by Lynn Messina
Vinnie stood up. “Do you mind if I partake? I’m suddenly ravenous.”
A proper place setting had been laid for the marquess, but she picked up the joint with her fingers and took a generous bite. Having spent the day first in anxious impatience and then in inconsolable disappointment, she was in fact starving and couldn’t remember a cold slab of beef ever tasting so delicious. She tore off a piece and held it out to Huntly, “Here,” she said.
He obligingly—and eagerly—tasted the meat from her fingers and pulled back reluctantly when the activity that immediately followed threatened to get out of hand. He took several deep, calming breaths, then tried to straighten her hair. “It’s too incriminatingly disheveled for me to summon Fleming,” he explained.
For some reason, his administrations made her giggle and as much as she tried to keep her head straight to assist him in his endeavor, she couldn’t stop seeking out his gaze, for she loved seeing the glint of laughter in his gorgeous eyes.
When he finally had her curls in a semblance of order, he rang the bell for his butler and requested as elaborate a meal as possible in the shortest amount of time. Fleming agreed with all due urgency, then tarried for several minutes as he offered Huntly his congratulations.
“My valet will also be profoundly relieved,” Huntly said when his butler finally left. “He’s out of sorts with me for not showing sufficient concern over my appearance in my pursuit of your father’s blessing. He tolerated my lackadaisical standards when we were at sea but now that we have returned to civilization, I must exert myself to live up to his.”
Vinnie was amused to find an ally in her disapproval of the Tunbridge Wells scheme and promptly said so, which had the immediate effect of putting the marquess on the defensive, for having never proposed before, how could he know better? They debated the matter for some time—would a note to her residence (“Off on absurd errand society deems necessary, will return presently”) really have been so difficult to arrange?—and they didn’t notice twenty minutes had passed until Fleming returned with two footmen carrying platters of food.
They talked easily as they ate, reviewing past events from a new perspective. Huntly apologized for turning the trip to Mr. Brill’s factory into a cold-blooded bargain. “That was never my intention,” he said. “I swear when I arrived at your house that morning, my purpose was to make amends. Then we kissed and my wits deserted me and all I could think about was putting distance between us before I lost control of my actions again.”
Gratified by this confession, Vinnie happily volunteered that she had been so confounded by his beautiful green-blue eyes she had spoken absolute nonsense on their first meeting. She still didn’t know from whence she got the name Mrs. Wellburger. Recalling the incident, Huntly cheerfully confessed that he’d thought her certifiably insane and was deeply disturbed by the prospect of his friend being married to a bedlamite.
“I will say now how greatly relieved I was—though for a different reason than at this moment—to discover Trent had married the other Harlow Hoyden,” he added with a glint in his eye.
Vinnie found the idea of being mistaken for the new duchess to be hilarious and launched into the tale of Emma and the duke’s courtship, leaving nothing out, not even her sister’s absurd plan to have Trent seduce her, which did not reflect well on either of them. Naturally, she told him of the mad dash to the coast in successive carriages—Windbourne followed by Emma and Philip followed by Vinnie and Trent—and of the baron’s treachery. Although she still felt like the most insensible fool in all the kingdom not to recognize the insincerity of her fiancé’s regard, the sting was gone, for it no longer mattered. She would suffer the indignities of a dozen Windbournes if it meant she could have one Huntly in the end.
In the same way, she no longer resented the endless months devoted to false mourning. It had been painful indeed to demonstrate so much respect for so unworthy an object, but it salved her feelings considerably to imagine that putrid little toad burning in eternal hellfire with his fist clenched in rage at her happiness with the marquess, whose superior social standing would further rankle his greedy little soul.
Huntly listened to her account with a mixture of fascination, outrage, amusement, admiration, surprise and anger, and although he tried to keep his questions to a minimum, he couldn’t help interrupting from time to time. When she explained how awkward Emma had made things by spreading that ludicrous tale of Windbourne’s death, he said on a note of triumph, “I knew that story had to be the invention of a perverse mind from the very moment I heard it.”
