The Unscrupulous Uncle (19 page)

A rocket screamed across the sky, leaving a red river in its wake and raising images of the bloodstained ditch at Badajoz.

“Gladly.” They slipped through the crowd, striding rapidly into the darkness.

 * * * *

Catherine sighed when the final shell faded.

“Was this your first fireworks display?” asked Edith.

“Yes. It is not something one finds in the country. I never imagined anything so exhilarating.”

“Time to return to the box,” observed Sir Isaac. “And I have two arms,” he added, noting that Damon and Captain Hanson had disappeared.

Edith laughed, laying her hand on his right elbow. Eleanor Hanson caught hold of his left. Louisa and Sir Thomas had already moved off, deep in conversation, so Catherine fell in beside Eleanor.

“I should have known Daryl couldn’t stand the noise,” said Eleanor with a sigh. “He hates fireworks, claiming they remind him too much of war.”

Of course. Catherine berated herself for her stupidity. No wonder Damon had left. But it would have been nice if he had returned after the show. The jostling crowd forced her to slide in behind Sir Isaac as Eleanor laughed at something the baronet had said.

Six inebriated youths raced past, knocking Catherine off balance. She recovered quickly, but the moment’s hesitation allowed another raucous group to cut in front of her. Pushing her way through the milling crowd, she discovered too late that her friends were moving in a different direction. Not that she was particularly worried. Sir Isaac was clearly visible fifty feet away, the ladies both convulsed in laughter. Obviously they had not noticed her separation. She sighed. The concourse was well lighted, and she knew where their box was, but if anyone saw her alone, the tattlebaskets would pounce with even greater fury. She increased her pace as her friends rounded a corner.

“Where you goin’ in such a hurry?” slurred a rough voice as a man stepped in front of her. He was dressed as a gentleman but was obviously the worse for drink. Ignoring his question, she tried to push past him, but he grabbed her arm. “You need an escort, m’dear.”

“I have one, sir,” she snapped. Twisting away from his grip, she sidestepped a couple indulging in a vulgar public embrace and tried to circle the drunk.

But he was not so easily deterred. “Of course you do. Me!” His sneering voice turned coarsely suggestive. “Have you seen the hermit?”

She dodged away, cursing the skirt that prevented her from running. Why had she worn such a narrow gown tonight? No matter how foxed the fellow was, there was no hope of escape.

“That’s right, lovey!” He laughed, satisfaction and excitement clear in the sound. “Down the second path. The old boy is well worth visitin’. I ’spect you’ll be right grateful.”

Dear Lord! Panic was interfering with thought. Where was Damon? She could no longer see Edith, and the concourse seemed narrower than she remembered. Had she taken a wrong turn? A larger group of people approached. She considered asking for help, but they appeared nearly as foxed as her pursuer. Her skirt ripped as she tried for more speed, but she ignored it, snaking through the crowd and dodging a groping hand. The drunk was momentarily blocked. Where was she? Which way were the boxes?

“Bitch!” he swore, his voice now dangerously irritated. Several men laughed.

Whipping around a corner, she abruptly changed directions to slip through a break in the trees. Another path opened on the other side, this one unlighted. Running lightly along it, she strained to hear any pursuit. That horrid voice swore again only a few feet away, but to her relief, he continued along the other walk, his footsteps disappearing into the distance.

Where was she? Turning toward where she hoped the boxes lay, she followed the new trail. But within twenty yards, an arm snaked out of the darkness to circle her waist.

“Delectable!” grated a new voice.

“Let go!” she demanded, fear breaking out anew.

“Why? Girls who venture alone down the Dark Walk want only one thing.” He clasped her close with that powerful arm, latching his other hand onto her bosom as he opened his mouth and bent for a kiss.

“No!” She twisted her head so his wet lips landed on her neck. Digging her fingers into his face, she fought to escape, all the while screaming for help.

“The lady is unwilling, Featherstone,” drawled a bored voice. A fist connected with her attacker’s jaw, lifting him into the air, spinning him around, and dropping him to the ground. One shiny toe of a pair of tasseled Hessians prodded the prostrate scoundrel.

