The Mysterious Heir (21 page)

As she relaxed and raised a toast with the others to King and Country, she saw seated at the table: a vicar and his wife, a local squire and his lady, a few landowners and their mates, an elderly scholar, and various others from the locality. They all seemed merry and blessedly unaffected. The conversation swelled around her, and when a footman refilled her glass for a toast to her host, she raised her glass with alacrity. Then she settled in her chair for what now promised to be a delightful evening to remember.

Elizabeth was seated in her usual place, as befitted one of the two female house guests, on her host's right. Lady Isabel had her accustomed chair opposite. But the newly arrived gentleman next to Elizabeth was a grizzled, brusquely spoken old fellow who informed her immediately that he was his lordship's “country sawbones.” Before much time had passed he informed Elizabeth with a worried frown that he had not examined his patient for a time, but it was a constant irritation to him as to why that deuced leg did not heal properly after all his attentions to it. He seemed to feel that the Earl's limp was a personal affront, and after brooding for a few moments, declared with decision that as he had seen his lordship into the world, he was in no hurry to see him out of it, so that he'd better arrange to have another look at that bothersome limb again before he left this night.

Elizabeth bit back a smile at the doctor's grim insistence and envisioned the Earl forced to strip off his tight-fitting trousers at table to accommodate his determined physician.

But the doctor's merry, round-faced wife put in quickly, before Elizabeth could entertain herself with any more such improper thoughts, “Aye, Dennie, and wouldn't his lordship look fine, displaying his wounds betwixt the prawns and the porridge. Pay no mind to him, Miss DeLisle. It was hard enough dragging him away from business to get him here, so he's trying to drum up some more to keep him busy during dinner. Don't let him go on about medicine, my dear, or you'll be bored to flinders by dessert, and then he'll try to force a restorative on you.”

Once chastised by his wife, who then turned her attention solely upon an elderly gentleman at her side, the doctor minded her admonition so well that Elizabeth found him vastly entertaining. He told her anecdotes about the Earl's childhood with such wit that she was soon warming his heart by her delighted response to his stories. He did not know that he could have hit upon no more enthralling subject for his captive audience of one. Lady Isabel was occupied in desultory conversation with the local squire. So the Earl, being drawn into conversation about rotated wheat on one side and the time he had pretended measles to get out of churchgoing on the other, made poor work of consuming his dinner.

As the meal went on, through its amazing variety of courses and varied wines, Elizabeth became aware of some stir at the other end of the table. Anthony and Lord Kingston sat there, separated by only one shy young female. But they seemed to be largely ignoring her admittedly meager charms and having their own rollicking good time drinking and joshing with each other. It was the inordinate amount of laughter and noise they were creating that drew Elizabeth's attention to them. She narrowed her eyes as she saw how rapidly Anthony was tossing down the wine before him, and drew in her breath when she saw how quickly the Earl's well-trained footmen replenished it. She was surprised, as Anthony did not usually drink so heavily, and shocked since she had not seen or imagined the cool Lord Kingston acting so recklessly unbent before.

Through the course of dinner, Elizabeth's gaze went toward Anthony again and again. At one point Lord Kingston
seemed to be recommending a canary wine, at another, she saw her cousin and Lord Kingston gaily toasting the blushing girl between them. And then, before her incredulous stare, they raised a nonsensical toast, with equal enthusiasm, to Lord Kingston's favorite horse. Hers were not the only eyes scrutinizing the uproarious pair, for she often saw the Earl look up to watch them, as well as Lord Beverly frowningly taking note of the increasing levity. Even Dr. Woods eventually turned his attention to them. “A little wine for thy stomach's sake,” he muttered, “but more than that, and a man's a fool.”

