The Virtuoso (28 page)

“She's managing,” Freddy muttered as he struggled to get out of his coat. “She's the kind of female who will always manage, and how was I supposed to squeak by on a bloody damned allowance like some schoolboy!”

“She manages.” Val removed the signet ring from his smallest finger. “Why couldn't you?”

“Because a gentleman has needs,” Freddy nearly shrieked. “You should know that.” He extricated himself from his coat and put his fists up.

“It isn't considered sporting to keep the rings on, old man,” Val said, limbering up his fists.

“It wasn't stealing,” Freddy retorted, an odd note of genuine relish in his voice. “She owed me, Windham. She will always owe me.” With that, Freddy put up his fives and took up a stance reflective of the scientific approach favored by the bloods who frequented Gentleman Jackson's salon.

Val, youngest of five brothers, took one look at his opponent, resisted the urge to thank God for small favors, and laid Lord Roxbury out flat with one right-handed punch.

And as disappointing as it was, Val limited his retribution to that one very effective blow.

***

Darius resumed his assigned role as the more sympathetic bystander and assisted Freddy to his feet.

“He drew blood!” Freddy stared at his fingers, touched them to his lips, and found more blood.

“You essentially bit yourself,” Darius said, handing Freddy a glass of water while Nick and Val looked on dispassionately. “I'd offer you some ice, but that amenity is yet in short supply in these rustic surrounds. You might want to use your handkerchief or cravat on that lip, though.”

“But blood leaves an awful stain,” Freddy said, his words slightly slurred. “Stanwick would leave, and then where would I be?”

“Can't have that.” Darius shook his head. “Have we sent for Lord Roxbury's equipage?”

“His curricle is in the drive,” Val said. “Sean is walking his team.”

“So that's it, then?” Freddy rose unsteadily, but Darius did not offer any more support. “You plant me a facer and we call it even?”

“No.” Val let Nick assist him back into his morning coat. “That was simply to address the requirements of honor, and damned unsatisfying it was, Roxbury. I'll be calling on the local magistrate, and you'll be hearing from me.”

Freddy's split lip began to bleed down his chin, but nobody offered him a handkerchief, so he was compelled to use his own. He blotted the blood daintily, eyeing Val all the while.

“The Lords won't convict me, and I can have you charged with assault. Duke's son or not, you're just a commoner, and I hold one of the oldest titles in the land.”

“I didn't say you'd be charged,” Val replied mildly, “but I will say, before witnesses and men of honor, as well, if you ever try to extort another farthing from Ellen Markham, I will hunt you down and wrap your balls around your scrawny neck until you expire, and then I will feed your carcass to the pigs.”

Freddy's bloody lips compressed, but then a short, ugly laugh burst from him.

“You won't have me charged.” He patted the handkerchief against his lip. “You know you're holding the low cards now, Windham, so I'll take my leave of you with a little kindly advice: Ellen Markham is capable of murder. Family loyalty prevents me from seeing her tried for the crimes she's committed, but let me suggest that even if you're besotted with her, you'd be a fool to trust that woman farther than you can pitch her, much less with the lives of your children. She's dangerous, and make no mistake. I keep my distance from her for reasons my late cousin would understand only too well.”

He left them on that, and Val went to the window, watching in silence as Sean stepped back from the horses' heads. When Freddy had tooled off down the lane, Val remained at the window.

“Did he tell you anything during your bout of fisticuffs?” Nick asked.

Val smiled slightly. “He told me he can't fight worth a bloody farthing. Jackson has been taking his money for nothing.”

“A man must deal as best he sees fit.” Darius took a sip from a glass of whiskey, passed a tumbler to Nick and the third one to Val. “You're not satisfied with this outcome?”

“I am not. Still, let's put our statements down for Sir Dewey and see what he makes of it.”

“You are glued to that window, Val.” Nick came to stand at his shoulder. “Whatever for?”

“I don't want Freddy running into Ellen,” Val said. “I told the boys to keep her in town until at least four this afternoon, but she's like my father. When she takes a notion, there's no arguing with her.”

