A Hazard of Hearts Read online

  Chapter Two

  “Vulcan is late,” the Earl of Gillingham remarked, stretching his long legs a little further over the hearthrug and reaching out languidly towards the glass of wine at his elbow.

  “Not yet,” Sir Peter Burley answered, “and I will wager you a monkey, Gilly, that he will be here before the hour strikes.”

  “Done,” Lord Gillingham replied and raised his eyes to the big marble clock ticking away the minutes on the mantelshelf.

  At that moment there was the sound of voices outside and Lord Gillingham commented,

  “Damn me, Peter, but I believe you have won.”

  But when the door opened it was to disclose a woman’s figure wrapped in a scarlet fur-trimmed mantua, the hood framing a lovely laughing face.

  The two gentlemen jumped to their feet.

  “Isabel!” Lord Gillingham exclaimed.

  “Good evening, Gilly, I did not expect to find you here, nor you, Peter,” Lady Isabel Calver said, dropping a little mocking curtsey before she went up to her brother and kissed his cheek. “You are looking extremely handsome, Gilly. Have you found yourself a new charmer or have you been winning at cards?”

  “Neither,” Lord Gillingham retorted and then added sternly, “Explain yourself, Isabel. What are you doing here?”

  “The same as you, I imagine,” Lady Isabel replied. “Good evening, Peter.”

  She held out her white hand to Sir Peter Burley and smiled at him bewitchingly as he raised it to his lips.

  “Drat it, Isabel, you know what I mean,” Lord Gillingham insisted. “There is no party here tonight, at least none was planned when Vulcan invited us to dine with him.”

  “We will make it a party,” Isabel smiled, letting her scarlet cloak fall from her shoulders into Sir Peter’s arms and moving towards the fireplace, her gauzy dress of green net revealing rather than concealing her lovely figure.

  “You have come here uninvited,” her brother said accusingly. “Stop baming, Isabel, you cannot dine with Vulcan unchaperoned.”

  “Unchaperoned?” Lady Isabel echoed. “Is not my most devoted brother chaperone enough? Besides, who is to know? And I want to see Justin.”

  “I thought you were in Bath,” Lord Gillingham said.

  “So I was until yester eve,” his sister replied. “But the coach was so monstrous slow and I was so weary after the journey that I went straight to bed and slept till noon today, otherwise I would have let you know that I had returned.”

  “That still does not account for your presence here,” Lord Gillingham pointed out.

  “Upon my soul but you are persistent, Gilly,” Isabel sighed. “I have told you that I want to see Justin. I only opened my eyes at noon, but I vow before I had taken even a sip of my morning chocolate, I was regaled by some wild tale of Justin’s latest indiscretion. I drove round here during the afternoon only to be told that he had gone to Mandrake to his mother, but that he would be returning tonight and that you and Peter were dining with him. Now are you satisfied?”

  Lord Gillingham met Sir Peter’s eyes as he stood at the other side of Lady Isabel.

  After a moment’s pause he asked,

  “What was the – er – wild tale you heard?”

  “Don’t pretend to me, Gilly,” Isabel said sharply. “You have heard it too. All London is humming with it and I want to know the truth from Justin’s own lips.”

  “Which tale are you referring to?” her brother asked. “There are so many.”

  “I know that,” Isabel said sharply “and I have heard most of them. The new on dit is that Justin staked his freedom at cards and won a bride.”

  There was a moment’s silence and then she stamped her foot.

  “Well,” she asked, “is it true?”

  She had only to glance at the faces of the two men confronting her to know that it was and she gave a little exclamation that was half a cry just as the clock on the mantelpiece began to strike the hour.

  “Do you hear that, Gilly?” Sir Peter Burley asked triumphantly, but even as he spoke the door opened and the Marquis of Vulcan, booted and spurred and wearing an exquisitely cut grey coat trimmed with pearl buttons, stood before them.

  “I was delayed, gentlemen,” he said, “but I know you will forgive me.”

  He strode into the room, pulling off his driving gloves and throwing them to an attendant footman. When he saw Lady Isabel, his eyebrows were raised for a moment and then he went forward suavely, taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips.

