Page 68 of Dangerous Illusions (Dangerous #1)

G IDEON HAD SPENT THE previous day reading documents, and the morning going over estate business with Barton.

They had intended to ride out before noon to visit tenants who had requested assistance of one sort or another, but that plan was changed when, just before eleven o’clock, a footman showed Viscount Penthorpe into the estate office.

“Daresay I’m expected at Tuscombe Park,” Penthorpe said when he had shaken hands with Gideon and been introduced to Barton, “but I must have passed the turn St. Merryn told me would take me across the moor. Next thing I knew, I was looking at the River Fowey, and I said to myself, it would be a good thing to drop in and visit you for a few days before going on.”

“Procrastinating again, Andy?” Gideon said with a weary smile.

He had not slept well. His thoughts seemed wholly taken up with matters that had nothing to do with estate business, and his ability to concentrate on things his steward wished to tell him had suffered as a result.

He was glad to see Penthorpe. “Come along with me, and we’ll order up some food, for you won’t want to wait until five o’clock to dine. ”

“I have grown rather accustomed to dining whenever I take a notion to do so,” Penthorpe said, following him upstairs to Jervaulx’s book room and looking around with approval. “Good view of the river and a cheerful fire. Very pleasant.”

“It is my father’s favorite room and has become mine as well. Sit down, Andy. How long do you mean to stay?”

“Trying to get rid of me already, old son?”

“Not at all, but since St. Merryn made no bones about wanting you wedded to his daughter without further ado, I must suppose he will be looking for your arrival with no little impatience.” Seeing without much surprise that his friend did not return his smile, he added gently, “Blue-deviled, Andy?”

“No, no, not in the least. What stuff you say, Gideon! Good God, why should I be blue-deviled? Going to marry an heiress, ain’t I? Bound to bring me a pretty penny when the old lady pops off her hooks. Stands to reason, no sensible fellow could help but be delighted.”

“You had better not count on controlling that money,” Gideon said, pouring two glasses of wine from the decanter on a nearby side table and handing one to him before ringing for a footman.

“I’ve learned a bit about Lady Ophelia, and I can tell you she has more than a nodding acquaintance with the Chancery Courts.

I’d wager a pretty penny, she will see that money tied up so that no mere male can ever get his hands on it. ”

“Is that right?” But Penthorpe did not seem particularly concerned. He stared moodily out the window at the river, saying nothing at all for several minutes. Then finally, and with an air of extreme casualness, he said, “I suppose Seacourt and his family are at home now, too, are they not?”

“I suppose so. I have heard nothing one way or another, only the same declaration you heard, that he intended to take his wife home and keep her there.” He watched Penthorpe’s profile carefully, but there was little reaction other than a slight tightening of his jaw. The viscount had himself well in hand.

A moment later Penthorpe turned and raised his glass. “To your very good health. I saw your father the day before I left. He was looking well, I must say, and actually greeted me as if I were someone and not just a bit of muck beneath his feet.”

Gideon replied suitably, but as he kept up his part in the desultory conversation that followed, he tried to think of a way to get Penthorpe to speak more plainly.

He was nearly as sure as one person could be of another that Penthorpe had no real wish to marry Daintry and only insisted he did because of social constraints, but since Lady Susan was married and there was no acceptable way to oust Seacourt from the picture, he could scarcely appeal to Penthorpe to declare his true position on the score of thus being able to secure his own happiness.

At last, having thought of no better way, when Penthorpe paused to sip his wine, Gideon said bluntly, “Look here, Andy, you don’t really want to marry Daintry Tarrant, do you?”

Penthorpe choked and sputtered. Snatching a handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, he dabbed at his mouth and looked in dismay at the spots on his coat.

“Look what you’ve made me do. Those spots will never come out, and my valet will yap at me like a damned lapdog.

Of course I want to marry her. Haven’t I said so time and again.

And even if I didn’t—Lord, Gideon, even if that were true, you certainly couldn’t expect me to admit it, so don’t go startling a fellow like that again, will you? ”

Gideon sighed. “I had hoped we could be plain with each other, Andy, but if you think I cannot be trusted with your honest feelings in this matter, of course I will say no more.”

