Slowly turning, Lydia stared out the window at the two waiting coaches and considered her options. The hired coach was the smaller of the two; a party of four could be accommodated but certainly not more. The Roseberry Hall coach, however, could seat six in a pinch, though it would not be a comfortable journey. Even five would be uncomfortable.… But, well, there had to be consequences for such inconsiderate behavior.
“You shall not be forced to wait, Cora. There is no need.”
“I will be expected to care for the little ones, Lydia. I can hardly shirk my duty.”
“Stuff and nonsense. We are ready; they are not. I won’t have you squished into a carriage because of their tardiness. They won’t thank you for the sacrifice, either. No, we will go together. Besides, I need a chaperone.”
Cora laughed, only slightly, but it was the first time in days that Lydia had seen her smile. “I can hardly be your chaperone; we are of an age.”
“True.” Lydia returned her smile. “That might lift an eyebrow or two. Still, we are companions, and that will have to serve. Come now, the longer we argue, the more the delay.… And I will triumph in the end, you know. I always do.”
“You usually do. It is not the same thing.”
Lydia’s smile broadened into a grin. She could feel good humor trickling back into her psyche when she realized that a timely arrival was still possible.
Turning toward her footman, Lydia straightened her perfectly placed bonnet. “Hugh, could you tell the ladies, when they arrive, that we have gone on ahead. Time and decorum now dictate that we go straight to Mr. Lynch’s, but we will wait for them there before going any farther.” That should keep complaints of impropriety at bay.
Chapter 6
In which there is a rude awakening and an informative carriage ride
Many hours earlier, before dawn had even thought about peeking over the horizon, a distant pounding had awakened Robert from a deep, and deeply needed, sleep. It sounded like a fist hammering on the front door of his town house, but Robert ignored it. Longdon would send the interloper away. He rolled over and returned to the ethereal world of dreams.
Within moments, or so it seemed, the pounding became more insistent. This time, it sounded like a fist beating against Robert’s bedroom door. He knew that to be unlikely, bordering on impossible, and he once again closed his eyes. However, the squeak of the door hinge startled Robert into a fully awake state.
“Sir?” a voice drifted toward Robert from the far side of the room.
“Yes, Longdon. Is there a problem?”
“I’m afraid it’s Mr. Cassidy, sir.”
“Cassidy? Lawks! Has he done himself an injury?”
“In a manner of speaking, sir. He’s so far in his cups he couldn’t remember how to get home.… An’ he sent the chair away what brought him. I put him in the study for the time being. Do you want me to make up the spare room?”
Robert resigned himself to the inevitable. “Yes, indeed. Thank you, Longdon.”
Dropping his feet to the floor, Robert grabbed his robe and shoved his feet into his slippers. He hastened down the stairs with a little apprehension. Usually his friend sought his company at a more reasonable time of day—certainly not in the wee hours of morning. And while Cassidy was always cutting up a lark and making a mull of something, he was not prone to such overindulgence that he couldn’t recall his own address.
Perhaps he had had another set-to with his father. Yes, that could precipitate excessive drinking and not a bad memory, but no desire to find his way home.
Opening the door to the study, Robert was pleased to see that Cassidy was still upright, sitting in one of the wingback chairs by the unlit fireplace. Unfortunately, he held his head in his hands and swayed in a manner that had Robert glance around the room for a receptacle of some sort, just in case. The ice bucket was the closest possibility.
“You don’t look your best, my friend,” Robert said quietly.
Of that there was no doubt. Robert had known Vincent Cassidy all his life, growing up on neighboring estates, and Robert had never seen his friend quite as … well, he looked green—bile green. His brown hair was clumped rather than carefully arranged around his long face; his deep-set eyes were more like canyons; and his nose looked sore, as if it had suffered a collision with something solid—such as a wall or floor.
Lifting his head, Cassidy smiled weakly. “Foxed, I’m afraid.”
“So foxed you don’t remember the way home? A pretty story—one that worked on Longdon. But I am less gullible. What is it really? Did you have a set-to with Lord Tremont again?”
“What? Oh, no. Father isn’t even in Bath right now. No, this is worse … so much worse.”
“Really. Best you spit it out, but wait, let me sit. I only just woke up, you know, and my faculties are not yet fully engaged.” And so saying, Robert chose the chair opposite to watch for signs that might necessitate the use of the ice bucket. Perhaps his faculties were working better than he had stated.
Robert waited, and waited, but Cassidy seemed more inclined to stare at the carpet than discuss what it was that had brought him to Robert’s door. “I’m all ears.” The prod didn’t produce much more than a start, and Robert suspected that Cassidy was drifting off to sleep. “Well, I can only assume that you have reconsidered the dire nature of your problem. Let us find our beds, and you can tell me tomorrow … um … later today.”
“No.” Cassidy’s head shot up, and he flushed as the volume of his objection produced an echo. He continued in a more subdued manner. “I can’t believe what I have done.”
“So, tell.” Robert shrugged; it was feigned nonchalance. Apprehension was climbing back into his lap.
“I have accepted a challenge.”
The bald statement brought with it a swirl of dismay, horror, and memories. Robert had not been present when his brother stood in front of a bullet, but he had been there for the duel’s aftermath—the blood and glassy eyes, his mother’s sobs, and his father’s laments. Robert’s recollections were still so raw they brought pain with them—true physical pain. The relentless cramp in his gut was superseded only by the ache in the general region of his heart.
Robert’s silence must have penetrated Cassidy’s fogged brain, for he sat up straighter and cringed at some unexpressed thought. “Didn’t mean to, Robert. I don’t even know what I did to cause the insult. Really, truly. I was just sitting at the Black Duck with some of my fellows.… Hmm, can’t remember who was with me. Well, I was just sitting there minding my own business. We were laughing and joking, and then everyone looks up … over my shoulder. Someone says, ‘I will not allow such liberties. You must answer for your words.’” Cassidy shook his head and sighed … and lapsed into silence.
Robert, too, shook his head, though not likely for the same reason. He waited, but Cassidy was once again lost in his thoughts. “And you calmly said, ‘I apologize, no insult was intended.’”
“Hardly. Wouldn’t be here, then, would I?”
“No.”