Never to Part (7 page)

Eldridge hurriedly pushed back the chair. He stood with enough force that it toppled over behind him. “Then I shall do it. No one shall smear the Blanchard name with impunity.”

“You shall do no such thing,” Richard commanded coldly.

Eldridge stiffened. But beneath the baron’s hard gaze he wilted. Drawing a bright pink silk square from his jacket he sniffed delicately into it. “Then at least have a care for the Dremore Treasure. Or give me leave to search for it.”

Gunby quirked his brow and tilted his head toward the broadsheet on the table.

“You can waste all the time you wish searching for that blasted treasure,” Richard scoffed.

Fastidiously tucking the pink square away, Eldridge pursed his lips in displeasure. “You know as well as I that your mother is loath to share the clues with me.”

“The ‘treasure’ is safe, as it has been for the past two centuries,” Richard scoffed.

“Your reputation is not safe with the Strattons near at hand,” Eldridge advised. He bowed and withdrew.

His ire touched by that parting shot, Richard clenched his jaws as his cousin strolled out of the breakfast room.

“You should have challenged him years ago,” Gunby offered. “Why you have tolerated Blanchard over these past few years is beyond my understanding.”

“He’s harmless enough,” the baron returned icily. He stared at the broadsheet on the table. Unwillingly his thoughts turned to and lingered on Daphne Stratton. He could almost envision her sitting at a desk gleefully composing doggerel designed to embarrass him.

“I take it the treasure is mentioned,” Richard flicked a finger toward the penny sheet.

“That and far more. There is, I am sad to say, a reference to your mother that is, err, not kind.” Gunby flinched when Richard bolted from his chair.

The baron snatched up the broadsheet. His headache was full-fledged by the time he finished reading the rhyming attack. “Of all the unconscionable,” he began but bit off the rest. He strode back to his chair and fell into it.

“There is little chance your mother will see it,” Gunby said gently. “As she is ill and not receiving—”

“The servants will know of it,” Richard cut him off. “They shall be bursting with it. You know there is little she cannot worm out of anyone,” he added morosely.

“Could it be the Stratton chit?”

Richard clenched his teeth. Who else had reason to attack him and his family? Eldridge had not escaped ridicule in the doggerel verse making the likeliest suspect the least likely.

 * * * *

The morning after Lord Dremore learned of the denigrating penny sheet Daphne stared into the dregs of her teacup. She feared the leaves forecast a very bleak future. Her brother had been out all night yet again.

The sound of the front door banging open penetrated the small room where they took their meals. Wild laughter echoed. It preceded Geoffrey Stratton as he stumbled in and lurched to a halt beside the table.

Tossing a crumpled penny sheet on the table, he collapsed into a chair. “Read that,” Geoff said with a wild wave of his hand and loosed a desperate laugh.

“You promised you would not over imbibe,” Daphne noted softly, wishing she could see his aura. “Did you also gamble?”

Enunciating each word with effort Geoffrey snarled, “I am of age. As head of the family, I will do as I wish.

“That,” he nodded towards the paper, “may yet save us. Dremore won’t dare call in my voucher when this spreads among the ton.”

Daphne tamped the urge to scream at this proof of further profligacy without a shade of guilt. It helped that her brother was a sickly shade of green, his eyes sunken, his frame thinner. “I thought debts of honour were to be met at once—unlike tradesmen’s bills,” she said. With a moue of disapproval at his attitude she smoothed flat the crumpled paper then began to read. Disbelief rose like a swarm of gnats. A chill swept through Daphne. She could scarce stifle a gasp.

“Master Geoffrey, a lad brought this.” Saddie held out a grubby folded sheet. “He said it was to be given only to you.”

“Get me a glass of brandy,” Geoffrey snarled. He snatched the sheet. His eyes widened as he read.

Crushing the paper in his hand he threw it at her. “Why’d you write that drivel?” he demanded of Daphne angrily. “He’s taken his revenge,” he half-cried.

Trepidation skittered along Daphne’s nerves at sight of the second sheet. Her brother had not looked so ill since their father’s death.

Still grappling with the implications of the first sheet, Daphne gingerly picked up the wad of the second and straightened it. She gasped at the scandalous verse deriding the Strattons—Geoffrey and she in particular. “Dear Lord.”

