Lord Perfect

by Loretta Chase

Benedict met his father’s amber gaze.

  And blinked.

  That could not be a twinkle he saw there.

  Lord Hargate never twinkled.

  The girl fiddled with the penknife, then tried the penknife together with a hairpin.

  The lock sprang open.

  She took a deep breath, then lifted the lid of the trunk, revealing . . .

  Rags. She took out one, and carefully set it down, then another.

  “Old clothes,” Peregrine said. “Oh, that is so provoking. Why on earth—” He sucked in his breath.

  So did everyone else.

  Something glittered among the remaining rags.

  Still, with the same cautious deliberation, Olivia removed the last of the rotted covering.

  Red and yellow and green and blue, silver and gold burst into view. Coins and jewels, chains and medals glittered in the afternoon light.

  “Well, well,” said Lord Mandeville gruffly. “Did I not tell you not to lose heart?”

  Peregrine peered inside the box. “I can’t believe it. Is it real?”

  Olivia took out a ruby ring and examined it with a practiced eye. She scratched the metal with her fingernail. She bit it. “It’s real,” she said.

  She looked up at her mother, blue eyes shining. “It’s real, Mama. The treasure. I knew I would find it. You’ll be a grand lady now.” Her brilliant blue gaze shifted to Lord Mandeville. “It is Mama’s, as you said? You must tell her so, or else she will make me give it to you.”

  “Then let me say it before all these witnesses,” said Lord Mandeville. “You, Olivia Wingate, are the descendant of Edmund DeLucey. You and your trusty—er—squire—have taken great risks and endured great hardship. You have even performed mighty labor, digging with your own hands. You have found it. The treasure rightfully belongs to you, to dispose of as you choose.”

  Benedict looked about him. Lord and Lady Mandeville. Lord and Lady Northwick. Lord Hargate. Peter DeLucey. Bathsheba. The children. Several servants stood near at hand. Others were clustered in the windows of the house, looking down on the scene.

  Scenes belong on the stage.

  He looked at his father again. Lord Hargate still watched Olivia but now wore an expression Benedict knew all too well.

  It was subtle. Lord Hargate was never obvious. But Benedict knew his father well—better than most did—and he clearly discerned it.

  This was the same expression his lordship had worn on Alistair’s wedding day.

  This was the same expression he’d worn when Rupert brought his bride home from Egypt.

  Triumph.

  Both times, Benedict had fully understood. Against all odds, and to the earl’s vast relief, his wayward younger sons had wed perfectly suitable girls of more than suitable wealth.

  But this time, for the first time, Benedict was not at all certain what his father was looking so smug about.

  WHILE OLIVIA WAS having several inches of dirt scrubbed off, Bathsheba sought out Lord Hargate, to tell him she would not need the twenty pounds after all, and to quiet his mind regarding his eldest son.

  The servants directed her to the gothic ruin on the eastern edge of the lake. The ruin had been built in the last century to create a melancholy aspect, conducive to contemplation and poetry.

  Though Bathsheba doubted Lord Hargate was the sort of man who had poetic thoughts, she supposed he had plenty to be melancholy about.

  She found him frowning up at a crumbling turret. He was not so preoccupied, though, as to fail to hear her approach.

  He turned and nodded. “Mrs. Wingate,” he said, showing no sign of surprise. But then, he was good at showing no sign of anything. “I collect you’ve come to tell me that you have freed my son from your toils and we shall soon be shed of you at last.”

  She paused and blinked. “Yes, actually.” She explained about the fortnight’s cooling-off period she’d given Rathbourne.

  Lord Hargate showed no reaction to this, either.

  “Surely, in two weeks’ time, you and other family members can make him see his error,” she said.

  “I think not,” he said.

  “Of course you can,” she said. “He has a strong attachment to his family. And no matter what he says, I know his parliamentary work and his philanthropic schemes give him great satisfaction. He would miss them sorely. He is a good man, Lord Hargate. He is not idle and dissipated as so many of his fellows are. He will do a great deal of good in England. He has a noble career ahead of him. He knows this. He only needs to be reminded—while I am out of the way. I had counted on you to manage this, sir. Everyone says you are one of the most powerful men in England. Surely a fortnight is enough time for you to work your will upon your son?”

