Page 47 of The Devil’s Waltz

Harry had opened one of the windows facing out to the front of the house—probably in the hopes of having him contract a fatal ague, he thought to himself—and the sound of the rider was unmistakable, even on the muddy drive.

He felt a sudden panic—she couldn’t have gone so quickly—and when he looked out he saw to his utter astonishment that Crosby Pennington was dismounting a bay mare that had clearly been hired at no slight expense.

Crosby never rode when he could help it—he loathed the exertion and hated the countryside even more.

He’d been known to turn down offers for the most amiable of house parties if they were too far away from London.

And now he’d suddenly shown up at Wynche End without warning?

How very curious. Maybe his visit was just the thing to distract him from his foolish infatuation.

He finished dressing as quickly as he could, cursing the boots that would have gone on much more easily with Harry’s help, then sauntered down the oaken stairs just as Crosby was removing his dusty greatcoat.

“What brings you to the back end of beyond?” he greeted him as he reached the landing.

“Montcalm, thank God you’re here!” Crosby cried. Since Crosby did his best never to show any emotion other than ennui, Christian was becoming ever more curious.

“I’m here,” he said briefly. “What astonishes me is that you’re here as well. Not that you aren’t welcome, dear boy, but you never leave London.”

“I’ve the most astonishing news and I felt it couldn’t wait until you returned. I cajoled your direction from Henry and took off immediately.”

Every trace of charming sloth had been stripped from his voice, and Christian was instantly wary. “Come into the library and I’ll have Mrs. Browne bring us a bottle and we’ll discuss?—”

“There’s no time for that!” Crosby cried, frustrated.

Now Christian was totally baffled. “There’s always time for a glass of wine?—”

“Christian!” Crosby interrupted. “Your brother is alive!”

He froze. There was no other word for it—he could feel ice flow through his veins, rendering him as incapable of moving as Chippie’s damned statues. “What are you talking about?” he said finally, his voice strained. “My family died more than twenty years ago in the Terror.”

“One of them survived. Your youngest brother was taken by loyal servants and has spent the last fifteen years in hiding. He was finally able to arrange passage from France when someone informed on him. He’d been in hiding in a small coastal village, but he managed to get word out, begging for your help. ”

The words were incomprehensible. Christian stared at him blankly. “How is this possible?”

“You know I have my sources. Freetraders brought the message—they were looking for you. Apparently they were promised a large sum of money if they found you. With such incentive they managed to find me, and of course I came racing after you as any true friend would after suitably rewarding them. By the way, you owe me fifty pounds for the bribe.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Crosby said, clearly affronted. “You accuse me of lying?”

“Of course not. It’s just...I can’t comprehend…

“I’ve got passage waiting for us on the coast. Rough quarters, I’m afraid. The best possible passage is by smugglers’ craft, but I thought you wouldn’t object.”

Christian stumbled backward, sitting down on the landing.

“Of course not,” he said, trying to take it all in.

Charles-Louis, his laughing infant brother, still alive after all these years?

There was still one member of his family he could save, and he’d damn well swim to France if he had to. “How soon do we go?”

“As soon as you’re ready ”

He didn’t argue. “Give me five minutes.”

“Be certain to bring as much cash as you have on hand,” Crosby called after him. “You never know when we might need it.”

, “You’re coming with me?”

“What are friends for?” Crosby replied with a wry smile. “You know you can count on me.”

“Five minutes,” Christian said again. And went off in search of weapons.

The small sitting room was warm, relatively dust free, and the love seat was surprisingly comfortable beneath the tattered coverings.

The tea tray lay on the table next to a small marble statue of Diana that reminded Annelise of the Chippie household, and looking at it made her feel worse.

She turned her back to it rather than have to stare and remember how she’d gotten into this mess in the first place.

She was clean, dressed and well fed, and all she had to do was wait.

She’d had no choice but to put on the riding habit once more, along with some of the plainest of undergarments from the lavender-scented chest. Mrs. Browne had seen to a warm, calming bath and fresh clothes, though she had no choice but to keep the riding boots.

There was no other option—they would serve her well enough while she traveled.

All she had to do was wait for Mr. Browne to return with some kind of conveyance, and she would be gone from this place and the man who didn’t want her.

She refused to feel sorry for herself. She’d known what she was getting into, she’d fallen in love like a mooncalf when she was old enough and wise enough to know better.