  “Your servant, Isabel,” he said. “This is an unexpected pleasure.” Then turning to Gilly, he said, “Well, Gilly, what news from White’s?”

  He seemed to fill the room with his presence. His personality was overpowering, almost stupefying. The Earl of Gillingham was a tall man, but the Marquis dwarfed him.

  “Justin,” Isabel said quickly, her eyes raised to his so that he could not fail to see the pleading in their depths or the slight tremble of her red lips. “Justin, I had to see you.”

  “Exactly! And I am here,” Lord Vulcan replied smoothly.

  “I only returned from Bath last night to learn that all London was talking about you,” Isabel began.

  Lord Vulcan held up his hand.

  “Spare me the tattling of childish minds, at any rate until after we have dined and wined. I have driven straight from Mandrake and I am thirsty.”

  “How long did it take you?” Sir Peter asked.

  “Not more than five hours,” Lord Vulcan answered him. “I only changed horses twice. My new greys are magnificent. They are well worth the one thousand guineas I paid for them.”

  “You must be tired,” Lady Isabel said solicitously.

  “I am never tired when I am driving,” Lord Vulcan replied, “but I am a trifle stiff and the Dover Road seemed monstrously crowded for the time of year. Methinks there are too many people seeking the South coast for it be the lure of the golden sun.”

  Lord Gillingham roared with laughter.

  “The golden guinea is more likely. I hear that the smugglers grow bolder every day and that the French are more interested in building guinea boats than in winning the War.”

  “The French know which is the more profitable,” Lord Vulcan said and turned to take the glass of wine that a footman in claret and silver uniform was proffering him. “You will join me, Isabel?” he asked.

  She shook her head and Lord Vulcan, taking the glass, raised it to her in a silent toast before he drank.

  “Dinner is served, my Lord.”

  The butler spoke from the doorway and Lord Vulcan, setting down his glass, held out his hand to Isabel.

  As they walked to the dining room ahead of the two men, she whispered for his ear alone,

  “You are not angry with me for coming, Justin? I had to see you.”

  “Angry?” he replied, not speaking in a whisper, but lowering his voice slightly. “Have you ever known me angry with you?”

  She gave a quick sigh.

  “No, Justin. Sometimes I wish you would be. It would show me that I could at least raise some emotion within you.”

  He smiled a little cynically.

  “You women are all the same, never content with a man as he is.”

  Isabel would have made some retort, but she stifled the words on her lips. She heard a bitter note in his voice and remembered that he was invariably in a cynical mood when he returned from seeing his mother.

  They entered the gold and cream dining room where a footman in claret and silver livery stood behind every chair. A hundred wax tapers in the glittering, iridescent chandeliers cast a mellow light over the long polished table heavily laden with gold plate and ornamental vases filled with orchids. In the great wine coolers bottles of champagne rested on ice. Half a dozen crested crystal glasses to hold the different wines to be served during the meal were laid beside every place.

  Lord Vulcan sat at the head of the table with Isabel on his right.

  The meal was long and varie
d. Course after course was brought in on huge gold plates. The Marquis’s chef was famous and a special sauce of white grapes and oysters was served with the fillets of beef, while tenderloins of veal were garnished with truffles and cream. While the servants were in the room, it seemed to be Lord Vulcan’s object to talk of trivial things and to avoid the subject which he must have known was prevalent in the minds of all three of his guests.

  At last the dessert was put on the table, everyone’s glass was filled and the servants withdrew.

  Lord Vulcan looked from one face to another and said softly,

  “Speak! For the restraint you have put on your tongues is ageing you before my very eyes.”

  “This wager, Justin,” Isabel began excitedly and the pent-up emotions within her came rushing through her lips like a full tide.

  “One minute, Isabel,” her brother interrupted. “Justin, you have heard about Sir Giles Staverley?”

  “That he was killed in a duel?” Lord Vulcan asked. “Yes, I heard it yesterday.”

  “He got himself killed deliberately,” Lord Gillingham said and there was a frown between his eyes. “You have heard whom he challenged?”

  “Blacknorton!”