Vinnie wholeheartedly agreed to the perversity of her sister’s mind and admitted she had been trying for months to come up with a satisfying scheme to repay Emma for the indignity of a corseted fiancé. Her future bridegroom, who was not only sympathetic to her plight but amused by the challenge, promptly volunteered to help her in that endeavor. Vinnie eschewed the schoolboy pranks that readily sprang to mind as being too well suited to their victim, as Emma would be delighted by a frog in her shoe and would no doubt adopt it as a pet. To be truly effective, she observed, the plan had to be something her sister would find unpleasant, at which point the marquess suggested they recruit the dowager to dragoon Emma into planning a rout or, even better, a musicale. Vinnie loved the idea so much, she started to clap and when, a half hour later, the object of their plot entered the room with her husband, they were discussing dates for her downfall.
“Don’t fear. I have routed the villain and all is well,” Emma announced as she strode into the room, not at all disconcerted to find her sister sitting indecently close to the marquess on the settee by the fire—which was just as well, for Vinnie was disconcerted enough for the two of them. Keenly aware of the impropriety of the situation, she jumped in alarm, darted to her feet and scooted around the settee so that it stood as a barrier between her and Huntly. Her surprised betrothed rose as well.
“What she means to say is, we’ve come to put Vinnie’s mind at ease, but I see you've already done that,” the duke said with a sly grin at his friend. “I believe congratulations are in order. I couldn’t be happier for the both of you.”
Huntly gratefully accepted his friend’s felicitations and embraced him warmly, while Emma watched with an uncertain expression that was clearly exaggerated.
“Is it official? May I congratulate her now?” she asked her husband before turning to her sister to explain, “I’m under strict orders not to embarrass you with my expectations, as I had assumed there was only one way a threat of strangulation could end—an engagement, of course, being it. Did you even try to strangle him or did you jump immediately to the proposal?”
Vinnie blushed becomingly as she recalled the activity to which she and Huntly had immediately jumped, but if her sister noticed the color sweeping her cheeks, she didn't comment. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her and said how truly happy and delighted she was.
Her response was the exact opposite of her reaction last time, when Emma had greeted the announcement of her sister’s engagement with a tight smile, a weak hug and a few muttered words, which may have been how nice. Emma’s family had attributed her underwhelming response to a fear of losing her close connection to her twin to the even closer connection of a husband, but it turned out that she merely saw Windbourne more clearly than everyone else.
Neither sister made mention of the earlier episode, but they were both thinking about it, and when Emma whispered, “He’s perfect for you,” Vinnie realized how much she needed her blessing. Her relationship with Windbourne would never have worked for that reason alone.
The duke insisted Emma relinquish Vinnie so that he may congratulate her properly, and as soon as she was free, he wrapped her in a tight hug.
Softly and with the same heartfelt sincerity with which Trent had once thanked her for bringing him and Emma together, Vinnie said, “Thank you, my dear friend.”
Her brother-in-law declined to take any credit for the match, not even for the servic
e of introducing her to his friend, and insisted he was grateful to her, for he knew if she didn’t help Huntly catalog the hundreds of specimens he’d brought back from the South Seas, he himself would somehow be coerced into doing it. Vinnie found the prospect of examining and classifying new species of flowers so incredibly satisfying, her level of contentment, already impossibly high, inched impossibly higher.
It was, she announced, fair compensation for giving up her membership to the British Horticultural Society.
At once, several voices objected, the loudest of which belonged to the marquess, who proposed a dawn appointment with Townshend to resolve the problem once and for all. Vinnie, who found her fiancé’s valiant proposition as noble as it was ridiculous, kindly declined his offer and suggested they devote their energy to the more worthy matter of discovering the traitor in the home secretary’s office.
Huntly caviled at the idea that any matter was more worthy than she and countered that knuckling under to a plagiarizing bounder offended every sensibility. He could not let the insult stand!
