Rendezvous (12 page)

“So I gathered. Took after his father, I believe?”

“Yes. Mother always claimed they were both cut from the same cloth. True Northumberland Ballingers. Always eager for adventure and ready for any sort of excitement.” With any luck Lovejoy would not have any inkling of the rumors that had circulated for a time after her brother had been killed on that lonely country lane. The baron had, after all, spent most of the past few years with his regiment on the continent.

“I was sorry to learn of your brother’s untimely death two years ago,” Lovejoy continued, frowning thoughtfully down at the cards he held. “My belated condolences, Miss Ballinger.”

“Thank you.” Augusta pretended to study her own cards as she waited to see if Lovejoy would say anything else. All the old memories of Richard’s laughter and warmth returned with a rush, blotting out the hum of conversation in the room. The muttered accusations had been so grossly unfair. One only had to know Richard to realize he would never have betrayed his country.

A silence descended on the card table. Lost in her memories of Richard and her bitterness over the unfair accusations that had been lodged against him, Augusta could not begin to concentrate on her hand. She lost for the first time that evening.

“It seems my luck has turned, sir.” She started to rise from her chair as she realized that Lovejoy had just won
back in one round most of the ten pounds she had succeeded in taking from him.

“I doubt it.” Lovejoy smiled, gathered up the cards, and shuffled again.

“I believe we are about even, my lord,” Augusta said. “I suggest we call it a draw and return to the dancing.”

“There were certain unfortunate rumors surrounding the events of your brother’s death, were there not?”

“Lies. All lies, my lord.” Augusta sank slowly back down into her chair. Her fingers trembled as she reached up to touch her mother’s ruby necklace.

“Of course. I never believed them for a moment.” Lovejoy gave her a gravely reassuring look. “You may depend upon that, Miss Ballinger.”

“Thank you.” Augusta’s stomach started to unclench. At least Lovejoy did not believe the worst, she thought.

Another silence descended, during which she did not know what else to say. She stared down at the fresh hand of cards she had just been dealt and automatically picked them up with unsteady fingers.

“I heard that certain documents were apparently found on his body at the time of his death.” Lovejoy frowned over his hand. “Documents of a military intelligence nature.”

Augusta froze. “I believe they were deliberately placed in his pockets to make him look guilty of treason. Someday I shall find a way to prove it, my lord.”

“A noble goal. But how will you go about doing that?”

“I do not know,” Augusta admitted tightly. “But if there is any justice in this world, I shall find a way.”

“Ah, my dear Miss Ballinger. Have you not yet learned that there is very little justice in this world?”

“I cannot believe that, sir.”

“Such an innocent. Perhaps you would care to tell me more about the situation. I have some experience in these matters, you see.”

Augusta looked up, startled. “You do?”

Lovejoy smiled indulgently. “When I served on the
continent I was occasionally assigned the task of investigating occurrences of a criminal nature that cropped up in the regiment. You know, the odd knifing in the alley of a strange town or an officer suspected of selling information to the enemy. Unpleasant as they are, such things happen in war, Miss Ballinger. And investigations into them must be conducted with absolute discretion. The honor of the regiment is always at stake, you see.”

“Yes, I do see.” Augusta felt a flare of hope unfurl within her. “Did you have much success in conducting that sort of investigation, my lord?”

“Considerable success.”

“It is a great deal to ask, but would you by any chance be interested in helping me prove my brother’s innocence?” she asked, hardly daring to breathe.

Lovejoy frowned as he gathered up the cards and dealt another hand. “I’m not sure if I could be of much assistance, Miss Ballinger. Your brother was killed shortly before Napoléon abdicated in 1814, was he not?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“It would be very difficult to start tracing his contacts and associations now. I doubt that there would be any clues left.” Lovejoy paused and gave her an inquiring glance. “Unless you have some notion of where to begin.”

“No. None at all. I suppose it is hopeless.” Augusta’s brief stir of hope faltered and died.

