Love & Folly (26 page)

"The landlady might have informed on me. Carrington writes she is not to be trusted."

Jean blinked back tears. "I'm sorry. I did my best."

He took her hand. "Pray don't cry. Indeed I'm grateful to you, but I wish you had told me how it
was."

"I meant to," Jean mumbled.

"I'm a cad to reproach you." He raised her hand to his lips. "Forgive me?"

Jean gave him a watery smile. "Of course."

"I'd sooner be transported to Van Dieman's land than cause you a moment of pain."

Jean's heart contracted in a love pang so sharp she nearly gasped. He was so noble, so forgiving,
the prospect of Van Dieman's land so appalling. "It's a fine poem, Owen. Worth any risk."

His eyes shone. "My dear, gallant lady--"

"I say!" Maggie interrupted. "Isn't that Johnny?" She pointed to a small figure trudging up the
long carriageway.

It was indeed Johnny Dyott. Jean and Owen exchanged glances.

Owen grimaced.

"Let's catch him up and walk with him." Fresh colour brightened Maggie's cheeks and her eyes
glowed. "I hope his father was not too harsh. Oh, I am glad he's come." She danced down the bridge to the.
lake edge. At the gravelled path she turned back and said impatiently, "Come on, or he'll reach the house
before we do."

Jean cleared her throat. "Go ahead, Mag. We'll follow you."

Maggie hesitated, then began to run. The two setters, who had been waiting by the water, chased
after her, yelping with excitement.

"We cannot lose this moment," Owen said in an urgent undertone.

Jean blinked at him. "What is it, Owen?"

"Too long have I held my tongue." He retained his grasp of her hand. "You must permit me to
tell you how very much I love you."

Jean's pulse hammered. She could not have spoken for a thousand guineas.

"I know I've no right." Owen dropped her hand and turned, leaning on the rail. "I know what the
world will say. I have no right to love you, but a kindred spirit leaps over false barriers of rank and wealth.
Dare I hope? Tell me, I pray you, whether I may live or die."

Jean gulped. "Oh. Yes, of course you may hope. I admire you more than any man of my
acquaintance."

"Admire me? I adore you." He clutched at his disordered locks. "You may walk on my
heart."

"Oh, Owen, my dear, do not. I cannot bear to see you unhappy. I love you."

He turned back to her, his vivid features alive with hope. "Do you say so?"

"Yes. Yes, I do," Jean said firmly. "You are my lodestar." She heard Maggie calling in the
distance. "I love you," she repeated desperately, "but do you not think we should rejoin my sister? If we
don't, they will part us." "They" were Clanross and Elizabeth, Maggie, Johnny, society, the stars--all the
forces bent on prudence and caution. Although she could not quite throw caution to the winds, Jean
yearned for Owen, longed to receive his homage.

It was not to be. When Johnny saw Maggie, he dropped his portmanteau on the carriageway and
waited for her. Although Jean and Owen still stood on the bridge, he saw them, too. Jean was almost sure
of that.

"We must join my sister." She tucked the printed sheet in her reticule. "For now."

"Yes." Owen's voice throbbed with emotion. "Yes, we must go. Perhaps we may not have many
such moments. I shall cherish them, my lady. My consolation must be that when you look at me, your eyes
speak of love."

"Oh. Yes, they do." Jean choked on tears. It was so sad, so romantic. She would love Owen till
the end of time.

* * * *

Coming back to Brecon was far more like coming home than visiting the cathedral close had been.
Johnny settled into the Conway circle happily. The warmth and spontaneity of the earl and his lady among
their family contrasted sharply with the severe formality of the dean's household.

Johnny respected his father. He knew some part of him would always hold the dean in awe, but
he no longer felt he must submit to his father's judgement. He would make his own life and hope someday
that his father approved it. If not, well, there were others to applaud him.

This mood of self-confidence lasted until the first week of July. At that point the editor of the
Review
returned his manuscript with a polite letter saying he was sorry they could not make room
for it. The note gave no indication why the article had been rejected and Johnny didn't know what to
think.

He had been so sure of a favourable response he had begun another piece on repeal of the Corn
Laws--very scholarly it was, full of references to utility and the political economists.

