Captain Ingram's Inheritance (28 page)

 Had she dreamed of hearing him call her his love?

 That was when the full horror of what had happened burst upon her. She closed her eyes, despairing. He had called her his love--before he ripped open her bodice and saw her scar. Now she was Lady Constantia again.

 “Hoskins, I must carry her to Netherfield,” Frank said urgently. “I’ll have to ride bareback on one of the horses and take her before me. You’d better try to move this wreck out of the way with the other horse. They are not injured are they?”

 The men’s voices moved away from Constantia and she heard the jingle of the harness. Then Hoskins lifted her up onto the horse in front of Frank. The pain of the movement made her dizzy again. Though she had intended to sit upright, she slumped against his chest with a moan. His arm went around her waist, holding her steady.

 He had no saddle, no stirrups, only a makeshift bridle for reins, yet she felt quite safe as he set the horse in motion. He was her valiant hero on a charger. It was too much to expect that every hero should fall in love with every rescued damsel.

 His friendship would have to be enough for her.

* * * *

 By the time Frank reached Netherfield’s front door with his precious burden, they had been seen from the house and the entire family was waiting--the entire family plus Lady Victoria. How the devil had Constantia guessed?

 It was not the moment to ask. Amid a babble of questions, Sir George lifted Constantia down. Frank watched jealously as he carried her into the house, followed by Lady Berman and the girls. Sliding down from the horse’s back he tied the bridle to a post and went after them.

 Sir George came to meet him. Crimson-faced, he said gruffly, “I daresay you’re wondering...”

 “Not I. Lady Victoria is none of my responsibility, thank goodness. Where is Lady Constantia?”

 The young baronet ushered him into the parlour. Constantia was reclining on a sofa, the ladies crowded about her.

 To Frank’s relief, the colour was already returning to her cheeks. She waved away vinaigrette and cordial, and gratefully but adamantly refused to let Lady Berman examine her shoulder.

 “I must hurry home,” she said, “that is, back to Upfield Grange. Vickie, Mama and Papa have come looking for you. Mama is sorely distressed. We shall...”

 “Is Oxshott still there?” Sir George demanded.

 “I’m afraid so,” said Frank.

 “She shan’t be forced to marry that old villain!”

 “But there is no question of Vickie marrying the duke,” Constantia exclaimed. “Vickie, what on earth have you been telling the Bermans?”

 With everyone staring at her, Lady Victoria flushed to the roots of her hair. “I only said I was afraid Mama might try to make me marry him,” she maintained, her lips quivering. “And she might, Connie. She said the sooner I am off her hands, the better. If it wasn’t Oxshott it could be some other horrid old widower, so it wasn’t a lie.”

 Roaring with laughter, Sir George enveloped her in a bear hug. “Never mind, love, I’ll take you off her ladyship’s hands, soon as ever I can.”

 “George!” Lady Berman called him to order.

 Looking sheepish, he let Vickie go. “Come on,” he urged her, “we’ll take your sister and the captain back to Upfield Grange and beard the lions together.”

 Frank wanted Constantia to rest, but she insisted she was much recovered and would be perfectly comfortable in the Bermans’ wagon. Lady Berman put her arm in a sling, which obviously eased her discomfort considerably, so Frank gave in. Sir George lent him a neckcloth and went to harness the Suffolk Punches while the girls collected cushions.

 Constantia was able to walk out, leaning on Frank’s arm. Though he’d rather have travelled in the back with her, he joined Sir George on the box so that a subdued Vickie could exchange confidences with her sister. They set out for Upfield Grange.

 At the end of the Netherfield drive, the barouche-landau with its splintered wheel had been hauled aside just far enough to allow the wagon to pass. Of Hoskins and the second horse there was no sign, so Frank assumed they had gone home. He himself was in no hurry to reach the Grange. The one certain result he foresaw from the Westwoods’ arrival was that they would take Constantia away with them.

 It was for the best, of course, yet he still dreaded the moment of her departure, the blank hole it would leave in his life.

 Sir George distracted him with his own problems. He wanted to know how Frank thought the Westwoods would respond to his suit, how best to approach them. Frank was unable to offer much reassurance or advice, but he did encourage the baronet to stick to his guns. If he had been in the same position he’d have gone through hell or high water to win Constantia.

 The wagon turned into Upfield’s drive. Between the elms, nearly bare by now, Frank saw Felix’s phaeton standing at the door, his high-bred team tossing their heads as leaves swirled about their hooves.

 “I’m afraid your absence has been discovered, Lady Constantia,” he called over his shoulder.

