Looking grim, Thornstock straightened his newspaper with careful movements. “If they have, I was unaware of it.”
Thornstock was lying, damn him. Joshua was tempted to mention Malet’s appearance yesterday, but the duke already knew Malet was attempting to kidnap Gwyn. That would not be news enough to make the fellow confide in him.
And there was always the possibility that Joshua was wrong, that what he read as conspiracy between the two siblings was really just the closeness twins shared. No point in raising his benefactor’s hackles unnecessarily.
“Because you won’t need me until evening, do you mind if I leave as soon as the ladies show off their gowns?” Joshua asked. “I have an appointment at noon with the War Secretary, and given all the carriages that will be headed for the palace, I wouldn’t mind getting an early start.”
“You can leave now, if you wish.”
“And miss seeing Beatrice bedecked in her finery? She’d never forgive me.”
The duke regarded him with a pensive look. “Once in a while, I wish Gwyn was as fond of me as Bea clearly is of you.”
“No, you don’t, trust me. Beatrice is already planning to introduce me to half the women at tonight’s ball. When I remind her that I’ll be working, she dismisses that with a wave.” He snorted. “She never stops matchmaking. Apparently, she thinks it far more important that I find a wife than that I make a living.”
“Good God, I can’t imagine anything worse than Gwyn trying to pick a wife for me.” Thornstock drank some coffee. “By the way, why are you meeting with the War Secretary?”
Used to keeping his affairs close to his chest, he hesitated to reveal that to the duke. After all, the meeting might come to nothing. “It’s a minor matter having to do with my half-pay.”
“Ah. Of course,” the duke said blandly. “I forget that you are still a marine officer.”
“Speaking of that, I should go dress. This is an official visit, so they’ll expect me to be in uniform.”
“Of course, of course.” Thornstock pulled out his pocket watch. “I daresay the ladies won’t be down for another hour at least anyway.”
Joshua headed upstairs. It didn’t take Sheridan’s valet long to get him into his uniform, although Joshua noticed his coat was tighter and his pants looser. That was what came of relying on one’s arms to compensate for a damaged leg. It was an important reminder that he wasn’t like other men. That he never would be.
When he came downstairs, Beatrice and Greycourt had arrived. Greycourt looked much like Thornstock, but Beatrice—
“If you laugh,” Beatrice warned Joshua, “I swear I will hit you over the head with my fan.”
“You have me shaking in my boots,” Joshua teased. “Especially if your fan is as big as that gown and those feathers.”
Greycourt chuckled. Beatrice glared at him, and he instantly sobered. “You look like an angel, my love,” he said soothingly.
“If an angel’s wings were purple and stuck out of the top of her hair,” Joshua added, and Thornstock erupted into laughter.
“Well, you look like . . . like . . .” Beatrice huffed out a breath. “Blast it, you look quite handsome in your uniform.”
“Thank you, ducky. Although to be fair, Thornstock says all ladies find officers in uniform appealing.”
“I did not say all ladies,” Thornstock remarked. “And certainly not all officers appear well in uniform. Prinny, for example, looks like a sausage.”
“Because he’s not an officer,” Joshua said. “More like a royal patron.”
“And you lot aren’t gentlemen,” Aunt Lydia snapped from the staircase. “Shame on you, Joshua. You should be supporting your sister on her big day.”
“You’re right, of course, Aunt.” Joshua turned to Beatrice. “I’m sorry, ducky. You look beautiful. It’s just that . . . well . . . you look even more beautiful when you’re not wearing a giant purple sugar puff.”
Thornstock and Greycourt howled with laughter, which made Aunt Lydia roll her eyes. Still, it was impossible not to laugh at a dress that had enormous hoop petticoats but the latest high-waisted fashion, so that a woman looked as if she were being devoured from the bottom up by a ball of fabric.
“Ignore him, Beatrice.” Gwyn’s lilting voice came from the stairs. “We’ll be giant sugar puffs together.”
“Gwyn!” Beatrice cried as she approached the staircase. “I told Grey you would manage to look lovely in spite of everything.”
