More than a Mistress/No Man's Mistress (36 page)

“Who was it, Parkins?” he asked without turning.

“Hello, Cousin Harold,” Jane said.

J
OCELYN INTENDED TO WASTE
no time in taking Jane to Lady Webb’s. It really would not do for her to remain where she was for a moment longer than necessary. He would have Mrs. Jacobs accompany her in his carriage.

But getting his carriage necessitated riding through Hyde Park. And in riding through the park he came quite
coincidentally upon an interesting scene. There was a largish group of gentlemen on horseback some distance from the path along which he rode, several of them talking and gesticulating excitedly.

Some quarrel was brewing, he thought. Normally he would not have hesitated to ride closer and discover what was going on, but today he had more important matters to attend to and would have continued onward if he had not suddenly recognized one of the loudly gesturing gentlemen as his brother.

Ferdinand quarreling? Perhaps getting himself into deep waters from which his Dudley nature would not permit him to withdraw until he was in over his head? Well, the least he himself could do, Jocelyn decided with a resigned sigh, was go and lend some moral support.

His approach was noted, first by those who were not themselves involved in the loud altercation that was proceeding, but then even by its participants. The crowd turned as one man to watch him come and a curious hush descended on them.

The reason for it all was almost instantly apparent to Jocelyn. There they were at last, all five of them in a body together—the Forbes brothers. Terrified, no doubt, to show their individual faces anywhere in London, they were presenting a collective front to the world today.

“Tresham!” Ferdinand exclaimed. He looked about at the brothers in some triumph. “Now we will see who is a cowardly bastard!”

“Dear me.” Jocelyn raised his eyebrows. “Has anyone here been using such shockingly vulgar language, Ferdinand? I am vastly relieved I was not present to hear it. And who, pray, was the recipient of such an uncharitable description?”

Although he was a prosy bore in a pulpit, the Reverend Josiah Forbes, to give him his due, was no sniveling, sneaky knave. He rode forward without any hesitation until he was almost knee to knee with Jocelyn, made a grand production of taking off his right glove, and then spoke.

“You were, Tresham,” he said. “Cowardly bastard
and
debaucher of wedded virtue. You will meet me, sir, if you wish to dispute either of these accusations.”

He leaned forward and slapped his glove across Jocelyn’s cheek.

“Gladly,” Jocelyn said with languid hauteur. “Your second may meet with Sir Conan Brougham at his earliest convenience.”

The Reverend Forbes’s place was taken by Captain Samuel Forbes, resplendent in his scarlet regimentals, and amid the buzz of heightened excitement among the spectators, Jocelyn was aware that the remaining Forbeses were forming a wavering queue behind. He yawned delicately behind one hand.

“And you will meet me over the matter of my sister’s honor, Tresham,” Captain Forbes said, and slapped
his
glove across the same ducal cheek.

“If fate permits me,” Jocelyn told him gently. “But you will understand that if your brother has spattered my brains across a field of honor before I am able to keep our appointment, I will be forced to decline your invitation—or at least Brougham will on my posthumous behalf.”

Captain Forbes wheeled his horse away, and it was apparently Sir Anthony Forbes’s turn. But Jocelyn held up a staying hand and looked from one to the other of the three remaining brothers with careful disdain.

“You must forgive me,” he said softly, “if I beg to decline the opportunity of meeting any of the three of you on a field of honor. There is no honor in attempting to punish a man without first challenging him face-to-face. And I make it a personal rule to duel only with gentlemen. There is nothing gentlemanly about attempting to wound a man by killing his brother.”

“And nothing safe about it either,” Ferdinand added hotly, “when that brother can stand up to answer the cowardly trick for himself.”

There was a smattering of applause from the ever-growing circle of spectators.

“You three,” Jocelyn said, raising his whip and pointing it at each of the brothers in turn, “will take your punishment at the end of my fists here and now, though I suggest we move to a more secluded area. I will take on all of you at once. You may defend yourselves since I
am
a gentleman and would not take unfair advantage even of rogues and scoundrels by having you tied down. But there will be no rules and we will have no seconds. This is
not
a field of honor.”

“Oh, I say, Tresham,” Ferdinand said with cheerful enthusiasm, “well done. But it will be two against three. This is my quarrel too and I will not be left out of the satisfaction of sharing in the punishing.” He dismounted as he spoke and led his horse in the direction of the grove of trees toward which Jocelyn had pointed. Beyond it there was more grass but no paths, and so it was rarely used by those riders and pedestrians who frequented the park daily.

The three Forbes brothers, as Jocelyn had guessed, could not avoid the meeting without losing face. The other gentlemen crowded after them, delighted by the
unexpected opportunity of watching a mill in Hyde Park of all places.

Jocelyn stripped off his coat and waistcoat while his brother did the same thing beside him. Then they both strode out into the grassy ring, formed by the crowd of acquaintances who had gathered to watch.

It really was a vastly uneven contest, Jocelyn realized with some disappointment and contempt before even two minutes had passed. Wesley Forbes liked to use his booted feet and clearly hoped to disarm his opponents with one well-placed kick to each. Unfortunately for him, Ferdinand, who had quick reflexes, caught his boot in midair with both hands just as if it were a ball and held him off balance while he used one of his considerably longer legs to poke the man sharply in the chin.

After that, and to enthusiastic cheering from the vast majority of the spectators, it was two against two.

Sir Anthony Forbes, who landed one lucky punch to Jocelyn’s stomach, tried for some time to match his opponent strike for strike, but soon he began blubbering about its being unfair to fight him when it was Wes who had tampered with the curricle.

The crowd jeered.

“Perhaps it is poetic justice, then,” Jocelyn told him as he jabbed at Sir Anthony’s defenses and waited longer than was really necessary before delivering the
coup de grâce
, “that I should be punishing the wrong brother.”

