Love's Harbinger (8 page)

He put away his pencil and said, “We’re in for a storm, to judge by that lead sky.”

“Yes. The roads will be a regular hasty pudding. How far are we from Bournemouth?”

“We’re coming to Amberley. This is the Arun River. There’s a charming old ruined castle and a Norman church, but we shan’t have time to view them today.”

“Are we near Winchester yet?” she asked.

He handed her Thomas’s folded map, and she studied it. “Amberley! Mr. Delamar, we’re going the wrong way. Thomas marked Winchester on his map.”

“We couldn’t expect to overtake him at Winchester. We’ll catch him at Bournemouth. That’s where he sails from, tomorrow evening at nine. We’re just taking a slightly different route. We’ll go south, then west, instead of south-west. We’ll have to ferry across the inlet, but it’s no farther.”

“I must have misunderstood the Pythagorean theorem! How can two sides of a triangle not be longer than the other one?”

“Not much longer,” he said.

“Ferrying the carriages will be very awkward. Why aren’t we going by Winchester?”

“I have to make a stop at Fareham. I have some business to attend to there.”

“Did you learn something about Thomas?” she asked swiftly.

“No, it’s another matter entirely.”

“But that will waste time! We want to catch him as soon as possible. That’s the only reason my aunt and I came.”

A mask of arrogant indifference settled over his harsh features. “Lord Thomas is a minor matter as far as I’m concerned. I must stop at Fareham. Naturally you and your aunt are free to do as you wish. There is no fear of highwaymen in this part of the country. Their little vice near the coast is smuggling, not robbery.”

She stared, incredulous. “You mean you aren’t making this trip to follow Thomas?”

“Not just to catch him,” he replied. He didn’t emphasize catch,” but she noticed it and knew a man whose tools were words had not made the change by chance. He spoke on calmly, but calmness was at an end for Faith. Her companion was a clear and obvious enemy again. “There’s a by-election at Fareham today. I have a man down there following the outcome. I have to see him.”

“How long will you stop?” she asked stiffly.

“For as long as my business takes, but it need not detain you. You must continue your pursuit of Lord Thomas, by all means.”

After that brusque exchange, they continued through the chalky South Downs. Castles and churches were observed in stony silence. As they drew nearer to the coast, the skies grew darker and a fierce wind carried the tangy sea scent in its grip. No rain had fallen yet, and the dry dust flew in clouds, while the tree branches whipped like sheets in the wind. Soon the ominous roll of thunder was heard reverberating in the heavens.

“Aunt Lynne will be frightened to death,” Faith said. “Are we nearly at Fareham?”

“It won’t be long now. With luck, we’ll be there before the storm breaks.” He sounded not only unconcerned but rather satisfied. It occurred to Faith that she and her aunt could hardly proceed on their quest in the teeth of a roaring storm. She was already irritated at the prospect of the ferry crossing and had no intention of attempting it in bad weather.

When they reached Fareham, they found the little seaport to be bustling with activity, as voters made their way to and fro to cast their ballots. They drove to the Red Lion and waited a moment for Lady Lynne. Her carriage had remained close behind them all afternoon, but when they drew into the inn yard, there was no sign of it. “I hope my aunt hasn’t had an accident,” Faith said.

“Come along inside before the rain starts. I’ll send my driver back for her.” Delamar spoke to his groom and took her arm to propel her into the hostelry. It was a quaint, unsophisticated country inn with humble furnishings, but on this election day it was busy. “Do you think this storm is going to blow over soon?” he asked the proprietor.

“We’re in for a gale it looks like,” he was told. “You and your lady are lucky. I only have the one room left, and not my finest either, but you won’t want to carry on your trip in this weather.” He lifted a key and handed it to Guy. “The Mermaid Room is what I have available, sir.”

Faith felt a moment’s embarrassment at the misunderstanding, but there was no archness in Delamar’s manner. “You and your aunt had best take it before it’s gone,” he advised her.

“But where will you sleep?”

“Don’t worry about me. Unnecessary advice, I think?” he asked, slanting a mocking smile at her. She was loath to take the last room after his jibe. “Go ahead,” he urged. ‘‘Your aunt won’t thank you for offering to sleep on a bolster by the fireside. That’s a gentleman’s prerogative— I’ll pretend I’m a gentleman, for tonight.”

