The Curious Rogue (16 page)

“What if the man will not wait?” Elizabeth said aloud as she rose. Her mind raced over whom she could go to today as she returned indoors. Now. Only one answer came. Cavilon.

But there is nothing he could do... or would do, she thought.

But he might,
echoed in her mind.

“Niles, have a mount readied for me,” Elizabeth ordered before going to her room. Changing into a riding habit as quickly as possible, she came from the house just as a groom brought the horse to the door. Mounted, she headed to Tenbury.

Cavilon received word of Miss Jeffries’ arrival with concealed surprise and ordered that she be taken to the library.

“This is a most unexpected pleasure,” he greeted her. His smile turned to concern when she faced him.

“But you are distressed. What has happened?”

“A second letter has reached us from France. It came this afternoon,” she explained. “It was written but three weeks past.”

“It is not good news?”

“No.” Elizabeth shook her head. “It was written for my brother by a Captain Paraton. I gather he is a fellow prisoner. He writes that Morton is very ill.” Her hands fluttered; tears came to her eyes.

Cavilon was at her side at once. “Do sit down, Elizabeth. I will get you a glass of Madeira.”

“That is not necessary,” she said but allowed him to lead her to a chair. Sitting, she continued. “Captain Paraton believes Morton has an inflammation of the lungs complicated by a putrid fever. He says it is very serious. In fact, Morton may die; but,” Elizabeth went on determinedly, “he says that if money can be sent at once, he may be able to bribe the guards to fetch a doctor.”

Suspicious, the comte asked, “Does he propose how this is to be done?”

“The man who brought the message insisted that some answer be given now. I instructed Niles to send him to the Crown and Sword to wait until he is sent for.

“Uncle Henry will not return until this eve. I fear every moment may already be too late.” She raised eyes filled with quiet pleading.

“Is there not something you could do?”

Driven by some invisible force to follow the course he had already set with this young woman Cavilon tightened his affectatious pose. ““I?” He fluttered his kerchief. “But what could one such as I do?”

Elizabeth rose, distressed. “I thought better of you,” she told him in a firmly controlled voice. “I regret to learn I was incorrect.”

“Mayhaps I may be able to do something,” Cavilon said stung by her look. “There is a man I know who may have information that would be helpful to you,” he continued slowly. “Is there nothing else you can tell me? Where was your brother being held before the move?”

“The last we knew of was a prison near Rennes.”

“Rennes? Yes,” he mused, then looked at her

“I wish you to return to Ashly. Say nothing until you have word from me.” Cavilon waved aside the objection she was about to voice. “There must be trust... just as when you asked that I assist you with the lad Tom.”

“But if—”

“Let me speak with the man I know. Then we shall decide what must be done.”

“When... how long do you think—”

“I shall call on you later this eve—in the morn at the latest.”

“I pray you shall be successful,” Elizabeth told him, doubt lingering.

“As I also do.” Cavilon took her arm and guided her towards the door. “You must trust me.” His dark eyes held hers.

“Somehow... somehow I believe I do,” she answered, held fast by his gaze. Abruptly she turned from him and hastened away from his look, his touch. They threatened to make her forget her brother’s peril.

Watching her go, Cavilon tapped his cheek. Martin would have one more task to do, he decided, other than the matter begun a week past. Fromby would have to be put aside until this matter was resolved.

Halfway back to Ashly, Elizabeth realized that her reticule must have fallen to the floor when she sat in the library at Tenbury. In it was the letter from Captain Paraton.

I must have it to show Uncle Henry,
she thought, reining her mount to a halt. Reining about, she galloped back the way she had come.

The Tenbury butler was surprised to find Miss Jeffries returned when he answered the impatient pounding at the door.

“Yes, miss?” he questioned.

“I would like to go to the library,” Elizabeth told the stiff figure, his rigid disapproval making her forget the words she had thought to use.

“Comte
de Cavilon is with a visitor. He has given specific instructions that nothing and no one is to disturb him,” he told her coldly. “Perhaps you could call another time.”

“But I do not wish to see the comte, only the library. He is not in the library?”

“No, miss.”