She gazed down at the green baize forlornly, thinking of the poem that lay tucked into the jewel box on her dressing table. The strange verse written on paper that was stained with Richard’s own blood was all she had left of her brother. It was certainly no clue. It did not even make any sense, as far as she had ever been able to tell. There was no point even mentioning it. She had kept it because it was the last thing Richard had given to her.

Lovejoy smiled consolingly. “Nevertheless, why don’t you tell me what little you do know and I will see if there is anything that comes to mind.”

Augusta began to talk as the card game continued. She made a fierce effort to answer the various questions Lovejoy idly tossed out. She tried to recall the names of all her brother’s friends and acquaintances and where he had spent his time during the few months preceding his death.

But Lovejoy apparently saw no significance in any of it. Nevertheless, he kept asking questions and as he gently interrogated her, he continued to deal the cards. Augusta automatically played each hand she was dealt, one after another, giving no thought to her game. Her focus was entirely on the questions Lovejoy asked about Richard.

When she finally ran out of information, Augusta looked down at the pad of paper on which Lovejoy had been keeping score and realized she owed him a thousand pounds.

A thousand pounds
.

“Dear God.” She clapped her hand to her mouth in horror. “My lord, I fear I do not have such an amount readily available.”
Or even unreadily available
. There was no way on earth she could come up with that large a sum.

The thought of going to her uncle to ask him to cover her debts was too awful to contemplate. Sir Thomas had been astonishingly generous since she had gone to live in his household. She could not possibly repay his kindness by asking him to cover a gaming debt of a thousand pounds. It would be unthinkable. Her honor would not allow it.

“Pray do not concern yourself, Miss Ballinger.” Lovejoy calmly collected the cards. “There is no great rush. If you will merely give me your vowels tonight, I shall be happy to wait until such time as it is more convenient for you to settle your debt. I am certain we shall be able to come to terms.”

Wordlessly, her heart pounding with the enormity of what she had done, Augusta wrote out an IOU for a thousand pounds and signed her name. Then she got to her feet, aware that she was shaking so badly she might actually humiliate herself by collapsing.

“If you will excuse me, sir,” she managed with creditable calm, “I must return to the ballroom. My cousin will wonder where I am.”

“Of course. Let me know when you are prepared to deal with your debt. We shall work out an arrangement that is mutually agreeable.” Lovejoy smiled a slow, insinuating smile.

Augusta wondered why she had never before noticed the unpleasant gleam in his fox-green eyes. She steeled herself to ask a favor. “Will you give me your word, sir, as a gentleman, not the mention this incident to anyone? I would not want my uncle or … or certain other parties to hear of it.”

“Certain other parties such as your financé? I can understand your concern. Graystone would not be inclined to be indulgent about a lady’s gaming debts, would he? Such a stickler for the proprieties as he is would probably not approve of ladies playing cards in the first place.”

Augusta’s heart sank even farther. What a mess this was going to be. And it was all her own fault. “No, I imagine not.”

“You may rest assured I will keep silent.” Lovejoy inclined his head with mocking gallantry. “You have my word on it.”

“Thank you.”

Augusta turned away and fled toward the bright lights and laughter of the ballroom. Her mind was reeling with the knowledge that she had been a fool.

Quite naturally the first person she saw when she left the card room was Harry. He had spotted her and was making his way toward her through the glittering crowd. Augusta took one look at him and was filled with an overwhelming desire to throw herself into his arms, confess all, and beg for advice.

Dressed in his austere evening attire with an immaculately folded white cravat around his strong throat, Graystone looked formidable enough to take on two or three
Lovejoys and dispatch them all with ease. There was something reassuringly strong and solid about her fiancé, Augusta realized. This was a man one could depend upon, if one had not gotten oneself into a situation through sheer stupidity.

Unfortunately, Graystone had no patience with stupidity.

Augusta straightened her shoulders. The problem was of her own making and she was obliged to find a way to pay her own debts. She could not possibly involve Harry in this fiasco. A Northumberland Ballinger took care of her own honor.

Augusta watched wistfully as Harry forged a path through the throng in her direction. She saw with dismay that he appeared displeased. His hooded gaze flickered briefly over her shoulder to the entrance to the card room and then raked her face.