  “I doubt it,” said Lord Hargate. “But here he comes, and we shall see how much power I have.”

  Bathsheba whipped round. Rathbourne was striding rapidly up the path. He was hatless, and the October wind flung the dark curls this way and that. As he drew nearer she saw that his neckcloth was crooked and one of his coat buttons was not buttoned.

  “You did not imagine he would not guess your next move, I hope,” said Lord Hargate. “Benedict is an experienced politician. Furthermore, he has always taken an unhealthy interest in criminal behavior.”

  “Has she come to give me up again, Father?” Rathbourne said. “Bathsheba is always giving me up and saying good-bye. It is her way of expressing affection, you see. That and stealing my purse and clothes.”

  “I only wanted to set your father’s mind at rest,” Bathsheba said. “It is obvious he did not sleep a wink last night.”

  “That is because he was up all night plotting with his fellow conspirators,” said Rathbourne.

  “Plotting?” she said.

  “My dear girl, you come of a long line of liars and cheats,” said Rathbourne. “Surely you can recognize a swindle when you see one.”

  SHE HAD NO idea, obviously.

  Her gaze went from Benedict to his father.

  As though Lord Hargate’s countenance would ever reveal his thoughts, Benedict thought. She might as well look for enlightenment in the ruins behind them. She might as well try to read a brick.

  “I know it was all a sham, that scene a little while ago on the terrace,” Benedict said, careful to keep his voice level, though he was baffled and angry. “What I could not make up my mind about was why. Did you and Mandeville and Northwick go to all that trouble merely to be rid of Bathsheba as quickly as possible? I should think you understood that wasn’t necessary. She is determined to set me free, as she sees it.”

  “I believe my understanding remains in reasonable working order,” said his father. He folded his hands behind his back and walked toward the lake and looked out across it.

  Bathsheba threw Benedict a puzzled glance. He shrugged. After a moment, they joined his father at the lake’s edge.

  There was a long silence.

  Benedict determinedly waited it out. His father was a master of manipulation. It was no use trying to wrest control from him.

  Birds sang. The wind swirled through a pile of leaves, shuffling and scattering them.

  Having drawn out the moment for as long as possible, Lord Hargate finally spoke. “You were mistaken, Mrs. Wingate,” he said. “I came to Throgmorton carrying a great deal of money as well as several pieces of jewelry my wife and mother contributed. We were prepared to bribe you handsomely to go away forever. I was prepared to do so yesterday, when you came to the study, even though by then I had realized that matters had grown more serious than we had supposed.”

  “By then you saw that she was not what you had supposed, either,” Benedict said.

  “There was that,” his father admitted. “I have never in my life had so much trouble keeping a straight face as when Mrs. Wingate offered to give you up for twenty pounds. I cannot wait to tell your grandmother.” He smiled a little.

  But the smile vanished as quickly as it had come, and he went on, “I have always wish
ed I had daughters, Mrs. Wingate, because my sons are an endless source of trouble.”

  Not I, Benedict wanted to shout, childishly. Why do you always blame me?

  “You always say that,” he said. “It does not strike me as at all reasonable. I have not given you trouble since I was a boy.” Then he recalled an incident at Oxford. And another. “Well, not since I came of age, at any rate.”

  “My sons are an endless source of trouble, of one kind or another, Mrs. Wingate,” his obstinate father repeated. “My eldest has been unhappy for a very long time.”

  Had Lord Hargate said that his eldest son was a traveler from the moon, Benedict would have been less surprised.

  Surprise was a completely inadequate word for what he felt. The world had turned upside down.

  He blinked. Twice.

  His father’s deep amber gaze met his. “You used to be filled with devilment,” Lord Hargate said. “You used to lead your brothers into every sort of scrape. You used to laugh. I have not heard you laugh in years.”

  “But of course I laugh,” Benedict said. “This is absurd.”