Lovely? She looked magnificent, even with five white ostrich feathers extending into the heavens from her hair. Not to mention a white gown that began under her bosom and ballooned out, hiding what he knew to be the perfect female figure.
She paused on the stairs to stare Joshua down. “Well? Go ahead, Major. Say what you wish so my brothers can laugh at me as well. I know I look ridiculous.”
Every eye turned to him, and he scrambled for some compliment he could give her that wouldn’t reveal his fervent wish to slip under her skirts and kiss all the bare skin presently hidden from view by her many petticoats. “You look like Luna, goddess of the moon and queen of the stars.”
Damn. That certainly gave away a bit too much of the effect she had on him.
She flashed him an arch smile. “In other words, I’m big and white and round.”
“And you shine at night,” Lady Hornsby said as she descended the staircase behind Gwyn, dressed in a similar gown in light green and pink with matching feathers of the same hues. “Both of you do. Or you will, once you change into your much more flattering ball gowns this evening.”
“Remember,” his aunt put in, “all the other ladies at the palace will be dressed in the same fashion, so it’s not as if anyone there will be laughing at you. Besides, you will put them all to shame. You both look quite fetching, my dears.”
“She’s right, Beatrice,” Gwyn said stoutly as she reached her. “To hell with my brothers. And yours.”
“Lady Gwyn,” Lady Hornsby protested, “please do not say the word ‘hell’ at the palace.”
“I have warned her to watch her language twenty times if I’ve warned her once,” his aunt said, “but she doesn’t listen.”
“Mama,” Gwyn replied, “you know I would never curse in public.”
“This is public,” Lady Hornsby said in obvious exasperation. “And normally I would not mind a bit of saucy language, but this is a debut—you must attempt to act like a fresh-faced young woman at the start of her social career.”
“Even though I’m closer to the end than the start?” Gwyn said. “Never mind. I understand what you’re saying, and I shall heed your advice.” She grinned. “At least until I’m married.”
Aunt Lydia released a loud sigh, but Lady Hornsby patted Gwyn’s arm and said, “That’s the spirit. Just hold it in until you marry, and then you can let it all out on your husband.”
“So that’s what Beatrice has been doing,” Greycourt said. “All this time I just assumed I was a bad influence.”
“You are,” Beatrice said affectionately. “That’s precisely why I love you. We can be bad together.”
Joshua turned away to hide the envy sure to be on his face. What his sister had with Greycourt was what he wanted but feared he was destined never to have.
“So what will you be doing today while we’re at the palace, Mother?” Thornstock asked.
“I’m meeting with Mr. William Bonham, Maurice’s man of affairs, because Sheridan is still on his way here, and Mr. Bonham had some questions about your stepfather’s accounts that couldn’t wait. I don’t know if any of you have ever met him.”
“I did,” Greycourt said. “Once, when Sheridan and I were discussing matters of the estate with him. Seemed like a decent enough chap.”
“And handsome, too,” Lady Hornsby said. “For a man in his sixties anyway.” She nudged Aunt Lydia. “Not that Lydia cares.”
His aunt cast her a frustrated look. “Stop trying to play matchmaker, Eliza. I’m still in mourning, r
emember? Besides, I have no wish to marry again.”
“And I doubt that Mother wants to marry a man of affairs anyway,” Greycourt said.
Joshua stiffened. This was sliding too close to his own situation for comfort. He cleared his throat. “Well, now that I’ve seen everyone’s outrageous attire, I’ll be off. I have an appointment.”
“With whom?” Beatrice asked.
“Thornstock can explain,” Joshua said. “I don’t want to be late.”
He could lie to the duke about his plans, but he couldn’t lie to Beatrice. She would beleaguer him with questions until he either admitted what he was doing or snapped at her. The former would take too much time and the latter would spoil her day, which, for all his teasing, he truly didn’t wish to do.
He approached her and took her gloved hand to kiss, because he quite literally couldn’t reach her cheek. “You look ravishing, ducky,” he said in a soft voice. “And I know you’ll impress them all.”
