Maggie MacKeever (9 page)

Dillian came from her seat to kneel by Loveday’s feet. Verdelet, disgruntled, curled up in the abandoned chair. “I wanted to frighten you away. You
are
in danger, don’t deny it! I know about that rifle shot. Loveday, if you remain here, they’ll just try again.”

“They?”

“Oh, I don’t know who’s behind it, I wish I did!” To Loveday’s dismay, tears trickled down Dillian’s cheeks. “I don’t want you to die!”

“And I promise you I shan’t,” Loveday said gently. “It wasn’t true, was it? What you said about Averil and your governess?”

Dillian gave a watery chuckle. “No, though he does have a vicious temper. I just wanted to frighten you. Prune-faced Geraldine had a decided
tendresse
for Averil, but he took her quite in dislike. She probably fell.  Geraldine had taken to mooning in the tower, you see, and wasn’t wearing her spectacles. The poor thing was odiously shortsighted. Loveday, you really should leave here.”

Loveday clasped one of Dillian’s hands. “I’m not so fainthearted as to run off now. Perhaps we can discover who is behind all this. And, as Jem must have told you, we’ve nowhere else to go until I come into my majority. There’s nothing else for it; we’ll have to see this through.”

Dillian remained unconvinced. “Could you not go to this Jasper person of yours?”

“He would go off in an apoplexy if I were to deposit myself on his doorstep.” Loveday smiled at thought of the gentleman’s horrified surprise. ”Believe me, Dillian, I should speedily find myself in dire straits if I were to try and hang on Jasper’s coattails.”

“Loveday,” Dillian breathed, “you’re in love with him!”

“Nonsense! We’ve known each other forever,” Loveday retorted briskly, but with a queer little pang in the vicinity of her heart. When Dillian only looked skeptical, she quickly changed the subject and spoke briefly of her midnight visitor.

“It could have been the tower lady, I suppose,” Dillian mused, “though she’s never been seen in that part of the house before. I wonder what she wanted? Maybe to see what you look like.”

Loveday experienced a curious letdown; Dillian was little more than a child, despite her flashes of adult wisdom. A knock on her door heralded Prudence, who bore a hot brick for the bed.

“Sleep well,” said Dillian, and scooped Verdelet into her arms.

Loveday paid scant attention to Prudence’s giggled pleasantries, although she recognized that Jem had found yet another admirer in the jolly maid.

Exhausted by the events of the day, Loveday tumbled into bed. Apprehension about Isolda’s matchmaking mixed with dread of Jasper’s imminent arrival. All that was needed to complete her discomfort was the appearance of Theo upon the scene.

* * * *

Loveday tossed fitfully several hours. Despite Isolda’s and Dillian’s kind wishes to the contrary, she was not destined to sleep well that night. It was while Loveday pondered the relative merits of hot mulled wine and a dull, torpor-inducing book that a slight sound caught her attention. Loveday froze.

The noise came again, as if someone stealthily approached the bed. She peered into the darkness through slitted eyes. Loveday saw a dull glitter, as moonlight caught some metal object, and with the protest of tense muscles, she threw herself from the bed. She was not quite quick enough; a searing pain grazed her side, but Loveday was oblivious to all but terror as she fled from the room.

The halls were dark, and it was not long before she was completely lost. No sounds of pursuit followed her. Loveday stopped, gasping for breath, and tried to visualize the castle’s architectural plan. She didn’t know where Jem’s room was located, and the pain in her side, now that her terror had somewhat abated, was agonizing. With unsteady steps, she resumed her journey.

The flickering light of a candle caught her attention, and she stopped dead still as it approached her. If this was her would-be murderer, then so be it. She was too weak to run, or even hide. Leaning against an ancient chest, she waited, the light spinning dizzily before her eyes. Averil was only in time to catch her as she slid to the floor.

“What the deuce?” He set his candle on the chest and took a firmer grip on his reluctant armful.

“You must forgive me,” Loveday said faintly. “In the normal course of things, I don’t mind ghosts. I find that phantoms brandishing lethal weapons are an altogether different matter, however.”

Averil surveyed her with some amusement. From past experience with her sire, Loveday correctly attributed his flushed face to drink. The duke had, as Jem would say, shot the cat.

“Who the devil are you?” he asked. “My grandmother’s latest charity case?”

