Enchanted Rendezvous: A Tangled Hearts Romance (17 page)

Obediently the guests trooped into the building and looked about them at walls hung with portraits of the colonel’s military ancestors. Busts of heroes throughout the ages were prominently displayed, including a life-size statue of the Duke of Wellington. A Latin inscription, etched in the stone lintel, assured everyone that it was sweet and honorable to die for one’s country.

Lord Brandon examined this tag through his quizzing glass. “So,” Cecily heard him drawl, “this is a military museum. Most interestin’ place, ’pon my honor.”

It was also a very depressing place. Cecily pretended to examine a map that detailed one of the colonel’s many campaigns and wished that the dedication of the museum could be soon over. Unfortunately it had just begun. The colonel cleared his throat, welcomed his guests, assured them that he did not mean to keep them long, and launched into a speech that lasted for half an hour.

Hands locked behind his back, booted legs planted wide, and with medals winking on his
chest, the colonel remembered generals, brave officers, gallant men. He described how the Prince Regent had pinned one of the medals on his chest. He went into intricate details of how the great Wellington had once confided a secret to him. “He said, ’Howard, I know that I can tell you because you are a man of honor whose word can be trusted.’ And he was right. To this day that secret is safe with me. If I were put to the torture, it would still be safe,” the colonel intoned.

Cecily noted that Lady Marcham wore a glazed expression, and that many of the colonel’s other guests were looking definitely sleepy. Another long-winded story, and she herself might—

“I
beg
your pardon, Brandon,” the colonel snapped, “am I boring you?”

Caught in midyawn, Lord Brandon protested, “It’s the smell of fresh paint. Paint always makes me yawn.”

The colonel looked about and realized that half his audience was yawning. He therefore gestured to his servants, who began to circulate with trays of crystal goblets full of champagne.

“We will now drink a toast to England,” the colonel announced. “May Britannia ever be great. Long live the king!”

He swallowed his drink at one gulp and hurled his glass to the floor. Montworthy and the colonel’s other Riders immediately followed suit.

“The purpose of this museum is not only to honor our heroes but to remind us that England is the greatest country the world has seen,” the colonel said. “In order to maintain our position of superiority, we must be ready to make sacrifices. We must also escalate our war with the colonials until they are beaten to the knees. War is inevitable, and we must be victorious!”

One of the colonel’s guests, a portly and prosperous-looking baronet, ventured to disagree. “There might yet be a third meeting at Ghent,” he pointed out. “Gambier and Bathurst and William Adams may forge a peace with the Americans. Considering the cost of a war, I hope they do.”

“Tush, man. Isn’t England more important than any trumpery cost?” the colonel demanded scornfully. “We are discussing Britannia’s honor.”

There was a ripple of agreement, mostly from the colonel’s Riders, and the colonel waxed expansive. “After all,” he asked, “what price can we put on honor? Even Lord Brandon must agree with me there.”

All eyes turned to Lord Brandon, who had folded his arms and was leaning back against a marble bust of Lord Nelson. He shrugged and said, “If you say so, Howard.”

“I do say so.” The colonel leaned forward and fixed his protuberant blue eyes on the duke’s son. “Of course you may share the Duke of Pershing’s views and counsel peace at any price.”

Cecily realized that the colonel was attempting to goad Lord Brandon into open disagreement, but Trevor only shrugged. “As Kirkwood pointed out just now, war costs—fifty-seven million pounds it took to pay foreign armies to fight in Europe.” A ripple of amazement filled the military museum, and Lord Brandon added idly, “England has been at war for twenty-one years. Glorious years, of course.”

“Are you mocking me, man?” rasped the colonel.

“ ’Pon my honor, I’d not dream of it.”

Tapping back a yawn, he began to examine a statue that stood nearby. Howard scowled. He suspected that Lord Brandon was deeply involved with the local smugglers and had wanted to anger him
into losing his temper and incriminating himself. But his opponent was too crafty to be drawn. He must have patience and bide his time.

He turned his attention to his other guests but not before Cecily had glimpsed the look on his face. Suddenly she could no longer bear to be in the colonel’s company. Careful not to be noticed, Cecily backed out of the colonel’s museum into the moonless night.

There she paused, uncertain. Should she return to the viewing stand? Should she wait for Lady Marcham?