Vinnie once again appreciated the sentiment for all its gallantry but pointed out, as the insult had not been dealt to him, it wasn’t for him to decide whether it stood or fell.
The marquess, speaking as a member of the British Horticultural Society, which had had eleven tedious votes on the matter the night before, insisted that it was for him to decide, as her membership had been approved in a fully democratic process and he would not let the will of the people be overthrown by one petty tyrant who didn’t have the sense to do research for his own book. He then tried to enlist the duke’s support for this line of reasoning, but Trent simply smiled and shook his head. Next, Huntly turned to Emma, in whom he felt sure he had an ally, and urged her to convince her sister to take a more aggressive stance.
Emma nodded enthusiastically. “As anyone who knows me is aware, I’m always happy to urge Vinnie to take a more aggressive stance regardless of the situation, which is why I was delighted when she announced she was coming here to strangle you. But in this instance, it’s not necessary. As I said when we arrived, the villain has been routed. Townshend has not only been made to name the source of his information in Lord Sidmouth’s office but to resign his membership as well.”
Vinnie, who knew her sister’s methods well enough not to question them, cheered gratefully and suggested they celebrate with dessert, which had not been included in the elaborate meal Fleming had served. “Bread and butter pudding would not be amiss.”
Not as familiar with Emma’s ways, despite an afternoon perusing her dossiers, Huntly looked at her in surprise. “How did you arrange that?”
Emma shrugged with what her sister knew to be false modesty and explained, “I assure you, my methods in this instance are far from remarkable and would have no doubt occurred to you or Vinnie had your brains not been addled by love. As my sister rightly pointed out, the person who provided Townshend with the details of the Windbourne case was acting illegally, for the file contained information known to only a select few. It therefore required very little effort to convince Townshend that simply being in possession of those facts made him a traitor to the Crown. The prospect of spending twenty years in Newgate—or did I threaten him with beheading?—went a long way in loosening his tongue. Once I had the name of the culprit, who, by the way, turned out to be the cousin of the secretary’s wife, I promised I would keep my silence if he resigned his membership. I also assured him that if any hint of the Windbourne affair got out, I would assume he was the source and report him immediately to the prince. I assure you, he was sufficiently cowered by the threat. I don’t believe he will give us any more trouble, though I do think asking Mr. Squibbs to do additional research on the man would be a wise countermeasure, as it is always better to have more information on one’s quarry than less. Now, I think a little sweet treat is a wonderful idea. May I request Shrewsbury cakes?”
“That would be lovely indeed,” said Vinnie, who looked pointedly at their host. She might be marrying into the household, but she couldn’t very well start ordering the servants around.
The marquess, who was not done interrogating her sister, either did not notice the hint or refused to take it. “But how did you know about Townshend’s ultimatum? I only just discovered it from Vinnie.”
“That actually required a bit of deduction,” Emma admitted, sitting on the settee recently vacated by her sister, “which was sparked by Trent’s cousin Philip, whose nose for gossip and talent for spreading it equals Lady Jersey. He had heard from Denbigh, who had heard from Finch-Hatton, who had heard from Moray, who had heard from Mr. Berry himself that Townshend had instructed him to burn Miss Harlow’s membership file, as she had decided to pass on the pleasure. I could not let such a provocative statement go unheeded and sought out Townshend in his home. A complete cad, he was only too happy to inform me he’d beaten Vinnie at her own game and would publish even more scandalous information about her if she did not withdraw her acceptance. Obviously, that could mean only one thing, as Vinnie has no other sins. Though, to be clear,” she added forcefully with a sharp look at Huntly to make sure he agreed, “killing a murderer bent on taking your life is not a sin.”
“We are entirely clear,” Huntly assured Emma, who dipped her head in approval. “I won’t pretend I’m not disappointed to be deprived of the opportunity to plant him a facer, but you have resolved the matter satisfactorily and for that I’m grateful.”
Now the duke laughed. “A familiar sentiment I myself voiced.”