 “It does not matter so much since we found Vickie.”

 “Don’t forget, Connie,” her sister cried, “you have promised to support us.”

 Frank didn’t hear her answer. As the wagon drew up alongside the phaeton, Felix’s groom stared. Leaving the man to keep an eye on the placid Suffolks as well as his own restive charges, Sir George and Frank helped Constantia and Vickie down. Vickie clutching Constantia’s good arm, they proceeded into the hall.

 They were met by an agitated crowd: Lord and Lady Westwood, Felix and Fanny, and the duke and Dolph. For a few minutes all was a chaos of questions and explanations.

 As he put in his word about the accident to his carriage, Frank saw the duke draw Dolph aside and berate him with quiet ferocity, heaven alone knew what for. Poor Dolph was white and frightened. Frank moved towards them to rescue his cousin. He wished Lady Victoria and Sir George well, but nothing he could say was going to affect Lord and Lady Westwood’s opinions.

 As he reached his uncle’s side, the hubbub died, giving way to Lady Westwood’s cold, incisive voice. Only the fact that she was upbraiding her daughter in public suggested a certain degree of discomposure.

 Oxshott turned to Frank with a strained smile. “Mighty fortunate Lady Constantia was not badly hurt. Your man was driving? Turn him off, my boy, turn him off without a character. You can’t have clumsy rogues like that endangering the ladies.”

 “The accident wasn’t Hoskins’s fault. The wheel just collapsed. I should have had everything checked more carefully.”

Behind him, Frank heard Constantia’s soft voice joining Vickie’s, Sir George’s, and the Westwoods’ in argument. He wanted to listen, but the duke started inveighing against swindlers who sold unsound goods to unsuspecting gentlemen.

 At that moment, Hoskins rushed into the hall. He dashed up to Frank, skidded to a halt, saluted, and announced in his best parade-ground tones, “Captain, sir, that there carridge wheel was meddled with. Half sawn through it was.” He rounded on Dolph, who cowered away. “And this here blue-blooded cousin o’ yourn’s what done it!”

 Frank stared at him, stunned. In the sudden silence, the rising wind howled about the house and somewhere a door slammed. “Dolph?”

 “I got witnesses, Captain, seen his lordship sneaking about where he got no business to be, poking round your carriage, and another what’s seen a saw in his chamber.”

 Dolph burst into tears. “I did it,” he wailed. “He made me.”

 “Imbecile!” roared the duke. He glared round at the startled faces turned to him. “You can’t believe a word he says. He may be my own son and heir but he belongs in Bedlam.”

 “No, Father, don’t send me to Bedlam!” Dolph entreated. “Told you, didn’t want to do it. Didn’t want to hurt Cousin Frank. Didn’t want to hurt Cousin Fanny. Didn’t want to hurt Lady Connie.”

 “Dolt, it’s your fault Lady Constantia was hurt,” Oxshott snarled at him.

 “No, it is not his fault.” Constantia swept forward to Dolph’s side. “If you threatened him with Bedlam, of course he did what you told him.”

 Fanny joined them, laying a soothing hand on Dolph’s arm. “You shan’t go to Bedlam,” she said firmly. The two of them took him to sit on one of the settles by the fire.

 Lord Westwood took a hand, his equanimity shaken. “You are responsible for the injury to my daughter, Oxshott? I can hardly trust my ears!”

 “Naturally I’m sorry Lady Constantia was hurt,” the duke blustered, self-righteously. “Mentham bungled it, as he bungles everything he attempts. It’s those upstart Ingrams I’m trying to rid myself of, as you would yourself, Westwood, in my position. Nobodies, marching in and taking my property! I thought I’d have to dispose of the child, too, but she ain’t their legal heir yet, as I took pains to find out, mind you. Don’t want to hurt innocent bystanders if it can be avoided.”

 “Good Gad,” the earl snapped, “it is you who belong in Bedlam! I’ll see you brought to justice if it takes every last ounce of influence I possess.”

 That was when Frank began to laugh. He simply could not help it, as everything came together in his mind. It was his turn to be stared at as if he were an escaped bedlamite.

 “Lord Westwood,” he gasped at last, “you needn’t fear my uncle will go unpunished. He’s already suffered. He brought his own punishment upon himself.”

 “What the deuce do you mean?” Felix demanded.

 “Think! Just think back over his grace’s visit. Who was standing beneath the gargoyle minutes before it crashed? I was.”

 “And it destroyed Oxshott’s carriage.” Felix began to grin.