  “Yes, and he himself fired into the air.”

  “Poor fool,” Lord Vulcan muttered.

  “Blacknorton crossed to France the same afternoon,” Sir Peter Burley interposed. “The betting is that he will be back within six months. It is a relief to be rid of him even for so short a time. He is a crafty fellow and I never liked him.”

  “Nevertheless he is a fine shot,” Lord Vulcan remarked.

  Isabel looked from one to the other.

  “Is Sir Giles Staverley the father of this girl? I did not hear the name. What relation is he to Nicholas Staverley?”

  “Uncle, I believe,” her brother replied.

  “Of course, I remember now hearing him speak of his uncle.”

  “Nicholas Staverley is one of your beaux, is he not, Isabel?”

  Isabel shrugged her shoulders.

  “A dead bore though doubtless very worthy. But it is not with him that we are concerned. Justin, it is true then about this girl?”

  “Whether it is true or not depends on what you have been told,” Lord Vulcan remarked, leaning back in his high-backed chair and sipping his wine reflectively as if he savoured every mouthful.

  “Justin, you will drive me distracted,” Isabel cried. “Are you going to wed her?”

  There was a pregnant silence before Lord Vulcan’s answer came quietly in his usual tone of bored indifference,

  “I have not said so, have I?”

  “How can you be expected to marry anyone you have never seen?” Lord Gillingham asked. “The whole wager was ridiculous, you should not have accepted it.”

  “I swear I was but trying to do the fellow a good turn,” Lord Vulcan drawled. “I had won considerable amounts from him on other occasions and I was willing to offer him his revenge.”

  “So in a moment of generosity,” Isabel said sarcastically, “you took from him his fortune, his house and his daughter’s hand in marriage! Fudge, Justin, that tale is too smoky, you cannot expect us to believe such Fairy stories where you are concerned. Let’s hear the truth. You have some scheme for getting hold of the eighty thousand pounds without saddling yourself with the girl? Come now, Justin, tell us the truth.”

  Lord Vulcan smiled.

  “The plots evolved in your pretty head, Isabel, far exceed my imagination.”

  “Then you don’t deny it?” Isabel exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly. “Oh, Justin, I felt they were all wrong when they vowed that you would marry the girl.”

  “Has anyone seen Miss Staverley?” Sir Peter asked. “Lady Rohan avers that she is pitted with smallpox and is as fat as a Jersey cow.”

  Isabel laughed.

  “I’ve heard that she squints,” her brother said. “As a matter of fact I think all the talk about her is only speculation. Nobody has actually seen her as far as I can make out and Nicholas Staverley, who could have told us all we wanted to know, left for the country the morning after the duel.”

  “When did all this happen?” Isabel asked.

  “About ten days ago,” her brother answered.

  “Ten days ago,” Isabel repeated, “and you have done nothing about it, Justin?”

  She spoke in tones of the utmost relief.

  “To tell the truth, my dear,” Lord Vulcan replied, “the whole episode slipped my mind. My mother sent for me, there were things to be seen to at Mandrake, and until a guest at dinner last night mentioned that Sir Giles Staverley was dead, I had forgotten the whole episode.”

  “Upon my soul, Justin, that is pretty cool!” Lord Gillingham remarked. “You win an estate, a famous house and a bride with eighty thousand pounds and it slips your memory. If anyone else said so, I would think they were teasing, but, by gad, I believe you.”

  “Thank you, Gilly,” Lord Vulcan said gravely, “and now since you have brought it all to my notice, I suggest that we go down and inspect my new property.”

  “When? Tomorrow?” Sir Peter asked.

  “Tomorrow,” Lord Vulcan echoed. “Why the delay? Why not tonight?”

  “But, Justin, that is impossible,” Isabel expostulated.

  Lord Vulcan smiled at her.

  “Nothing is impossible, not where I am concerned at any rate. Gilly, Peter and I will go and see for ourselves the wonders of Staverley Court and the charms of my squinting pockmarked bride. I believe that the place is not more than twelve miles out of town. We can go there and be back before midnight.”

