The Ugliest Man in London: Regency Romance

by Charity McColl

  “Nothing too demanding, of course,” Matilda said, not wishing to douse his eagerness but committed to telling the truth. “Cook is preparing a stew with bits of meat in it, and potatoes, and it will be quite delicious, I promise you. We dare not move to slices of meat until we have jumped the next hurdle.”

  He tried to smile at her sally, not knowing that the effect, with his bruised, multi-colored cheeks, thick growth of beard, and lumpy, swollen face, was somewhat horrifying. But Matilda had grown used to his appearance and, although she would not confess it to the others, she no longer thought him quite as ugly as she had when she first saw him.

  Marcus wished that he could speak. He wanted to thank the young woman for her care of him. He did not know who she was; he did not know the names of the other young ladies, either, who occasionally stopped by to greet him and wish him well and occasionally take turns feeding him. He thought of asking for ink and paper to pose his questions, but he hesitated to do so. How could he answer the questions that they were too polite to ask him? They had taken him in and asked for nothing in return. He was living in comfort; servants saw to it that he was bathed and attired in clean clothing. Matilda, who was truly an angel, spent much of her day in his company, putting warm poultices on his throat, reading to him and making sure that he was comfortable. It was too cold now to go outside, but she would help him make his way over to the window, which she would then open briefly so that he could enjoy fresh air before the room became too chilled.

  “Do you remember anything about that day?” she asked him when he had finished the broth.

  He shook his head. He remembered very little, but even if he could speak, he was not about to confess that his half-brother had attempted to murder him.

  It seemed to Matilda that she owed him a modicum of candor. “My friends and I were on our way to visit my aunt,” she said. “We saw that you were under attack by a gang. We had our weapons with us and we began shooting. We frightened them off, I believe.”

  Marcus’ face revealed his incredulity. Henry had been frightened off by four young ladies?

  “Yes, I know,” she said, misunderstanding his expression, “it is not at all the thing for females to master firearms. But we decided to do so several years ago.” It had been after a visit from The Detestable, when he had scoffed at the notion that women could possibly make claims of being marksmen. Matilda had taken up the challenge and she and her friends had adopted the skill, practicing by shooting at branches of trees and later, by aiming at apples positioned on fences. They had achieved a level of proficiency which would have astounded The Detestable. “And I am very glad we did so,” she exclaimed, “else I am afraid that you would not have survived the attack.”

  Very likely she was right. He dimly recalled the sound of female voices as his brother and his fellow attackers galloped away. He did not remember being robbed, but as the signet ring was gone from his finger, he realized that Henry must have stolen it. Much of what happened after that was lost to his memory. He could not recall anything clearly except waking up in this bedroom, which was a cheerful, well-furnished room with a warm fire in the fireplace and an excellent view of the hillside beyond the window. He had planned to hide away in Scotland to decide what to do about the danger that he faced from his father’s widow and son. Perhaps this was better, although he felt guilty for withholding his identify from his rescuers. When he knew what to do about his future, he had resolved, he would reveal his true identity to the young ladies. And perhaps, to Matilda, he would confess more.

  Was he being sentimental as a result of his weakness, to find his thoughts and his gaze lingering on the young lady whose attentions he had come to look forward to? The room seemed quite empty when she was not within, but as soon as she opened the door, he felt more at home than he felt when he was at Winchester Hall. Of course, he realized, no one here appeared to be intent upon murdering him. Quite the opposite, as Matilda seemed devoted to keeping him alive. If he could only speak, it would have been easier to broach the subject. But he could not. And even if he could, what would he say to this young woman?

  For all he knew, she was a private nurse, engaged to care for him. But that was unlikely. No one knew of the attack and therefore no one would have sought his wellbeing. His friends might have been surprised by his prolonged absence, but they would have assumed he was off on some assignation or visiting friends. He was a bachelor and he answered to no one.

