Patrica Rice (16 page)

So haste was of the utmost importance, but she could do nothing until Gordon arrived to ask Aunt Agatha for permission for her to accompany Melanie to Bath. And looking at the roads, she doubted even Gordon’s expensive steed could wade through the muck.

The rain poured in torrents throughout the day, making it impossible for anyone to come or go. Daphne thought of Evan and his men shivering in the woods and prayed they had the good sense to retreat to someone’s barn.

The knowledge that no one else could travel in the downpour reassured her. There would be plenty of time. Even if the mail coach made it to London in a day, which was very unlikely despite their speed, no one could come from the city while it rained so heavily.

Gordon arrived in a break of the storm the next day. Agatha exclaimed at his daring to brave the roads, but he modestly claimed that he had taken the fields quite safely.

There was no polite way he could send his hostess to another room as he had his sister, and he sent Daphne an imploring look over her aunt’s head. Overly conscious of the proprieties under the circumstances, Daphne could think of no means to ask for privacy. A walk in the gardens was out of the question in this mud. Perhaps it was better this way. She really must think of putting an end to Evan’s dangerous masquerade before even considering Gordon’s courtship, if courtship it were.

She made a gesture of futility and, resigned, Gordon spun his tale of Melanie’s desire to go to Bath. As Daphne had known she would, Agatha left the decision up to her. The arrangements were quickly made, with only the date of departure left uncertain. The rains made travel too dangerous in Agatha’s opinion, and she insisted that they wait until the roads were clear.

Hearing the muted torment behind Gordon’s agreement to this delay, Daphne surmised the letter had already gone out. A bit of fear lodged in her middle and twisted, but she refused to acknowledge it.

It would take time for the letter to reach London. Michael might have already left. Even if he had not, it would take more time for him to call on Robert Griffin, time for Robert to act on it, time for anyone to travel all the way to Devon. They would be well on their way by then.

She walked with Gordon to the door, but a servant waited with his hat and gloves and they still could not exchange private words. Gordon squeezed her fingers as he bent over her hand.

“Persuade her soon, Daphne. I cannot like this delay,” he murmured in farewell.

“Have Melanie begin packing. Surely the rain cannot be so bad elsewhere.”

Gordon’s smile was stiff as he gazed down on her. “I am going to write my grandfather. I daren’t take any more chances now that you are involved.”

Daphne looked mildly alarmed. “If he is ill ...”

Gordon brushed the objection aside. “I’ll not tell all, only just enough to see you safe. The terms I shall use will make him quite happy.”

Unable to say more within hearing of the footman, Gordon bowed and went out, leaving Daphne to stare, wonderingly, after him. What could he possibly say of this hideous affair that would make the earl happy?

* * * *

Captain Rollings lifted his mug of ale and sipped it as he stood in the tavern’s front window and gloomily stared out at the mud-filled streets. The rain had let up enough to ease the steady river of water that had flowed earlier, but not enough to carry out his duties with any hope of success. He damned the weather and the stupidity of his troop and wondered how a highwayman spent his days in weather like this, particularly an injured highwayman.

His eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he considered how best to use the information he had purchased from the inn’s stable boy. It didn’t seem very reliable. He could not imagine a man like the Viscount Griffin being involved in the petty larceny of a highway robber, but there could be another story behind the tale.

As much as he would like to believe it of the viscount, it was more likely the viscount’s servants who were the guilty parties. The estate had been long neglected before this summer, he understood. Mayhap the servants meant to make up the sums the viscount’s arrival had deprived them of from petty theft from the estate.

It was time to set his trap and put an end to it. The letter received from his superior officer showed his growing impatience with the delay. His failure at both his schemes would bring an end to life as he knew it, and he was not yet ready to give up all his hopes.

Gazing up the street to the hedge concealing the squire’s house from the village, Rollings drained his mug. It was early yet. Now that the rain had stopped, he could pay a brief afternoon call.

Just as he called for his bill, a mud-splattered barouche rolled grandly through the village street. Rollings stared at the gilded lanterns, the haughty, liveried servants, and the high-stepping horses, then fastened his gaze on the crest embossed on a once-gleaming ebony door and cursed. Beneath the filth of travel he could just discern the crest of the house of Griffin, the Earl of Shelce.

