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“So I deduced when I learned you’d received two letters, express, from Surrey,” Lord Frederick said.
Ashmont didn’t ask how or where his uncle learned it. Obviously, he had spies everywhere. More than likely, a few resided under Ashmont’s roof. His uncle had been his guardian. Furthermore, the servants were afraid of him. Few outsiders would understand how this could be, for a milder-looking older gentleman with a more innocent countenance was not to be found in all of London or, possibly, all of Great Britain.
“Yes, it’s rather complicated,” Ashmont said. “You see . . .” He frowned. “That is, I think I’ve got the gist of it, but bless the girl, she uses a deuced lot of words.”
“And, if it is not too private a matter, the gist of it is . . . ?”
“She was drunk,” Ashmont said. “She’d taken brandy for her bridal nerves, you see. Only it didn’t calm her, and so she bolted.”
Lord Frederick’s lip twitched. “Ah.”
“Ripley tried to bring her back, but when she wouldn’t be brought back, he made himself her bodyguard. Eventually he got her safe with his aunt, but because of her—Olympia, that is—he had an accident, and she feels—” He picked up the letter, turned over a page and read, tracing the lines with his finger, “‘obliged to stay at Camberley Place, to prevent his making his injury worse, his being a male and possessing a morbid aversion to good sense.’ But don’t you know, sir, Lady Charles didn’t mention the accident. Odd, isn’t it?”
The haunted look flickered briefly in his lordship’s face, then vanished. “Not at all,” he said. “Her ladyship can be inscrutable. A useful quality in managing her spouse, among others.”
“Not the least use to me,” Ashmont said. “But never mind all that. She—Olympia, I mean, offers to let me off the hook.”
“Hmm.”
“She says, ‘No reasonable person would expect you to marry me now.’ But I’m not reasonable, dammit!” Being unreasonable, he found himself too baffled and upset to care whether Lord Frederick stayed until Doomsday.
Ashmont marched to the decanter, filled two glasses, and handed one to his uncle.
“I don’t mind telling you, I don’t understand,” the duke said. “Of all the damned things. If only we’d arrived later, or stayed longer, cold welcome or not, Olympia and I could have settled matters then and there.” He drank. “Now I’ve got to go back to Camberley Place because Olympia thinks I care what anybody says. I said I’d marry her, didn’t I? Does she think I’d go back on my word, because she had a fit of the blue devils or megrims or some such and ran?”
“In brief, it wasn’t Ripley’s joke, after all,” said Uncle Fred thoughtfully.
“No, he only meant to unload her on a female relative, then come back and tell me where to collect her. But things kept going wrong. Then he went and broke his arm or something.” He glanced down at the letter. “No, it was to do with his foot, but she uses words of twenty syllables to explain it. ‘Incapacitated,’ she says. And he says—”
“What Ripley says doesn’t signify,” said Lord Frederick. “You are not going to Camberley Place. This is a more delicate situation than you seem to recognize, which does not surprise me, considering the kinds of women with whom you usually associate. I cannot be surprised at your failing to know how to behave with a respectable girl.”
“You said she’d never have me, but she said yes.”
“And you didn’t have the sense to hold on to her.”
“I didn’t let her go. She—”
“Have you any idea what you’ve got? Do you imagine women like that are everywhere, only waiting patiently for you to come to your senses? That young lady possesses the intelligence and strength of character to become a settling influence, which you badly need.”
“Yes, I know she—”
“You think you know, but you don’t. You are throwing away what promises to be your one and only chance of true happiness. Your father couldn’t help what happened to your mother. But at least he had those years with her. You’ll have nothing. You’ll look back, years hence, and regret.”
If this was the voice of experience speaking, Ashmont failed to hear it, in the same way he failed to notice the untypical emotion in that voice.
