The Diabolical Baron (3 page)

“A third time? Was there someone besides John?”
Caroline looked up in surprise from the now-tuned
lute.

“Oh, just one of those calf-love affairs.” Her aunt
shrugged dismissively. “I ruined it through my foolish
temper, though I’m sure it was doomed anyway be
cause we were both so young. Still, it was very
...
in
tense. One doesn’t meet too many kindred spirits
in a lifetime.”

Caroline’s curiosity was aroused, but since her aunt
had closed the subject, she struck a chord on the lute
and said, “Shall we return once more to the dread
topic of Almack’s? Tell me what I should wear, then I
shall play you some of the new Elizabethan dances I
have learned.” She underlined her last words with
several toe-tapping measures.

“Minx! I know perfectly well you have been dress
ing as unbecomingly as possible to repel potential suit
ors.” She smiled wryly.  “Though it’s unkind of me to admit it, all that
has been required is wearing what your stepmother
bids you. Her taste is adequate for herself and her
high-colored daughters, but does nothing for you, as
well you know. When you meet a man you fancy,
you’ll start wearing clothes that do you justice. So
choose whatever gown least becomes you, and let us hear your new dances.”

* * * *

The law firm of Chelmsford and Marlin, Solicitors,
resembled any other such office in the City of London. Bland and impenetrable, it sat on its secrets. Inside, the
young man climbing the stairs to Josiah Chelmsford,
senior partner, moved with a hesitation beyond the
physical limp of his right leg. His face was worn with an accumulation of fatigue and pain—a familiar look
on soldiers who had fought for England and were no
longer needed in the aftermath of Waterloo.

The man known as Richard Dalton was glad to have
closed the book on that chapter of his life. Waterloo lay
ten months in the past, and much of that interval had
been spent learning to walk again. He approached
what the doctors thought an impossible task with the
silent determination that was one of his chief charac
teristics.

That same iron will had kept his command
nearly intact while fighting across four countries, and
inspired his troops with a loyalty and respect bordering on reverence. Yet though he still wore his faded
uniform, in his heart he was a captain no longer.

Like most people, he regarded lawyers warily, but a
chance glimpse of a small advertisement had brought
him here today.

ANYONE KNOWING THE WHEREABOUTS OF JULIUS DAVENPORT OR ANY OF HIS HEIRS IS ASKED TO CON
TACT CHELMSFORD AND MARL1N, HOLBORN, TO LEARN
SOMETHING OF BENEFIT TO SAID JULIUS DAVENPORT
AND HEIRS.

The advertisement had been running in the
Gazette
for months, though Richard had been in no position to
see it. When it did catch his eye, he very nearly did not respond. But curiosity outweighed lethargy, and
now he was being announced by the surly law clerk.
“Captain Richard Dalton to see you.”

“Come in, come in!” Josiah Chelmsford’s brusque
voice carried easily across the cluttered office. The ro
tund lawyer glanced up impatiently from his paper-
covered desk, then paused with an arrested expression
on his face.

Surveying his visitor carefully, he saw a young man of medium height and wiry build, with a
gaunt face that would have been handsome were it
less tired. Needs fattening up, the lawyer thought. The
thick brown hair was fashionably casual, but through
nature, not artifice. Changeable hazel eyes with a crin
kle of laughter lines looked from a face browned by
years in a harsher sun than England’s.

The lawyer stood up slowly, extending his hand
over the desk. “Don’t tell me you are anyone other
than Julius Davenport’s son, because I won’t believe
you.”

The smile that lit Richard’s face as he shook Chelms
ford’s hand made him look younger than his twenty-eight years. “You knew my father, sir? I am said to
resemble him greatly.”

“You do indeed. The features show some of your
mother, but the build and coloring and overall impression are Julius to the life. Where is your father now?”

“Dead these last three years.”

Chelmsford sighed and shook his head as he settled
back into his chair. “Have a seat, boy. It is what I feared. I’d heard from him now and again over the
years—not much, just an occasional note. But it has
been too long since last he wrote. What happened, if
you’ll pardon my asking?”

“He and my mother were sailing a small boat in the
Greek Isles. A sudden squall came up—they had no chance.” Richard’s voice was tight; he paused a mo
ment, then continued. “It was what they would have
wanted, to go together. Few people get the chance to
die doing what they love, with the one they love
most.”

He stopped abruptly, having said more than he intended. He had spoken to no one of the tragedy since
the village priest’s letter reporting the accident had
reached him in Spain. First he couldn’t talk about it,
and then there had been no one who had known his
family. Living in a world where the friend one break
fasted with might be dead by nightfall, it had seemed
wrong to burden another with his private grief. Speak
ing of his parents now brought a sense of release, a
loosening of the knot of tension he had carried for
years.

Deliberately lightening his tone, Richard said,
“What is this talk of ‘benefit’ in your advertisement?
My father was heir to a chest of diamonds, perhaps?”

“Not precisely,” the lawyer said seriously. “Tell me,
how much do you know of your parents’ back
ground?”

“Almost nothing, really,” Richard replied. “I know
they left England abruptly at the time of their mar
riage, and they never talked of earlier times. I do know
my father’s real name was Davenport, but we always
used the name Dalton.”