A crystalline spun-sugar cake that made Owen's eyes widen to resemble his dinner plate was brought out, and the talk began to become more general. Those at the table were leaning over to address others that they had scarcely seen all night, and the conversations widened in concentric circles from two original speakers to four and then at last to encompass the entire table. This, Elizabeth was sure, seldom happened at formal City dinners, but somehow here in such congenial neighborly company, it seemed quite proper. The forthcoming charity fete was discussed thoroughly, as it was a topic dear to the hearts of many of the women present. And then somehow, some way, somewhere among the company, the subject of foreign travel was brought up.

A lady in pink declared that now the hostilities were over she hoped her dear husband would see his way clear to taking her to Paris—at last, she added on a sly note. Amid the laughter, and the service of a spectacular rainbow ice mold, Lord Kingston asked, from way down the table, if his host was soon to be off to Paris as well, now Napoleon was safely cooped at last. As the Earl began an answer, Elizabeth saw to her dismay that Anthony's face was unbecomingly flushed, his eyes glittered, and he brushed away at a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead. He seemed to be muttering something angrily to Lord Kingston, leaning ungracefully almost athwart his female companion's dessert plate.

“I think not,” the Earl said, taking no notice of the rising mumbles coming from Antony, “for I understand France is still in sad disarray after so many years of war. Rather I think
I should prefer to remember it as it was, a graceful and fruitful land. I may go back in a few more years, when it is prosperous once again.”

This time Elizabeth, as well as everyone else at the table, could catch some of Anthony's remarks. “Once graceful and fruitful for a few,” was one fragment she heard, and “Never be prosperous until Napoleon's safely back,” was another. Elizabeth grew white as the glazed angel-food cake the footman now bore in, so leached of color that Dr. Wood gave her a glance of purely professional interest. She hoped that Anthony's slurring had obscured the words to those unfamiliar with his speech or his tendencies. She spoke up quickly, in a brittle, falsely gay voice, “But Italy—now, Italy is a land I hear is lovely, warm, and delightful.”

“Still, Paris…ah, Paris,” Lord Kingston persisted, riding over the Earl's answer to her comment. “Now that was a city of splendor. The nights alive with gaiety, the days with excitement. How I shall miss the Paris of old, and it is gone now, irretrievably gone.” He sighed.

This time no one heard what Anthony mumbled, but it was clear to all present that he was extremely agitated about something.

“What's that you say, Tony?” Lord Kingston asked in puzzlement. “Didn't quite catch it. Perhaps you ought to pass up that Moselle, my boy,” he said indulgently, with an understanding smile.

“Aye,” Dr. Woods agreed, leveling a meaningful look at a hapless fellow across the table, “for nothing courts gout faster, eh, Fowler?”

But now Anthony struggled upright and blurted clearly, “You heard me, Harry. I said, you've the right of it, Paris is gone. Gone to the dogs. And never will be right again until Napoleon's back in his rightful place.”

“I agree, young man,” the vicar called out, misunderstanding Anthony completely, “and I fear his proper place is not in this world at all. But rather somewhere below it,” he concluded, his own face flushed with his attempt at what he considered to be a slightly scandalous comment worthy of the exalted company.

“His rightful place?” Anthony shouted, rising up on one elbow to thrust an empurpled face toward the offending vicar. “His rightful place is Emperor of all Europe! That's his rightful place. And I tell you, nothing will go right until brave men everywhere”—and here Anthony swept out his arm with such force that the timorous young female next to him cringed backward as he overset a water glass—“brave men everywhere bear arms in his defense. They've sent him to an island, an island,” he entreated Lord Kingston, as though there were no other sensible creatures present he could convince, “a tiny island, when his proper domain would be this island, his proper kingdom, all kingdoms on earth!”

“I say!” cried the squire.

“For shame!” sputtered the vicar.

And, “What sort of joke is this!” challenged another gentleman.

But one landowner, a previously quiet fellow, leaped to his feet to declare ringingly, “Our brave Billy went off to fight the Corsican monster, and I can tell you, he still wakes screaming in the night at the remembered battles.”

In the general uproar, Elizabeth scarcely saw the Earl rise effortlessly and signal two footmen. Then he made his way, amazingly swiftly for a man with halt gait, toward Anthony.

