Gayle Buck Read online

  THE HIDDEN HEART

  Gayle Buck

  Chapter One

  It was raining. The gray water hit the leaded windowpanes in a steady monotonous sheet. It looked cold outside, which made the warmth of the drawing room all the more congenial to its occupants. The room was ablaze with candlelight, only the farthest corners holding thin, wavering shadows, and a fire snapped cheerily in the fireplace behind the grate.

  A footman silently and unobtrusively poured wine into the glasses that stood at the elbows of each of the fashionable gentlemen. The servant slipped quietly from the room without any of the four gentlemen having taken particular note of either his entrance or his exit.

  The gentlemen’s attention was focused on the playing cards in their hands. One gentleman’s heavy brows were knit with the complexity of his thoughts. Another sprawled in a careless fashion in his chair, his thin lips curled in a lazy half-smile. Opposite them, the third gentleman sat with half-drooping lids, seemingly near asleep. The fourth, who was also the host of the impromptu card party, reached absently for his newly filled wineglass.

  Lord Edward Heatherton, whose habitual expression of perpetual anxiety had deepened along with his concentration, broke the silence. “Dash it, Miles!”

  The Earl of Walmesley set down his wineglass. He looked over the table at his frowning guest and gave a quiet laugh. “What, dicked again, Nana?” Lord Trilby asked, not unkindly.

  “One should never bet against a man in his own house,” intoned the third gentleman without opening his eyes.

  Lord Heatherton, who was known affectionately to his closest cronies as “Nana” for his constant worrying, cast a fulminating glance at the sleepy-eyed gentleman. “All very well for you, Carey. You have lost but a pittance this night, whilst I...! But how was one to know that Miles’s wretched luck would do such a complete about-face? I ask you! It is quite unfathomable. And it is no good saying one shouldn’t bet against a man under his own roof, for it ain’t true. Why, not two days ago in this same room, Miles scribbled a fistful of his vowels to us all.”

  There was general laughter about the table.

  “You are a fool, Nana,” said the thin-lipped gentleman in a tolerant fashion. He picked up his glass and threw back the wine in a quick swallow.

  Lord Heatherton appealed to the earl. “Well, one couldn’t have known, could one, Miles?”

  “No,” agreed Lord Trilby.

  “This is the last hand for me,” Viscount Weemswood suddenly announced. He stared into his wineglass, not bothering to guard his cards.

  Lord Heatherton turned his head sideways so that he could see the cards thus exposed. He puffed out his cheeks in dismay and shook his head. Mournfully he said, “I am all rolled up twice over.”

  Upon the viscount’s announcement, the sleepy-eyed gentleman abruptly sat up. Mr. Carey Underwood, now demonstrably wide-awake, demanded, “You’re never going to attempt it in this weather, Sinjin.”

  The gentleman addressed raised his gaze to meet his friend’s alarmed eyes. His sardonic half-smile widened. “Why? Have you laid your ready on me, Carey?”

  Mr. Underwood swore. “You know very well that I have! And I don’t wish to see my investment thrown away during the course of one of your freakish starts, my lord.”

  The Earl of Walmesley, who had remained silent, listening, eased his shoulders against the back of his chair. He yawned lazily before saying, “Come, Carey, Sinjin will hardly be so unconscionable as all that.”

  “There you are out, Miles. Sinjin cares for nothing while in the throes of one of his black tempers. Aye, nothing suits his lordship better than to set us all on our ears,” Mr. Underwood said bitterly.

  “You don’t mean to set out in this storm, do you, Sinjin? The horses will do no good in it,” Lord Heatherton said, his heavy brows puckered low over his soulful brown eyes. He sighed. “I’ve plunked down a pony on you myself, you know.”

  Viscount Weemswood glanced at the Earl of Walmesley. “And you, Miles?” he asked softly. “Do you also add your persuasions to those of our companions?”

  Lord Trilby shrugged. He riffled his cards through his long fingers. “You may go to the devil for all that I care about the matter, Sinjin. You’ll do as you wish in any event, whatever the rest of us may say.”

