Love's Harbinger Read online

  “What has marriage to do with politics, you silly chit! Marriage is business, my dear. You will find your papa don’t look too closely at a man’s politics if the dibs are in tune.”

  “Then I pity Hope, having to live in a squalid room over that noisy paper.”

  This brought a pensive frown to Lady Lynne’s face. “If he actually lives there, then he must have salted away a good deal of blunt. They say in town that he is making a fortune. I wonder if Struthers has already hinted he means to set him up in a house . . .” This notion was dark enough to worry her.

  While they were still discussing the matter, there was a knock at the door. Faith opened it to find the subject of their talk standing with his hat in his hand. “Are the accommodations satisfactory, ladies?” he asked.

  “Fine, thank you,” Faith replied.

  Her aunt was more effusive. “Excellent. Come in, Guy, and let us discuss what is to be done next.”

  “I thought you might appreciate tea after the trip and have arranged for it to be served in a parlor below.”

  “That’s mighty thoughtful of you.” Lady Lynne beamed. “We shall be there in the twinkling of a bedpost.”

  He left, and Lady Lynne hastened to the mirror to adjust her coiffure. Over her shoulder she said, “Pretty good manners for a scribbler.”

  The ladies soon went downstairs and found Mr. Delamar waiting for them in the lobby. He was not alone, but Faith found it hard to believe the elegant gentleman with him could be his employee. The man had an air of breeding and distinction. He wore the buckskins and top boots of a county man, but he was done up in impeccable style. Customers in the lobby turned to look at the two tall, handsome young men speaking in somewhat excited voices and shaking hands as though long-lost friends.

  Delamar saw the ladies from the corner of his eye and beckoned them forward. “Look who I found in the taproom, ladies. I expect you are acquainted with His Grace?” he asked. Their blank and startled faces told him he was wrong in this assumption. “The Duke of Graveston. Harry, this is Lady Lynne and her niece, Lady Faith Mordain.”

  The duke bowed, the ladies curtsied, and all three examined each other with the liveliest curiosity. Lady Lynne was not one to leave curiosity unsatisfied and plunged in to learn what freak of chance had made a duke and a commoner bosom bows, for that appeared to be the relationship between the men.

  “The Duke of Graveston,” she said, trying to place this prominent peer. “But of course, you are old Gouty Graveston’s son. Your country seat is nearby, if I am not mistaken?”

  “Not two miles away. You knew my late papa?” he asked with interest.

  The acquaintance had not been close enough for her to know that the old duke was dead, but as he was, she was free to claim any degree of intimacy she wished. “I knew him very well. A delightful gentleman,” she answered without blinking. “I was so sorry to hear of his passing. And do you come from this part of the country, Guy?” She figured Guy’s family must have worked for Graveston.

  “No, I am from London,” he answered unhelpfully.

  “How did the two of you ever manage to meet and become friends? You don’t spend much time in London, Your Grace.”

  “I am indebted to my youngest brother for the acquaintance,” His Grace explained. “Guy was his colonel in the Peninsula.” Faith heard the word colonel and her head jerked to look at Mr. Delamar. A colonel! He wasn’t looking at her, but she felt he was aware of her shock all the same. The duke spoke on. “Young Beau caught a bullet in his leg, and Guy brought him home when the war was over. We feel Beau owes his life to Guy. Beau is not the only one, either. But of course you ladies know your companion is the hero of Salamanca. I don’t have to tell you about his attack—”

  Guy interrupted swiftly. “This is not the place to discuss war. Won’t you join us for tea, Harry?”

  “I could do with a cup,” he agreed, and the group made its way to the private parlor.

  When they were seated, the duke tried to return to the topic of war, but Guy diverted him with a question. “What do you figure are our chances of dumping Shaft, Harry?”

  “I’ve done what I can to bring our man to prominence,” the duke said, and was easily diverted to this subject. “My people will vote for Makepiece, of course. I took him around to speak at any meeting that promised more than three votes, but Shaft is very strongly entrenched hereabouts after his father’s three terms in office. He’s had plenty of time to buy friends. A pity I hadn’t a rotten borough to offer you, but then I know your views on that subject. Is it the election that brings you to Fareham?”