His sister beamed at him. “Thank you, dear heart. I’ll see you tonight?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
As he turned to leave, he saw a footman whispering in Gwyn’s ear. She colored deeply, then said something to the servant and followed him into the nearby parlor.
Joshua made sure to stroll past the parlor door on his way out. A quick glance showed him a young fellow standing and waiting while Gwyn read a note. A messenger? But from whom and regarding what?
He lingered to see if he could find out. With a grim expression, she tucked the message into her reticule and bade the lad wait. Then she went to the writing desk to write a note of her own. A response to the message she’d received? It had to be, because she gave it to the boy and murmured some instructions before handing him a coin.
Joshua considered walking in and demanding to see the message, but there was no reason to believe she would give it to him. She’d been keeping other secrets from him, so why would she divulge this one? And if she didn’t, he would have shown his hand.
It might be better to learn what he could in stealth. After all, it might be nothing of importance. Perhaps a friend had fallen ill. Or a family member. No, that couldn’t be. They were all here. And if it were Sheridan, she would tell everyone at once.
He walked out the front door to keep from being seen by her. Perhaps he should wait for the messenger to see what he could learn. He had a few minutes before he must leave.
It didn’t take long. The lad came out moments later.
A guinea in hand, Joshua accosted him at the bottom of the steps. “Let me see what’s in that message you bear, lad, and I will give you this guinea.” He was sure Thornstock would be good for it.
The boy’s eyes went wide to see Joshua in his undress uniform. It wasn’t as impressive as his dress uniform, but its red coat did have gold buttons and epaulettes, his bicorn hat was sufficiently buffed, and his tall boots were polished to a fine sheen.
“Are you in the army, sir?” the lad asked.
“Royal Marines. And the name is Major Wolfe.”
“Begging your pardon, Major, but the note is sealed. And if I bring it back to my master unsealed, he’ll beat me senseless.”
“We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?” Joshua said.
But he noticed the lad was still staring at the guinea with a covetous eye.
“I’ll tell you what.” Joshua held up the guinea. “You answer what questions you can about this exchange of notes, and I’ll give you the guinea. All right?”
The lad bobbed his head.
“Who’s your master?”
“Mr. Pritchard. Owns a lodging house in Chelsea.”
That was not a name Joshua had been expecting. “Why is your master writing notes to Lady Gwyn?”
“Ain’t my master writing them. Mr. Pritchard is sending it on behalf of the captain what’s staying in his lodging house.”
Now that was more what Joshua had expected. Or rather, had feared. “What is this captain’s name?”
“Don’t know. He ain’t been staying there long.”
“Describe him.”
When the boy gave a fairly accurate description of Malet, Joshua’s heart sank. Why would Gwyn communicate with the man who wished to abduct her?
He frowned. Unless there was more to the story. Unless she and Malet had a friendship unknown to her brother. After all, her family had traveled back to England from Prussia. They might have met the fellow along the way.
Although she hadn’t seemed happy to get the note. And Joshua was almost certain the duke had lied today when questioned about a previous friendship between Gwyn and Malet.
Whatever the reason for their communications, it could not be good. And he hated being right in this instance. Could Gwyn just be flirting with him to keep his suspicions off whatever she and Malet were up to? That possibility tore a hole in him.
“Major?” the lad asked.
“Where is this lodging house exactly?”
The boy rattled off an address, then held out his hand.
“Ah, right. The guinea. Here you go. And thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir. And if you ever need a boy in your employ, you just ask for Dick the Quick. Everybody knows I’m the fastest in West London.”
“Thank you again. I’ll keep that in mind.”
He didn’t have the heart to tell the lad that the likelihood of Joshua being able to hire a servant was fairly small. Joshua wasn’t even sure he could get himself back on the full-pay list.
Speaking of which, he’d better get going. He wouldn’t want to miss his appointment. Still, he watched as the boy darted across the street and down the block. If Joshua had time, he would accompany the lad and confront Malet himself.