 “Who rises early and goes downstairs before anyone else is about? Fanny does.”

 Felix’s grin vanished. “The stairs where Oxshott slipped on an inexplicable mess of tallow,” he said grimly. “If it had been on a higher step, and he had not fallen asleep in the drawing room...”

 “Precisely.” Frank continued his litany. “Who was directed into the copse where an invisible poacher let loose a shot? Again, I was.”

 “And who was peppered? Oxshott!”

 His face livid, the duke charged at Dolph. “You did it on purpose!” he howled, raising his fist.

 Even as Frank moved between them, he realized that Constantia was gone. Was she worse hurt than he had supposed? His heart skipped a beat but he said calmly, “Don’t touch Dolph, Uncle.”

 The duke stepped back, spitting venom. “I’ll get you yet!”

 “I think not, sir. You have too many witnesses now ever to try to harm any of us again. Lord Westwood?”

 “If any harm comes to you, or your sister, or the child, his grace shall be pursued by the full vigour of the law. You have my word on that, Captain Ingram.”

 “Felix?”

 “Need you ask?”

 “Sir George?”

 “Count me in.”

 “After all, Captain,” said Lady Victoria unwisely, “Sir George will soon be practically your brother-in-law.”

 As Vickie’s misdeeds superseded the duke’s at the centre of attention, Frank made his escape and went in search of Constantia.

 He hurried to her chamber and tapped on the door. When there was no response, he opened it and glanced in. If she was in pain, no considerations of propriety were going to stop him going to her aid.

 She was huddled on the low window seat, a picture of misery. Though she had changed her torn gown for a soft blue wrapping dress, her golden ringlets were disordered, her eyes were red, and she sniffled as tears rolled down her cheeks.

 Frank recalled a time when he had called her an angel. She was no angel, just a mortal like himself, and very dear.

 A vagrant gust slammed the chamber door. Constantia looked up, startled. Frank was striding across the room towards her, the sound of his footsteps drowned by the wind’s moan. Hastily she wiped away the foolish tears with the back of her hand.

 He stood frowning down at her. “Is the pain very bad? I shall send for the doctor.”

 “No, truly, it is no more than a dull ache.”

 “Then what’s wrong? What’s troubling you? If it’s Oxshott’s malevolence, you need not fear. His teeth are drawn.”

 She shook her head helplessly. Despite her efforts, a sob escaped her and the tears flowed once more.

 He dropped to his knees and gathered her into his arms, cradling her head on his shoulder, stroking her hair. “What is it? Tell me! Constantia, you must know I’d do anything in the world to make you happy.”

 “But you saw my scar,” she whispered into his borrowed cravat.

 She felt his sudden taut stillness. “Scar? You’re afraid that gash will cause a scar? If it does it will be very small,” he said in a strange voice.

 “No, not that. The scar I already have, the long, ugly one. You must have seen it.”

 “All I saw was a bleeding cut, a nasty graze, and a red swelling that I daresay will soon turn all colours of the rainbow.”

 “Don’t laugh at me! Look!” She pulled out of his arms and struggled to open the clasp of her girdle. “Help me!”

 “You look!”

 He tore off his neckcloth and flung out of his coat and waistcoat, uncovering the buttons down the front of his shirt. Constantia reached forward and began to undo them with shaky fingers. As she came to the third, she glanced up. He was staring down at her with a peculiar expression on his face, desperate yearning--and fear.

 For a moment their gazes locked, then she went on to the next button. He fumbled with the clasp on her dress, snapped it open, gently drew the gown down over her shoulders as she reached the last button of his shirt.

 His chest was a map of pain, a network of chalk-white lines and plum-red blotches, ridged and hollowed. “Oh Frank, how dreadfully they hurt you!” she cried, and ran her fingertips across the worst of the terrible record of war.

 And then he was crying, his tears damping her chemise as his lips traced the puckered slash from shoulder to breast. She held his head in both hands, not the romantic hero of her imaginings but a tortured man she loved so very much.

 He pulled her close and his mouth descended on hers. A tingling flame ignited, flared, blazed through her.

 The door opened with a crash.

 “Connie, Mama says I am compromised and must marry Sir George, as though that were not exactly what I...” Vickie stopped short, her hand to her mouth as she took in the scene before her. “Gracious heavens, if I am compromised after spending two weeks in Sir George’s house with his mother and sisters, then you are utterly ruined, Connie! You will simply have to marry Captain Ingram. Oh, famous! Mama will be rid of all of us, at last. Let’s have a triple wedding.”