Skylark (39 page)

She nodded and saw his relief. “Or most of it,” she amended.

A grin twitched his lips. “Indeed. Fathers will be fathers.”

“But what about Jack?” she asked, unable to put into words her hope that he was dead.

“Reports from Draycombe say he’ll live and probably keep his leg, but he’ll never walk as easily as before and may have trouble riding.”

“Oh, poor Jack.” The words escaped and she looked around at the men. “Does that make me feeble? I have been thinking how much easier everything would be if he were dead.”

Nicholas smiled. “It makes you compassionate, but he deserves punishment, especially as he’ll doubtless escape other justice. It would be hard to prove anything, even starting the fire. And it would be inconvenient for you to have a Gardeyne on trial.”

“It would probably kill his father.”

“Which is why,” Stephen said, “it’s useful that he was in Draycombe as John Dyer. Clever move, really. It could have given him a way to get to a possible relative, Captain Egan Dyer.”

A chill went down Laura’s back. “He so
cunning
. I never would have thought. How are we to keep Harry safe? I want Jack away from Caldfort. Far away.”

Stephen took her hand. “That can be done, I think. Maybe not until Lord Caldfort’s death, but now we’re promised, I believe I can persuade your father-in-law to make me Harry’s guardian.”

“And perhaps he’ll let me stay at Merrymead until the wedding. I wonder if he suspected Jack, or if it was just the mysterious letter that made him want me out of the way.”

“Perhaps a combination of both. He’s a lazy man who likes his own way, but he’s not stupid, and not without insight.”

“If Caldfort proves difficult, there are many ways to exert pressure,” Nicholas said in a pleasant manner at odds with the cool purpose in his eyes. “When do you plan to marry? Sooner would be better.”

Stephen explained the discretions of propriety. Laura thought Nicholas had little patience with it, but he didn’t argue. “Then stay at Merrymead, Laura. Even if Caldfort objects, any attempt to drag Harry away by legal force will take more than a month or two, especially with Steve handling the legal end. Why not marry on Gaudete Sunday, the third Sunday in Advent, devoted to rejoicing? An ecclesiastical calendar would give us the exact date.”

David pulled a humorous face, but he rose. “I’ll go and see if the library here has such a religious tome.”

Nicholas rose, too. “I’ll help.”

“Anything to poke around in the books here again,” Stephen said with a grin, but turned to Laura. “And to tactfully leave us together for a little while.”

He moved to the chair next to hers and took her into his arms. It felt, thought Laura, like coming home. She opened her mouth to him and let her hands explore the body she had learned well and would learn even better, but she remembered where they were and eventually gently pushed free.

“They’ll be back soon.”

“I doubt it.” His eyes smiled at her. “I thought you were not at all shy.”

“There’s a difference between shyness and propriety!” But she was smiling, too, mostly at memories stirred by his words. She ran her fingers back through his hair. “I never had the chance to tell you what a wonderful lover you are.”

He colored slightly, but his eyes darkened. “Whatever I am, you are my match. It’s more than that, though—”

She slid her fingers over his lips. “Yes, of course, but it’s a delightful icing on the cake, isn’t it?”

He laughed with her and they kissed again. She forgot propriety, and it was he who broke the kiss and moved away. “They’re coming. Very noisily.”

Laura was fighting laughter and blushes and knew she must look well kissed, and she saw a hint of humor on the two men’s faces as they came into the room, but nothing was said.

“December fifteenth,” Nicholas declared.

“And a day of rejoicing,” Laura said. “I like that. We have much to rejoice for, and we can celebrate our first Christmas at Ancross and at Merrymead, Stephen. I have so missed Christmases there.”

Stephen smiled, but then he looked at Nicholas. “How many Rogues do you think we can assemble for the wedding? I would open Ancross to them, of course.”

“A house party!” Nicholas declared. “A splendid idea. And I take your point. If Reverend Gardeyne clings to his plans, he needs to see just how powerfully young Harry is protected. Me, of course, but I’m a mere commoner. Luce and Beth may be willing to travel. The baby will be about six months old. In fact, Luce could be your groomsman. Unsubtle to wield the heir to a dukedom like that, but there are times when a sharp battle-ax is an effective deterrent. If not, an earl will do, especially when well supported by minor titles.”