  “He laughs,” Bathsheba said. “I have seen and heard him do it. A few nights ago, I thought he would do himself an injury.”

  “You make him laugh,” Lord Hargate said to her. “I came here and saw the devil in his eyes. I saw happiness there, too. I know my eldest is no fool. He has never been as susceptible to women as some of his brothers. He is acutely observant. He would recognize an opportunist, I told myself. He would recognize a parasite. Even so, I was uneasy. Even the wisest men can make fatal errors regarding women. But then you came to me with that diverting story about being bored with him and wanting twenty pounds to go away. Then he came in through the window. And then it was quite plain that the pair of you were in love to a perfectly ridiculous degree. I am sorry my wife missed that scene. She would have found it highly gratifying. At any rate, I described it as best my limited powers would allow in the letter I wrote shortly thereafter.”

  Gratifying.

  Benedict hadn’t realized how tense he had been until now, when he dared to breathe freely. He hadn’t realized how great a weight lay on his shoulders until now, when it finally began to lift.

  “Father . . .” he began, his throat tight.

  “But leave it to one of my sons to make matters as difficult as possible,” his father interrupted. “It was too much to hope you’d choose one of the perfectly suitable girls we have been putting in your way this age.”

  Bathsheba looked at Benedict. “You never told me they were matchmaking.”

  “He didn’t notice!” said his father before Benedict could answer. “He didn’t notice handsome young misses of unexceptionable family. He didn’t notice beautiful heiresses. We tried bluestockings. We tried country girls. We tried everything. He didn’t notice! But Bathsheba Wingate, the most notorious woman in all of England, he noticed.”

  “We notorious women tend to stand out,” she said.

  “Perhaps it is his unhealthy interest in the criminal classes,” said Lord Hargate. “At any rate, he chose you, and you make him happy. You—of all the women in all the world, the one woman who could never, under any circumstances, be accepted in Society.”

  “I do not blame you for feeling. . . vexed, Father,” Benedict said, “but—”

  “It would never happen,” his father cut in. “It is quite impossible.”

  “In that case . . .” Benedict began.

  “Which makes it a pretty challenge,” his father went on. “But if I could get Rupert properly wed, I can do anything. In any case, we have had a piece of luck: Mandeville is eager for our families to become connected.”

  “He can’t mean through me,” Bathsheba said. “He would never acknowledge me as a member of his family. He loathes me.”

  “The prospect of becoming connected to the Carsingtons has effected a change of heart,” said Lord Hargate. “Perhaps he relishes the idea of thumbing his nose at Lord Fosbury. I cannot be sure. All I know is that he eagerly joined in our conspiracy to make you respectable.”

  “I told you it was a plot,” Benedict said.

  Light dawned in her blue eyes. “Olivia’s treasure,” she said.

  “There is nothing like a thumping great fortune to make a girl respectable,” Benedict said.

  “The treasure,” she said. “It isn’t Edmund DeLucey’s.”

  “Technically, it is DeLucey treasure, for the most part,” said his father. “Mandeville had a number of old coins bearing King George II’s likeness, which I bought from him. We knew those too-clever children would instantly recognize modern coins. He and Northwick contributed other items from the family collection, and I put in the jewelry my wife and mother had donated. In all, it does not amount to a great deal. But it looks like treasure, and nearly all the servants saw the chest being opened.”

  “I should have guessed,” Bathsheba said. She closed her eyes. “I can see it now. Sunlight flashing on coins and jewels. A crowd gathered about the children. I did not look up, but I don’t doubt the servants were glued to the windows.” She opened her eyes. “The servants.”

  “Servants will talk,” Benedict said, “as you pointed out to me some days ago.”

  “More important, they will embroider and exaggerate,” said Lord Hargate. “By the time word reaches London, Edmund DeLucey’s treasure chest will be overflowing with rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and diamonds. People will say that Mrs. Wingate is worth twenty or fifty or one hundred thousand pounds. And that, as everyone knows, changes everything.”