At last he let fly with a left hook and a right uppercut, which felled his opponent like a wicket going down before a cricket ball.

Ferdinand meanwhile was using Joseph Forbes’s stomach as a punching ball. But hearing the general cheer as Sir Anthony went down, he ended his own bout
with one pop to the man’s face. Joseph’s knees buckled under him and he rolled on the ground, clutching his bloody nose. He did not attempt to get up.

Jocelyn strode over to the other two brothers, who had watched in silence. He nodded courteously enough. “I shall await further word from Sir Conan Brougham,” he said.

Ferdinand, without a visible mark on his body, was pulling his coat back on and laughing gaily. “One could have wished for all five,” he said, “but one must not be greedy. Well done, Tresham. That was inspired. No duels for those three but simple punishment. And audience enough to tell the tale for weeks to come. We have reminded everyone of the consequences of annoying a Dudley. Come to White’s?”

But Jocelyn had just grown aware of how much time had been used up in this encounter.

“Perhaps later,” he said. “For now I have something of extreme importance to attend to.” He looked assessingly at his brother, waving off the gentlemen who would have come to congratulate them and mounting his horse. “Ferdinand, there is something you can do for me.”

“Anything.” His brother looked both surprised and gratified. It was not often that Jocelyn asked something of him.

“You might spread the word,” Jocelyn said, “subtly, of course, that it has turned out that Miss Jane Ingleby, my former nurse and the main musical attraction at my soiree, is in reality Lady Sara Illingsworth. That I have found her by happy chance and taken her to Lady Webb’s. That all the rumors surrounding her name
are about to be proved as exaggerated and groundless as most rumors are.”

“Oh, I say.” Ferdinand looked vastly interested. “How did you find out, Tresham? How did you find her? How—”

But Jocelyn held up a staying hand. “You will do it?” he asked. “Is there any grand
ton
entertainment tonight?” He was dreadfully out of touch.

“A ball,” Ferdinand said. “Lady Wardle’s. It is bound to be a horrid squeeze.”

“Drop word there, then,” Jocelyn said. “All you need do is mention the bare facts once. Twice perhaps for good measure. No more than that.”

“What—” Ferdinand began, but Jocelyn had his hand up again.

“Later,” he said. “I have to go take her to Lady Webb’s. This is going to be a near-run thing, Ferdie. But we will pull it off.”

It felt rather good, he thought as he rode onward, to have made the discovery that his brother could also be a friend, as he had been when they were boys.

So there were two more duels to face—after he had dealt with this whole damned mess with Jane. Would she out of sheer principle, he wondered, be as prickly about being escorted to Lady Webb’s as she had been about everything else earlier on?

Dratted, exasperating woman!

HE EARL OF DURBURY WHIPPED AROUND, HIS
eyes widening in astonishment.

“So,” he said, getting to his feet, “you have been ferreted out at last, have you, Sara? By the Bow Street Runner? Where is he?”

“I am not perfectly sure,” Jane said, strolling farther into the room in order to set her gloves and bonnet down on a small table. “The group of men who prevented him from abducting me had not decided what to do with him when I continued on my way here. I have come quite voluntarily to see you. To commiserate with you on your loss. And to demand what you mean by setting up a Bow Street Runner outside my house as if I were a common criminal.”

“Aha,” the earl said sharply. “He was right, then, was he? I might have guessed it. You are a strumpet, Tresham’s doxy.”

Jane ignored him. “Your hired Runner,” she said, “who would have engaged in melodrama by dragging me here with my hands tied behind my back, called me a thief. What have I stolen, pray, that is yours and not mine? And he called me a murderess. In what sense am I criminally responsible for Sidney’s death when he fell and banged his head while trying to grab hold of me so that he might ravish me and force me into marrying him? He was alive when I left Candleford. I had him carried
upstairs to his bed. I tended him myself until the doctor
I sent for
arrived. I am sorry despite everything that he died. I would not wish for the death even of a despicable creature like Sidney. But I can hardly be held responsible. If you wish to try to have me convicted of his murder, I cannot stop you. But I warn you that you will merely make yourself look ridiculous in the public eye.”

“You always did have a wicked, impudent tongue, Sara,” her cousin said, clasping his hands at his back and glowering at her. “We will see whether the word of the Earl of Durbury carries more weight with a jury than that of a common whore.”

“You bore me, Cousin Harold,” Jane said, seating herself on the nearest chair and hoping that the shaking of her knees was not evident. “I should like some tea. Will you ring for service, or shall I?”

But he was given no chance to make a choice. There was a knock on the door, and the silent valet turned to answer it. The Bow Street Runner stepped into the room, breathing rather heavily and looking somewhat disheveled. His nose was as red as a beacon and surely swollen. In one hand he clutched a handkerchief on which Jane could see bloodstains. A thin red line trickled from one nostril. He glared accusingly at Jane.

“I apprehended her, my lord,” he said. “But to my shame I confess she is more sly and dangerous than I had anticipated. I will tie her up here and now if it is your wish and drag her to a magistrate before she can play any more of her tricks.”

Jane felt almost sorry for him. He had been made to look foolish. She guessed that such a thing did not happen often to upset his dignity.

“I shall be taking her back to Cornwall,” the earl said.
“She will meet her fate there. We will be leaving tonight, as soon as I have dined.”

“Then if I were you,” the Runner advised, “I would not trust her to sit meekly beside you in your carriage, my lord, or to enter inns along the way without kicking up a fuss and having you set upon by a parcel of ignorant fools who would not see the truth if it peered into their eyes. I would not trust her not to bash you over the head as she did to your son as soon as you nod off to sleep.”

“I really have hurt your feelings,” Jane said pleasantly. “But you cannot say I did not warn you that I would scream.”