“Lord Rathbone!”

“What on earth are you doing here by yourself?” he demanded incredulously, thrusting a handkerchief into her hand and pulling her against his shoulder when she burst into tears.

She was beyond thought and could do nothing but sob.

“Well?” he repeated when she finally regained some composure. His expert eye studied her appearance. She hardly noticed when he straightened her gown, tucked a stray lock of hair into her coiffure, and wrapped his cloak around her to hide the rip in her skirt. But she huddled into its welcome warmth as a shiver wracked her.

“We were walking back to the box after the fireworks when the crowd separated us. Then a drunken gentleman tried to drag me off to visit a hermit. I escaped him by ducking out of sight behind a tree. This path was there so I followed it, hoping it would lead to the main concourse. That’s when Mr. Featherstone grabbed me.”

“He’s a lord, I fear, though not a gentleman by anyone’s standards. You are lucky it was no worse. Come, I will escort you back to your party. In future, stay closer to your friends. Vauxhall is no place for a lone female.”

Catherine placed her hand on his arm, mortified to discover she was still shaking.

“Where is your husband?”

“He did not view the fireworks with us.”

Rathbone muttered what sounded like curses. “I will have a word with him. It is not the thing to bring a lady to Vauxhall and abandon her to her own devices. Too many people place a dishonorable interpretation on the words ‘Pleasure Gardens’.”

“Please don’t chastise him. He could not stand the noise. Nor could Captain Hanson. War leaves many scars. And this is my own fault for becoming separated from our group. I should have paid closer attention.”

Rathbone frowned, but ultimately agreed. Within moments they were back on the brightly lighted concourse. Several people were near the entrance to the Dark Walk, but none paid them any heed. Thus she was able to appear calm when they reached the box.

“Where have you been?” demanded Louisa immediately.

“The crowd separated us,” she replied with a shrug. “But Lord Rathbone noticed that I had been cut off and offered to escort me back. Thank you, my lord,” she finished, turning a smile on him.

“Any time, Lady Devlin.” He bowed over her hand, then took himself off.

“I am tired and would like to return home,” she told Damon quietly when he and the captain returned five minutes later. He seemed about to protest, but Edith had heard the words and quickly agreed, so they headed for the quay.

Catherine wanted nothing more than to describe her terrifying experience to Damon. He would drive away the last vestiges of her fear. But the opportunity never arose. They were using Louisa’s carriage and sharing it with Sir Thomas. Even when they reached Berkeley Square she had no chance. Simms handed Damon a thick packet that had arrived while they were out. He immediately retired to his study.

How dare he? she asked herself once Brigit had brushed her hair and left her alone for the night. Panic had returned, leaving her weak and shaking. Rathbone had a point. It was unconscionable that Damon had left her without escort in a place known to be unsafe for ladies. It mattered not that he was uncomfortable around fireworks. He should have made certain that she would be properly chaperoned in his absence. But he had cared only for his own convenience. It hurt.

She could not avoid comparing the two men. Rathbone always made her feel desirable and worthwhile, even after accepting that she wanted only friendship with him. But Damon made it clear that she was a worthless impediment in his life, something to be ignored as much as possible.

The tears came then, scalding her eyes. She wept long into the night, finally falling asleep from exhaustion.

Chapter Twelve

“Of course Lady Devlin trapped him! Once she discovered her condition, she was desperate for a husband!”

The reading room at White’s disappeared in a red blur as Damon heard these words. The speaker must not have noticed who was ensconced behind the newspaper. But before he could set the man straight, Jack’s voice spoke up.

“Calumny, Shelford! Base calumny. There is not a word of truth to any of those tales.”

“Then how did they start?”

“Spite embroidering innuendo. Sidney Braxton implied an affair that never existed. Lady Hermione took it a step further by inventing consequences. The motive should be obvious.”

Sheldon laughed.

Damon surged to his feet as Sheldon disappeared into the gaming room. The situation was worse than he had imagined if even Jack was heaping abuse on Hermione. No one would have dared do so before he had jilted her. “I ought to call you out for such slander,” he hissed.

Jack raised his brows. “I thought I was correcting the slander.”

