The Mercenary Major (20 page)

“I thought you had abandoned your pursuit of heiresses,” she said lightly as she took his arm, her eyes with that glint of steel in them that always stirred his least gentlemanly impulses.

“Depends on the heiress,” he replied, turning her into his arms, putting a hand to her waist, and trying not to think about that waist too much. “How is the pursuit of love going?”

“It takes time,” she acknowledged. And when he raised a brow, she added resolutely, “I am going to ask Letty if I may stay on with her when the Favertons return to Wiltshire.”

He lost the beat of the music for a minute and had to pause to make a recovery. She looked fleetingly up at him and then away as if she’d seen too much.
How many more weeks?
he wanted to ask. Instead he murmured, “Letty will be pleased.”

“You won’t mind, will you?”

He looked over the top of her head at the whirl of the other dancers. “Tell me, Miss Carr,” he said as amicably as he could, “do you lock your bedroom door at night?”

He felt her head come up abruptly, and he grinned down at her. “I would if I were you,” he advised.

It was some minutes before Victoria could control her disordered senses. Having Jack Amberly confess his desire for her, however obliquely, while their bodies moved together through the dizzying rise and fall of the waltz set her pulses racing and robbed her of breath. She had not meant to be affected by him again.

When she found her voice she said, “Then I have been wise to avoid you this fortnight.”

“Very,” he confirmed, his voice tight.

“Nevertheless, I should thank you for that day we had together.”

“For hunger and cold and an attack by hired villains?”

“For a wider view of life, for a chance to do something daring. I learned from you that day.” She looked up with a smile.

“How to steal an orange from a vendor?”

There was a suggestion of bitterness in his voice. “No,” she replied. “How much more there is to do in the world than dress and dance and be seen.”

“And what else have you been doing?” he asked.

“Among other things I’ve been to Miss Coape’s soup kitchen.”

“Perhaps I could make a career of excursions to the darker side of London,” he suggested. “Expert guide. Complete education for sheltered young ladies.”

“You haven’t settled on a career then?”

“America will offer something.”

She was surprised at how his intention to leave London brought an ache to her throat. “And your wound?” she asked. “It’s healed?”

“Neatly. Gilling took care of it. You did not look at the pictures I sent with him.”

“No,” she said sadly. She did not confess that she had been afraid to, that she no longer wanted to expose him. “It was not necessary. I believed you when you said you were not going to marry for money, so I could hardly go on investigating the Mercenary Major.”

“The Mercenary Major?”

She felt his slight start of surprise and looked away from his questioning glance. A stir of unease among the other guests, a turning of heads toward the entrance of the ballroom, drew her gaze.

There stood Lord Dorward in his driving cape and beaver hat, his florid face redder than ever, his eyes blazing.
Not now
, she thought. But of course the earl would pick the most public moment for his denunciation. He was pointing straight at them.

“That’s the man,” Dorward announced, his voice cutting across the music and talk. “Arrest him!”

**** 16 ****

T
he dancers paused and looked up. The musicians lost the tempo and faltered into silence. Through the knot of stunned guests came an earnest-looking man in a plain brown coat and buff waistcoat. The man begged pardon as he passed, and whispers started up in his wake. Letty strode toward the stranger.

His gaze on the florid-faced man at the door, Jack Amberly released Victoria from his arms and whispered, “My Uncle Dorward, I take it?”

“Yes,” she said, her thoughts reeling. Dorward had recognized Jack Amberly instantly. Suddenly Victoria saw that it was all true. His parents’ travels, his surviving the ambush in Spain, his life in the streets and the army appeared a whole to her. He was the Bandit, made what he was by experience and daring, not the Mercenary Major.

Letty intercepted the stranger, spoke with him, and brought him forward to meet Jack. Victoria had never seen such a look of suppressed rage in Letty’s kind blue eyes.

“Jack dear,” said Letty with strained civility, “this is Mr. Ramsey from Bow Street. He would like a word with you, if you would join us for a moment.”

Jack Amberly offered his arm to Victoria. “You wanted to see me exposed, Miss Carr,” he whispered.

Victoria shook her head, but accepted his arm. She was obliged to smile at their other guests, offering the explanation Letty had devised that Jack was going to assist Mr. Ramsey in an investigation. Letty instructed the orchestra to play on, and the Favertons and those closest to them retired to the little room where Letty customarily did her accounts.