But Anthony seemed oblivious of all that was happening about him.

“That's 'cause he fought on the wrong side, you see,” he said confidentially to the angry landowner as he gripped the tabletop with two hands. “Had he fought for Napoleon, you see, instead of against, why, then, you see, what a different story it would be. For Napoleon—” he began to go on, but stopped when he felt the Earl's hand upon his shoulder.

The Earl looked down at him with a pleasant smile. “Anthony, old chap,” he said softly, “I think you need some fresh air. That Rhine is deceptive stuff. It goes down like lemonade, and doesn't announce its true nature till too late. A bit of air will clear your head.”

“Don't need air,” Anthony denied, trying to wrench his shoulder from the Earl's seemingly light grip and failing.

“Need Napoleon back. It's what we all need, don't you know?”

The two footmen positioned themselves behind Anthony and at the Earl's nod lifted him effortlessly to his feet. Then the Earl wrapped one long arm about Anthony's shoulders and propelled him, still protesting, from the room. As Anthony left, no longer unwilling but rather dazed, his words floated back to the stunned company. “Don't you see,” he said piteously, “that we've been all wrong? Oh, I know you must be angry about your leg, and all, but surely you must see the right of it?”

When the last of Anthony's mumbled plaints had faded, Elizabeth found herself sitting at a dinner table with her host absent, her cousin disgraced, and every other person present absolutely still. Then all at once, each person realized the situation, and all attempted to leap into the breach at once. A general babble arose.

“Wine,” said the doctor sagely, patting Elizabeth's hand. “Wine's the culprit. Probably a very sane young fellow when he isn't in his cups. Don't worry, my dear. He won't harm you. Auden's got him under control.”

“He is a very nice young man,” Elizabeth managed to choke. “He is my cousin.”

“Wine,” repeated the doctor, looking darkly at the glass in front of him, as though it contained some murky poison. “Think I'll just nip out for a moment to my carriage. Got just the thing in my bag for the lad. That is, if the housekeeper don't think of hot soapsuds first,” he added mysteriously, and bowing, left the table as well.

The dinner was in disarray about her, but instead of joining in the fevered attempts at normal conversation as Lady Isabel so correctly did, Elizabeth sat still. It was not until one large tear began to course its way down her cheek that she heard the Earl's voice, low and level, whisper into her ear, “Hold up for just a little longer, Elizabeth. All will be well.”

She mopped away the offending teardrop as the Earl, now standing at the head of the table, said brightly to the assembled guests, “The young man attempted to solve the age-old
question of whether white, red, and pink wine can coexist in the same vessel. Alas, it is still true that they cannot.”

A little wellspring of laughter greeted his comment.

“He offers his apologies, but unfortunately, you will have to take my word for it, as he is undergoing Dr. Woods's famous cure for such experiments right now,” he went on.

A small groan went up and at least one gentleman laughed sympathetically. “If he survives that”—the gentleman chuckled—“he'll live to a ripe old age.”

“I'm sure he will join us, older and much, much wiser, later this evening,” the Earl agreed. “But for now, I think it would be a capital idea if we adjourned to the ballroom. Our desserts, obedient as they are to our every command, will follow. As will music, and if you promise not to tell the good doctor, more spirits.”

Appeased, his company rose, and some of the charm of the evening seemed recaptured. The ladies went out on their gentlemen's arms, and Elizabeth, scarcely believing her ears, heard no further comment about Anthony's treasonous statements beyond a few whispers about how wine took some fellows.

Elizabeth rose blindly and almost stumbled into the Earl, who stood behind her.

“I must go to him,” she whispered.

“You must not,” he said, placing his hands firmly on her shoulders. “Bev is with him, and the doctor as well, and all that went down is about to arise again. I hardly think Anthony needs you now, or, for that matter, would welcome your company. You will go and mingle with my guests and put it all out of your mind. And I shall accompany you and be sure that the others forget it as well. Come, Elizabeth, a little spirit, if you please.”