But he didn’t have time. So Malet would have to wait.
Chapter Eleven
Viscount Castlereagh, Secretary of State for War and the Colonies, was widely reputed to be an intelligent Irishman who ran the War Office with a deft hand. Or that was how he was regarded by soldiers like Joshua.
But something must have occurred to upset the great man’s equilibrium, because when Joshua showed up for his appointment, the War Secretary had little to say to him. Despite attempts to moderate Castlereagh’s rhetoric by the man’s undersecretary, another Irishman named Lucius Fitzgerald, the War Secretary informed Joshua coldly that England needed able-bodied men in this war against Napoleon, not half men on half-pay.
Castlereagh also made it clear that he’d looked into Joshua’s situation and had heard about his bouts of temper, which had become a matter for gossip in Sanforth. The War Secretary said that the last thing Joshua should be doing is fighting at war, where ungoverned temper had no place in battle.
By the time Castlereagh was done with his insulting remarks, Joshua was seething. Never had he wanted to throttle a man more, even knowing it wouldn’t help his situation. So Joshua uttered a few barely cordial remarks to end the appointment, then marched out into the street, where he hit his cane so hard against a lamppost that it broke.
He instantly regretted that. He would have a hard time finding another sword cane worthy of this one. He stood there staring down at the shattered walking stick and cursing himself. Perhaps Castlereagh was right—he was unfit for anything but catching poachers and breeding hunting dogs on his grandfather’s estate.
Then, out of nowhere, Fitzgerald, the undersecretary who’d witnessed Joshua’s humiliation firsthand, appeared at his side. “Damn. That looks to have been a very useful implement.”
Joshua gathered up the pieces, hoping he could somehow repair it. “What do you want?” he snarled. “To go in for the kill now that your superior drew first blood?”
Fitzgerald regarded him with a steady blue gaze. “Actually, I want to offer you a position. But not in the Royal Marines. I’d like you to work for me.”
That flummoxed him. “In what capacity?” Joshua asked warily. “I am no politician, sir, as you might be able to tell.”
&nb
sp; “Yes, that’s painfully obvious.” Fitzgerald summoned his coach, which seemed to have been waiting down the street. “The post I’m offering you, however, is more discreet, more . . . behind the scenes, if you will.”
Fitzgerald’s coach stopped in front of him. “Where to, sir?” the coachman asked.
“Just around the park.” Fitzgerald lifted one black brow at Joshua. “Will you ride with me, Major, so we can discuss this further?” When Joshua hesitated, he said, “It can’t hurt to hear me out, can it?”
“I suppose not,” Joshua said.
Once they were both situated in the coach, Fitzgerald said, “First, allow me to apologize for my superior’s insults. Ever since the fiasco at Corunna, he has been difficult to deal with. But he should not have let that govern his behavior.”
“No need to apologize,” Joshua said. “I’m used to insults.”
“Are you really? I think not, given the way you reacted afterward. How often do you lose your temper so spectacularly as to break your cane?”
“This was the first time.” Joshua crossed his arms over his chest. “But I did break a jug on a man’s head because he called me ‘Armitage’s hobbyhorse’ for reporting his poacher offspring to the Armitage estate manager.”
Fitzgerald stared at him steadily. “What about your confrontation with that fellow who was kicking a dog? And that other chap who jerked your cane out from under you, causing you to fall? From what I heard, you broke more than a jug for those.”
Bloody hell, the man had researched him and his bouts of temper quite thoroughly. Joshua wasn’t sure what to make of that. “I did indeed. I contend that any man who abuses a dog deserves to have his nose broken. But the fellow who kicked out my cane brought his broken wrist on himself. I fell into him, knocking him over, and he broke his wrist when he tried to brace his fall with his hand. I’d say I wasn’t responsible for my actions in either case.”
“Perhaps you’re right. But I can’t have you exploding into a fit of temper for any reason if you are to take the post I’m offering. So I need to know if you can control your anger better than you have in the past.”
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