While she signed the register, he continued talking to the proprietor. “Is Dick Fletcher staying here?”

“Aye, we have Mr. Fletcher with us. You’re in the shipping business as well, are you?”

“That’s right,” he lied, for there were occasions when a journalist did not advertise his true calling in the interest of hearing the truth. “Would you have any idea where I might find Mr. Fletcher?”

“He just stepped into the taproom for a wet. A roaring business we’re doing today. We’re having a by-election here, you must know. Old George Shaft, the Tory incumbent, has stuck his fork in the wall and his son is up to replace him.”

“Is that so? I noticed the streets were busy. Who do you think will take it?”

“There’s no question hereabouts. We always get stuck with a Tory. We’ll get the Shaft again, I wager,” he joked.

“I thought since the new Duke of Graveston took over, there might be some hope of a change,” Guy said, to let his listener know his own sentiments.

“They do say the young duke is of a different stripe than his late papa, but the old gaffers have the scrutineering under their care, you see. No matter what goes into the box, what will come out of it is Mr. Shaft.”

Delamar adopted a sympathetic face. “Like that, is it? Who’s in charge of counting the vote here?”

“Shaft’s man, a Mr. Irons by name—and an ironmonger by trade—but his avocation is feeding from the Tory trough. He always gets any sort of political job that can be done by an idiot—except that of Member of Parliament, of course,” the proprietor added with a wink. “That plum belongs to Mr. Shaft.”

Delamar arranged to have Faith taken to her room, and before she had removed her bonnet and pelisse, her aunt came in, shaking raindrops from her pelisse and complaining about the weather.

“You never saw such black clouds. It looks as though the heavens are in mourning. And the thunder! Loud enough to wake the dead. I barely got in before the clouds opened. Where is Guy?”

“He is looking up one of his employees in the taproom,” Faith answered brusquely. “Do you realize, Auntie, he has taken us
miles
out of our way, and we will have to cross a river on a ferry to reach Bournemouth?”

Her aunt frowned in perplexity. “Has he, indeed? Why would he do such a cracker-brained thing?”

“Because finding Thomas is only a small part of his reason for this trip. He came here to Fareham to look into the by-election. He suggested you and I continue to Bournemouth without him,” she added, and looked for her aunt’s reaction.

Delamar was not the only one with an ulterior motive for darting off to Bournemouth. Sharing Guy Delamar’s company had been as much inducement as finding Lord Thomas, in the chaperone’s decision. She hastily considered the matter and decided that laissez-faire was her best option. Who knew what might occur before morning? “We shan’t go far tonight in any case. Did Delamar give a hint as to how long he meant to remain here?”

“Till his business is finished,” Faith said tartly.

“Your trip with Guy was less than agreeable, if I am to judge by your sour face,” Lady Lynne remarked.

“I did not want to join him and he didn’t want me in his rig. I don’t know why you ever suggested such a thing.”

Lady Lynne plopped down on the bed and leveled a cool stare at her niece. “Then you are remarkably slow, my dear. The Season has less than two weeks to run. The only gentleman who offered for you has turned out to be a thief.”

“Thomas is not a thief!”

“He’s under a cloud at least. Your papa will never permit the wedding to take place now. By sheer good luck, a better replacement has dropped in your path and you haven’t the wits to throw your bonnet at him. I have chaperoned some slow lasses in my life, but I must say, Faith, you take the prize. If all the chits were as dull as you, the bells of St. George’s in Hanover Square would be silent from head to toe of the year.”

Faith stiffened up and glared. “Are you actually suggesting that I should make up to that—that
scribbler
? I don’t want to marry Mr. Delamar. I don’t care for him in the least.”

“Then it will be back to Mordain Hall for you, come June. Now that I have made Guy’s acquaintance, I might attach him for Hope—if Lady Marie Struthers don’t beat me to him, that is to say.” She removed her bonnet and walked to the window to survey the skies and to give Faith time to come to her senses.

“Don’t think you will talk Hope into having him,” Faith sneered. “She will not be impressed by a Whig reformer—and neither will Papa.” Yet she felt hypocritical casting a slur on Mr. Delamar’s views.

“What has marriage to do with politics, you silly chit! Marriage is business, my dear. You will find your papa don’t look too closely at a man’s politics if the dibs are in tune.”