“Blaming it on another innocent is not improving the situation!”

“Calm down!” barked Jack, holding up his hand. “Do you dare call me a liar? The gossips always provide provenance for their tales, as you should know. Lady Debenham readily admits that she heard that claim from Lady Hermione.”

Damon drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Then she is the liar. You know she will do anything to score a point on Lady Beatrice. After Lady Beatrice declared that Hermione drove me away, Lady Debenham had to counter in kind. She is trying to protect her cousin’s credit by throwing Catherine to the dogs.”

It was the only explanation, he decided as he headed for home. Attributing the tale to Hermione would give it more credibility, for people would believe Hermione had the facts from him. Jack would agree once he had time to think it over. Why couldn’t the gossips stay out of this imbroglio? They were only making matters worse. He would restore Hermione’s reputation – and Catherine’s – and he would do it without harming innocent bystanders.

 * * * *

Catherine paused in the doorway of Edith’s drawing room to admire its Chinese decor. Red velvet draperies framed the windows, their color repeated in the red brocade upholstery. Silk wallcoverings above delicate green wainscoting depicted exotic birds in bamboo jungles. cloisonné‚ vases and lacquered boxes mingled with carved jade on tables and the mantelpiece.

“Good morning, Catherine,” called Edith, smiling widely.

“You look excited,” observed Catherine. She joined her friend on a gilded Sheraton couch and accepted a cup of tea.

“Nervous would be a better description. I always am on days that I entertain. So many things can go wrong that my imagination runs wild.”

Catherine laughed. “You speak as if this were a grand ball. It is only a musicale, Edith, and you have engaged the most modish soprano and the newest harpist. You have an enviable talent for organization, and I cannot imagine you hiring an incompetent staff. Now relax!”

“Perhaps I am overreacting,” agreed Edith with a sigh. “I am breeding again and Isaac always claims that I see disaster lurking behind every tree when I am in that condition.”

“How wonderful! About your expectations, I mean. When?”

“Not until late October – which is why I am in town. If it were any sooner, Isaac would never have allowed me to leave the estate.”

“He cares about your health,” agreed Catherine with a pang. Damon had not made the slightest effort to cosset her, from the frenetic pace he’d set during their journey from Cumberland to his abandonment once they arrived. Even his attentions at Vauxhall had been missing when she needed them. Not that his indifference was anything new. He had allowed her to accompany him as a child only after she proved she was one of the boys. But she pushed her thoughts firmly aside. Edith would notice if she became melancholy.

“I did not intend to talk about myself this morning. We must do something about these malicious stories.”

“Has something new come up?”

“Not that I know of, but someone is keeping the charges alive. Normally, the talk would have died by now. Everyone knew it was nought but the usual speculation over a sudden marriage.”

“This is hardly speculation, Edith. You have heard Sidney. He speaks with authority, for I lived with his family. Damon can deny impropriety from now until doomsday, but no one believes him, for he would do so regardless of the facts. Only time will refute the worst charges, but even that cannot erase suspicion. And no one can forget that I do not always act as I should.”

“Fustian!”

“Not fustian,” she countered. “There is no getting around the fact that I am untutored in the ways of society. When my parents died, I was still in the schoolroom, and I have had no opportunity to socialize since.”

“You exaggerate,” insisted Edith. “Your manners are excellent and you cannot have forgot all that we were taught at school. Miss Grimsby would shudder to think that her efforts were wasted.” They both laughed. “Your behavior is fine. The problem is that someone is deliberately drawing attention to every minor deviation from rigid propriety and twisting it into scandal.”

“I would hardly call discussing a tenant’s lying-in a deviation,” said Catherine. “Even I should have known better – especially with two young girls in the room. Lady Beatrice gave me a stare that would freeze Hades.”

“But she did not rebuke you.”

“Only because Lady Debenham would have scored a point had she done so.”

“You are too hard on yourself. If you were single, it might have been construed as a serious breach, of course. But married women have more latitude. You were speaking softly to two dowagers far enough removed from the Misses Cathcart that they were unaware of your topic. The real problem is that someone is waging war against you.”