Geoffrey lowered his head to the table. “There is worse to deal with than that crude verse,” he mumbled.

“Drink this. You’ll be better,” Saddie said at his side.

“Lord Dremore could not have,” squeaked Daphne, then swallowed hard. “Please bring me a small glass of brandy and one for you as well,” she told Saddie.

“What is it, Miss Daphne?” The thin woman stood taut, worry and concern sharp on her features.

“Disaster,” moaned Geoffrey.

Daphne stared at the two rumpled sheets. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. She picked up the first with two fingers. “Why would you think I wrote this?”

Raising his head, his face twisted in a mulish cast, Geoffrey snorted. “That part about Dremore’s mother. Figured you thought to get your own back.” He sneered and loosed a cruel chortle. “The haughty baron outdid you.”

Conflict warred in Daphne. If her brother thought her guilty of the first broadsheet, Lord Dremore had probably drawn the same conclusion. But would that have prompted him to put his hand to the second set of vile verse? Had she truly misread the man by so wide a mark?

“Why do you think I wrote this attack on Dremore and his mother?” Daphne asked again.

“Who else?”

“You for one,” she countered. “I know nothing of how to go about getting something this scandalous published, much less hawked on the streets.”

“Don’t cut the innocent with me,” Geoffrey accused. “You were ever the blue stocking—able to do whatever scheme suited you.” He rubbed his brow. “It matters not,” he sighed.

“It does matter if you have lost another £200 to Lord Dremore,” challenged Daphne. Ire coloured her cheeks when the truth lurked in Geoffrey’s downcast gaze.

“How could you,” she blurted. “How will you ever find the blunt to pay such a debt?”

“Watch your language, miss,” Saddie reproved. She shook a finger at Geoffrey. “This is poorly done of you and with no solution at hand I dare say.”

Geoffrey raised his head, his spirits recovered. He cast a triumphant grin at both. “There you are wrong. I have arranged a match for Daphne with Mr. Jason Wardick. He is to dine with us this eve.”

“A match for me!?”

“Who is Mr. Wardick?” demanded Saddie.

“You can’t be serious,” Daphne protested.

“He is willing to give blunt enough for you so that I may settle the worst of my debts,” Geoffrey returned sharply.

“You cannot sell me,” Daphne reproved acidly. “I am of age. I shall refuse his offer.”

“At least meet the gentleman,” Saddie interposed gently.

Ignoring Miss McRae, Geoffrey quaffed the rest of his drink and heaved to his feet. “You forget your promise to Father to have a care for me. If that’s not enough, remember that you are not of independent means, sister dear,” he snarled. “Unless you can offer a better solution, do as you are told.

“We dine at eight,” he ended.

Daphne held her retort back. Her brother was still foxed and could not be reasoned with until his mind cleared. She looked from one broadsheet to the other.

Only a person who knew of Geoffrey’s gaming and his gambling debts and the reason for her abrupt dismissal from Heart Haven could have written the one.
Who could it be?

An answer wavered to the fore in her mind. Richard.

My lord Dremore
, Daphne thought with a determined lift of her chin.
I would your ‘treasure’ answer my need rather than my liberty be sacrificed to do so.

“Daphne, what shall we do about this eve?”

A light knock on the breakfast room door startled both women. They turned as one.

“Good morn,” Eldridge bowed to Daphne. “The front door was open and no one answered my knock.” He slowly approached Daphne.

“What is wrong, Miss Stratton? May I be of assistance?”

“A slight headache after a poor night’s rest,” she told him. “What brings you out at such an early hour, Mr. Blanchard?”

His gaze went to the two broadsheets on the table. “I feared what your brother would do when he discovered your name besmirched.”

Daphne and Saddie exchanged a silent questioning glace.

“Has Stratton not returned home as yet?” he asked.

A lie.
His aura told Daphne the dismay in his voice was a lie. “You think my brother will attempt to do something about the broadsheet?”

“He is youthful and brash. I feared he may rush to challenge Dremore.”

Truth
. He believed the baron had written the broadsheet. This stunned Daphne despite her own suspicion in that regard. Unwilling to accept it completely, she grasped with gratitude that Geoffrey had not made the situation worse with a duel. An instant later she feared he would seek out Richard once his head cleared.