“I wish,” Cecily muttered, “that the sorry night were over.”

“Eh, what’s that?” A startled voice exclaimed beside her.

Cecily peered into the dark. “Captain Jermayne,” she exclaimed in astonishment. “What are you doing out here? I saw you conversing with Miss Howard and thought you had escorted her to the museum.”

The captain drew a deep breath that was almost a sigh. “Not me, ma’am. She went with Montworthy.”

So Delinda had had her wish. Feeling very sorry for the captain, Cecily held her peace.

“Fine figure of a man, Montworthy. Corinthian. By Jove, yes. Knows how to talk to females. What the hell—I mean, what could I possibly do? I don’t know the first thing about ladies. Especially top guns—I mean, fine ladies like Miss Howard.”

This time the captain’s sigh was clearly audible. “Miss Howard’s not like other fe—ladies. She’s . . . she’s kind and gentle. She doesn’t laugh at a fellow. To give you words with no bark on them, Miss Vervain, she suits me down to the ground. But then,
why should she look at me when Montworthy is around?”

He lapsed into morose silence, and Cecily forgot her own troubles to say bracingly, “A handsome profile is not everything, Captain. If I were you, I would go back inside the museum and talk to Delinda.”

The captain looked aghast. “But what if Miss Howard doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“You will never know that unless you try,” Cecily pointed out. “Faint heart never won fair lady, Captain.”

Jermayne considered the truth of this. “Never fought shy in an engagement before,” he said at last. “By Jove, no.” Then he jerked his rangy body to military stiffness, saluted Cecily, and marched back into the colonel’s museum.

Not wishing to meet anyone else, Cecily began to walk away from the museum. She followed the garden path and in the topiary garden found a shadowed seat. It was cool and peaceful, and she sat down and waited there until voices indicated that the colonel’s guests were returning to the viewing pavilion. Among them, Cecily was glad to note, were Captain Jermayne and Delinda walking together.

She saw Lady Marcham pass and was about to get up and join her, when suddenly a shadow loomed between her and the night sky and a familiar voice asked, “All alone in the dark, Miss Vervain?”

Cecily rose to her feet as Montworthy walked around one of the topiary bushes. “The fireworks are going to begin,” he announced. “See you’ve found a quiet place to watch ’em from. Quiet
and
private.”

There was no mistaking the insinuating note in
his voice. “I must be going,” Cecily said coldly. “Aunt Emerald will want me.”

“Lady Marcham’s promised to keep Lady Bagge and Mrs. Hovernath company. You don’t want to sit next to
them—pair
of muffin-faced griffins. Better stay here with me, give you m’word.”

Montworthy hardly bothered to mask the triumph that he felt. He had been right all along about Miss Vervain. The country mouse had played out her waiting game, and now the time was ripe. Why else would she have been waiting for him there in the darkness?

Sliding his arm around her waist, he murmured, “Come, m’dear. No need to be coy, eh? No one will see if you give me a little kiss.”

Next moment, he was staggering backward with a hand clapped to his ear. “Touch me again, and I will box the other ear, you loose fish!” Cecily threatened.

James stared at Miss Vervain in disbelief. With her eyes narrowed to slits and her small hands clenched, the country mouse looked more like an outraged lioness. “Now, see here,” he began.

“I see very well,” Cecily retorted. “You are a care-for-nobody, sir. Now go away. Go
far
away, and do not trouble me again.”

Astonished, angry, and shaken, James took himself off. Cecily remained where she was. Her heart was racing as though she had been running, and she had begun to tremble with reaction. “At least,” she murmured, “he will never try
that
again. I should have—”

She broke off as she heard footsteps approaching. “Did I not tell you to go away?” she cried, but broke off as Delinda appeared out of the darkness. “I—I
thought you had gone on ahead with Captain Jermayne,” Cecily stammered.

“The captain is such a kind person. But I . . . I missed another.”

Delinda ducked her head and Cecily said with some impatience, “If you mean James Montworthy, he is not worth your regard.”

“You do not love people because they are worthy or not,” Delinda pointed out. “You love them because you cannot help yourself.”

There was no answer to this. Delinda continued, “I have decided to take measures into my own hands. Cecily, do not eat me—I am going to make a love potion.”

“But there is no such thing!”