“Are you all right, Augusta?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, quite all right. I vow it is rather warm in here, is it not?” She unfurled her fan and employed it industriously. Frantically she sought for a topic of conversation that might deflect his attention from the card room. “I wondered if you’d put in an appearance tonight. Have you been here long, my lord?”

“I arrived a few minutes ago.” His gaze narrowed thoughtfully as he studied her flushed face. “I believe they have opened the doors for a late supper. Would you care for something to eat?”

“That would be wonderful. I should like to sit down for a few minutes.” The truth was she wanted to sit down before she fell down. When Harry offered her his arm, she clung to it as though it were a lifeline in a raging sea.

It was while she was munching on a lobster pattie and gulping chilled punch which Harry procured for her that Augusta finally calmed herself sufficiently enough to start thinking clearly. There was really only one solution to her dilemma: her mother’s ruby necklace.

The thought of parting with it made the tears burn in Augusta’s eyes, but she told herself she deserved the anguish. She had been a fool and now she must pay the price.

“Augusta, are you quite certain there is nothing wrong?” Harry asked again.

“Quite certain, my lord.” The lobster pattie tasted like sawdust, she noticed.

Harry’s brow rose slightly. “You would, of course, feel free to tell me if anything serious was troubling you, would you not, my dear?”

“That would depend, my lord.”

“On what?” There was an unexpected hint of steel in Harry’s normally unemotional voice.

Augusta shifted restlessly in her chair. “On whether or not I thought you might be inclined to respond in a kind, understanding, and helpful manner.”

“I see. And if you feared I would not respond in such a manner?”

“Then I would no doubt refrain from telling you a single blasted thing, sir.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Need I remind you we are engaged, Augusta?”

“You do not need to remind me of that fact, my lord. I assure you it is usually at the forefront of my mind these days.”

There was only one place to go for advice on how to proceed with the business of pawning a valuable necklace. The day after the shocking disaster in the card room, Augusta went straight to Pompeia’s.

The door was opened by a grouchy Scruggs, who peered at her from beneath his bushy brows.

“It’s you, is it, Miss Ballinger? I suppose you know the members are all busy settling the wagers they made regarding your engagement.”

“I am glad to hear that someone is gaining something out of it,” Augusta muttered as she went past him. She paused in the hall, recalling the medicine she had brought him a few days earlier. “I almost forgot. Did the tonic help your rheumatism, Scruggs?”

“The tonic worked miracles after I followed it with a bottle of Lady Arbuthnott’s best brandy. Unfortunately, I could not induce any of the housemaids to assist me in testing the remainder of the cure.”

Augusta smiled briefly in spite of her low mood. “I am glad to hear that.”

“This way, Miss Ballinger. Madam will be pleased to see you, as usual.” Scruggs opened the doors to Pompeia’s.

There were a handful of ladies in the club, most busy reading the newspapers or scribbling away at the writing tables. The gossip concerning the scandalous love lives of both Byron and Shelley had only fueled the determination of the club’s aspiring writers to get themselves published.

It was odd how virtue, or the lack thereof, could affect one, Augusta reflected. Byron’s or Shelley’s distinctly unvirtuous romantic liaisons might very well produce just the inspiration needed by one of Pompeia’s members to get her own work into print.

Augusta swept through the room, heading straight for the hearth. There was a cheerful blaze going, as usual, although the day was pleasant. Sally seemed to always be cold these days. She was in her chair near the fire and, fortunately for Augusta, she was temporarily without company. A book lay open on her lap.

“Hello, Augusta. How are you today?”

“Perfectly miserable. Sally, I have gotten myself into a terrible situation and I have come to beg your advice.” Augusta sat down close to the older woman and leaned over to whisper. “I want you to tell me how one goes about pawning a necklace.”

“Oh, dear, this does sound serious.” Sally closed her
book and gazed inquiringly at Augusta. “Perhaps you had better tell me everything right from the beginning.”

“I have been a perfect idiot.”

“Yes, well, we all are, sooner or later. Now, why don’t you tell me the tale? I confess I have been a trifle bored this afternoon.”