* * * *

Daphne listened in dismay as Agatha read aloud the hasty invitation. Had Gordon taken leave of his senses? After three solid days of rain, the roads were only just now starting to dry. She had hoped the message would say the carriage would be at the door in the morning to take them to Bath. An invitation to dinner to meet the newly arrived earl was not at all what she had expected.

She had thought Gordon’s grandfather an ill old man. What was he doing traveling in this kind of weather, if so? What had Gordon put in that letter to bring him out with such haste? She didn’t want to know.

Her thoughts turned instantly to the man in the woods. The
men
in the woods, she quickly amended. She had not dared venture from the house again to see to their welfare. What would Evan think of this new development? She had a sinking feeling that he wouldn’t be at all pleased by the news of the earl’s arrival. That meant one more endangered person in the vicinity.

She would have to go. Perhaps she could determine the earl’s reason for being here and convey the information to Evan so he wouldn’t worry. The fact that Rhys was much better placed to do so completely escaped her. The need to see how Evan fared was greater than logic.

So she dressed carefully that evening in a lilac jaconet that ended in a small ruffled train. The slightly daring bodice had matching ruffles on the tiny sleeve but no other adornment. Daphne wondered if she should have chosen something more elaborate, but she disliked frills and cared nothing for delicate embroidery, so she limited her wardrobe to suit herself.

Her simplicity had an effect as Daphne entered the viscount’s salon that evening ahead of her aunt, who was still busily disposing of her various articles of travel. While servants gathered up cloaks and bonnets and veils and umbrellas behind her, Daphne drifted to the entrance and hesitated, trying to form a picture of the room and its inhabitants.

As she lingered there, her slender figure swaying like a lilac in a spring breeze, the eyes of several of the male inhabitants of the room were drawn to her.

Daphne recognized Gordon first as he hurried toward her, and gratefully, she held out her hand to him, accepting his guidance, keeping her knee stiff enough to bear her weight without limping. Perhaps Gordon had meant to say he knew of her infirmity—that was something Evan could have told him. Surely he could not know of her mother and still dance attendance on her as if she were an eligible
parti.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he whispered as he led her toward the far end of the stately room where the earl held court. “I couldn’t warn you. Please do not act surprised by anything my grandfather says. We will straighten this all out later. For now, your protection was most important.”

This whispered warning served to terrify Daphne. Gordon wasn’t inclined to impetuous acts and daring lies like Evan. What could he possibly have done? She glanced hesitantly at his square jaw, wishing she could trust him.

What if this were really Evan and not Gordon? A smile curved her lips as she realized she need only punch his shoulder for proof. Wouldn’t that incite a little excitement for the evening?

The smile acted as buffer as she was introduced to the tall, distinguished, gray-haired gentleman sipping port by the mantel. He immediately set his glass aside to take her hand and look her over thoroughly. Daphne felt as if she were a horse at market, but she bore his scrutiny gracefully.

“So this is the one you would wed, eh?” The earl sent his heir a sharp look. The two were much of a height. When Gordon didn’t quite meet his eye but looked instead to Daphne, the earl snorted and returned his gaze to her. “Templeton? Some relation to Lord Templeton of Northampton?”

“My grandfather, sir.” Daphne’s fingers continued to cling to Gordon’s coat. Wed? What had he done? She tried not to stare as she gazed up to the earl. What could the man be thinking at news that his heir meant to marry a distant relation of a very minor title? Or did he recognize the name from the infamous tales of her mother?

“Ahhhh,
yes, of course.” The earl nodded and apparently traced her family tree through the Debrett’s of his mind, but his face never revealed his thoughts. “Where is your father? Is he here now?”

“No, my lord, he is at home. I reside with his sister, my Aunt Agatha. Are you acquainted?” Daphne asked this nervously. It was one thing to suddenly discover you’re about to be married, but to have the news announced to a family not previously forewarned brought staggering visions of hysterics and congratulations and a trap never to be escaped.