“Yes, there is.” Passion filled Delinda’s voice. “In that book of herbs that Lady Marcham has, I found a recipe that guarantees love.”

She drew a deep breath. “To make the potion I need to wear a white dress and unbind my hair, pluck marigolds and wild verbena at the dark of the moon. I must dance a ’stately measure’ as I cull the herbs. If I do this—and I will—my true love will be mine.”

She paused to ask hopefully, “Do you know where verbena grows wild hereabouts?”

“No,” Cecily replied firmly, “and even if I did, I would not tell you. I have never heard of anything so idiotic. Be sensible, Delinda—”

She broke off as Delinda pounded one small fist into another. “I have been sensible all my life. Oh, Cecily, I do not want to watch other girls marry the men of their dreams and have children—I want to love and be loved. You cannot understand how much I want that.”

Her voice faltered into a whisper, and Cecily thought of a moonlit glade and strong arms and
a voice that asked for her trust. Who was to say that Delinda was wrong? she wondered. Delinda was only seeing with the eyes of the heart.

Cecily put her hands over Delinda’s cold ones and squeezed hard. But before she could speak, there was a thunderous roar and the night sky was emblazoned with color. Cecily and Delinda looked upward and stood transfixed as rockets, saxons, star shells, and Roman candles flung themselves against the darkness.

Delinda put her lips to Cecily’s ear and shouted, “We cannot hear each other out here. Come back to the house—we can talk there.”

As Cecily followed her hostess, she saw that not everyone was enjoying the fireworks. Their lurid glare clearly showed the colonel’s massive form standing on the steps before his house. Just then a horseman came riding up.

“That is one of Papa’s Riders,” Delinda shouted in Cecily’s ear.

Uneasily Cecily watched the man swing down from the saddle and race up the stairs to his chief. She could not hear what was being said, but the fireworks lit the colonel’s face, and Cecily bit her lip when she saw the expression on his face. Colonel Howard looked like a pit bull who had scented blood.

Trevor,
she thought.

There was a lull in the boom and blast of the fireworks, and she heard the colonel ask, “You’re certain that the smugglers are carrying contraband?”

His Rider nodded. “A ship was sighted off Robin’s Cove. We waited and watched, and soon Horris and a half a dozen others drove carts down to the cove. Half an hour later they left with their carts loaded
and began to drive them out of Dorset.” The colonel’s Rider paused to add gleefully, “This time, sir, we’ve got them dead to rights.”

Chapter Ten

B
y the red glare of the fireworks, Cecily saw triumph suffuse the colonel’s face. “Who is the leader of the pack?” he demanded.

“A man in black,” was the reply. “He’s taking the road toward the western downs.”

“Man in black—that’s Brandon right enough,” the colonel exulted, and Cecily realized that she had not seen Lord Brandon come out of the colonel’s military museum.

She gave Delinda’s arm a shake. “Fetch Aunt Emerald for me,” she begged. “Please, Delinda. It is most urgent.”

Then she picked up her skirts and ran up the stairs toward the colonel calling, “Colonel, I have been searching for you.”

“Miss Vervain.” Impatience warred with Howard’s habitual air of condescension. “I am sorry, but I cannot stay to converse with you.”

Determined to keep him from pursuing Lord Brandon, Cecily cast about her mind for some convincing lie. “Aunt Emerald desires to—to consult
you immediately on a most important matter,” she said.

She was interrupted by a roar, as if a hundred cannons had gone off at once. The colonel’s house shook, the windows rattled, and Cecily felt jolted to her bones. She stared up at the sky, which was lit by an unholy glow, and when she looked down again, she saw Delinda and Lady Marcham coming up the path. They were followed by Captain Jermayne.

Delinda was speaking, but Cecily could not hear a word until she reached the steps. “The volcano has just exploded,” Delinda was saying. “Such a spectacle—Papa, why are you not watching the fireworks? Your absence was remarked.”

“Make my excuses, girl. I have business to attend to.”

“But, Papa,” Delinda protested, “you cannot abandon our guests.”

“In matters such as this, speed is of the essence.” The colonel seemed to grow in stature and appear even more formidable. “The smugglers have made their move.”

To Cecily’s astonishment Captain Jermayne exclaimed, “Now, that’s interesting. By Jove, yes. Never thought I’d see smugglers in the flesh. I’d like to ride along with you, Colonel.”