Sympathetic to their feelings, Emma offered what little consolation she could. “I realize it’s not the same thing, but Philip, who accompanied me to Townshend’s house, gave the gentleman a slight elbow shove on our way out, which had the fortunate effect of sending him careening into the fireplace. It was not lit at the time,” she added apologetically, “but he did get a significant amount of coal on his person when he landed in the hearth. He was sputtering in anger as we showed ourselves out.”
Vinnie giggled at the image of the dictatorial deputy director of Kew Gardens covered in ash like a chimney sweep. Feeling very pleased with her sister, she sat down next to her on the settee and generously offered up the secretary’s cousin as potential quarry to her fiancé. “If your pugilistic tendencies are still not appeased, I mean. Additionally, a visit to Lord Sidmouth is in order to warn him of the vulnerabilities in his filing system.”
Trent quickly assured her that a letter had already been sent.
“And that, I believe, concludes this episode quite nicely,” Emma said with satisfaction. “Now, did I hear someone say jam tartlets?”
“No, imp,” said her husband, “that was the echo chamber in your head. We should be leaving as you have the theater this evening—and make no mistake, I take great delight in saying this—with Lady Bolingbroke and her daughter.”
Emma winced as if in pain.
Huntly looked from Vinnie to her sister. “I thought you abandoned all manipulative schemes and decided to do the honorable thing.”
“We did,” said Vinnie, dimpling, “but Lady Bolingbroke seems to feel the honorable thing consists of our keeping our word to bring her daughter into fashion. She would not accept no for an answer, despite our very reasonable arguments, so Emma is taking her to The Merchant of Venice tonight and for a ride in the park tomorrow.”
Her twin narrowed her eyes. “You mean we are taking her to The Merchant of Venice tonight. I only committed to the event for your sake, so romantic bliss or not, you are coming with me.” She stood up and walked over to her future brother-in-law. “I honestly can’t tell you how happy I am to welcome you to the family. I think you will make Vinnie a wonderful husband, and that truly delights me. However, in the interest of full disclosure, I must advise you against taking Vinnie away on a high-seas adventure for several years. I do not know what scheme I will come up with to prevent the voyage, but it will be complex, effective and, I’m reasonably sure, quite unpleasant for y
ou.”
“Emma!” Vinnie said sharply.
The marquess, whose future plans did not at the moment include a second journey, though he would not rule it out completely, leaned down to give his best friend’s wife a kiss on the cheek. “I consider myself duly warned,” he said good-naturedly.
Emma looked at the duke with a wry smile. “He doesn’t believe me.”
Trent shrugged. “Well, you are fairly unbelievable, my love.”
Vinnie stood up as well. “I will go to the theater tonight and to the park tomorrow, and I reserve the right to go on a high-seas adventure if I so chose.”
“Just because you are my sister does not mean you are immune to my scheming,” Emma said sternly, which made Vinnie laugh. Obviously, she was not immune, for was that not where it had all started: with Emma’s scheme to break up her engagement with Windbourne. Nothing had ever benefitted the Harlow sisters more.
“You should head home. I’ll be along presently,” Vinnie said with a sidelong glance at her betrothed.
Intercepting the look, which belied the promptness of the word presently, Trent said, “You have five minutes. We’ll wait in the carriage.”
Now she directed a sullen glance at his grace. “I gave you fifteen minutes,” she grumbled, referring to the interval she’d allowed him to remain alone in a room with Emma to make his proposal.
“Clearly, I’m the better chaperone,” he stated, pressing his hand to the small of his wife’s back to guide her to the door. “I trust we will see you tomorrow, Felix, and every day thereafter. You are welcome to come as early as you like, for I know my mother will be eager to offer her felicitations as well. She will also plan the wedding for you, so unless you want to wait six months for a fashionable affair at St. George’s, I suggest you apply for a special license at once. The timing, no doubt, will cause the highest sticklers to raise their brows, but I’m sure you’ll agree it’s better to suffer their disapproval than to wait.”