Loveday drew away from him, and summoned the last shreds of her dignity. “I am not yet reduced to such straits, Your Grace. I take it you
are
the Duke of Chesshire? In which case, I believe myself to be some distant relative of yours.” She appraised him with a haughty eye. “Your grandmother’s descriptions flatter you!”

Averil was greatly diverted by this shrewish young lady who confronted him like an irate wraith in the gloom. “Yes, yes,” he replied impatiently, “she considers me a paragon. Who
are
you? You look devilish familiar.”

“You’re no doubt referring to my resemblance to my father,” Loveday replied coldly. “I am Loveday Fairchild.”

Amused by the vixen’s haughty demeanor, Averil burst into laughter. Loveday summoned a weak smile. “Oh, dear,” she said ruefully, “you must think me an awful prig. But is it your habit to treat your guests so shabbily?”

Her tormentor smiled, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. As the candlelight accented his features and played along the scar, Loveday mused that ‘devilish handsome’ was the only fitting epithet for the Duke of Chesshire. “No,” he replied softly, “only lovely young maidens who roam my corridors by night, clad only in their nightclothes. I assume you
are
a maiden?”

Loveday blushed, but held her ground. “Coming the Lord of the Castle, sir? I’m entirely at your mercy!”

“You’ve a ready tongue, but I fancy I am master at this game.” Loveday suddenly swayed, and he caught her. “Good God, you’re hurt! Why did you not say so, instead of engaging me verbally?” He swept her into his arms and strode grimly into the darkness.

“You deserved a set-down,” Loveday murmured, and promptly fainted.

“Huffington! Where are you, chowderhead?” Averil roared as he deposited Loveday gently on his bed. The little valet, profoundly shocked by the sight of his master bearing a senseless, blood-spattered female, approached timidly.

“Oh, sir, what have you done? Whatever will the duchess say?”

“Her virtue’s intact, if that’s what you’re nattering about. Don’t stand there like a looby, man! Get me some water.”

“Perhaps Mrs. Snugglebutt would be better prepared to handle this, sir?” Huffington watched in horror as Averil calmly ripped Loveday’s clothing away from the wound.

“No one’s to know of this but ourselves, for the moment, until I find out just what’s going on. Well? Are your feet nailed to the damned floor?” Huffington, realizing that his master was in a dangerous humor, hurried to the dressing stand.

Loveday winced as Averil bathed the wound, as gently as he could. “Remove yourself,” he said to Huffington, whose face had assumed a greenish hue. “I’ll ring if I have further need of you.” Huffington departed, disapproval explicit in every line of his small, spare body.

Loveday stared at the duke, a puzzled expression on her face.

“Excuse me for asking, but whatever am I doing in your bed?”

“You fainted. Not knowing which chamber you’d been given, I was forced to bring you to my own. You said something about a ghost, and someone’s slashed your side quite nicely.”

“Oh, that,” Loveday said vaguely.  Averil brought her a snifter of brandy. She recovered sufficiently to make short work of it.

“Your education has been well-rounded, I see,” he commented wryly, as he took the empty glass from her cold fingers.

So it had. “My father wanted to make sure I did not fall prey to some unscrupulous fortune hunter.”

“Who would ply you with drink and rob you of your virtue, thusly insuring your marriage to him? Quite Gothic, my dear!”

“Quite.” Loveday winced as Averil resumed his assaults on her wound. “He said you were a prime goer after hounds, by the way.” She wondered how Jasper Assheton would react if he knew his attempts to preserve her maidenhood were considered quixotic, and then wondered if his efforts to teach her to hold her drink had been entirely altruistic. She imagined they were.

“Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.” Averil scowled and Loveday suspected that the duke was wishing her soundly to the devil. So much for Isolda’s matchmaking schemes.

 In fact, the duke was thinking nothing of the sort. “You’ve more than enough courage, have you not?” he asked, as he applied the finishing touches to his handiwork and regarded it with satisfaction. “I’ve ruined that gown, I fear. Now suppose you tell me what was responsible for that nasty little wound?”

Chapter 6

“Averil,”
Isolda
said, surveying her grandson
with thinly disguised pleasure, “I vow I am all out of patience with you! You have overthrown my entire household, and I do not know how we are to go on. Everything is in chaos!”

“And well I know it,” Averil replied. “That cursed maid near scalded me this morning.”

