Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (31 page)

So Lynford Pennistan, Duke of Meryon, Earl of Danford and Swinton, Viscount Ladislaw, plunged into the gathering of people, none of them rich, most of them poor, surely all of them as English as he was. In doing so Meryon became part of the hoi polloi for the first time in his life.

T
HE NAMELESS CROWD
became people instead of rabble. A man carrying a shaking dog as though it were a babe elbowed his way toward the front. Meryon followed him through the gaps he left behind.

People would turn toward the dog-laden man, annoyed at first, but the minute they saw the puppy their irritation disappeared and they made way with words of understanding.

There were any number of women with children. Men accompanied most of them, but some of the women were on their own. None wore hand-tailored clothes, but as many had good teeth and clean clothes as did not.

Food sellers sold pies and buns at the edges of the crowd and a woman wove her way through offering to tell fortunes. A happy mood prevailed, as though a fair had outgrown the field where it was staged.

Meryon spoke only when necessary, lest his accent betray him, but he wanted to find out why the crowd had gathered as much as he wanted to rescue Signora Tinotti.

The first three he asked merely shrugged.

Finally one man gave him half an answer. “This lot is here for the fun, but the ones up front are here for the speeches. When you try to crowd in there they won’t let you, lest they not hear. They’ll sell leaflets and newspapers when he’s done talking.”

“Tell me the names of the speakers.”

“There be one speaker, sir. It’s a man named Carlile. He owns a print shop, and speaks so people will buy what leaflets he prints and his newspaper.” The man gave Meryon the once-over. “I expect you would not like what he has to say. He wants to give all men the right to vote.” With a tip of his hat, the man moved on, leaving Meryon wishing he had come to hear Carlile.

When he was near enough to Signora Tinotti, he tried to gesture to her but someone barred his way. This close, he could see that Tinotti had the air of someone doing her best not to betray her fear, but her wide eyes gave her away.

The people closest eyed her suspiciously. What sensible woman would do something as indelicate as climb onto a statue? One or two people spoke to her, but she shook her head and did not answer. She spoke English, he was sure of it.

A rousing cheer from the front distracted them and Meryon felt a wave of unrest ripple through the throng as they pushed forward again. This group could turn from
amiable to ugly with the slightest ill wind. Even as he had the thought he heard a pained cry.

Meryon glanced back to see a boy helped from the ground by his mother, whose “You pig. Pick on someone more your size!” made no dent on the bully’s armor.

The man took her advice and jabbed Meryon in the ribs hard enough to hurt. “Outta my way, you dressed-up coxcomb.” The man rubbed his knuckles as though the jab was just the beginning.

Meryon hesitated a mere second, and then unleashed a day’s worth of anger and frustration on the unsuspecting but oh, so deserving victim. Reverting to the style he and David used in the boxing ring at home, Meryon ignored all the gentlemanly rules of boxing that Jackson insisted on, ramming his fist into the bully’s gut. Meryon came up under his chin with his other fist. The man went down before he realized he’d met his match.

Meryon straightened, tossed his cap to the ground, and with his hands raised, hoped the man had friends as big as the bully was. The man did have friends but they were smarter than the bully. Shaking their heads at Meryon, they pulled their leader up and half walked, half carried him away from the crowd.

As Meryon bent to pick up the tiger’s cap he saw five men at his back, ready to fight on his side.

“Well done, Your Majesty,” one of them called out.

Meryon laughed and shook his head, feeling better than he had for hours. “There are times when words are pointless.” The men and the others nearby nodded. “I thank you for your support.”

The outer fringes of the crowd began to melt away, as
if outpunching the bully was all the entertainment they needed.

Or they wanted none of the anger that was all they could hear of the speeches at the front. Anger bordering on a call to action. Meryon hoped his behavior did not spur the contagion on.

“Signora!” he called once he’d cleared the crowd and stood at the base of the statue.

Meryon did not have to call her twice. She had seen the brief spat with the bully, and Meryon could tell it had not encouraged her to trust him.

“Per favore, la vostra attenzione, signora!”
he called again. When she focused on him, Meryon waved a hand behind him. She followed his direction. He saw the servant catch sight of Elena.

With a frantic nod, Signora Tinotti wasted no time in clambering down, taking shelter between his body and the statue.

She exploded in a spate of Italian that made no sense at all to the duke. One woman in the crowd glanced at her askance. “Is she French?” she asked.

Meryon ignored her, but when Signora Tinotti began to cry and babble even faster a man asked, “Is she possessed or daft?”

The duke cast him a freezing look and they backed away. If these men were given the vote the country would be in the hands of the uneducated and stupid.

“She is neither daft nor possessed. She is afraid. Which means she is the only sensible one here,” he growled.

He should never have voiced his concern. A fight
broke out between two men, apparently over a young woman who stood nearby pretending hysterics.

He could have broken up the fight or taken a hand in it, but he thought of Elena waiting for him. Yes, Wilson would defend her, but the boy could not adequately protect Elena and the horse if a riot ensued.

With a word of warning to Tinotti, Meryon swept her into his arms as he would a child. With a squeaking sound, the servant pressed her face into his coat, as though trying to hide.

Making his way through the crowd carrying a frightened woman guaranteed cooperation. Meryon thanked the man and his puppy for the inspiration. When he reached the carriage he found Elena standing beside it.

“Tina,” she began.

“We will walk, Signora Verano. You can tend to Signora Tinotti in a moment. Move briskly, like the rest of the crowd. If they turn mean, the cabriolet will be too likely a target.”

Wilson insisted he would stay with the carriage. It made sense and Meryon hoped that both the boy and the cabriolet would be in one piece when he came back.