Bewildered as much as hurt, Johnny took his manuscript to Clanross and sought his
opinion.

They sat in the earl's private study, a snug room apart from the main traffic of the house. Clanross
read slowly. Johnny held his breath. At last the earl set the paper aside.

"It's well reasoned, Johnny, and clearly worded."

"Then why did they not want it?"

Clanross frowned. "I don't know. Perhaps--"

"Perhaps what?"

"Journals are strange organs. Mind you, the only writing I've published has been scientific in
nature and the reasons for selection may be different. I'd guess the
Review
sent this back because
you say nothing very surprising."

"Nothing of a sensational nature?"

Clanross smiled. "I don't think you ought to strain after sensation." He came from behind his desk
and returned the manuscript to Johnny, gripping his shoulder briefly. "The man you should be asking is
Richard Falk."

"But Colonel Falk is a satirist. That is, the history was not satire, but--"

"Richard is a writer. He has been publishing his work since he was twenty years old. You say you
wish to write for money."

"Not just for money!" Johnny protested. "I should never sign my name to ideas I thought were
false or...or depraved."

Clanross's eyebrows rose. "Do you find Richard's ideas depraved?"

Johnny was horrified. "No, no, of course not, but I'm sure I couldn't write satire. I'm not witty or
fanciful. I just want to tell the truth."

Clanross regarded him for a silent moment, then nodded. "Well, my advice is to show this piece
to Richard, and your next, when you've finished it. Meanwhile, recast the first in the form of a speech. I
need an all-weather oration on the subject of Reform, and I'm fresh out of phrases."

Johnny stared.

Clanross's eyes twinkled. "I'll probably change it in delivery. My ideas are rather more extreme
than yours, but, I like your line of reasoning."

Johnny swallowed. "I'd be honoured."

"Nonsense. My speech-making talents have been compared unfavourably to a creaking
gate."

Johnny rose, feeling lighter of heart.

"Come to London with me."

The queen had refused Wilberforce's offer and the House had finally brought in a Bill of Pains and
Penalties. Although the trial would not begin until August, Clanross felt obliged to spend a week in town
consulting with Featherstonehaugh and other like-minded politicians.

"Do you need my services in London, sir?"

Clanross frowned. "Not necessarily. The thing is, you could visit the offices of other journals and
talk to men who make a profession of political writing."

Johnny swallowed hard. "Oh, sir... my lord. Thank you!"

"Good heavens, Johnny, where did you spring from?"

"London. Is Colonel Falk at home?"

A home question. I think like Richard,
Emily reflected.
In fifty years shall I look like
him?
"In a manner of speaking," she said vaguely. "Do sit down. I'll call for sherry. Tell me what
you've been doing."

Johnny sat on the edge of the withdrawing room sofa. He looked as if a loud noise might propel
him ten feet in the air. "I must see the colonel."

"You shall, of course, but he's out riding with Amy and Tommy. You're agitated, Johnny. Has
something happened?"

"I... I want Colonel Falk's advice on a delicate matter."

The idea of Richard dispensing delicate advice tickled her. She bit back a smile and rang for her
father's butler.

Johnny was so distressed, his manners had flown out the window. Emily made soothing remarks,
poured sherry, asked after Tom, offered small family anecdotes. Johnny began to look less harrassed. He
even gave her a few connected answers. When she asked how the Brecon ladies did, however, he lapsed
into lip-chewing silence. Richard's entry was a relief.

The two men shook hands. When Emily excused herself, neither objected. They wanted her to
leave. She wondered what would happen if she continued to sit obstinately between them.

* * * *

Johnny was so relieved to see Colonel Falk, he could not immediately order his thoughts. When
Mrs. Falk had left the room and both men were seated once more, he burst into an account that sounded
confusing even to him.

"Start over, Dyott, from the beginning." Colonel Falk took a sip of sherry. "You discovered what
the young ladies were doing in Greek Street."

Johnny pulled the crumpled poem from his coat pocket. Mute, he handed it over and watched as
Falk read it through, eyebrows raised.

"Heady stuff."

"I found it in a Crown Street bookshop. It's bound to be labelled seditious."