  “That’s one of the reasons,” Guy answered.

  Faith felt her heart shrink in her breast. The whole ugly story would come out now. Delamar would naturally make inquiries to learn if Thomas had been seen in the neighborhood. The story always came first with him. It made her realize just how unpleasant life would be as the bride of a man with a stain on his character—even an undeserved stain.

  “Are you ladies that keen on politics that you are here for the same reason?” the duke asked. “Or am I being even more obtuse than usual?” he added, smiling from Faith to Guy. He was obviously seeking to discover if there was an understanding between them. Their eyes met; Guy saw the mute plea in hers.

  “I am accompanying the ladies to Bournemouth to visit relatives,” Guy said blandly. Lady Lynne breathed a sigh of relief, and Faith lowered her gaze. She felt a gush of gratitude to this enigmatic man who could always surprise her.

  “If you’re in no hurry, I’d be delighted to put you all up at the Hall,” the duke offered. “Do come, Guy. The trout streams are begging to be fished. And Beau will have my head on a pike if I let you get away without bringing you home. A day seldom passes that he doesn’t speak of you.”

  Lady Lynne smiled her acquiescence at this unexpected treat. A visit to a ducal mansion took precedence over even her five thousand pounds.

  “Perhaps on the way back,” Guy said. “We are in a bit of a hurry, and I must be in town tonight.”

  “I see what it is. The story! But you have a man here to cover that. I’ve met Fletcher. He seems a bright fellow—he can handle it.”

  “The ladies are expected in Bournemouth tomorrow” was Guy’s next excuse.

  “A day or two can’t make any difference.”

  Guy smiled easily at the ladies. “We men are all alike, you are thinking. I daresay Lady Faith’s aunt has killed the fatted calf and arranged flowers and a rout party. A few days can make quite a difference to a fatted calf and a bouquet of flowers.”

  “Then you must stop on your way back to London after you have delivered the ladies, Guy,” the duke insisted.

  “I'll stop to say hello, but I am a working man, you know.”

  “The Harbinger, of course. You’re doing a bang-up job, by the by. I never miss an issue, but I wish I could get ahold of it earlier.”

  “Buy a subscription. I have it sent out on the mail coach.”

  “By Jove, I will!” he said, and reached in his pocket for money. “Clair enjoys your Mam’selle Ondit column, too. I have a tidbit for it if you’re interested in country doings. I have asked her to marry me, and she, being of unsound mind, has accepted.”

  “Congratulations!” Guy said, and shook his hand. “My best wishes to you both. Be sure to tell Clair how happy I am.”

  “Clair who?” Lady Lynne asked.

  “Lady Clair Claversham,” the duke said, smiling fondly.

  “That will be sorry reading in London—that one of the country's most eligible bachelors has been caught in the parson’s mousetrap,” Lady Lynne said.

  “You must come for the wedding. It is to be held in a month,” the duke said to Guy. They discussed this and other matters for half an hour, then the duke left, repeating his invitation to visit.

  “What a fine fellow he is,” Lady Lynne said with a sigh, “and what a pity these prime partis hide themselves in the country during the Season.” Then she turned h
er sharp gaze to Delamar. “You’re a sly rascal, sir, pretending to be no one when you are in the habit of hobnobbing with dukes and duchesses.”

  “I must differ, milady. I never called myself ‘no one.' I am not famous enough for such humility. That opinion was your own, based, I must assume, on what you saw.”

  “What was one to think when what she saw was that miserable little cubbyhole under the eaves of your paper? Where do you really live, Guy?”

  “I have a house in London,” he said vaguely.

  Faith cleared her throat nervously and said, “I did not realize you were a colonel, and a hero.”

  “I thought you would say an officer and a gentleman,” he answered archly. “The mystery is easily explained, if you are interested. I didn’t buy the commission. I won it on the field of battle—in the poor man’s way.”

  “But you must have been an officer at least,” Lady Lynne pointed out. “They do not promote privates or corporals to colonels for no reason.”