“You mustn’t tell him you think Lord Dremore is responsible for—for this,” Daphne gestured at the offending penny sheet.

“As you wish,” Eldridge said with bow. He glanced at Miss McRae and then at Daphne.

“May we speak privately? But with doors open,” he added.

Satisfied propriety would be met in this way Saddie left the room.

Eldridge sighed and then offered, “I couldn’t help but notice how upset you are. A member of my family is responsible. I am honour bound to assist you in any way you wish.”

Despite his friendly demeanour Daphne saw black flare in his aura. Instinct screamed not to trust the man. She hesitated.

“I learned Dremore succeeded in luring Geoffrey into rather heavy wagers again last eve,” Eldridge continued, regret weighted his words. “Perhaps a loan?”

“Mr. Blanchard, I cannot accept anything from you,” Daphne protested.

“Then I shall have to find some other way to help you.” He cocked his head. “I hold you in high regard, Miss Stratton.”

Lies. Should I reciprocate? Why not
? “Mayhaps you can be of assistance.” Audacity coloured Daphne’s cheeks. “My brother is presenting a suitor to me this eve. He insists I must wed to resolve our financial difficulties.”

“Would that I could offer for you,” Eldridge said dejectedly. “Sadly my circumstances do not permit me to take a wife at this time.”

Daphne conjured the semblance of a blush. “I ne’er meant that you should offer for me, Mr. Blanchard. No, I merely thought to gain some time with a false betrothal. I do see now that it would not suit. I am sorry to have mentioned it.”

“Nothing would have pleased me more, were it possible,” Eldridge assured her. “But perhaps there is another way to avoid this match. Could not the Dremore Treasure solve both of our problems? Perhaps we could work together to find it?”

A chill skittered up Daphne’s spine at the greed colouring Eldridge's aura. His mention of the treasure also disturbed her as in a dream the night past the first Baroness Dremore had urged her to hunt for the Dremore Treasure.

 * * * *

Lady Laurissa watched Sir Joshua Overton grimace sourly as he perused the penny sheet she had placed in his hands the moment he arrived. When he raised his eyes from the she sheet she said, “I am certain Miss Stratton had nothing to do with this—this vulgar tripe.”

“Just as Richard had nothing to do with the first salvo?”

“Of course he did not—”

“Calm yourself my dear,” Sir Joshua said. “When your summons arrived I presume you had some countermeasure in mind.”

“I do apologize.”

“That is what old friends are for,” he soothed. “Do you wish my assistance? I am ready to do whatever you wish.”

“There is a—a packet I would like you to see delivered. I do not wish it be learned that either of us had a hand in it.”

Sir Joshua arched a brow. “’Tis nothing harmful?”

“Of course not,” Lady Laurissa said. She picked up a brown paper wrapped package and handed it to Overton. The dowager saw his surprise when he gazed at the name of Daphne Stratton writ upon it.

“’Tis his script,” she confirmed his suspicion. “Lord Ricman’s that is. He—they have no reason to harm the gel.

“Besides, there is another with Richard’s name writ on it that I shall deliver.”

For the next three mornings Daphne broke her fast in the kitchen to avoid an encounter with her brother. She sipped hot tea and considered the disastrous dinner.

Mr. Jason Wardick had proven a thin snivelling little man past his seventieth birthday. His aura was the dull lime yellow of pea soup gone sour portending stinginess at the least. He slurped through and complained of each course.

After dinner he took Daphne’s hand firmly in his dry scrawny one. Despite her best effort at maidenly retreat, he maintained his grip on it. Worse, he attempted to press kisses on her when Geoffrey left them alone after dinner.

Miss McRae slipped into the kitchen. She carefully closed the door behind her. “This packet just arrived for you,” she told Daphne. Hurrying to her, Saddie chuckled at the young woman’s dismayed grimace.

“I doubt ‘tis from Mr. Wardick,” she chuckled. “Ne’er did hear such a shrill scream from any man afore. Sounded like a cockatrice about to be beheaded. Are you certain you only trounced upon his foot?”

The old lecher’s grip, his foul scented breath, and leering mouth full of decayed and missing teeth still haunted Daphne. She shuddered involuntarily as she accepted the package.

When it was unwrapped a large rather stained envelope lay beneath a dried sprig of laurel.