  “Well, if that ain’t just like you, Miles! All unconcern and disinterest, even though you yourself bet sharply in Sinjin’s favor,” Mr. Underwood exclaimed.

  Viscount Weemswood cracked a laugh. The expression in his cold eyes warmed as he said, “I am flattered, indeed. Your faith in me surpasses all understanding, my lord.”

  Lord Trilby lifted his brows. “Do you think so? I had thought that I expressed just the right dash of indifference. I am forced to conclude that I am losing my touch.”

  The viscount swung lithely out of his chair, casting down his cards as he did so. “So you are, my friend. Nana, you may claim my winnings from the last hand. I should not wish you to leave tonight with your pockets completely to let-not after you have expressed such touching concern for my cattle. Place it on my chances, if you wish. As for my racing tonight”—he threw a mocking glance in Mr. Underwood’s direction—”I am not so damnable a fool as all that.” His lordship made a careless salute that encompassed them all before sauntering to the door and opening it.

  “I say, mighty handsome of you, Sinjin. You don’t often make the kingly gesture,” Lord Heatherton said, gratified. He began counting his gratis winnings.

  Mr. Underwood stared after the viscount as his lordship disappeared through the open door. “No, it isn’t like him at all.” He glanced at the Earl of Walmesley. “I think that I shall go after his lordship, just to tag along a bit and perhaps share a cab.”

  “Sinjin will not turn a kindly eye on uninvited company,’’ Lord Trilby said quietly.

  “Don’t I know it,” Mr. Underwood agreed feelingly. He rose from his chair. “I’ve felt the sting of his damnable cutting tongue before this. All the same, his lordship is acting in a queer mood even for him. Well, see what he has tossed to Nana as coolly as you please, as though we don’t know he is four quarters to the wind since the old gentleman up and married that mistress of his because she was increasing. Dash it, Miles, where’s the justice in it?”

  Lord Trilby fingered his wineglass. “One learns early enough that justice is blind, my idealistic friend.”

  Mr. Underwood was affronted. “I am no more an idealist than yourself, Miles! If I choose to ensure that Sinjin makes his way safely to his door, it is because I wish to protect my investment in this race.” Mr. Underwood stared at the earl, daring his lordship to challenge his statement. When the earl only smiled, Mr. Underwood gave a sharp nod of satisfaction. He left the room, and the remaining gentlemen could hear his raised voice. “Weemswood! Wait a moment, for I’ve a notion to share that cab.”

  “I shall be taking my leave also, Miles,” Lord Heatherton said as he finished collecting his winnings. He swept them into the capacious pockets of his frock coat.

  The earl cast a glance at the clock on the mantel. “It is not above two-thirty in the morning and I am to be entirely deserted,” Lord Trilby complained.

  Lord Heatherton paused to look at his host, wearing his most anxious expression. “I hope you are not offended? The thing of it is, Miles, m’mother is in town and I promised that I would meet her tomorrow—today!—for breakfast, and I need to make myself presentable.”

  Lord Trilby was too familiar with the terror with which Lord Heatherton regarded his mother’s infrequent London visits not to feel sympathy for his friend. “Then you must go, indeed. No, Nana, not another word of explanation is necessary. Females of any persuasion have a natural bent for making us poor fellows as uncomfortable as possible.”
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  “That’s it in a nutshell,” Lord Heatherton said, relieved that the earl understood his predicament so well.

  The Earl of Walmesley pulled the bell rope and when the footman appeared requested that Lord Heatherton’s driver be notified of his lordship’s desire to depart. The footman left. Lord Trilby picked up the more-than-half-emptied bottle of wine from the table and splashed a measure into Lord Heatherton’s glass. He handed the glass to his friend. “Here, Nana, fortify yourself against the coming ordeal.”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Lord Heatherton said, seizing on the wineglass. He was not usually given to excessive drink, preferring to sip appreciatively at a good brandy such as the earl served, but this time he downed the wine without hesitation. He coughed a little as he returned the glass to the table. “Thank you, my lord. You are a true friend,” he said hoarsely.

  “I am happy that you think so, Nana,” Lord Trilby said, amused.