“Lee? Good idea.” Stephen turned to Laura. “Earl of Charrington.”

“My, my.”

“And,” said Nicholas, “we could possibly persuade the Duke of St. Raven to grace the event.”

“My, my, my! The whole Barham area will be in ferment for weeks.”

Kerslake spoke. “A notorious almost-earl pales by comparison, but if my presence will add weight, I’m happy to oblige. I have a personal score with the vicar for causing damage in my territory, and I admit, I’m curious to meet more of the Rogues.”

Laura was considering other matters. “In addition to all this,” she said, “I still want Jack away from Caldfort. Harry will have to visit there, more and more as he grows up, and I will not have Jack nearby.”

She had all their attention.

“What do you have in mind?” Stephen asked.

She looked at him. “Once Harry is the viscount, he—or his guardian and trustees, rather—have control of that living. It can be taken away from Jack.”

“That will cause talk.”

“Not if we find him a richer one elsewhere.”

“A promotion,” Stephen said. “Very clever, though he doesn’t deserve it. I’d rather he end up in the roughest parish in a city.”

“I know, but it seems he will live with his punishment, and I think he truly was horrified by the results of his actions. Also, it wouldn’t be fair for Emma and his children to suffer from his actions. They are innocent. In fact, if a living could be found in the north, she would be happy to be close to her family.”

“You have a very kind heart,” Stephen said, and his smile was like a kiss, “but yes, that should be possible.”

“There we are, then,” Nicholas said. “The only thread remaining is our mysterious villains. I can’t leave without understanding what they were up to.”

“Where are they?” Laura asked.

“They were shown to a room last night and locked in,” Stephen said. “None of us was up to a confrontation then. Nicholas and I took them breakfast, washing water, and clothing a while ago—armed, in case—but they volunteered nothing but thanks.”

He looked at her. “I had begun to wonder if HG was a woman in disguise.”

“Oh, no,” Laura said. “Or if so, a very manly one.” She puzzled over it. “It would explain a great deal, but I really don’t think so. He’s fine boned for a man and has those soft hands, but they’re a man’s hands. Much bigger than mine.”

“I agree,” Stephen said, but there was a strange expression on his face.

Perhaps he’d noticed what she’d noticed, but she didn’t see why that should make him look almost embarrassed.

“I don’t think Farouk is Arab,” she said. “Last night, without his turban, and in the strange firelight, he could have been an Englishman.” No one seemed surprised. “But why the masquerade? Were they pretending to have been slaves to the corsairs, and if so, why? If that part is true, why did he dress as an Arab? And why try to extort money from Lord Caldfort?”

“Perhaps they met Henry Gardeyne in the Mediterranean before he died,” Stephen offered, but he obviously didn’t like the hypothesis.

“The only way is to ask them,” Nicholas said. “We nobly decided to wait until you were ready, Laura.”

“After all,” Stephen said, “any decisions are still yours to make.”

She frowned. “Why? It’s not a matter affecting Harry or Caldfort anymore.”

“It has to be something to do with Caldfort. That letter can’t have been a shot in the dark, and it enclosed something that persuaded Lord Caldfort of the claim.” Stephen rose, drawing her to her feet. “Let’s go and find out.”

Everyone rose. “They’re in the Jason room,” David said. “It has mazes on all the walls, which seemed suitable. If you don’t mind, however, I will leave the questioning to you. I should go to Draycombe to give assistance.”

“If you can,” said Stephen, “get Jack Gardeyne away from there before he says too much.”

David nodded and left, and the rest of them went upstairs and along more of the strange corridors. Stephen unlocked a door and they went in.

Laura had a vague impression of walls decorated entirely with mazes, but she paid no attention to them, only to the human puzzles. “Farouk” was standing beside the bed upon which HG lay right on the edge, propped up with pillows. They were almost touching, as if HG couldn’t bear to be far away. From his protector or his master?

There was absolutely no doubt about one thing. In jacket, shirt, and breeches, Farouk looked exactly what she’d thought him—an Englishman who’d been exposed to too much sun. In Algiers as a slave? Why, then, was HG so pale?