“Why does everybody blame me?” he said. “I wooed her, didn’t I? You said I’d be wasting my time. She’d never have me, you said. She was too intelligent, you said. But—”
“You couldn’t get her to say ‘I will,’ could you?” said his uncle. “And if you think you’re in no wise to blame, I invite you to take a look at yourself. Even bathed, shaved, and dressed in fresh clothes, you look villainous. Worse than a sailor after three days’ shore leave. No, I do sailors a disservice.”
“I was in a fight!”
“You’re always in a fight. This time it shows. You can’t simply explode upon a young woman who is, I don’t doubt, in a highly agitated and confused state.”
“I wasn’t going to explode!”
“Take a long, hard look in the mirror, Lucius,” said his uncle. “If she shied before, if she had doubts about your character or anxiety about your behavior, do you think she’ll throw herself in your arms now?”
Ashmont clenched his hands.
“Do you mean to hit me?” his uncle said mildly.
“This is intolerable,” Ashmont said. “You can’t expect me to stay here, doing nothing.”
“Learn to tolerate,” Uncle Fred said. “I expect you to remain in London until you’re more presentable in body and mind. I shall go and talk to her.”
Ashmont unclenched his hands and stalked to the window and looked out. “While I remain, so that every Tom, Dick, and Harry who fancies himself a humorist can twit me, asking where my bride’s got to. And while the satirists draw my image with cuckold horns.”
“You seem not to realize that you’ve been a joke for some time now.”
Ashmont’s face darkened, and he turned sharply away from the window.
“You can fight everybody who finds your antics amusing,” his uncle said, “or you can show a little dignity and maturity for once, and laugh. If you can’t devise an amusing retort to the mockers, ask Blackwood to compose one for you. But if you want to do something useful, write a letter to Lady Olympia, declining her offer to release you. Make it a good letter. On second thought, I had better dictate it.”
Friday 14 June
The long-absent sun had finally deigned to send its beams through the windows of Camberley Place’s east wing when the Duke of Ripley, swearing, maneuvered a mechanical chair out of the study and into the library.
Lord Charles had built the study along an outward-facing wall within the library, close to its southern end. Next to it, a narrow passage led to the staircase to the Long Gallery, directly above. Even with a part given over to the study, there remained a library extending some one hundred feet, nearly the full length of this wing of the house. It held a great many
more obstacles, though, in the way of tables, chairs, footstools, and sets of steps than did the gallery above. Being above, however, the Long Gallery was barred to Ripley.
His feet rested on the raised footboard and his hands clutched the handles that extended from the chair’s arms. Turning the handles—alone or together—moved the chair in various directions. The trick was remembering which combination of turns in which direction moved the chair which way.
After jerking himself about, right, left, and in a circle, he grasped both handles and turned both toward himself.
The chair shot backward, and he heard a little shriek behind him. Yanking the handles the other way, he darted forward. With a growl of frustration, he turned both handles right, and the chair turned right, and right again.
He heard footsteps approach.
“Perhaps, duke, you might wish to read the instructions,” said Lady Olympia.
He was aware of the hairs at the back of his neck rising at the sound of her voice. “No,” he said. “If my grandmother could steer this thing, I certainly can.”
She came closer and walked around him. “This doesn’t look like any invalid chair I’ve ever seen.”
“They were all the rage at one time,” he said. “Don’t know how many were made. Merlin’s Mechanical Chair.” He patted the worn handle. “Uncle Charles often talked about visiting Merlin’s Mechanical Museum in Princes Street. He bought this for my grandmother.”
She crouched to study the arrangement of metal rods connected to the wheels. “This is rather more intricate than what one usually sees.”
She wore another of his aunt’s dresses, plain and grey, except for the white neckerchief tied about her throat. The sleeves were narrow, boasting only a small pouf at the top of the arm. The bodice was equally severe. Like a coat, the thing buttoned from neck to hem. Though this one fit better than the one she’d worn yesterday, it didn’t fit as it ought.
Her thick brown hair was better. It had been put up simply, with a few coils at the back of her head, and some curls framing her face.