“It’s not to be wondered at,” Isolda returned dryly. “You were sleeping in Loveday’s bed. Do you think you might explain? Where, pray, was Loveday? I give you the benefit of the doubt; despite the servants’ gossip, I cannot think you would go so far as to seduce a guest in your own home. And why did Huffington ride for a doctor this morning?”

“One thing at a time, Grandmother! You need not fear for Loveday’s virtue; I’m not in the way of ravishing young ladies of good family. By the way, how comes she to be here? London hums with on-dits about her father.”

“That reprobate!” Isolda made a face. “But first, the incidents of last night, if you please.”

“Grandmother, you are incorrigible.”

Isolda snorted. “Don’t try to flatter me, my lad. Proceed!”

“Very well.” Averil gave his grandmother a terse, abridged version of the previous evening’s activities. “She’ll be perfectly fit in a few days’ time,” he concluded. “The sawbones saw no need for alarm, and said she can get up today, providing she doesn’t overdo.”

Isolda gently drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. “Someone is very frightened,” she murmured. “I wonder who. Did you discover anything?”

“Only this.” Averil casually dropped an ornate dagger onto the table.

Isolda inspected it. “This was your grandfather’s,” she said.

“Oh? I had not seen it before.”

“It has been missing for years. It seems I was correct in assuming Loveday’s stay here would be eventful. I only hope the chit mayn’t be killed before her laggard memory awakens.”

Averil was not dismayed by his grandmother’s cold-bloodedness, for he shared the characteristic with her. “Whom do you suspect?”

“All, including yourself,” was the quick reply.

Averil laughed. “Very well, I’ve satisfied your curiosity, now satisfy mine. What brings the girl here? And why the urgent summons to me?”

“I did not think you would wish to miss the excitement.”

“So you expected something like this to happen?”

“Of course. The girl holds the key to the murders of your father and grandfather, for she witnessed the whole thing. Unfortunately, she cannot remember, or so she claims. She is here because her irresponsible sire was foolish enough to wager her at play, and lost. Her brother learned of it in time to whisk her away, and she came to me, thinking correctly that her papa would not dare to approach me, even if he suspected where she was.” Isolda favored Averil with a quick upward glance. “The chit comes into a sizable fortune upon her next birthday.”

Averil might not have heard. “I didn’t know she had a brother. Why is it I have never heard of him?”

“He is a half-brother, a bastard,” Isolda replied, thus effectively disposing of Jem. “He may also be the means of Dillian’s removal from our home.”

“The devil you say.”

“I do, indeed. I’ve thrown a rub in the way.”

“Why? I’d think you’d be glad to see the last of Dillian.”

“Averil, you take plain-speaking too far! I told Loveday that I would withhold my consent from such a match unless she allied herself with you.” Isolda’s sharp eyes could discern no change of expression on her grandson’s face. After a moment of silence, he replied.

“How large a fortune?” he said. “Perhaps I would not be adverse to such a match.”

Isolda was careful not to show her relief. ‘There’s just one thing that needs to be attended to. Loveday claims to be betrothed to Jasper Assheton.”

Averil stared at her. “Assheton? Are you sure of this?”

“Not at all. I suspect she’s hoaxing me. It has not yet been announced, she explains, for her father could not approve.”

Averil laughed. “You let her fob you off with this Banbury tale? What a clever little puss she is! You were probably too heavy-handed with her.”

Isolda smiled at her grandson. “I like the minx, but she is in sore need of schooling. You’ll need to break her gently, Averil; I would not care to see her spirit crushed.”

Averil did not reply. Came a discreet rap on the door, and Tarbath entered the room. His wild eye wandered even more than usual, a sure sign of distress.

“There’s a Young Person to see you, sir,” he announced, with frigid disapproval.

“Oh, my love!” shrieked Felicity, entering the room and hurling herself into Averil’s arms. She’d taken no chances, but had followed the butler. Having come this far, she didn’t intend to be turned away. “Don’t be angry with me, I had to come to you! London is so dull, I thought I should go mad.”

Mute with rage, Averil glanced quickly at Isolda. That lady, instead of exhibiting shock, was patently amused by the sight of the tearful charmer, clad from head to toe in an unfortunate shade of purple, who clung so determinedly to her grandson’s neck. Averil disengaged himself and took Felicity firmly by one plump arm.