  He walked with his last guest from the drawing room to the front door. “Pray give my regards to your mother, my lord,” Lord Trilby said, speaking in a more formal fashion than was his wont for the sake of the servants’ presence. He gestured for the footman to open the door and signal Lord Heatherton’s driver.

  “I shall be certain to do so, my lord. M’mother approves of you more than all the rest,” Lord Heatherton said. At the earl’s expression of mild surprise, he confided, “She once told me that you at least are respectable, not like Carey with his preference for the petticoats or Sinjin with his taste for hardened gaming.”

  “Indeed!”

  Lord Heatherton’s face split in a rare grin as he stepped out into the rain. He was delighted to have shaken even by a hair the Earl of Walmesley’s famous and unshakable self-possession. With a wave, he dashed down the steps to his waiting carriage.

  The door was closed by the footman, but Lord Trilby remained fixed where his friend had left him. He stood a moment more in reflection.

  “Good God, I am become respectable. What an intolerable bore,” he murmured. Then he shrugged and went upstairs to his bed, leaving the butler and the footman to straighten up the drawing room, put out the candles, and bank the fire.

  Chapter Two

  Lord Trilby was attired in a chintz dressing gown over his shirt and pantaloons. He had just finished breakfast before he had been waylaid by his secretary and drawn into the study. Sprawled in an easy chair, he cracked a huge yawn. Immediately he apologized for his rudeness. “Forgive me, Weston. It was a long evening last night and I did not sleep well afterward, owing to the storm. My ceiling unaccountably leaks, you see, and directly over my pillow. Now, what is it that has so excited your interest that it cannot wait until I am come back from my morning calls?”

  “This, my lord,” Mr. Weston said. He handed a set of closely written sheets to the earl.

  Lord Trilby glanced at the elegant spidery handwriting. “Ah, the venerable grandduchess.” With resignation he said, “What new direction has the old tartar conjured up for my painful perusal?”

  Mr. Weston did not answer, knowing a rhetorical question when it was asked, and indeed, the earl had already begun to read the letter.

  Lord Trilby read swiftly, but at one point he stopped completely, to back up and reread a particular page, before he continued on to finish the letter. He looked up, saying blankly, “Good God.”

  “Just so, my lord,” Mr. Weston said. The flicker of a sympathetic smile touched his lips at his lordship’s expression of stunned disbelief.

  The Earl of Walmesley looked at his secretary. He said in a hollow voice, “I am undone, Weston, quite undone.”

  “I hope not, my lord.”

  Lord Trilby shook his head. “Oh, but I am, my good man. You will naturally recall the last letter I directed you to send to my great-aunt. It would appear that your strenuous advice to me on that occasion was most sound, Weston. I should have listened to you, of course. You have never steered me aground, as far as I can recall. Have you, Weston?”

  “I should hope not, indeed, my lord!” Mr. Weston said, appalled at the very idea that he could ever allow himself to give his illustrious employer any but the most well-thought-out advice.

  “No. Well, then, I trust that you have some words of encouragement to offer me in this dark hour?”

  Mr. Weston reluctantly shook his head. His expression was pained. “I fear not. I am most sorry to fail you in this instance, my lord.”

  The earl laughed quietly. He got to his feet. “Do not flagellate yourself, Weston. I had not actually expected you to come forth with an instant solution.” Lord Trilby clapped his hand against his secretary’s shoulder. “I am to blame for this contretemps. If I had listened to you, I would never have given the Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits to understand that I was engaged in the first place. But it seemed such a perfect solution to her grace’s last letter, in which she told me so forcibly that I was too nice in my requirements. Do you recall the letter that precipitated that reaction, Weston?”

  “Indeed, my lord. You gave the grandduchess to understand that there was no one in all of England whom you would consider suitable for your bride,” Mr. Weston said.

  “Yes, so then I was obliged to tell her grace that I had found someone after all and that we had agreed upon a lengthy engagement owing to some vague family considerations.” Lord Trilby eyed his secretary and suggested, “Perhaps I was a bit too vague, Weston?”

  Mr. Weston pursed his lips. “Indeed, I feared so at the time, my lord.”