  “I was a lieutenant, then a captain and a major. The promotions were not given for no reason, but usually because my superior officer on the field was killed. It was a hard campaign.”

  An uncomfortable silence settled around them. Guy obviously did not want to talk about the war, and though Faith felt an urge to apologize, she didn’t know how to do it without emphasizing her own obtuseness. She could at least show some regard for his present comfort and chose to break the silence in that way. “Where will you spend the night?” She turned to her aunt and explained, “There was only one chamber free at the inn, and Mr. Delamar insisted we have it.”

  “I’ve arranged to bivouac with Fletcher.”

  Lady Lynne quietly observed the new mood of ingratiation in her niece and, like a good officer herself, planned her maneuver. “I must run up and have a rest. I’m rattled to death from travel. You finish your tea, Faith. Shall we meet in the morning, Guy, or must, you remain in Fareham a little longer? Faith said something about our going on alone.”

  “I can leave by nine, if you want to delay your departure that late. Thomas’s ship doesn’t leave till evening.” He looked a question at Faith. She felt the decision rested in her hands.

  Officer Lynne felt the same and hastened to preempt it. “Nine! Good gracious, I doubt if I’ll be out of my bed so early.” She laughed and then whisked adroitly from the parlor. There, she had cornered the quarry, and if she was any judge of a man’s eyes, he was no unwilling quarry, either. She may not weary her eyes with books, but she read faces with great discernment. Whether her niece had the wits to vanquish him was still a matter of grave doubt.

  Faith stayed behind, but her first speech was “I must leave, too.” This said, she did not arise but instead poured another cup of tea. “Before I go,” she said uncertainly, “I want to apologize if I’ve said anything . . . unkind.”

  “You said what you thought. Truth takes precedence over kindness,” he said, rather stiffly.

  “But I thought the wrong things! It was very kind of you not to tell the duke about Thomas. I appreciate that, Mr. Delamar.”

  Her hope was to break down the wall of reserve that surrounded them, but her words seemed to have the opposite effect. The harder she tried to soften him, the stiffer he grew. His face was harsh and his voice like ice when, after a noticeable pause, he finally spoke.

  “You don’t have to thank me. It isn’t time to break the story yet. I have no proof that Thomas is guilty. I have suspicions, and a journalist can bankrupt himself in libel suits if he prints his suspicions as fact. When I have proved beyond a doubt that Lord Thomas is a thief, I’ll print it and let the chips fall where they may.”

  She listened without anger and without surprise. “I know you will. The story always comes first.”

  “Especially this story,” he said grimly.

  She sensed the angry tension in him and knew it must have a more personal reason than the love of truth and justice. A man’s eyes didn’t glow like live coals over inanimate truth unless he was mad. “Why this story especially? Did you put money in the Anglo-Gold Company yourself?”

  “Certainly not. I’m not an idiot. I learned long ago that money doesn’t fall from the sky. Good, honest, hard work goes into it, unless a man is a scoundrel,” he added, with a thought of Lord Thomas. “I didn’t invest, but I know a couple of fellows who did—young men who were officers under my command. The habit of responsibility dies hard. One of them lost a leg at Badajoz and is having trouble finding regular work. He put his life savings into the Anglo-Gold Company—that’s Eddie Proctor. He has a wife and two children. Buck Bellows is—well, he took a bullet in the head and his brain suffered from it. He isn’t able to work. Buck isn’t married. He has a mother and two sisters to support. At the moment, they’re all living on his officer’s half pay in three hired rooms. Your Thomas may be innocent. For your sake I hope he is, but someone is guilty. And by God, whoever he is, he’ll pay.”

  The determination, the vehemence of his words sent a shiver up her spine. She had never seen such an implacable face, but in such a cause she admired his determination. “How awful for them, Mr. Delamar,” she said softly. “Can nothing be done to help . . .” Then she stopped as she realized that this was the reason he was here, chasing Thomas. Thomas couldn’t have taken money from wounded veterans, no one but a monster would do such a thing. She drew a breath sadly and turned her gaze away from Guy.