They crowded in as best they could. Lord Dorward took a commanding position in front of the mantel as if it were his house, not his sister’s. Katie and Victoria squeezed into a corner. Lady Dorward subsided into the small chair at Letty’s desk. Jack stood in that too wide stance of his, his back to the door, facing Dorward, with Letty and Mr. Ramsey in between. Reg slipped in behind Jack with Ned Carr and George Bertram.

When the door closed, Letty turned to Dorward. “Walter, do remove your hat and coat—as you have your wits—if you wish to discuss Jack’s position in this family.”

Lord Dorward snatched off his hat, then glared at his sister. “There is nothing to discuss. I will remain dressed and accompany this villain to jail.”

“Suit yourself,” she replied, her voice taut with anger. To the Runner she said, “Mr. Ramsey, you have been misled in coming to this house with any intention of arresting my nephew.”

“I beg your pardon for the interruption to your ball, ma’am.” The Runner was obviously not easily unsettled. “Lord Dorward insisted. He alleges that you have been practiced upon by an unscrupulous impostor. We’ve had a number of cases of the kind lately, including a swindle by a young lady. It is my duty to investigate the matter to the satisfaction of my office.”

“Oh, you will be satisfied. For my nephew is no swindler,” Letty asserted. “As Dorward knows.”

“I know nothing of the kind,” shouted Dorward, waving his hat with a violence that knocked over a brass candlestick on the mantel.

Charlotte Faverton gasped and earned a severe frown from her husband. Letty calmly retrieved the fallen candlestick and placed it on the desk out of Dorward’s way.

The Runner cleared his throat. “But is this gentleman your nephew, ma’am?” he asked Letty.

“He’s my cousin, damn it,” interjected Reg.

“Faverton,” thundered Dorward, “be quiet.”

The Runner turned to Jack. The major’s face was a cold mask, and Mr. Ramsey drew a deep breath before he spoke. “Now, sir, a few questions. Where were you born and who were your parents?”

Letty made a small sound that drew Jack’s glance. His eyes lighted briefly. “I was born in Lisbon, and my parents were Lady Helen Faverton and Captain Thomas Amberly.”

Victoria saw neither hesitation nor unease in his manner.

“Well and good,” said the Runner. “And do you have any evidence of the truth of this claim? Marriage lines or the like?”

“None. My connections with my family were severed when my parents were killed in an ambush in Spain.” Victoria thought he said “severed” deliberately, as if he chose to break with the Favertons.

“But I have proof of his claim,” said Letty.

“What do you have?” complained Walter. “Letters that this fellow sent to you after you wrote and told him his rich relations were looking for him?”

“Walter, do you think I did not take any care at all to find Helen’s son?” Letty asked. “I have a witness and pictures. Reg, get Timothy for me. We’ll send him for Gilling and those portraits.”

“Pictures?” said Dorward. It was plain that he was taken aback by the prospect of such evidence. Victoria looked at the major. If the portraits proved his identity, why had he hidden them in a drawer?

“Gilling’s out, Aunt Letty,” said Jack.

“Well, he can speak for you later then, but I will have those pictures, Jack.”

Timothy appeared and was sent to Jack’s room.

In the interval of waiting, the Runner questioned Jack further about his career in the army and his activities in London. Dorward snorted and muttered. Jack stood impassive. Ramsey gave no sign of his view of the matter. And Victoria thought Timothy excessively tardy in his office.

When Timothy returned, the three small paintings were laid on Letty’s desk and a branch of candles lit to illuminate them. Victoria, expecting irrefutable proof of his parentage, was disappointed. Jack Amberly did have the captain’s dark hair and jaw. He did have Helen Faverton’s eyes. But he did not much resemble the round-faced solemn little boy in the third picture. If that boy had been smiling so that the distinctive pucker in his cheek showed, there would have been no doubt. But as it was, one minute he looked like Jack, another not.

The Runner shook his head. “In the absence of records and papers and such, these pictures are some help, my lady,” he told Letty. “But they won’t prove the man’s case by themselves.”

