heart sank. It was official now. There was no backing out of it, not with honor.

With a sigh, Max closed the paper and sat back again.

Perhaps he should just let Palmer find his mark.

Kate was almost at the end of her tether. She had gone out riding in the park with her groom until Bobby had protested that Mr. MacAfee would surely think he was shirking his duties at the stable. Finally, she agreed to turn Early Girl back home.

Unfortunately, as they neared the entrance to the park gates, four or five riders rode through the opening, eyeing both her and the mare with wide grins. One of them, a young man named Varner to whom her father had sold a horse, pulled up and greeted her.

"Good morning, Miss O'Connor," said the young man with a nod.

"Hello, Mr. Varner," said Kate, pulling Early Girl to one side to allow them to pass.

Mr. Varner had other ideas, and said, "Allow me to introduce you to my friends—Mr. Ammons, Lord Westbrook, and Mr. Sellers."

"How do you do, gentlemen?" Seeing that Mr. Varner was intent on keeping her from passing for some reason, Kate asked cordially, "I see you are riding Windswept. Is he behaving himself?"

"What? Oh, yes, a fine horse. And what of you, Miss O'Connor? I could have sworn I saw your father selling that very horse yesterday at Tattersall's. To Mr. Darby, if I recollect properly. How is it you are riding her once again?"

Kate's smile failed to reach her eyes as she said, "I'm sure I don't know anything about that, Mr. Varner. Perhaps it was another of his horses. You know I do not keep up with my father's business."

"Really? That is not what Mr. Palmer was telling us at the club last night after he challenged Mr. Darby to a duel. You must be terribly flattered, Miss O'Connor," he said before tipping his hat and riding away with his friends.

Their raucous laughter filled the air, and Kate kicked her heels against Early Girl's sides and rode quickly home.

After hurrying up to her room, she threw off her habit and changed before going downstairs in search of her father. As usual, he was in the breakfast room with several newspapers spread in front of him.

"Papa! I have just heard the most horrific tale!"

"Here now, Kate, sit down and calm yourself. What is it?"

"It is about Max and Mr. Palmer!"

"The duel, you mean?"

"You knew?"

"Your uncle and I went to his club after the ball and learned of it. It is no affair of yours," he said, returning to his papers.

"No affair of mine?" she cried, pushing his papers away and planting herself in front of him. "Why do you think they are fighting the duel? It is because that... that deuced pudding-heart, Palmer..."

"Language, young lady," said her father.

". .. has spread the tale of my going to Tattersall's. Max found out and hauled him off the dance floor last night—while I was dancing with the lout!"

"Wait a minute. You went to Tattersall's? After I had told you under no circumstances would I allow a daughter of mine to do such a foolish thing?"

Kate nodded, and her father shook his head, his jaw muscles working furiously as he digested this bit of news. She would be ruined by that alone. Never mind that Darby—a man just betrothed to another—had dragged her name into the dirt by his scandalous behavior at the Lacey ball the night before.

"Papa?" she said softly. "Papa, are you all right? You are white as a ghost. I... I'm sorry, Papa."

He shook his head again and looked up at her this time. "What are we to do?"

"I don't know, Papa. I want to talk to Max, to tell him not to be so foolish as to fight a duel over this, but I cannot very well go next door and ask to speak to him. Will you do it for me, Papa? Please!"

Mr. O'Connor patted his daughter's trembling hand and rose. "I'll go. I have a word or two to say to Mr. Darby anyway."

"May I..."

"No!" He sighed and continued more gently, "You have to distance yourself from Max. I know you are very fond

of him, but he is betrothed to Miss Beauchamp, and each time the two of you are seen together, it will only stir the flames of scandal. I will tell him that you are thinking about him, but that you are wise enough to know you must not see each other. Do you understand, Kate?"

She nodded, tears forming in her eyes, but she would not cry. She simply could not allow herself to do so.

If she started, she was very much afraid she would never be able to stop.

Max took Tristram's advice and danced attendance on his new fiancee day and night for the next few days. He was to be seen in her family's pew at church services on Sunday morning, and every afternoon in the park, driving her around. The fact that Miss Beauchamp looked more miserable with each passing day did little to help in his campaign to stem the tide of gossip, but she did agree to accompany him.

By Monday, with the publication of Tristram's drawings, the Darbys appeared ready to overcome the attendant scandal. The duel, which was to be secret, had been postponed as the weather turned wet and cold. Neither would have kept Palmer or Max from meeting, but their seconds convinced them that the early morning fog would play havoc with the business.

Tuesday, however, dawned clear, and the duel could no longer be postponed. Palmer had spent the previous night drinking toasts to everyone at his club, loudly declaring his intention of killing his man. As a result, the field of honor was a very crowded, one with many onlookers.

" 'Tis more like race day at Newmarket," declared Kieran O'Connor to Tristram and Max.

"Your being here, Mr. O'Connor, is only going to

convince everyone that Kate is the cause behind this absurd duel,"' said Max, lifting his pistol and sighting it.

"Nonsense. We are neighbors, and so I have been busily reminding everyone. As far as anyone within the sound of my voice knows, you and Kate are like brother and sister." With a wink, he announced loudly, "Our families have known each other for donkey's years, my boy. Where else should I be but here to support you?"

Max chuckled and clasped the older man's hand. "What the devil is that Irishman going on about?" demanded Lord Tavistoke.

Tristram hissed, "He is trying to smooth things over for our audience." He cocked his head at the growing assemblage of spectators and added, "Shake his hand like a long-lost brother."

"O'Connor!" said the viscount, clapping the other man on the back and smiling widely. "So glad you could come to support our boy in this dirty business. Not that there is any doubt as to the outcome. Everyone who knows Max knows there is no better shot in all of England."

"This is rapidly becoming a blasted circus," grumbled Max. "Tristram, go over there and find out if Palmer is done with his preening."

Tristram hurried away to consult with Osgood, Palmer's second. He returned and said, "He's ready now. Remember, Max, you don't really want to kill him."

"I dashed well do after his telling everybody about this. What was he thinking?"

"Probably that if there is a big enough audience, you will not dare to kill him," said Tris.

"I'm not going to do so," snapped Max.

"Good, and turn your collar up so that there is less of your white shirt showing."