  BENEDICT’S FATHER LEFT soon thereafter, to continue his perambulation round the lake. He would be composing letters to his other relatives, Benedict knew.

  “Well,” he said once the lump in his throat subsided, “I am very glad I did not throttle him, after all.”

  “I can hardly believe it,” Bathsheba said. “When I woke up this morning I was notorious. Now I am respectable. All it wanted was a fortune—just as Olivia believed. It did not even have to be a real fortune.”

  He took her hand. “You will have to marry me now,” he said. “And we shall have to live in England. No running away to the Continent and living like gypsies. No dismal set of rooms in the shabby part of town. No outrunning the bailiffs. It will be fearfully dull for you.”

  She scowled at him. “That is the most uninspiring proposal I have ever heard of. And you an experienced politician. You can do better than that, Rathbourne.”

  He laughed and scooped her up in his arms. “Is that better?”

  “It is a slight improvement,” she said.

  “I am taking you to the New Lodge,” he said. “There I shall make passionate love to you, repeatedly, until you say ‘Yes, Benedict, I shall marry you.’ ”

  “And if I do not?”

  “You will,” he said.

  She did.

  Epilogue

  THE LETTER, WRITTEN THREE MONTHSearlier, reached Peregrine in June 1822.

  My Lord,

  Thank you for your letter, which was vastly interesting, and for the little Egyptian Man, whom I am happy to report arrived safely and not all in pieces as you had Feared. It was most kind of you to think of me. I am truly happy—and Mama is truly happy, which is most important—and yet I should have so liked to go to Egypt with you and Uncle Rupert and Aunt Daphne. I still do not understand why Lord Rathbourne and Mama were so adamant about SEPARATING US. It is not as though anything Terrible happened on our Quest to Bristol. We did not commit any Crimes—no Capital Offenses, at any rate. In fact, we performed a Noble Deed, in bringing Mama and your Uncle together.

  Still, I am sure you are the one who deserved the Treat, and you will make better use of it than I. Aunt Daphne was very clever to think of it—and in the nick of time, too, because I did believe your father and Lord Rathbourne were on the brink of EXCHANGING BLOWS. This would have been Exciting. The trouble is, there would have been a good deal of screaming by the Women, and as Mama told me late
r, it was not good for your Mama to become so Overset in her Condition.

  You have got a Brother, by the way. He came five days ago. He is very red and wrinkled and he looks like a Monkey, but Miss Velkel said that is how Babies look when they are New. I think it must be on account of their being squashed in ladies’ corsets. I know it is shocking of your parents, at their age, but one must look on the Bright Side. The more other children, the less notice they will take of us. Yes, I include myself, as I suspect Mama is in a Condition now.

  But as to Egypt—I pretend, as Aunt Daphne told your parents, that you are merely away at School, except that this time, you have found the perfect school in the perfect place, and they can be sure that this time you will not get chucked out of it. (I know Uncle Rupert was only joking about Throwing You To The Crocodiles.) You shall travel up the Nile and discover Great Wonders in between your lessons with Aunt Daphne.

  Meanwhile I take my lessons with Miss Velkel. She is German and very strict. But I have resolved to learn, because I am Lord Rathbourne’s stepdaughter, and it is essential that I Learn to Comport Myself In a Manner Befitting My Station. It is not all Dull Propriety, though. Once a week I visit the DOWAGER LADY HARGATE, and we play whist with some of her friends. They know all the best Gossip and they never miss a Trick. I have learnt a great deal from them. At the moment, their main topic is Uncle Darius and WHAT IS TO BE DONE ABOUT HIM. I don’t know what needs doing, as I have seen very little of him. I think of him as the Elusive Uncle, for he’s never about. But then, he is a Bachelor, and they lead unsettled lives.

  I look forward to the day when I become a Bachelor. I should like to live an unsettled life. I have thought about the future a great deal, and have several Ideas.

  But here comes Mama to make me put out the candle. Best of luck with your studies, and may you discover many Great Marvels. I shall write again soon.

  Yours Most Sincerely,

  Olivia Wingate-Carsington

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s Imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.