The door opened to admit the footman, responding to Gideon’s ring, and after Gideon had requested food to be served within the hour and the man had bowed his way out again, Penthorpe said sourly, “You see what comes of such nonsense. Suppose I’d been fool enough to say just then that I didn’t want to marry the wench—not that I said any such thing, mind,” he added, keeping a wary eye on the door.

“But even if I were to own that I should be happy to hear that a certain Captain Hackum had been given notice to quit, what then? It ain’t going to happen, Gideon, and since it ain’t, my best chance at happiness lies along the path I’ve chosen. Well, don’t it?”

“I cannot think how.”

“But it’s as plain as a pikestaff! I can do nothing for her as things are, but as a member of her family, I’ll have a chance to see her occasionally, to offer her some slight protection.”

Holding his temper in check, Gideon said severely, “That’s a damned poor reason to marry Daintry, my friend.”

“Is it? I can’t think of a better one, and not only am I betrothed to the wench but St. Merryn means to see it through and I’d look like a dashed reprobate if I were the one to cry off.

” He met Gideon’s stern gaze and said impatiently, “Oh, well, since we are being plain with each other, I’ll own that I’d change things if I could.

I’ve spent hours plotting how to be rid of Seacourt.

It even occurred to me that I might contrive matters so it looked as if the fellow had murdered me, and then once he had been hanged for it, I could reappear, hale and hearty, to ride off with his wife across my saddle bow.

But that is the stuff of daydreams, old son, nothing more,” he added morosely.

Gideon chuckled. “With your luck, Andy, the dream would turn into a nightmare. Seacourt would get himself acquitted of the charge, and when you reappeared, he really would murder you. And he’d get off scot-free, too, because he could not be tried for the same murder twice, you know.”

“The law,” Penthorpe said with a sour look, “is chuck full of ridiculous notions, to my way of thinking.”

“Now, there you agree with your betrothed,” Gideon told him, remembering the scene in his father’s court with a certain fondness.

“She holds a very low opinion of English laws. Told my father they were unfair to women, and though he did his best to persuade her otherwise by pointing out that women retain all sorts of rights under law and are even given license to run up debts, commit crimes, and bear bastard children for which their husbands are then held accountable, I doubt if he succeeded in convincing her that the law is at all fair to the weaker sex.”

“Stubborn wench,” Penthorpe muttered.

“You’ll have your hands full,” Gideon said.

“Anyone would, but look here, man, I’ve given my word, and that is all there is about it. Moreover, as I said, I’ve reasons of my own for desiring the marriage, and it’s not as if anyone else wants the wench. Good God, who would?”

Gideon held his peace. Time enough to confess that he wanted her himself when he knew that she would look kindly on his suit, and that her father could be convinced to accept a marriage between the two families.

In the meantime, he changed the subject and did his best to cheer Penthorpe out of the dismals.

They were finishing their meal when Clemons was shown in.

He followed the footman into the book room, prompting the man to say apologetically, “I beg your pardon, my lord, but he refused to remain in the hall. Said he had to put that parcel into your hands personally, and without delay.”

“You may go, Robert,” Gideon said, seeing that Clemons was fairly bursting to speak. “What is it, Clemons?” he demanded when the footman had gone. “Did your mistress send you? Surely, not just to return that package!”

“No, my lord,” Clemons said, pulling the letter from under the string and setting the package down on the table. “She wanted you to have this at once, sir.” He glanced at Penthorpe. “I don’t know if I ought to say more, my lord.”

“Don’t bite your tongue on my account, man,” Penthorpe said, getting to his feet. “I’ll leave you.”

Gideon waved him back. “Don’t go, Andy. This man is Daintry’s groom.

Lord Penthorpe expects to marry your mistress, Clemons, so the sooner he knows what’s amiss now, the better.

” As he spoke, Gideon broke the seal and unfolded Daintry’s note, finding another one tucked inside.

He read hers first, then hastily read the other, his expression hardening as he read.

“What is it?” Penthorpe demanded.

Gideon glanced at Clemons, made his decision, and said crisply, “I am going to trust you to keep a still tongue in your head, Clemons, because I think we may need your help, but if I ever hear that you’ve mentioned a word—”

“I won’t, sir. I know how to keep mum.”

“Good man. Here, Andy, read these.”

Penthorpe read quickly, and for once he did not show the least inclination to procrastinate. Twenty minutes later both men had changed to riding clothes and armed themselves.