Meryon strode toward the edge of the square and Elena fell into step beside him. “Is Tina hurt?”

“Not at all. But she is still shaking and I think too upset to walk. Besides, if I continue to carry her, no one will question why we are hurrying away.” He shifted her in his arms. “Signora, let Signora Verano see you are not injured.”

Signora Tinotti raised tearstained eyes to Elena and began in Italian.
“Ah, signora, mi dispiace tonto—”

“Tina, please use English.”

“It is Mia. I do not know where she is. When she saw the crowd gathering, Mia announced that she was going to take one of the servants and see what was happening. Neither one of them came back. Tinotti and I hurried to see if we could find them. Then I lost Tinotti. I was afraid that I would be trampled so I climbed up on that ugly statue to wait until everyone left.”

Elena raised panicked eyes. “Your Grace, I cannot leave until I know that Mia is safe. I must find her.” Elena turned back toward the park.

“Listen to me.” He felt a wave of relief when Elena did just that. “We will go to your house and see if Miss Castellano has returned. I am certain that Tinotti found her and any minute now he will come to look for his wife.”

It made sense, but apparently the women did not think so. Elena and Signora Tinotti began arguing in Italian. Meryon, taking advantage of Elena’s distraction, continued walking toward her home on Bedford Place. Since he still carried her servant, Elena had to follow him to continue whatever they were arguing about.

By the time Elena and her maid had decided what to do, the front door of the Verano residence was in sight and Tinotti came on the run to meet them. “Mia is home, she’s safe,” the secretary called, hurrying breathlessly toward them.

The duke set his burden down so she could race to her husband, then offered Elena his arm. “I will see you home.”

Signora Verano held up her hand as if to ward off evil.
“My virtue is in greater peril on your arm than if I walked the street alone. Good-bye, Your Grace. I appreciate your rescue of Tina. And I am greatly relieved that everyone is safe.”

Despite the small speech, she did not pull away from the duke when he took her arm.

Fatigue had replaced her anger and for the first time Meryon noticed that while her beauty would last forever, distress always took a toll. Elena looked exhausted, as though the burden she carried had proved too heavy.

The irresponsible behavior of her ward was the last straw. And he had hurt her with what he thought a reasonable proposal, one that she had considered an insult.

The girl would apologize for what should have been an innocuous adventure and all would be forgiven. There was no doubt that he too would have to apologize, though Meryon had no expectation of forgiveness.

Meryon could feel the tension in her, the words ready to burst from her. But Elena kept her counsel until they were actually inside the front door of her home.

The hall was filled with people, most of them servants, and her ward. Elena hurried to Miss Castellano. “Mia! You know I forbade you to leave the house today. What were you thinking?”

“That I do not have to do what you say. That I can make my own decisions.” The girl smiled, a little guiltily, but with enough arrogance to make it unappealing. “Elena, I am a grown woman now. I can say no to your dictates and there is nothing that you can do about it.”

Meryon watched as Elena stood silent, as if trying to gauge how serious the girl was.

“Go to your room.”

“No,” Miss Castellano said with a grin that Meryon himself wanted to slap off her face. “I will wait for you in the blue salon.” Elena’s ward walked very slowly into the salon. The servants needed no encouragement to leave. In a minute the two of them were alone in the hall.

“Thank you for your help today, Your Grace.”

It was the most wooden expression of gratitude he had heard in a long time.

“But, sir, if you think that rescuing Tina will redeem you, then you are greatly mistaken.” There was nothing wooden about Elena now. As she spoke, anger replaced fatigue. “I am a widow, with money, some standing in society, and a ward to introduce to the ton. There is nothing you can say or do that will make me reconsider your offer. You can threaten to blacklist me among the ton. You can defame my voice and my talent. If necessary I will return to Italy before I let you hurt me or the people I love.”

“Madame, you wrong me.” He spoke with urgency. “Why would you think so ill of me?”

“Because you have power. Because you are a duke. That is what dukes do.”

“I would never do anything to defame you personally, or your beautiful voice. You must believe this.” He wanted to take back the last sentence. He should have begged instead of commanded, but he went on before she could push him out the door. “Let me assure you no one will ever learn a word of our conversation from me.”

“Thank you.”

“No thanks are necessary.”

He bowed formally and opened the door for himself since the butler had disappeared with the rest of the servants. Meryon stepped out onto the stoop and stopped. Groups, largely family groups, were streaming past the Verano residence, less than a block from where the crowd had gathered.

“There is one more thing, Your Grace.” She stepped out onto the front steps with him. “There are greater issues at stake than my sensibilities.

“Your brother is right. The government has created the nightmare we sampled in the square today and the House of Lords must find a way to show us the better times that peace should bring.”

With that, she went inside and closed the door. Part of him knew that Elena was angry at everything and everyone because of their argument. Everything from the color of her shoes to a government moving too slowly. But he wanted his turn to speak. Meryon hated it when people thought his ducal privilege kept him from seeing what went on in the rest of the world. He hated it because he was afraid they might be right.

He had more of a sense of it today after his brief foray into the crowd. His satisfaction over the confrontation with the bully had reminded him that there was a reason that Pennistans had fought in so many battles, and apparently not all of it was because of loyalty to the crown.

His war was in Parliament now, and that was definitely a sign that change was coming, that more battles would be fought in the House of Lords than on any battlefield. It was more likely he would be bored to death than killed by a sword.

Meryon doubted he would ever have a chance to continue this discussion with Elena Verano, to justify or rationalize or even argue what his Parliamentary responsibilities were, to tell her about his plans. It was the least of his disappointments today.