“Rather like you,” Darius murmured, joining them at the window. “And there is Sean with Ezekiel.”

“Gentlemen.” Val passed his glass to Nick. “It has been a pleasure, of a sort. You have my eternal gratitude. I'm off to town.”

“Of course you are,” Darius said. “At a hand gallop, at least.”

“Canter,” Nick decided, “owing to the heat.”

Val left with Darius's final shot ringing in his ears.

“Dead gallop,” Darius bet Nick. “Owing to the
heat
.”

***

To Val's relief, Ellen was enjoying a lady's pint outside the Rooster when a quick cross-country gallop got him to town. Her wagon had sold out again, but Phil and Day—clever, clever lads—told her they wanted to shop at some of the other vendors' booths and stop in at the lending library.

“Sir Dewey.” Val nodded at Ellen's companion. “A pleasure. Ellen, your day has gone well?”

“It has.” She smiled at him, and Val felt his heart trip on the next few beats. Good God, she was lovely. Just sitting here outside the Rooster, cradling her mug in her hands. A little dusty, a little tired, but in her warm, earthy dark-eyed way, she was beautiful. “I think Mr. Belmont should be warned his sons are turning into regular charmers,” Ellen went on. “The ladies adore buying their posies and sachets from those two.”

“Belmont also has a certain charm with the ladies,” Sir Dewey said, “but if you will excuse me, Mrs. Fitz, I see the boys approaching and will ask Mr. Windham to accompany me to the livery.”

“Oh?” Ellen frowned slightly. “Are you to discuss the situation at the estate?”

“No.” Sir Dewey added just the smallest smile to support what Val took for a lie. “I am going to importune him, again, to tune the piano in the assembly rooms before we gather for our summer revelry.”

“You can tune pianos?” Ellen asked, cocking her head at Val.

“I can,” he admitted, wanting to skewer Sir Dewey. “It isn't that difficult once you have the tools and know what to listen for.”

“You really must pitch in, then,” Ellen told him. “Even at the end of the evening, when all have appreciated Rafe's special ales at some length, that poor piano is not a welcome addition to the orchestra.”

“Two fiddles and a tambourine.” Sir Dewey rolled his eyes. “Maybe a guitar, possibly a flute, until Thorn Bragdoll gets bored watching his brothers tromp on women's toes.”

“Which one is Thorn?”

“The one who is too smart to get caught where there's hard work to be done,” Sir Dewey replied. “The runt, for now, though if he grows into his feet, he'll be the pick of the litter. Mrs. FitzEngle, it has been a true pleasure.”

The gentlemen took their leave of Ellen as the Belmonts came bounding up with a few purchases.

“Well, now you've done it,” Val groused as they ambled toward the livery.

“Put you into a neat corner,” Sir Dewey said, congratulating himself. “You don't really mind?”

“That I have to tune a piano? I guess not. I tuned one earlier today and survived more easily than I'd thought I would.”

“And is that all you accomplished?” Sir Dewey asked, stopping in the shade of a venerable oak where they would not be overheard. Val filled him in as succinctly as he could, ending with Freddy's admonition regarding Ellen.

“That is disturbing,” Sir Dewey said. “I've already sent for the reports regarding Francis Markham's death—Belmont suggested I might have need of them—and there is nothing to indicate Ellen was responsible. Her husband was on the mend, and she was observed by all to be devoted to his care and very properly so. Do you know you use her first name in company, by the way?”

“I had not realized.”

“She did not seem offended. Perhaps you should be encouraged.”

“Not likely. I'll bring over the statements regarding today's doings, and you can let us know if they need revision.”

“That will serve.” Sir Dewey fished in his pocket. “If you're going to tune that piano, you'll need this key. The assembly rooms are above the shops on that side of the green.” He pointed over Val's shoulder. “The door is between the bakery and the apothecary.”

“Suppose I have no choice now.” Val stuck the key in his pocket without looking at it.

“None at all.” Sir Dewey grinned as he spoke. “I'll be waiting for those statements, and when you drop them off, perhaps you might be willing to take a certain juvenile canine back with you?”

Val blinked in confusion.