"No doubt. Almost everything one thinks these days is seditious."

"You do see that?"

The colonel's eyebrows twitched. "That the abuses the author attacks are real? Oh, yes. 'A
Patriot,'" Falk read. "An ambiguous nom de plume. You didn't write this?"

"Certainly not!"

"Then I gather Tom's librarian did. He knows his Burns."

"Eh?"

"'Scots Wha' Hae wi' Wallace Bled,'" Falk said impatiently. "'Lay the proud usurper low,/
Liberty in every blow/ Let us do or dee.'"

"Oh." Johnny was briefly consoled to know Owen had plagiarized his best line. That was beside
the point, which was Maggie's safety; "I think the twins took the poem to Greek Street to friends of Owen's
who saw it into print."

"Sounds likely. How did you recognise the poem without the author's name?"

"I heard it," Johnny said grimly, "at every stage of composition. I believe I have it by heart. Ought
I to tell Clanross?"

"Why not? It summarizes Tom's feelings. Some of his feelings." He frowned. "A trifle
bloodthirsty for Tom, of course."

Johnny drew a deep breath. "If such a poem were to come into the hands of an informer--"

"The ladies might find themselves in the suds and so might their guardian." Colonel Falk
completed the thought for him. "Tell Tom."

"If I betray Maggie she'll never forgive me."

To his relief Falk did not laugh. "You'd run that risk."

"I can't do it!" Johnny tumbled into an account of his courtship of Maggie, how important it was
that she trust him.

"Why don't you explain that to Tom?"

Johnny swallowed. "I can't ask Clanross for her hand until I've the means to support her." He
went on to describe the quarrel with his father and the sad business of the article. A week in London
haunting coffeehouses patronised by journalists had not shed light on the rejection.

"Did you bring the article with you?"

"I... As a matter of fact, yes. It was in my coat and I forgot to remove it."

Falk held out his hand.

Reluctant, Johnny dug out the paper and turned it over to him. "It has nothing to do with Owen's
poem."

The colonel smiled briefly. "I might as well advise you on something that lies within my
experience." He read it through. "Not bad. Rather dull."

"Dull! Reform of Parliament?"

"My dear Dyott, interest, like beauty, is in the mind of the beholder. You've done almost nothing
to stir your reader's sympathy."

"I won't make extravagant emotional appeals!"

"I don't suppose you'd consider collaborating with young Davies? Forget I said it," he added
glancing at Johnny's face.

"What am I to do about the poem?" Johnny uttered through clenched teeth.

Falk leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. After a considering pause, he opened one eye.
"Has the author been identified? By government spies, I mean."

"Not yet. I hope not."

"And the twins have escaped detection?"

"No hint of scandal has appeared in the newspapers."

"Ride up to Brecon and ask Lady Margaret to tell you exactly what happened. Tell her you must
inform your employer, then go to Tom and lay the matter bare."

"It sounds simple."

"We already agreed you would be running a large risk," the colonel said patiently. "Lady
Margaret is not stupid. You say she likes you and trusts you. If you're open with her she'll feel obliged to
reciprocate."

Johnny brooded. "All right."

"You must tell Tom."

Johnny rubbed his forehead.

"If you don't I shall."

Johnny stared.

Falk met his eyes. "Tom and I have been friends too many years for me to connive at a deception
that could embarrass him. He's a publick man with a reputation for honest dealing. The government won't
charge a peer of the realm with sedition, but they might try to discredit him. Forewarned is forearmed. Let
Tom decide what to do."

When Johnny did not reply, he added, "I'll give you a week."

Johnny rose. "I'm obliged to you, sir."

Falk got to his feet, too. "I doubt it. I merely clarified what you were already thinking. About the
article, Johnny."

Johnny turned in the doorway.

"There's meat in it."

"Thank you."

"What it wants is a daub of mustard."

Johnny stared.

"Good luck," Falk said gravely.

* * * *

Johnny rode off as precipitously as he had come. That evening, when Emily and Richard were
retired to their bed, she decided to pry.

"I daresay you can't tell me what Johnny wanted." According to Emily's brother, James, a
statement like that, if couched in Latin, would begin with a particle
num
and expect a negative
answer.