  The Earl of Walmesley sighed. “And so it has proved. Now only look at what has come of it.” He slapped the sheets of the letter with his free hand. “She means to see me firmly wedded this time, and to some chit I have never met, to boot! Listen to this, Weston. ‘Marie is a good, biddable girl who will do as I tell her. She will make you an admirable wife.’ Then there is some rubbish about the girl’s proper manners and delicate beauty and sweet quiet nature, before we get to the core of the matter, which I shall quote: ‘Marie will make you a father many times over. Her family has the reputation of breeding like rabbits, and it is true—I have myself investigated the genealogy. I am satisfied that you will find Marie acceptable in every way.’ “

  Lord Trilby looked over the sheets at his secretary. His brows were raised in incredulous amazement. “Can you believe it, Weston? I am to marry this girl, if you please, because she will breed like a damned rabbit.”

  Mr. Weston had difficulty swallowing the disrespectful laugh that unexpectedly rose to his lips. He changed it hastily to a cough. “The Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits is inordinately fond of you, my lord, and of her connection to you.”

  “Aye,” the earl agreed gloomily. “ ‘Tis a pity I am the last of the English line. If there was another, I would not now be in this awkward position.” He reflected a moment. “Perhaps I should go into the army. It is pretty warm going in the Peninsular, so one hears, so I should probably find it lively enough. One could not very well leave a new bride behind, so there would be no question of marrying until the war was done. Of course, there is always the possibility of one’s luck turning at just the wrong moment; but there is the other side of that, as well. If I was killed, the Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits could not very well marry some rabbity chit to me, could she? What think you, Weston? Shall it be the army?”

  “No, my lord,” Mr. Weston said firmly.

  The earl sighed. “You are probably in the right of it. The grandduchess would follow me to hell itself, my unwanted bride in tow, and see that we were joined together over the fires of the pits whilst all of Satan’s dominions looked on.”

  “My lord!” Mr. Weston was shocked by such blasphemous ramblings, even though he thought he knew the earl’s teasing character too well to take his lordship seriously.

  “Have I shaken you with my nonsense, Weston?” Lord Trilby asked. He sighed a little. “I am so completely at point non plus that I cannot think what to do.”

  “If I may suggest, my lord, that perhaps this
once you might explain the matter clearly to the grandduchess and she will relent,” Mr. Weston said.

  “Lay my cards on the table, do you mean?’’ The earl shook his head. “It won’t do, Weston. I have attempted it on several occasions in the past, all to naught; hence these later abortive maneuvers. Nothing will move the grandduchess from her determination to see me safely wedded. Dash it, Weston! I am but eight-and-twenty. I am not ready to saddle myself with a wife and a growing nursery. I know that my line dies with me, but why must the grandduchess insist that I wed just now?”

  “I believe it is often so with the elderly, my lord. They feel great anxiety to have everything wrapped up and tidied,’’ Mr. Weston said.

  “Oh, I realize that her grace is more than four-score years and she feels herself increasingly mortal. But is that good enough reason to hurry myself into leg shackles? I cannot believe that it is,” Lord Trilby said.

  “The Grandduchess of Schaffenzeits is inordinately fond of you, my lord,” Mr. Weston said gently.

  Lord Trilby sighed. “As I am of her grace, or otherwise I should have told her to go to the devil long since.” He reflected a moment. “Well, stands to reason, doesn’t it? I have not seen my German cousins upwards of half a dozen times in my life; but when I was a boy, and even later, the grandduchess spent nearly every summer with my parents and me here in England. I have many fond memories of the old lady. She is a grand lady in every sense of the words.”

  He waved his hand, deliberately dismissing such sentimentality. “But that is neither here nor there. The matter at hand is how I am to extricate myself from this trap of my own making. Any notions, Weston?”

  Mr. Weston spread his hands in a helpless fashion. “I am sorry, my lord, but nothing immediately comes to mind.”

  Lord Trilby sighed again. “Quite all right, Weston. I suppose that I rely upon you too heavily at times.”

  “It is a pity that your lordship does not at least have a tentative understanding with some lady,” Mr. Weston said regretfully.