Falconer's Heart Read online

  “Not that raw. You came all the way down from London in worse yesterday.” And apparently paid the price for it today. From the looks of him, Linton must have passed an indifferent night.

  “Don’t remind me.” The faint amusement faded from Linton’s eyes, leaving his pale face more drawn than ever. “Only a sense of duty dragged me out, you may be sure. That and young Hillary’s refusal to tell me what you were about and why you wanted to see Warwick so urgently.”

  “A matter of personal business. Not, as you seem to fear, connected with the War Office at all.”

  Linton’s lined brow cleared. “Ah, then that’s why you didn’t just go to Whitehall. The young jackanapes here made it all sound like some great mystery.” He shook his head, his lips curving upward as if with an effort. “There was no need for me to come at all, and risk the drafts in a carriage.”

  “That’s what I told you,” Hillary informed him, sounding aggrieved.

  Linton nodded but didn’t appear to have paid much heed to Hil’s comment. “What we need is a good hot toddy,” he murmured.

  “Why don’t you ring for one?” Belmont suggested.

  They crossed the huge, empty ballroom and emerged into the spacious corridor that led, by way of connecting drawing rooms, to the Great Hall. Before they reached it, Sir Julian Taggart rounded a corner and strode toward them, only to stop short at sight of the procession.

  With a visible, effort, Linton pulled himself together, resembling once more a senior member of His Majesty’s government rather than the frail, infirm figure he had become. He raised politely surprised eyebrows. “I didn’t realize a house party was gathering.” He looked at Belmont as if it were his fault he had not been informed of Sir Julian’s presence in advance.

  “I didn’t know either.” Sir Julian raised his quizzing glass to survey the others, then allowed it to drop.

  An undercurrent of animosity ran between the two men. Belmont glanced from one to the other, noting it, then reluctantly stored it for later consideration. He returned to the more pressing matter at hand. “Has Newly taken care of you, Julian? Then if you will excuse us? I will join you as soon as I can.” He pushed past, one arm still firmly supporting Hillary, and turned in at the door to the library.

  Riki ran after him and cast a rapid glance about the spacious chamber filled with a multitude of volumes, large, comfortable furniture and the musty odors of leather and beeswax. As Belmont lowered Hillary onto a sofa, she snatched up a beautifully embroidered pillow and shoved it under his head to cushion it. The boy flashed his sweet, deceptively innocent smile at her.

  Belmont rang for Newly, then set about examining Hillary’s temple. Twice his brother winced as his fingers probed the cut, but Hillary showed no signs of permanent damage.

  “Well, doctor?” the boy asked as Belmont at last sat back. The swelling lay buried beneath his thick, unruly curls. Only the pallor of his face and the crusted blood that turned his dark-brown hair to mahogany betrayed the injury.

  “Your skull is hard enough to take any number of whacks.” Belmont kept every trace of the sympathy he felt from his tone. “Now lie still until we wash it off. Linton, will you pour him a brandy? There’s a decanter on the table over there.”

  “You’re making the greatest fuss over the merest trifle,” Hillary protested, but took the drink gladly enough when his brother-in-law handed it to him.

  Linton also poured one for himself, which he sipped slowly, savoring it as if it were the source of what little strength he possessed.

  Newly entered and Belmont sent the butler for a basin of water and bandages, which the man brought a few minutes later. With him came the always capable Mrs. Wicking.

  Hillary eyed her askance. “No, really, I don’t want a pack of women hovering about me.”

  No one paid any heed to his outburst. Between them, Newly and Mrs. Wicking tended to his bruised and bleeding temple. Linton positioned himself at his side, offering at frequent intervals the brandy glass, which Hillary kept waving away.

  While they worked, Belmont strode toward the hearth in which a fire blazed. Turning back, he eyed the group gathered about the sofa and he fought back a smile. Poor Hil, to have that lot plaguing the life out of him.