  Matilda noticed his change of expression; the swelling had diminished enough that his features, although not distinguishable from his bruises, occasionally showed themselves. He seemed of a sudden disheartened.

  “A shave,” she said briskly. “Sooner rather than later, I think. You will feel the better for it, I am sure of that. If you were female, I would suggest a new hat or a ribbon but, as you are a man, alas, I am bereft of ideas.”

  He smiled. She recognized the effort rather than the intended result and patted him gently on his hand. “I will send up Louis. He is a footman, not a valet, but as he too has whiskers, I am sure that he will be able to do justice to the task. And then we shall see if you do not feel well enough to anticipate a bowl of Cook’s excellent stew.”

  Louis proved to be as skilled as Matilda had promised, and gentle as well, carefully moving over the swollen promontories of Marcus’ face so that he did not inflict pain upon the still-tender flesh. Marcus, although he felt each stroke, welcomed the shave. He tried to indicate his thanks to the footman, but Louis merely nodded deferentially and left the room when he was finished. Marcus would have liked a mirror; he could not imagine how he looked in his present condition, but Louis had not thought to offer a glimpse.

  At lunchtime, one of the other young ladies brought up a tray with a bowl of steaming stew that sent a delectable aroma forth. She was a quiet girl, attentive to each spoonful that she brought to his lips, but she lacked Matilda’s cheerful spirit and chatter. Although the stew was indeed excellent, and it was a welcome change to be eating something other than broth, Marcus was not sorry when she rose from the chair at his bedside after the meal was ended.

  8

  Hubert Discovers a Friend

  “But Sophia, dearest, he could be a dangerous felon. Merely because you rescued him from an attack by hoodlums does not make him an innocent victim.”

  “Hubert, he could not possibly be dangerous. He has been quite meek and Dr. Loring sees him twice a week. Dr. Loring would know if he were feigning his incapacity. Why, he cannot walk without wincing in pain; Dr. Loring is astonished that there are no broken bones, but he is quite sure that the bruising is considerable.”

  “I believe that I should like to take a look at this gentleman and decide for myself,” Hubert insisted.

  “Yes, of course. In truth,” Sophia confessed, “we would value your insights. But there is more that I must tell you. Matilda—“

  Inwardly, Hubert groaned. Wherever Matilda was, anarchy followed. He knew that the four girls were lifelong friends whose loyalty to one another was unquestioned. But Matilda and her madcap ideas seemed to hold entirely too much sway over the others. Sophia could be relied upon to show her own good sense, but when there was an issue of friendship, her loyalty triumphed.

  When Sophia finished her tale, he could not speak. “Do you mean to say,” he said, “that Matilda rescued this man and then abducted him for the purposes of contriving a marriage so that she would not be obliged to submit to the union her parents had arranged?”

  “We did not abduct him, “Sophia said with indignation. “We . . . surely you can see why Matilda did as she did?”

  Hubert held his temper in check. Another madcap plot by Matilda and his darling Sophia was embroiled in it. The determination of the friends not to marry until all had prospective husbands had already put his own romantic interests in check, as Sophia, who loved him as he did her, had refused his proposal because her friends lacked suitors. But Matilda, who had very probably concocted the ridiculous “all for one, on
e for all” matrimonial pledge, was----

  Was married. Hubert realized this with a start. If Matilda, under whatever absurd conditions, had procured a husband, then the matrimonial ban must be in its final stages.

  He smiled. Sophia, expecting a frown, was relieved and, although it was not proper, flung her arms around him. “You do understand, don’t you!” she exclaimed. “I knew you would, and I’m so very glad, because we do need your help. There’s no one else to go to, you see, only Matilda’s Aunt Gretchen, and she cannot help us in London, besides—“

  Hubert took her hands in his. “Darling Sophia, I will do whatever I can to help. But I must meet the gentleman.”

  “Of course. And then, after you have met him, you will come back down to meet with me and Matilda? Matilda needs your advice; she wishes to purchase a house in London. She has come into her inheritance from her grandparents, you see, and now that she is married, she wishes to have her own residence. Which is, you will concede, quite expected.”