She ought to regret the night, and sooner or later she would, but right now she was defiantly glad she had done it.

She had tasted a joy she hadn’t even dreamed existed, and for a few brief hours she had been beautiful and loved. It would have to last her a lifetime.

There would be no child from her precious night of debauchery.

She knew enough about animal husbandry and human bodies to realize the chance of conceiving so soon after her menses was highly unlikely.

He’d made no effort to protect her, something that surprised her in the calmer light of day.

He’d claimed that he had no illegitimate offspring.

If he’d spent many nights like the last one he was certain to have half a dozen littering the countryside.

The thought of him spending similar nights with other women was ridiculously painful, so she dismissed it firmly. It was time to look forward, not into the past, and Christian Montcalm had made it very clear that her future had nothing to do with him.

She ought to be ashamed of herself. In the end she had begged him and he’d walked away.

She could save her pride by knowing that at least her pitiful words hadn’t been in English, but he’d known exactly what she was saying, what she was asking.

And for that she’d always feel a stab of shame.

She shouldn’t have begged. And she wouldn’t again—she’d drive away from this place without giving him another thought.

Annelise had been dozing fitfully when Mrs. Browne came into the room, a troubled expression on her face.

“My husband’s back from town and he’s had some luck, though not as much as I could have wished,” she said.

“The Royal Oak has a carriage to let, but it needs mending, and it won’t be ready to go until tomorrow.

It’s nothing elegant, but it should get you where you need to go, and my Harry’s an excellent driver.

You’ll have me for company, just to keep your reputation in good shape, and we’ll take you to London or wherever you want to go. ”

“I think it’s a little late for my reputation,” Annelise said softly. “And I shouldn’t take you away from your duties...”

“Cleaning up after Master Christian’s selfish messes is my duty,” Mrs. Browne said firmly. “And I don’t care how much he’s inconvenienced. Serves him right.”

Annelise didn’t bother to argue. “But I really can’t stay beneath the same roof...”

“Oh, you won’t be,” the housekeeper said airily. “He’s gone.”

It shouldn’t have felt like a stab to the heart—he’d already walked out of her life, and she’d accepted that fact. That he’d left the house should have been a relief.

“Gone?” she echoed. “Where? Back to London?” Not that she had any intention of returning to the city—her sister Eugenia was relatively close, and she would provide her shelter as long as she needed it. Accompanied by improving lectures, of course, but in this case Annelise deserved them.

“Master Christian’s friend Mr. Pennington showed up and dragged him off without barely a moment’s notice. He didn’t say where he was going and I didn’t ask.”

Did he say anything about me? She wouldn’t ask the question out loud—she already knew the answer. He hadn’t even thought of her as he went on his way to new and sordid pleasures.

But Bessie seemed to read her mind. “He said one thing when he left,” she started. “He told me to make certain you were taken care of, no matter what happened.”

Annelise sat bolt upright. “What does that mean?”

“I have no idea. But I’ve never seen the lad look so grim.

And I don’t trust that Mr. Pennington—I’ve heard bad things about him.

But that isn’t your worry, Miss Annelise, nor mine at the moment.

He’s a grown man—he can take care of himself.

I just wish he hadn’t taken the pistols.

In the meantime you’re safe enough here.

I promise you he won’t touch you again.”

She managed to hide her total lack of gratification at such a notion. “You’ve been so kind, Mrs. Browne,” she said.

“Nonsense. I told you, he’s a good lad at heart, just a little wild.

I’d say he was spoiled but no one’s spoiled him since he came to England.

He learned to make his own way and care for no one, and it’s little wonder that beneath it all he tries to be very hard.

He’s not, really, but you deserve far better than the likes of him. ”

“I don’t believe he was ever a possibility.”

Mrs. Browne sighed. “No, probably not. But you would have been the making of the lad. I’ll bring some nice hot tea, how would that be?”

“That would be lovely,” she replied, her voice only slightly hoarse. She leaned her head against the chair and stared out into the bright afternoon and closed her eyes, drifting off.

The strange noises woke her up. The slamming of a door, the sound of heavy footsteps, a scuffle and a few muffled oaths. She jumped up in sudden hope—Christian must have returned—and as she started for the door it slammed open, nearly hitting her.

Someone filled the entry, someone large and bulky, and in the afternoon shadows she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. “The Honorable Miss Annelise Kempton,” Josiah Chippie’s big voice boomed forth, sounding sinister. “I’ve been looking for you.”