Lord Libertine

“Hate to dash your hopes, sir, but I am what I am.”

“What you are is a good man, Drew.”

He couldn’t contain his snort of laughter as he closed the library door behind him.

Martha O’Rourke waved her hand listlessly in front of her face. “Take them wherever you want, Bella, as long as you keep your eye on them.”

“Couldn’t you come, too, Mama? We will wait while you dress. The fresh air will do you good,” Bella said, without any real hope that her mother would agree.

“Fresh air? Is that what you think I need? As if that would change anything.” She dropped her hand into her lap and gathered her dressing gown tighter at the neck. She glanced at Gina and Lilly, hovering behind Bella. “You should be in proper mourning.’ Tis disrespectful of Cora to have you prancing all over London as if nothing were wrong.”

“No one is ‘prancing,’ Mama.” Well, except for her, and she was wearing proper mourning. She tried again. “Lilly and Gina have barely been out at all.”

“Nor should they be. Why, in my day, ladies did not leave the house for months. Months, Bella.”

But her mother had not allowed her that luxury. Someone had to deal with the details, and with Mama unable to cope with even the smallest matters, that task had fallen to Bella. “I…I will take Gina and Lilly to a dressmaker for mourning clothes, Mama. Will three each be enough? A walking gown, tea gown and dinner gown?”

“Yes. Yes, three each. And you too, Bella. You look absurd in my cut-downs.”

Bella glanced down at herself. Was it true? Had people been laughing behind her back? Mr. Hunter hadn’t seemed put off by her appearance, and she would imagine he’d be a severe critic. “Yes, Mama. We shall be home before tea.”

Martha collapsed against the chaise cushions again. “Mind you, do not let them out of your sight. Cora would be alive if only you’d paid attention.”

Bella winced. Guilt had become her bosom companion without Mama’s frequent reminders. She turned and followed her sisters from their mother’s private parlor.

“…wish it had been Bella,” she heard her mother tell Nancy, the maid. “Cora was always so sweet.”

The quick stab in the pit of her stomach was back again. That was happening more and more frequently these days. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and a thick lump formed in her throat. She would not cry again. She would not. Oh, but in a deep, secret part of her, Bella wished it had been her, too. Anything would be better than this constant purgatory she was living in.

“She didn’t mean it, Bella,” Gina whispered as they left the town house, Lilly trailing as she tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet.

“Yes, she did. She’d rather it had been any of us but Cora. She was always Mama’s favorite. That is why she thought she could do as she pleased. And now Mama can scarcely bear to be in the same room with me.”

“She has always been harsher with you, Bella. I think it is because you are like Papa—smarter than she, and stronger, even though you are her daughter. And yet, what would she do without you? We’d still be moldering behind closed doors after Papa’s death if you hadn’t coaxed her from her bed and pushed her back into society—and that was seven years ago!”

“What would she do without me? Why she’d have you, Gina. I fear you and I have all the sense in the family, and that Lilly and Cora…well, they were gifted with charm and beauty.”

Gina sniffed. “We are not lacking in charm or beauty. More than one lad has said so.”

“And I shall hope you will have a chance to prove that. For myself…I am only charming when it suits me. A monumental shortcoming, but there it is.”

“I have seen you charm birds from the trees, Bella.”

“When it suits me,” Bella reminded her. “I am brash and unpleasant the rest of the time.”

Gina laughed, and Lilly caught up to them as they entered the promenade beside the bridle path along the Mall. She said yet another silent prayer that no one would recognize her from her nightly excursions into the ton. She hated taking the risk, and yet there was no other way to keep her sisters occupied during the day.

A little farther along, they crossed the path and emerged on the street at their dressmaker’s shop. Madame Marie had made their presentation gowns, and now she’d make their mourning gowns.

* * *

Lockwood’s voice still ringing in his ears, Andrew had run into Daschel at Angelo’s, his fencing master’s salon. According to their tutor, he and Dash were equally matched, so they’d been paired for practice. They’d foregone masks and gloves in favor of unimpaired vision and grip. Neither of them were inclined to give quarter, so the bouts were arduous, with frequent lunges and parries.

Other students had gathered to watch them, and Dash was playing to the crowd. Truth to tell, Andrew knew his friend was a better swordsman, but he was apt to let overconfidence cloud his judgment. It was his one weakness, and one that Andrew occasionally exploited.

Daschel scored the last hit of the bout and Andrew gave him a flourishing bow. With a grin and a clap on his shoulder, Dash suggested a ride through the park before they went their separate ways. It only took them a minute to hang up their swords and collect their horses.

“Are you joining us at Bedlam tonight, Drew?” Daschel asked as they turned their mounts onto the path.

“Depends,” he hedged.

“On whether you find Lady Lace? Egads, man. If you really want her, we can arrange something.”

“Make a business agreement?”

“Or something more straightforward.”

“No. I am enjoying the chase. I cannot remember the last time I’ve had such a challenge.”

“How long do you intend to play your little game? And what if, in the meanwhile, she chooses another?” Dash asked. “I do not think you have long to claim her. In fact, I just might try my hand at capturing the lady.”

A sick feeling of jealousy settled in Andrew’s stomach, and he glanced sideways to see if his friend was jesting. There was a flicker of something he couldn’t identify in Dash’s dark eyes. Mirth? Or was it something more daring? “Are you suggesting a competition, Dash?”

“One hundred guineas to whoever beds her first.”

“Pistols at dawn first,” Andrew murmured.

Dash guffawed. “That bad, eh? Well, I suppose I must wait until you’ve finished with her, then.”

Choosing to ignore Dash’s comment, Andrew broached the subject that had been on his mind since his conversation with Lockwood. “D’you ever think of…Spain?”

Dash was silent so long that Andrew wondered if he’d heard the question. “I’ve done my damnedest to forget,” he said after a moment. “But, yes. I think of it from time to time. Why?”

“The subject came up with Lockwood earlier.”

“Is he still after you to tell him what our unit did? What we saw?”

“I think he knows. Lockwood knows everything, but he believes confession is good for the soul. What do you believe, Dash?”

“Confession? Surely—if you want to hang. But there’s no need for that.”

Andrew doubted his friend’s conclusion that there was no need for him to hang. The secret was like acid eating through what was left of his soul. His conscience was already calloused, and he feared he didn’t know right from wrong anymore. “I was in command. I should have—”

“You can’t spend your life second-guessing your decisions, Drew. For Christ’s sake! There were five of us under your comment. None of us knew what to do. You, at least, contained the situation and kept it from the reports.”

Andrew dismounted and started leading his horse. And remembering. Of the six of them assigned to covert duty, only he and Dash were left. Three had been killed in Spain, and Richard Farron had been killed in a duel within a week of his return to England. Richard had been hell-bound for destruction. And there were still days when Andrew wondered why he and Dash hadn’t met a similar fate.

“I will never tell. You have my word upon that, Drew.” Dash dismounted and joined Andrew.