  “Quite. I will meet with you both. Where are Nell and Abigail?”

  “They have gone shopping. Matilda insists that they must have new dresses for Christmas and she would not allow them to refuse her.”

  “New dresses?”

  “Matilda is determined that they are to go out in society so that they may meet eligible gentlemen.”

  “And you?”

  Her smile was all that he could have wished it to be. “I have already met my eligible gentleman.”

  Hubert found that he was humming a tune as he ascended the staircase to the guest bedroom. Marriage seemed to be within reach thanks to Matilda’s bizarre machinations. While he could foresee obstacles ahead which Matilda had apparently not considered, he was optimistic about his own prospects.

  He knocked on the door and entered, whereupon he received the second shock of the day. It couldn’t be . . . but surely . . .

  “I don’t know what the devil scrap you’ve gotten into, Marcus, but you look as if you were set upon by savages.”

  Marcus Cromwell turned his head. Amazement was visible in his dark eyes as he beheld his friend, Hubert. He tried to speak, then made an impatient gesture toward his throat.

  “I know, Sophia has acquainted me with your condition,” Hubert said, sitting down in the bedside chair where Nell had sat earlier while feeding Marcus. “You seem to have endured a rather ghastly ordeal, old chap.”

  Marcus nodded.

  “Fortunately for you, Sophia and her intrepid Amazons came to the rescue and scattered your assailants. They are fortunate to have escaped; Matilda is rather a good shot. She is a most unorthodox young woman.” Hubert peered closer at Marcus. “Are you aware of everything that has transpired since the rescue?”

  Marcus showed his puzzlement.

  Hubert sighed. “Yes, I thought as much. You see, it’s like this . . . after Matilda rescued you, she married you.”

  Married? Surely he had not heard correctly. He could not possibly have participated in a wedding ceremony. He had barely been able to stand, for one thing. And for another, he would not have married a woman he did not know.

  Hubert saw the temper signs showing in his friend’s countenance. “Yes, I know, it’s not pleasant to consider that one has been tricked. But Matilda’s motives were not acquisitive. She is an heiress in her own right. She is also supremely oblivious to titles, so you do not need to fear that you were commandeered into matrimony so that she could be a duchess. She doesn’t know you are a duke. She hasn’t a clue who you are, so I fancy that, should you choose to do so, you could easily abdicate from the marriage. Should you choose to do so,” he repeated carefully so that the words lingered.

  “There was a time in our past, when we were younger and shallow,” Hubert went on, “and we were disdainful of those who lacked our status. For my part, those days are gone. I have learned, not always in pleasant circumstances, that the frivolous entertainments of youth should be cast aside after one gains the maturity to recognize what in life is truly of significance.” He spoke plainly but decorously; it was when he had suffered financial misfortune that a younger Marcus Cromwell had cast him aside.

  Slowly, Marcus nodded, recognizing the merit of his friend’s words.

  “I am in love with Sophia. She has no great title or rank to recommend her. Her father is a well-respected judge, her mother the daughter of a clergyman. But Sophia is honorable, lovely, intelligent, kind, and she is the most fascinating woman I shall ever meet. Her parents do not disapprove of our romance. But Sophia has vowed not to marry until her friends are on their way to becoming wives. So, as you can see, your re-entry into my life as a married man has a great import.”

  A glimmer of amusement flickered in Marcus’ eyes. Then a smile appeared. Because of the bruises and the sensitive flesh, he could not smile fully, but it was enough to let Hubert know that he had heard his words and absorbed their meaning.

  “If not for Matilda, Sophia, Nell and Abigail, you would be dead. There’s much to be said for serendipity, I think you agree. Whether or not you choose to honor the marriage is something that you must decide. But I hope that you will, when you are fully recovered and able to return to your role as the Duke of Winchester, consider the worth of Matilda, and I do not mean in a financial sense. She has undertaken your recovery and from what I understand, has been tireless in her care of you.”