Gordon hastily intervened to reassure. “Not a word, sir. I have promised Daphne. I have told you, the roads have been such that I could not ride out to ask Mr. Templeton’s permission. You have been very precipitate in coming here before I could arrange the formalities.”

Instead of reproving his heir for this disrespectful rebuke, the earl barked with laughter and raised his head to watch Agatha approach. “My spoon’s not in the wall yet, you young pup. I’ll not have any more of this havey-cavey nonsense out of you. I’ll be at the bottom of it soon, no doubt.”

Without disturbing a note of his voice, he made an elegant leg as Agatha came up beside her niece. “Ahh, my good lady, we meet again.”

Daphne felt as if she had just been run through a thresher. Distinguished earls of her grandfather’s age or older weren’t supposed to speak common cant and hint that their heirs weren’t to be trusted, particularly when their heirs were someone as proper and staid as Gordon. Then to start a flirtation with a lady obviously twenty years his junior and well into her dotage, also—well, that was beyond the bounds of any behavior she knew.

With relief, she let Gordon lead her away as her aunt and the earl engaged in an animated conversation about a garden party that had obviously taken place in the last century.

This really could not be happening. She would wake up and find it all a dream soon. She had meant to retire to a quiet life in the country, bury herself in the wilderness of the moors. How was it that she now found herself temporarily affianced to a viscount and conversing in the same circles as earls? Not to mention hob-nobbing with thieves and plotting against murderers.

Gordon covered her hand on his arm and said reassuringly, “It will be fine. My grandfather can be very discreet, if somewhat disconcerting. He only wished to meet you to be certain I am not about to do something remarkably out of line. I have explained that you and Melanie have made plans to travel. The sooner all of you are gone, the better I will feel, if you will excuse my sentiments under the circumstances.’’

Daphne managed a smile, but she did not feel his same certainty. She very much suspected the earl knew his grandsons only too well. She doubted if this were the first mad escapade they had engaged in, but if someone didn’t act soon, it could very well be their last.

Anxiously, before Gordon could escape to his duties, she asked, “Has Evan been notified? Is he well? With all this rain ...”

Gordon patted her hand. “The innkeeper is a trusted friend. I insisted that he stay there so we could communicate with more ease. And his men are housed in various barns and sheds and are not likely to die of starvation. There is nothing you need worry yourself about but having a good time in Bath.”

She really would like to scream at him, or perhaps beat him with a parasol as she had his brother. She didn’t know which was more infuriating, Evan’s arrogant courage or Gordon’s unflappable assurance. Both assumed she was little more than fragile porcelain to be wrapped in cotton batting. Perhaps she ought to seek out Rhys. He at least had the insolent attitude that she could be used for something.

But a lady did not cause public scenes, and she really did not need to draw more attention to herself than she already had. Her smile did not reach her eyes as she dismissed the viscount and turned to Melanie for conversation. It was going to be a very long evening.

* * * *

“She’s what!”
the Earl of Shelce shouted.

“Daughter of Maria Templeton, sir,” Gordon replied patiently after their guests had departed.

“The
Maria Templeton? The one who drove her perfectly good horses off the cliff? Have you lost your mind as well? I thought the chit behaved as if a cat had leapt down her back, all jumps and starts. She’s her mother all over again. One look at those eyes will tell you that.”

Gordon held onto the shreds of his frazzled nerves. At the moment, he would rather be Evan and sleeping in the woods and dining off berries than dealing with his cantankerous and only too sharp grandparent. He poured himself a small brandy and offered the decanter to the earl.

“Daphne had reason to be nervous after what you put her through. You have not even given me time to obtain her father’s consent and already you’re setting her to your paces,” Gordon grumbled, sick with irritation. “And there is nothing wrong with her eyes. They’re lovely eyes. It is her leg that pains her, as I understand, a result of the accident, I believe.”

The earl gave his grandson a scathing glance and drained his glass before continuing to stalk up and down the floor. “And you wish to marry this poor creature you have scarcely known a fortnight? I find that deuced suspicious. Her mother was quite mad, you know. Does madness run in the family? What can you be thinking of to introduce tainted blood to the line? Can you imagine a legacy of mad earls? It will not do, Gordon.”