  When he spoke, his rough voice had turned suddenly gentle. “It may seem hard—unbearable at the moment. I know what it is to love in vain, Faith,” he said softly. She felt the prick of curiosity. Who had he loved? What sort of woman had incited this man to passion? His hand moved across the table and gripped hers. He had never called her by her given name before. On his lips, it sounded warm and intimate. She looked at him in alarm and felt she was observing a stranger. The harshness was gone, leaving a tender glow in his savage eyes. “But if Lord Thomas is what I think he is, you’re better off without him. Only think if you had married him and then learned he was not a man you could love and admire.”

  She looked at their clasped hands. Hers looked small and white and vulnerable in his strong fingers. “Thomas is not what you think, Mr. Delamar,” she said simply.

  He immediately withdrew his hand. The moment of intimacy was over, and he reverted to his ironic, mocking mood. “There is none so blind as she who will not see. As Shakespeare said, ‘Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.’ It applied to ladies as well. You’ll get over him. Next year, Mam’selle Ondit will be writing about the nuptials of Lady Faith with some other gentleman if he cannot report her marriage to Lord Thomas this Season.”

  “Don’t bet any money on it,” she said brusquely.

  “Why not? I’m a betting man. If you’re as certain as you say, let’s place a bet.”

  “I don’t have any money—to spare, I mean. Besides, I’ve never bet on anything in my life.”

  He reached for her hand again, her left hand this time, and fingered her engagement ring. “Bet me this. If you’re wrong, you’ll be happy to be rid of it, and if you’re right, you get it back.”

  “I told you, I don’t wager.”

  “As far as you’re concerned, it’s not a real wager. A wager involves taking a risk on an uncertain event. You do entertain some doubts then . . .”

  “No! I’ll wager if you like. What do you bet on your part?”

  “The monetary value of the ring—about a hundred guineas, I’d say at a guess.”

  “Done!” she said angrily.

  “Clap hands on a bargain.” He smiled and tried to remove the ring.

  “I’ll hold the wager. You can trust me,” she said, closing her fingers over the ring.

  “Yes, but that’s not what . . .” She looked a question at him, and he came to a self-conscious stop. “You are still constant in your affection, then?”

  “Papa always encouraged us to develop the special attribute of our names
. Mine, as you know, is Faith.”

  “You’ll need it,” he cautioned, still in that mocking tone.

  “Then Papa was right in advising me to develop it. I must go now. Good day.”

  She left the room, deeply dissatisfied with his parting words. Her original disgust of Mr. Delamar had gradually eased to acceptance. She had grudgingly come to respect his views when she read his paper and to admire his courage when she learned he was a war hero. She could understand his wanting to help his friends—even admire it. Why couldn’t he understand she must be firm, too, in her protection of Thomas? She regretted having made the bet with him and wondered what he had been about to say before he changed his mind.

  When she entered the room, her aunt was not lying down but rooting through her valise, selecting a change of gown. It was Faith who claimed fatigue and went to the bed. It was impossible not to think of Thomas. She had cringed lest Mr. Delamar announce that he was her fiancé and a thief. What if he was? What if she had given her love, and her freedom, to such a creature? She carefully considered what she actually knew of Lord Thomas Vane.

  He was handsome, the handsomest man she had ever seen. He was lively and fun. But did he have that somewhat necessary item, character? She knew in her bones that Thomas, though a younger son with few prospects, would never have joined the army and gone to fight for his country. He liked high living too much. He liked pretty girls— she remembered, with a stab of anger, the red peignoir—and gambling, fast horses and parties. Those things cost a great deal of money. But would he steal to obtain them? She must have faith in him. Nothing was proven. A dull ache was in her heart. Nothing was proven, but the doubt was there where it had not been before, gnawing at the edges of her love.

  Chapter Six

  A cup of tea, even when taken with a charming young duke, was not enough nourishment to see that fine trencherman, Lady Lynne, through the night. She must go to the bother of rigging herself up in an evening outfit and the expense of hiring a parlor and ordering dinner herself, but even this wasn’t enough to deter her.