  Marcus nodded. Before learning that she had married him without his consent, he had actually given thought to courting her, even though he did not know anything about her. But that was not the case, he realized. He knew that she was solicitous and compassionate. Did it matter what her rank in society was or whether or not her parents were aristocrats? Her nobility came from character rather than bloodlines. He was a duke, but he could not claim to have been a model of propriety in his life. Would marriage to Matilda in fact, rather than in charade, be so unpleasant?

  It would not.

  9

  Unraveling the Mystery

  Matilda wasted no time. “Hubert,” she said, addressing him familiarly rather than formally because to her way of thinking, if he would one day be Sophia’s husband, there was no need for decorum. “I have some questions for you.”

  “Yes, Sophia has told me.”

  They were in the drawing room. The maid had brought in tea and Sophia was pouring. Abigail and Nell were not yet returned, but as Hubert knew from his sister, the matter of choosing a dress could take a considerable amount of time.

  He accepted the cup of tea from Sophia, served with a tender smile that warmed his heart and assured him of the sincerity of her intentions. He expected that Matilda would have a multitude of questions about her husband.

  Her first question surprised him. “Hubert, do the names Grace and Henry mean anything to you?”

  “Grace and Henry?” he said warily. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because when—when my husband was first brought here, and Dr. Loring was giving him medicine to help him to sleep, he repeated those names often.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yes,” Matilda said expectantly. “They mean something to you, I can tell by the way you are not answering me.”

  “You are correct. I was going to tell you. Your husband is not a stranger, at least not to me. We have been acquainted for some time. His name is Marcus Cromwell and he is the Duke of Winchester.”

  Whatever reaction he was expecting, Matilda’s response startled him. “A duke? Dear God in heaven, now I’m in for it!”

  Hubert stifled a laugh. “Why do you say that?”

  “It’s no great matter to marry a man of one’s own station,” she said as if this were obvious. “But a duke? He’s likely to send me to the Tower when he’s well enough.”

  “I fancy Marcus realizes that, if not for your intervention, he would be a dead man. In fact, although he does not know it, the news has already gone about town that Marcus was killed in a duel. His half-brother and stepmother are already in the process of having the
ducal estate transferred, to Henry Cromwell,” Hubert said with grave emphasis. “The half-brother of Marcus. Grace is Henry’s mother and the stepmother of Marcus.”

  Both Sophia and Matilda were shocked by this disclosure. “Is it possible that the attack on – on Marcus was not a random act?” Matilda queried.

  “It may be more than possible. Marcus would know.”

  “As long as they believe that Marcus is dead, he is safe,” Sophia deduced. “But how do we prove this when Marcus is unable to speak?”

  “He will not be speechless forever,” Matilda noted. “And he could, with ink and paper, tell us what we need to know.”

  “He will be reluctant to bring scandal on the family name,” Hubert cautioned. “It would be better, perhaps, if I did a bit of investigating. If I can find out who else participated in the attack, I may be able to persuade one of the assailants to turn on his master.”

  “You will need funds for this,” Matilda said. “I shall be able to help you.”

  Hubert flushed. “I was not asking for money,” he said stiffly.

  “No, you were not,” she replied, “but this concerns me. I must do something to make amends to Marcus and the best way to do so is to find out who engineered the plot on his life. I cannot force him to remain married to me when his social obligations extend far beyond what I imagined.”

  “Do not be so quick to diminish your appeal,” Hubert advised. “Marcus knows that, if not for your efforts—and for the superior marksmanship of the four of you—he would be a dead man in truth and not only in rumor.”

  Matilda’s expression showed a struggle between hope and uncertainty. “Do you think he can forgive me for what I have done?”

  “I think that he understands that he owes you a debt. And he’s certainly no prize, looking the way he does. He’s accounted rather a Corinthian in his set. When his features are restored to their normal color and dimension, I think that you will be pleasantly surprised.”