HG wore similar clothes, and to Laura’s eyes there was no doubt that he was a man. Despite pale skin and soft hands, she could sense a strong body and see quite broad shoulders. Then he gave her one of his fluttering, wicked smiles and she was confused again. “You’re beautiful, Mrs. Penfold.”

“It’s Mrs. Gardeyne,” Laura said, and saw Farouk start, then stare at her.

She stared back, and her artist’s eye absorbed what she was seeing. She’d been entirely wrong in aging that portrait because she’d been focused on frail Dyer. There was nothing frail about this man.

“
You’re
Henry Gardeyne!” she exclaimed, and heard the stir around her.

The dark-skinned man made no comment, but Stephen said, “Ah, the final piece of the puzzle. I’m Stephen Ball, by the way, sir. This is my friend, Mr. Delaney. Will you introduce us to your friend?”

When Henry stayed still and silent, Stephen added, “Believe me, we wish you no harm. Quite the contrary, in fact.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Henry Gardeyne spoke in perfect gentleman’s English, as he had when Laura had been listening through the wall, but now she thought there was the slightest trace of an accent after all, or a foreign intonation, something burned into him as the sun had burned his skin.

For nine years, Laura thought, shifting all she knew and trying to make a new picture. Why had Henry Gardeyne lingered in the Barbary States for so long when he could have bought his release at any time? Having done so, why—as Nicholas had asked before—decide to come home
now
? He hadn’t needed liberating by the British navy.

She was dazzled, however, by happiness. Henry Gardeyne was alive, and so Harry wasn’t the Caldfort heir anymore. He was safe!

“I’m sure you’ve lived where truth doesn’t serve, sir,” Stephen said, “but it is different here. Unless you have committed a serious crime, you have my word that you and your companion will be safe.”

“And you can trust him,” Nicholas added lightly. “You can trust us all, but Stephen’s the most impeccably honorable.”

Henry Gardeyne bowed his head then. “In Draycombe, I heard people talk of Sir Stephen Ball with great respect.”

Laura smiled up at Stephen, seeing, as she expected, embarrassment.

“We can’t help you without the truth, though,” Stephen said. “Why did you try to extort money from Lord Caldfort when everything he possesses is rightfully yours?”

Laura saw HG grasp Henry’s hand, pale against dark. “You didn’t tell me, Fellow.”

Henry spoke without looking at him. “It didn’t matter, Des. It still doesn’t. I don’t want the title and estates, but we need money and I don’t see why I shouldn’t have part.” He looked coldly around the room. “I still don’t. I assume Lord Caldfort will pay to keep what he has.”

“Then why not approach him that way before?” Laura demanded. “Why the offer to kill the rightful viscount?”

The hint of a smile touched Henry Gardeyne’s features. “Perhaps I have spent too long in a land where indirect ways are favored over the direct. It seemed neatest. Once done, no one would ever know that Henry Gardeyne still lived.”

Laura glanced around, wondering if she was exceptionally dull, if the situation made sense to everyone else.

“You were depending upon your relatives’ lack of honor,” Stephen pointed out. “Perhaps with reason, but you underestimated it. Your cousin set fire to the inn.”

“Hal?” Henry said with a frown.

“Hal’s dead. Mrs. Gardeyne is his widow.”

“
Jack?
He was studying for the cloth.”

“And is now the vicar of St. Edwin’s, but carried away despite that on a wave of wickedness.” Stephen sketched the recent events.

“Like most such people,” Nicholas said, “he found himself in waters far rougher than he’d intended. He will be a concern to you, but I think his fangs are drawn.”

Henry had relaxed somewhat, but now he became cold again. “He is nothing to me. I repeat. I will not claim the viscountcy. All I want, all we want,” he amended, with a look at “Des,” whose hand he still held, “is enough money to live in peace somewhere on this earth.”

Laura looked at the two hands, absorbed the tone of Henry’s voice, and understood.

“Oh.” It escaped before she could stop it and she felt her cheeks burn. “I am
not
embarrassed!” she protested. “Just startled.”

When Stephen laughed, she turned on him. “Do you mean you knew?”

“No. Well, not exactly.” He winced and looked across at the two men. “My deepest apologies, sirs, but you see, we had the means of listening through the walls. And last night I had to move to the room beyond your bedchamber.”