  His glance brushed over Linton, whose color was slowly returning thanks to the brandy. He even seemed to stand more erect. Then Belmont’s gaze came to an arrested stop at the toes of the man’s normally glossy top boots. They were scuffed and showed traces of mud. Now how could that have happened? His man would never permit him to leave his chamber in such a state, and he had only just started out the door when they encountered him.

  As if aware of Belmont’s scrutiny, Linton looked up, met that piercing regard and looked down.

  “What happened to your boots?”

  Linton smiled weakly. “My man will probably give his notice,” he said, shaking his head. “Dreadful, isn’t it? And I’d taken no more than a dozen steps from the terrace in search of you when I gave up and turned back for a warmer coat.”

  “I shall have to see to paving the path between the ballroom and the stable.” Only with difficulty did Belmont keep the dry note from his voice. “By the bye, you never did tell me where Warwick is and why he didn’t come.”

  “Did I not? I’m sorry, it must have been the exhaustion of the journey. Really, I feel quite foolish, thinking I came on a matter of great urgency. Young Warwick was caught up in the midst of meetings, occasioned by your aborted trip and the conflicting reports of your disappearance.”

  “Your—” Riki looked up quickly.

  “My crew made it back safely, you’ll be glad to know,” Belmont said smoothly, catching her eye. “Apparently they arrived in Whitehall only hours before Hillary.”

  He turned back to Linton. “It was good of you to come to tell me about them, but you should not have put yourself to the trouble. Hillary is an able messenger.” He poured his brother-in-law another brandy and had the satisfaction of seeing his pallid complexion take on a more normal tone. The man should abandon London and spend more time in the healthy country air, Belmont reflected.

  Sir Julian strolled in and paused just over the threshold. “What, are you all still here?” He watched Mrs. Wicking stand up, having put the finishing touches onto Hillary. He shuddered. “My dear boy, surely you are not going about looking such a figure of fun?”

  Hillary bristled. “I won’t leave that bandage on for long,” he said darkly.

  “Yes you will.” Belmont turned back to Sir Julian. “What brings you down to the Court?”

  “To discover the end of your adventure, dear boy, what else?” he answered promptly. “You didn’t think I could stay out of it, did you?”

  Nor refrain from following us, perhaps? No, that was ridiculous. Why should Julian have gone to such pains just to keep them in sight? Had that been his desire, he could simply have traveled down with them and saved himself a great deal of bother. No, he must merely have decided shortly after their departure that whatever was about to take place at the Court might well provide him with some amusement. Belmont shook his head. Their mysterious carriage and its occupant remained a puzzle.

  At the moment, though, it lay beyond his abilities to solve. The duties of a host, however, loomed large before him. Leaving the others in the library, he took Sir Julian to pay his respects to Lady Prudence.

  Riki stared after the two men, frowning. Newly and Mrs. Wicking, carrying their soiled lint and bowls of water, took their leave to return to their own duties. Hillary headed for his chamber with Linton still solicitously hovering at his side. That left Riki alone in the large, comfortable apartment, lost in thought.

  Lord Linton, she gathered, worked in some capacity at the War Office with Belmont and David. Doing what? she wondered. He looked too ill to be of much use. She shrugged the question aside. The only thing that mattered right now was seeing David, talking to him…and taking him back to their own time. She tried hard not to think of the difficult explan
ations to be made when he suddenly turned up after having been believed dead for over two years. They’d work it out somehow. Still, her spirits sagged.

  Belmont’s kiss—and worse, her reaction to it—proved depressing. What future could there be with a man who would be dead long before she was even born? They each belonged in their own era—that they had even met, that they had crossed the barriers, was an anomaly. It would have to be set right—and then they could never see each other again.

  Suddenly she longed to go home, where everything was safe and familiar. At the moment, though, that was impossible. She’d have to settle for some solitude, which was not likely to be guaranteed indoors.

  On inspiration, she returned to her room, donned her borrowed pelisse and a pair of Felicity’s leather half-boots that fitted reasonably well, and set forth to explore the grounds. Instead of going by way of the ballroom, she slipped through the front door, strolled down the drive, then turned to look back at the house.