“Then I pity Hope, having to live in a squalid room over that noisy paper.”

This brought a pensive frown to Lady Lynne’s face. “If he actually lives there, then he must have salted away a good deal of blunt. They say in town that he is making a fortune. I wonder if Struthers has already hinted he means to set him up in a house . . .” This notion was dark enough to worry her.

While they were still discussing the matter, there was a knock at the door. Faith opened it to find the subject of their talk standing with his hat in his hand. “Are the accommodations satisfactory, ladies?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you,” Faith replied.

Her aunt was more effusive. “Excellent. Come in, Guy, and let us discuss what is to be done next.”

“I thought you might appreciate tea after the trip and have arranged for it to be served in a parlor below.”

“That’s mighty thoughtful of you.” Lady Lynne beamed. “We shall be there in the twinkling of a bedpost.”

He left, and Lady Lynne hastened to the mirror to adjust her coiffure. Over her shoulder she said, “Pretty good manners for a scribbler.”

The ladies soon went downstairs and found Mr. Delamar waiting for them in the lobby. He was not alone, but Faith found it hard to believe the elegant gentleman with him could be his employee. The man had an air of breeding and distinction. He wore the buckskins and top boots of a county man, but he was done up in impeccable style. Customers in the lobby turned to look at the two tall, handsome young men speaking in somewhat excited voices and shaking hands as though long-lost friends.

Delamar saw the ladies from the corner of his eye and beckoned them forward. “Look who I found in the taproom, ladies. I expect you are acquainted with His Grace?” he asked. Their blank and startled faces told him he was wrong in this assumption. “The Duke of Graveston. Harry, this is Lady Lynne and her niece, Lady Faith Mordain.”

The duke bowed, the ladies curtsied, and all three examined each other with the liveliest curiosity. Lady Lynne was not one to leave curiosity unsatisfied and plunged in to learn what freak of chance had made a duke and a commoner bosom bows, for that appeared to be the relationship between the men.

“The Duke of Graveston,” she said, trying to place this prominent peer. “But of course, you are old Gouty Graveston’s son. Your country seat is nearby, if I am not mistaken?”

“Not two miles away. You knew my late papa?” he asked with interest.

The acquaintance had not been close enough for her to know that the old duke was dead, but as he was, she was free to claim any degree of intimacy she wished. “I knew him very well. A delightful gentleman,” she answered without blinking. “I was so sorry to hear of his passing. And do you come from this part of the country, Guy?” She figured Guy’s family must have worked for Graveston.

“No, I am from London,” he answered unhelpfully.

“How did the two of you ever manage to meet and become friends? You don’t spend much time in London, Your Grace.”

“I am indebted to my youngest brother for the acquaintance,” His Grace explained. “Guy was his colonel in the Peninsula.” Faith heard the word colonel and her head jerked to look at Mr. Delamar. A colonel! He wasn’t looking at her, but she felt he was aware of her shock all the same. The duke spoke on. “Young Beau caught a bullet in his leg, and Guy brought him home when the war was over. We feel Beau owes his life to Guy. Beau is not the only one, either. But of course you ladies know your companion is the hero of Salamanca. I don’t have to tell you about his attack—”

Guy interrupted swiftly. “This is not the place to discuss war. Won’t you join us for tea, Harry?”

“I could do with a cup,” he agreed, and the group made its way to the private parlor.

When they were seated, the duke tried to return to the topic of war, but Guy diverted him with a question. “What do you figure are our chances of dumping Shaft, Harry?”

“I’ve done what I can to bring our man to prominence,” the duke said, and was easily diverted to this subject. “My people will vote for Makepiece, of course. I took him around to speak at any meeting that promised more than three votes, but Shaft is very strongly entrenched hereabouts after his father’s three terms in office. He’s had plenty of time to buy friends. A pity I hadn’t a rotten borough to offer you, but then I know your views on that subject. Is it the election that brings you to Fareham?”

“That’s one of the reasons,” Guy answered.

Faith felt her heart shrink in her breast. The whole ugly story would come out now. Delamar would naturally make inquiries to learn if Thomas had been seen in the neighborhood. The story always came first with him. It made her realize just how unpleasant life would be as the bride of a man with a stain on his character—even an undeserved stain.