“Then I shall just go there and fetch my reticule. I forgot it quite by accident,” she said and slipped past the butler.

He stared after her for a moment and then decided to return to his duties. Sir Henry was well known, and his niece was well liked. It would not do to offer insult unnecessarily.

Tenbury was not an overly large manor house, but Elizabeth soon learned that it was confusingly arranged to so infrequent a visitor as herself. Taking a turn that she was certain led to the library, she found instead a short corridor. Hesitating near the end of it, she heard low voices coming from behind the door before her. Curiosity nudged her closer.

One voice she recognized as belonging to Cavilon, but the second was unfamiliar.
Perhaps this is the man he meant to speak to about Morton
, Elizabeth thought, and pressed an ear to the door.

“Then all has gone well in France?” she heard Cavilon question the other.

“Better than was first thought. The names you gave us are proving quite helpful, but several questions have arisen. The necessity of using your friend has been broached.”

“That may now be possible,” Cavilon agreed, “but perhaps not necessary. Let me see what you need to know.”

Elizabeth frowned as his voice faded, and she could not hear clearly what was being said. She heard the rustle of paper, as if a map were being unrolled.

“It is important,” the second voice became audible, “that your connections remain unsuspicious. It would not do for them to learn that you...” Again the voice became too faint to hear.

Questions tumbled over one another in Elizabeth’s mind. What did this mean? Was Comte de Cavilon some kind of spy? For England or for France? Was he to be trusted?

Padded footsteps straightened Elizabeth. She hurried to the end of the short corridor and hastened down the longer one, meeting the butler.

“Oh, you found it,” she smiled, seeing the reticule in his hand. “How kind of you to fetch it. I must go. Could you show me the way to the door?”

“Yes, Miss Jeffries,” the butler answered icily and motioned her to go before him.

“Thank you,” she said when they reached the doors. Elizabeth gladly hastened from his condemning stare, relieved that the man had not informed the comte of her return.

* * * *

Back at Ashly Elizabeth pondered what to do. “Oh, why did I ever go to Cavilon?” she asked aloud as she paced about her room. “And what do I tell Uncle Henry when he returns? What sense can be made from all this?” She paused before her mirror.

“What did I hear? Was it really anything? Can I trust him?”

At the creak of her door caused Elizabeth whirled about. A weak laugh of relief came from her at Barney’s appearance. “Where have you been?” she scolded, picking at the twigs and burrs in his fur.

“We are a pair,” she murmured. “galloping off where we should never go. What did you do, I wonder?” She stroked his woolly fur absentmindedly. “What am I to do?”

* * * *

Comte
de Cavilon arrived at Ashly house shortly after Sir Henry’s return. His affectation had once more become pronounced, although Elizabeth, greatly disturbed by all that had happened, did not notice it. Her alarm grew when he asked to speak with her uncle alone. After an hour, which seemed more like a day, she was summoned to join them.

Both men rose as Elizabeth entered her uncle’s office. Sir Henry’s face was grave as he bade her take a seat. “My lord Cavilon has told me what he has learned in regard to the possibility of locating Morton.

“I am distressed by what he suggests in exchange for his assistance in this matter. Only you, however, can give the answer, my dear. I do not approve of this, and believe your brother would not, but I must let the decision to you,” he told his puzzled niece.

“My lord.” He nodded to the comte and withdrew.

Elizabeth, greatly bewildered, looked to Cavilon. A look which she thought to be doubt crossed his features, then was gone.

“If I were to offer for your hand in marriage, would you consent?” he asked.

“This is no time to speak of such matters. My brother may be dying.”

“What would your answer be?” Cavilon insisted, his lace fluttering to his chin as he poised a finger on his cheek.

“I do not think we would... suit. The answer would be no,” Elizabeth told him coldly.

“I then wish you to listen to all that I have to say before you give me an answer.” Cavilon lowered his hand. “Twice you have rejected me, and twice you have asked me for aid.” His eyes dropped to her hands, now tightly clenched. He receded into his affectations with greater force.