  It was beautiful, parts of it three stories, parts of it four, irregular in shape from constant building throughout the generations. Chimneys stuck up from everywhere and an old round stone tower rose near the front door. Mullioned windows and ivy thick on the walls added the final panache.

  The snow had stopped and the clean, crisp air beckoned. She set off briskly down the neatly raked drive toward the stable, which she passed without turning in to the cobbled yard. She had no desire to be stared at by the grooms. The rookery beckoned her, but now it held memories of Belmont’s kiss. She hadn’t recovered fully from the effects of that.

  She strolled a little farther, then found a paving stone path and followed it. This brought her toward the back of the house, where she walked across what must be a beautiful expanse of lawn in the summer. Now the patches that peeked through the light covering of snow were brownish and barren. Straggly, leafless trees rose at irregular intervals across the landscape, and a sheet of gray that glittered in the distance with unexpected sparkles must be an ornamental pond. A small gazebo, an imitation of a classical temple, had been built on its far side. To her right she glimpsed a barren rose garden.

  She strode on, trying in vain to banish her lingering depression. A high hawthorn hedge bordered the lawn, and she headed toward its arched opening. Ducking under the leafy lintel, she found she had come upon a maze.

  Intrigued and momentarily diverted, she set forth to explore its mysteries. It couldn’t be too difficult—the shrub walls reached to well above her head, but the outer circumference didn’t seem that great.

  Following the age-old rule, she placed her left hand against the neatly pruned wall and started walking, never losing the contact. This led her down several short dead end passages, but steadily she worked her way farther from the entrance. She should reach the center at any moment, she’d decided, when the deep rumblings of voices reached her.

  Belmont. Her heart lifted at the thought of seeing him. She couldn’t identify the low murmurings of his companion, but that didn’t matter. She hurried forward.

  “What are you implying, Nevvy?” the other speaker demanded, thus identifying himself as Sylvester.

  “Nothing,” came Belmont’s calm response. “I merely asked if you saw anyone behaving in an unusual manner this morning behind the stable.”

  A momentary pause followed, then Sylvester’s reflective response reached her. “Well, I saw you go into the rookery. Then a few minutes later, Miss van Hamel disappeared inside as well.” Amusement crept into his voice. “I would have joined you, dear boy, but thought I might be somewhat de trop.”

  Silence greeted this comment, and Riki could just imagine Belmont’s offended sensibilities. Actually, Sylvester was quite right. They hadn’t needed him in the least.

  “Anyone else?” Belmont pursued in a tight voice.

  “It is not my habit to spy on my fellow creatures,” Sylvester responded with a virtuousness Riki found hard to believe.

  The two men moved off together and Riki hurried after, convinced she would encounter them as they left the center of the maze. But five steps later, she turned a corner and found herself standing opposite the entrance. A cleverly constructed maze, indeed. Belmont and his Uncle Sylvester must have been outside, and she must have been near the outer edge all along. She hoped the other puzzles that had crept into her life wouldn’t be as difficult to solve.

  She shivered, less from the chill air than from her troubled thoughts. She no longer felt like tackling the maze. Instead she went back to the house and made her way to her room to take off her pelisse and dampened boots. She had barely closed her chamber door behind her when a light tap sounded on the panel and Felicity peeped inside.

  “I thought I saw you return.” She bounced down on the bed, her bright eyes brimming with mischievous laughter. “Whatever has brought Linton here? Did Belmont tell you? Oh pray, don’t frown at me so. Is it all secret?”

  “No, his arrival has nothing to do with my—my mission.” Riki hated to disappoint her, but it wouldn’t be wise to have the girl tiptoeing about the halls, listening at keyholes so she wouldn’t miss anything “fun”. Hillary already had a cracked skull from being in the wrong place at an apparently strategic moment.

  Felicity’s face fell. “Well, he’s such a…a slow-top, I suppose I’d be surprised if he were involved. So useless! I cannot think what Clarissa sees in him, though to be sure she’s more interested in her important position than in adventures. Can you imagine, Miss van Hamel, having a sister who positively worships society?”