“And you never knew the reason why?” Chelms
ford persisted.

“One doesn’t spend too much time speculating about a parent’s unlawful conduct,” Richard said
dryly. “I suspect my father killed someone in a duel—
a matter concerning my mother, perhaps. He was
lethal with both sword and pistol, and would not have
hesitated to use them if necessary.

“As a child I just accepted the name change—only
later did I wonder. I think my parents wanted to forget the past. They lived very much in the present, wasting
no time on regrets or worries about the future.”

“Your guess is correct. There was indeed a duel.” The lawyer gave a short bark of laughter. “It was no
great loss to the world. Lord Barford was a filthy old
roué, and had been living on borrowed time for years. He was betrothed to your mother against her will. She
and your father were childhood playmates and sweethearts, but both sets of parents objected to the match
since neither of them had a fortune. Julius
fought and killed Barford. His father disowned him
over the scandal—they’d never got on well. After
that, it was not surprising your parents preferred the Continent. Do you have any idea who your paternal
grandfather was?”

“Some gentleman named Davenport, I assume.”

“Not ‘some gentleman.’ Your grandfather was the
fifth Earl of Wargrave. And with your father dead, you
are the sixth earl.”

A heavy silence hung in the dusty office. A nearby
church bell could be heard striking the noon hour.
Richard felt a chaotic whirl of emotions, but the pre
dominant one was anger. His eyes narrowed and his
voice was clipped as he said, “I want no part of it. That
damned old man rejected my mother and father, and I want nothing of his. Nothing!”

He stood and stalked to the window, tension in
every line of his body. As he looked across the sweep of London, his irritation ebbed, leaving amusement in
its wake. It was a strange reaction to what most people
would consider a honeyfall. Anger aimed at an unknown grandfather was a waste. Being cut off from their families hadn’t ruined his parents’ lives; on the
contrary, he had never known two happier people.

When he was relaxed again, he turned back to Josiah
and said steadily, “Quite apart from how my father
was treated, I have no wish to be an earl. Great wealth
is a great burden. I want nothing more from life now
than my freedom.”

“Since when has responsibility been a question of
choice?” the solicitor asked. “Your grandfather was an
evil-tempered old tyrant who did little for the land or
the people he controlled. The heir after you is an ex
travagant rake who will complete the destruction of
Wargrave. Do you have any idea how
many families depend on the estates you now own?”

“No, nor do I care. It is nothing to me. I lived the first half of my life out of England. I was schooled
here, but spent the next seven years fighting this coun
try’s battles under conditions that would cause con
victs to riot. Do not speak to me of responsibility. I
have paid any debt I owe England a dozen times
over.”

The hazel eyes were unflinching, and Chelmsford
was forcibly reminded of Julius Davenport thirty years
before, declaring family and fortune of no importance
when weighed against the woman he loved.

“I have no desire to force you into anything. I was
far too fond of your father to coerce his son. But I think
he hoped you would come back here someday.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he sent notarized copies of his wedding
lines and your birth certificate as those events oc
curred. He was the youngest son but life is uncertain. There was always a chance you would inherit, and he
must have wanted to make it easy for you to prove
your identity. Don’t you think you owe it to yourself
and him to look at what you are throwing away? You may find a feeling for your heritage that goes beyond
the burdens involved. Or is there some other part of
the world that calls you?”

“No, there is nowhere else I wish to go,” Richard
said slowly. His anger had passed, leaving weariness in its wake. With his parents dead he no longer had a
home. The handful of military friends who had sur
vived the wars were closer than brothers, but they
were scattered to their own lives now. There was no
place or person he owed any special loyalty. And only
a fool would cast aside even an unwanted fortune
without investigating it first. “What is this legacy you
are so anxious to foist on me?”

Content to have captured the captain’s attention,
Josiah Chelmsford started to explain what it meant to
be the Earl of Wargrave.

Chapter 2

Caroline Hanscombe carefully checked her appear
ance in the mirror. Success! She definitely looked a
dowd. Not only that, a short, easily overlooked
dowd—certainly so insignificant that no gentleman at
Almack’s would look across the crowded room and
decide his life would be incomplete if he did not meet
her.

The white muslin dress, so suitable for a young
miss in her first Season, made Caroline look pale and wispy. Its shapeless cut did a good job of concealing
her slender figure, and the neckline was too high for
fashion. She abjured the maidenly trick of pinching her
cheeks for heightened color, and her dark blond curls drooped around her face to obscure her features.

“Are you ready yet, Caro? Do I look all right? Do
you suppose that Mr. Fallsworthy will be there? I do so
hope he likes my dress.” The buxom maiden who
bounced into the room clearly did not share her half-
sister’s desire for concealment.

Her rose-pink gown
did not show her ruddy coloring to complete advan
tage, but it was a pretty and distinctive shade, and cut
as low as she dared without being utterly beyond the
line for a girl in her first Season. Her elaborate garnet
necklace drew attention to her abundant charms,
should someone have missed them.

Caroline smiled affectionately at Gina. They man
aged to be friends in spite of different tastes and tem
peraments, and Lady Hanscombe’s unconcealed
preference for her first-born daughter over the under-
size child she had acquired with her marriage to Sir
Alfred.