“The first matter, that of the lad, was trivial and I asked nothing in return. But your brother presents a difficult problem. I have spoken with the man I mentioned. He is agreeable to going to France and locating your brother but insists that your brother’s only chance of surviving is to be rescued. This man knows the prisons from experience.” He paused, then rose.

Turning away from Elizabeth, he continued, “The danger in such an attempt is very great, especially as your brother is ill. Thus the price demanded is equally great, a price which your uncle cannot pay. However, I,” he turned back to her, “am willing to meet the expense if you are agreeable to my terms.”

“Which are?” Elizabeth questioned, her eyes not leaving his.

“That you consent to be my wife.”

“Shall you go with this man to France?”

“And risk death or worse?
Non,
ma petite.”
He shook his head. “You must know me for what I am.”

“Have you ever done anything yourself? Is your wealth always to purchase what you wish to have?” she asked bitterly. “You are no man—-”

“That is not the question,” Cavilon coldly cut her off. “I do not think either of us wishes to play games. I do not attempt to deceive you. I wish you to be my wife.”

“I do not understand you.”

“If I had arranged for your brother’s release and then asked for your hand, you might have given your consent out of gratitude. But I have no desire to have you come to me under any pretence.

“If you do not come for love, then it shall be because you have given your word. Honour, I have found, is more binding than gratitude.”

“You would wed me even if I said I hated you?”

“An honourable person is rarely totally unreasonable,” he answered, approaching her.

“I find you despicable.”

“Your answer?”

“I have little choice,” she murmured.

“I have your pledge?”

Elizabeth raised her eyes to his. “It is as you wish.”

He took her hand and kissed it lightly. “Would you have me tell you I do this for love?” he wondered aloud. “I have had love and would rather choose honour. You may one day understand.

“I must go now. There are arrangements to be made.” Cavilon paused as if expecting her to speak. When she said nothing he left her.

Tears clouded Elizabeth’s vision. Two men had touched her heart. One she would never know. The other she could now never love.

Chapter Seventeen

Worry over her brother’s condition forced Elizabeth to put aside her own cares. The decision to wed Cavilon had been made. There was no longer any reason to think of it as anything but an accomplished fact. She turned her mind to her brother’s plight, which was so uncertain.

The idea that Cavilon had unknowingly planted with his jest became the centre of her thoughts. Elizabeth attacked each obstacle that stood against her going to France with the same tenacity she had used to maintain her father’s home as a young girl and to keep it after his death.

Early on the morn after the pact with Cavilon had been made, she went down to breakfast prepared to begin her plotted enterprise.

Sir Henry, still uneasy about the agreement reached between his niece and the comte, came to the breakfast room reluctantly. He was surprised to find Elizabeth eating heartily.

“Good morn, Uncle,” she smiled. “Did Comte
de Cavilon say when he would call this morn?”

“I... why, yes.” He joined her at the table. “In about an hour.”

“Then I had best hurry so that I am ready.”

“You are quite in the best of looks, my dear,” Sir Henry assured her. “There is no need to change your gown. I believe Comte
de Cavilon wishes only to bid you farewell before going to Folkestone and completing all the arrangements for Morton’s... rescue.”

“I do not mean to change my attire but to finish my packing,” Elizabeth returned lightly.

Surprise filled her uncle’s face. “But you cannot mean to leave?”

“My visit has been a prolonged one, Uncle. You knew I did not mean to come permanently. I will feel more at ease awaiting Morton’s arrival at our home in Folkestone. Being there is, after all, eminently practical. If Morton is ill, as we know he is, it will be much better to nurse him in our home there rather than travel the additional miles,” she explained.

“You always have your head about you, Elizabeth,” he nodded, his pride in her evident. “You are quite right. But I insist you return here to be wed.”

A shadow flitted across her face. “To please you, Uncle,” she agreed, her gaze on her plate.

“Perhaps it would be more agreeable for you if you were to delay taking your leave for a few days. Morton cannot be returned to us in so brief a time. I would gladly send you home in my coach.”

“I do not mind going with the comte. Indeed, I must become accustomed to it, mustn’t I,” Elizabeth told him. She laid her napkin aside and stood. “Please call me if his lordship arrives before I come down.”