  “I have one very much like that. And my other—” She broke off abruptly.

  “Is she also bent on making a splendid marriage, or has she already?”

  Riki nodded. “I had such great hopes for Susie, too. I thought she showed more sense than Candace, but then her last email—her last letter was all filled with parties and the important people she was meeting.”

  Felicity nodded. “A season is quite enjoyable, of course, but one shouldn’t take it so seriously. Or one might get stuffy, like Linton, or a slave to fashion like that odious Sir Julian.”

  “You don’t like him?” This seemed an excellent time to find out a little more about someone she had thought was a friend of all Belmont’s siblings.

  Felicity wrinkled her nose. “No. Can you honestly imagine a man whose most cherished ambition is to be the chief Pink of the Ton?”

  “No, I don’t think I can,” Riki admitted with all honesty.

  “All he ever thinks of is the set of his coat!” Felicity gave a delicious shiver. “He would make the most marvelous villain, would he not? So precise as he always is? I vow I cannot like him. Nor can I imagine why Gil does. Yet Hillary and Aubrey both run to Sir Julian when they’re in scrapes and don’t want Gil to find out.”

  If anything, Riki reflected, that sounded like an excellent character reference. “What does your Uncle Sylvester do?” she asked abruptly.

  Felicity giggled. “Wastes the ready,” was her prompt response. “He is dreadfully expensive and forever hanging on Gil’s sleeve since he became Belmont. I don’t know what he wouldn’t do for money,” she added naïvely. “Oh!” A sudden smile of devilish delight lit her bright eyes and she stood abruptly. “I must dash. I have thought of the most delightful trick to play on Sir Julian. I’ve a pine cone I’ve been saving this age, and it’s just aching to be put in someone’s bed.” She hurried from the room, apparently bent on putting her reprehensible scheme into immediate action.

  Riki watched her jaunty departure with a slight smile. She’d remember to check her own bed before crawling between the sheets each night. She crossed to the window and stared out, her amusement fading as the puzzle returned to the forefront of her thoughts.

  They had three likely—or rather, unlikely—suspects for that attack on Hillary—Linton, Sir Julian and Sylvester. It simply didn’t make any sense for any of them to have done it. Unless they didn’t want to be caught spying on Belmont?

  Obtaining material
for blackmail might be a possibility. That might let out Sir Julian. He must have enough reminiscences from school days to hold over his friend’s head. But he well might have wanted to learn more about her. Somehow he had that appearance, as if he needed to know everything that occurred, especially if it was none of his business.

  No, that didn’t make any sense either. Idle curiosity was not a sufficient motive for knocking out Hillary.

  What of Lord Linton? Again she faced the unanswerable question of why? Unless, perhaps, his obvious ill-health made him fear for his position. He might very well dread being pushed to the outside, especially if, as Felicity hinted, his wife had married him only for his important rank in political circles. Would it have driven him to the point of distraction to think Belmont might be organizing a conference at Falconer’s Court to which he had not been invited? Still, that was no reason to knock out Hillary.

  Then there was always Sylvester. Could he have been trying to catch Belmont in a compromising situation to give him leverage to cadge money from his nephew? Next time she saw Felicity, she would have to ask her how open-handed Belmont was. But again, Sylvester would hardly attack Hillary for such a reason.

  She frowned. Of course, whoever had struck Hillary might not have been interested in the rookery at all. It might well have been nothing more than a stable lad up to some nefarious business and afraid of getting caught. And Belmont, she decided ruefully, had probably come to that conclusion over an hour ago.

  Still, a discussion of that possible solution provided an excellent reason to go in search of him. She did, and found him in his library staring off into space, a deep frown lining his brow. He looked up as she entered and his expression lightened as he rose to his feet.

  “Where is your uncle?” she asked by way of greeting.

  His gaze remained disconcertingly on her lips. “In the cellars, selecting tonight’s wine.”