“Of course they won’t,” said Walter. “The fellow has been counting on his chance resemblance to the family and the information my foolish sister provided in her letters.”

“Are those letters available, sir?” the Runner asked Jack.

Jack informed him that he did have some of the letters in a trunk stored with Messrs. Hopkinsons, the army agents in St. Albans Street.

The Runner nodded his approval. “Well then,” he said. “If you could come along with me . . .”

“You are not arresting him,” said Letty.

“Yes, he is,” countered Dorward, “and you should be grateful for it, you foolish woman. How much of your blunt have you spent to outfit the fellow in this fine manner? What will be said when people realize you have foisted an impostor on them? You’ll not return to Faverton when you are disgraced and ruined.”

“Dorward,” said Ned Carr, stepping forward, a distinct warning in his tone.

The Runner turned to Letty. “I’m not arresting the major, just taking him in for questioning. You can return to your guests, ma’am.”

“But Jack is my guest, too, and this ball is as much for him as for anyone,” Letty argued.

The Runner shook his head. “That may be, but I think we will sort this matter out quicker at the office.”

Letty’s shoulders sagged, and Jack stepped to her side. “Aunt Letty,” he said. “Don’t worry. Ramsey’s right. I will be back.”

“I’ll go with you, Jack,” said Bertram.

“Me too,” said Reg.

“You will not,” Dorward shouted. Reg looked at his father defiantly, but subsided.

Victoria could not bear the bleak look on Letty’s face. Though she knew it was futile to ask secrets of the dead, Victoria stared at the picture of Helen Faverton. Helen Faverton stared back, a proud lift to her head, her left hand pressed to her heart, bearing the wedding ring that proclaimed her defiance of her family. Victoria gasped. She had seen that unusual wedding band before. She lifted her gaze to find Jack Amberly watching her warily. She wanted to shout at him.
You have proof of who you are. You’ve had it all along.
Around his neck on a gold chain was that very ring. But he shook his head at her, face rigid, eyes unyielding.

She lowered her gaze from his. She thought of the proud way he had endured Lord Dorward’s denial of his place in the family. She thought of his uncompromising words,
I won’t marry for fortune
. She recalled the way he had walked away from them under the oaks at that first meeting. If the Favertons did not want Jack Amberly, he did not want them. If anything proved he was his mother’s child, it was this determination to turn his back on the family that cast him out and seek a life elsewhere. And Victoria had no claim on him that would justify interference with his choice. She had to let him go.

When Jack, the Runner, and George Bertram had left the room, Letty appeared lost in a bleak daze.

Charlotte dissolved into tears. “Katie dear, your ball is ruined. What will be said?”

“You should have thought of that before you disobeyed me, Charlotte,” Dorward snapped. “I warned you I would not allow this family to countenance that man in any way.”

Abruptly, Letty whirled on her brother. “Charlotte is not to blame. You are to blame for any embarrassment suffered here tonight by the Favertons.” She advanced on Dorward, and in spite of his greater size, he backed up. “You begrudge your wife and daughter a proper Season, a proper house in town, and a ball, because you are a pinch-penny, nip-farthing miser when it comes to any expense but the one that feeds your vanity. You don’t want to acknowledge Jack,” she said, poking an accusing finger at Dorward’s breast, “because you want Helen’s property to pay for your project. If anyone should be investigated by Bow Street, Walter, it should be you. And when I have proved Jack’s relationship to this family without a doubt, I will have you taken up. Then you will see what embarrassment is.”

“Gammon,” said Dorward.

“No, Walter, I have proof. I know the earliest dispatches Jack was mentioned in by name. I have a letter about Jack from the bandit Sobrino. General Berresford recognized Jack on sight as Tom Amberly’s son. And I never told Jack, ever, in any letter or in any other statement of his inheritance through Helen.”

“Letty,” said Victoria in spite of the painful way her throat had tightened. “He does not know?”

“He doesn’t. I lied to you, dear. I did want you to pay attention to him and not to all the other young men who would throng around you.” Letty paused, her anger apparently spent. “Excuse me, please, I must return to the ball.”

At the door, she stopped and turned. “Walter, you cannot keep Jack out of the family he was born into, but if Jack refuses to be a part of the Favertons because of your greed and folly, I shall never forgive you, nor shall I let you forget.”