“A puppy? Mr. Lindsey suggested you might take a puppy off my hands at some point. Favor for favor, don't you think?”

“What favor?”

“I spent the entire day watching every handsome swain in the shire tease and flirt with your lady, and that I consider a substantial favor.”

“She doesn't see it.” Val watched as Neal Bragdoll paused to pass the time of day with Ellen. He was a handsome man, big, strong, and capable in matters of the land… and still single.

Sir Dewey shifted to watch Ellen as Val did. “What doesn't she see?”

“She doesn't see that she matters here. She thinks she's invisible.”

“Or maybe,” Sir Dewey suggested, “she wants to believe she is. Talk to her, and come get your puppy. Fair is fair.” Sir Dewey left to fetch his horse, and Val started across the green, only to have his blood run cold.

Freddy Markham was steering his curricle around the square, scanning the market-day crowds as his horses walked along. He stopped just outside the Rooster, bringing his vehicle near the outside table where Ellen sat with the Belmont brothers.

“Why if it isn't my dearest cousin-in-law,” Freddy declaimed, his attempt at a sneer distorted by his split lip.

“Leave her alone.” Val's voice rang out decisively, silencing the crowd gathering at the sight of such a conveyance. “Put your whip to that team, Roxbury, and don't ever show your face here again.”

Ellen's head slewed around at his tone and his words. “Valentine?”

“Lord Valentine,” Freddy corrected her, “but don't get any ideas,
Lady
Roxbury
, he's far above your touch, just as my cousin was. Still, your secrets are safe with me, as I account myself a gentleman, unlike some.”

He had the sense to depart on that note, leaving the crowd to buzz and murmur until Rafe came out, barking they'd best be coming inside to eat or clearing the street so his customers could see his front door. As the onlookers began to disperse, Rafe speared Val with a look.

“I knew it,” Rafe muttered. “I told Tilden, I did. Said you was a lord. Always figured Mrs. Fitz for a lady.”

As people began to eddy and swirl around them again, Val turned to the boys. “Fetch the team and my horse, if you please.” They scampered off, leaving Val seething with a need to do violence—further violence—to Freddy Markham.

“
Lord
Valentine?
” Ellen's voice was low, insistent, and unhappy.

“Not here, though we need to talk.”

“Yes, I suppose we do.”

The trip home passed in silence, with Val on Ezekiel and the boys dozing in the back of the wagon. They took both Zeke and the wagon when Val helped Ellen down, leaving Val and Ellen regarding each other in wary solitude on the front steps.

“I don't want to have this discussion where we can be overheard,” Val said, taking Ellen by the wrist. She'd been so silent, and without a word, Val felt her withdrawing, curling into herself, seeking the only safe place she'd found.

“Where, then?”

“Your cottage.”

“It will be private,” Ellen allowed, but she didn't seem pleased.

Val chose to walk her home through the wood, which had been gradually cleaned up as time from other tasks allowed. As it had the afternoon he'd met her, sunlight slanted enchantingly through the trees, birds sang, and a breeze sent the sturdy, spicy fragrance of the woods into the nose and the imagination.

“I want to kiss you,” Val said, tugging Ellen to a sudden stop. They'd reached the place where he'd kissed her more than a year ago. He wanted to trap her in their woods, shut out the world, shut out the march of time, shut out the impact of the truths bearing down on their future.

To his great relief, Ellen stepped into his arms when he turned to face her.

“You will listen?” Val asked, breathing in the scent of her.

Ellen nodded against his neck. “I promise I will listen.”

They completed their journey with their arms around each other's waists, and Val had the impression Ellen didn't relish this truth-telling any more than he did. When they reached her cottage, she sat him on the swing and brought them each a mug of cider.

“I love you,” Val began, wondering where in the nine circles of hell that had come from. He sat forward, elbows on his knees, and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I'm sorry; that came out… wrong. Still…” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “It's the truth.”

Ellen's fingers settled on his nape, massaging in the small, soothing circles Val had come to expect when her hands were on him.

“If you love me,” she said after a long, fraught silence, “you'll tell me the truth.”