  “Gad, but I would not miss it for a fortune,” Sir Peter exclaimed.

  “I am coming with you,” Isabel asserted firmly.

  “Now, Isabel, don’t be so ridiculous,” her brother expostulated.

  “I am not going to miss the excitement. You will take me, won’t you, Justin? And a fig for Gilly’s endless sermonising. He is constituting himself my duenna and I swear that I cannot even breathe without his croaking about the damage I am doing to my reputation.”

  “If you only knew the things that were being said about you,” Lord Gillingham groaned. “You will be barred from Almack’s before very long. You see if you are not.”

  “Fah! Who cares for Almack’s?” Lady Isabel asked with a derisive gesture. “It is monstrously dull most evenings.”

  “All right then, if you must be a rattlepate, you can go your own way,” Lord Gillingham said.

  “As long as it is Justin’s way,” Isabel replied, looking at Lord Vulcan with a longing in her eyes that she made no attempt to conceal.

  But the Marquis did not look deep into her eyes then as she wished he would, nor was he any more responsive when, half an hour later, she sat beside him in his phaeton and they set off at a sharp pace from the door of the Grosvenor Square mansion.

  Lord Gillingham was driving in Sir Peter Burley’s curricle and they had arranged to race Lord Vulcan to Staverley Court once they were clear of the narrow London streets. The stakes were two thousand guineas.

  It was not a warm night, for there was a touch of frost in the air, but Isabel, wrapped in her fur-lined cloak, its hood framing her pretty face, was impervious to cold.

  She was, with the unimportant exception of the groom perched behind them, alone with Justin and that was all that mattered. She had been longing to be alone with him not for days but for weeks and months.

  She loved Justin and had vowed to herself that she would marry him. Having been spoilt all her life, it was difficult for Isabel to visualise any object that could not be obtained once she had set her heart on it. Her parents, who loved her devotedly, had made no attempt to check her headstrong impetuosity.

  So much so that when, a day before her seventeenth birthday, she ran away with a penniless Officer in the Dragoon Guards, her family forgave her and received her back into her own home immediately the honeymoon was over. That the young Officer in question was kill
ed fighting a year later came as a relief not only to his people-in-law but also to his own wife. When the excitement of her elopement was over, Isabel found lack of money and dissimilarity of tastes were tiresome appendages to romance.

  On her mother’s insistence the year’s mourning had been reluctantly observed and doubtless she would have broken even this tradition had not her father died and she been forced to be at her mother’s side in the country.

  At the first possible opportunity, however, Isabel came to London. She had hardly had time to make her debut before her marriage. Now she savoured not only the gaieties which should have been hers when a girl but also the more heady excitement of flirtations and intrigues which were invariably to be found by a beautiful young widow wanting only to enjoy life to the full.

  She made herself the subject of a good deal of conversation by her madcap escapades before she met the Marquis of Vulcan. After that there was no limit to her daring and to her defiance of the more sober social conventions.

  She was well aware that Justin was not in the good books of the more respectable London hostesses. She knew that eyebrows were raised and shoulders shrugged when she sought his society obviously and openly on every possible occasion. But Isabel did not care. She was in love for the first time in her life and she went at it tempestuously and without a thought for anyone’s feelings save her own.

  To her astonishment she seemed to make little headway where Justin was concerned. He neither encouraged nor discouraged her.

  It was no secret that his ‘light of love’ was La Flamme, a beautiful French dancer, who had recently appeared at Vauxhall Gardens and who was the toast of all the bucks of St. James’s.

  Justin was her acknowledged protector, but Isabel did not care how many La Flammes there were in Justin’s life. It was marriage she wanted from him and she believed that she would succeed where every ambitious Mama had failed for the last ten years.

  “Now I can talk to you,” she said to Justin, snuggling a little closer to him as they started off into the night.

  The moon was rising and it was not dark. Justin’s profile, clean-cut against the sky, gave Isabel a thrill. How handsome he was in his many-tiered cape and a high beaver hat. His eyes were fixed ahead, his fingers busy with the reins. They were moving fast, but Justin was an incomparable whip and Isabel knew that she would never be afraid with him.