“This reminds me of All Hallows Eve,” said Neddy.
“Good evening, that,” Darleston mused. He drummed his fingers against the moss-streaked stone, thinking back to that night in Shropshire, chasing phantoms and maidens about Pennerley’s castle. Maybe he’d head in that direction, see if Pennerley would put him up for a while. His fingertips found the letters carved into the stone. H-A-R-R-I-E-T P-I-M-C-O-C-K, he traced. Startled, he stubbed out his cigar and tossed it into the long grass, and then bent to the green-grown stone. “Ned, this is Aunt Hattie’s tomb.”
“Aunt, who?”
“Pimcock’s wife. Fortuna’s godfather. This is the old girl Archie Gibbons swears was buried with the fake Fortune.” Seized with sudden energy, he paced around the sepulchre. Sure enough on the opposite side, a more recent engraving remembered James Pimcock, loving husband and brother, who died in India, 17th February 1800.
His gaze locked with Neddy’s across the top of the stone slab. His twin’s pupils glittered like black fire.
“I know where the original is,” Neddy remarked.
“And the fake is right here.” They had to do this. It was too good an opportunity to pass up. “Help me open this up.”
Armed with their pocket-knives they cleared the debris of moss from lid joint, and together pushed. Slowly, painfully the heavy slab lifted out of its seating. They jimmied it with Darleston’s cane. The scrape of grinding stone echoed dissonantly around the churchyard.
“Not too far,” Darleston warned through clenched teeth. “The last thing we need is for this thing to fall off.” He looked around warily, expecting an influx of law enforcers. The graveyard remained eerily quiet, as did the rest of the village.
“We could do with a lamp, to get a look inside,” said Neddy. He drew back to wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.
Darleston eyed the corner of the tomb they’d exposed. “No lanterns. It’ll only draw attention. Don’t think for a moment our arrival hasn’t been observed. Villages talk. We’ll manage blind.” Perhaps too that was the better way. He glanced at his hands, and found his white kid gloves already ruined. He’d have to discard them anyway. Meanwhile they’d protect him from whatever he was about to slide his hand into. “Pray this is the right end.” Cagily, he pushed his arm into the gloomy box up to his elbow. “I can feel the coffin, but the bugger’s nailed shut.”
“Wait there. I’ll see what I can find to break it.”
Neddy tore off back towards the church, leaving Darleston pulling his arm free again. Alone, time passed with painful slowness. The clouds scudded away leaving behind a bright gibbous moon, which painted silver streaks across the dislodged granite. Darleston stubbed out a second cigar and attempted a nonchalant pose. He’d learned from years of experience that the best method of avoiding detection when engaged in matters one shouldn’t be engaged in, was to appear relaxed. Thankfully, his acting skills weren’t put to the test. There were no midnight wanderers, and eventually Neddy returned.
“Did you find anything?”
Neddy passed him a heavy metal-headed mallet and what appeared to be a bent piece of iron railing. “Don’t ask,” he said in regard to Darleston’s raised brows. “Let’s just break this thing open and get back to the church before Giles arrives. I don’t think he’s going to be impressed with our efforts.”
“Actually, I think he’d roll the old dear out of her casket. It’s Fortuna who’ll be horrified.”
“I don’t know. I’ve always found her startlingly practical.”
“I still think she’d baulk at robbing her dead aunt.” Darleston wiped the nervous sweat from his brows, and positioned the implements. The sound of the hammer hitting the makeshift anvil pealed like the church bells. He grimaced but struck again. Any moment they would surely hear the lolloping gait of investigators approaching. Curiously, not even Jenkins appeared to seek out the clamour occurring in his graveyard.
It was lunacy, of course, what he was doing, but he didn’t stop. He’d go to the devil before he saw Macleane walk off with what was rightfully Fortuna’s. That damned bastard had put them all through too much to let him walk away sporting a smug grin.
“You’re just an old sentimentalist really, aren’t you?” Neddy remarked. His red hair clung to his cheeks, blown by the wind.
“Maybe.”
Darleston struck the coffin again, this time pouring all his frustration into the blow. Wood crunched and splintered beneath his weight, pitching him forward against the tomb. He curled his stubbed toes and eased his hand and the tools free. “Head end, please.” He plunged his hand again into the inky, cold interior.
Even through his gloves, Darleston was morbidly aware of the many textures beneath his fingertips, mulchy softness, something dry and crackly. Eyes squeezed tight, he blanked everything but the necklace from his mind. Hair, skull, collar, throat.
His fingers curled around the string of stones. “I have it.”
It took a moment or two to negotiate the catch and pull the necklace free, but finally, he held it aloft.
“Thank, God!” Neddy crossed himself.
They both stared at the necklace in wonderment. Even after a decade gracing the throat of a corpse, it glittered like starlight.
“That’s a damn fine fake. I’m not sure I’d know it was a fake if I hadn’t seen the original.” Neddy flicked out a kerchief and caught the swaying red-black rubies in its snowy folds.
“Then let us hope Macleane hasn’t seen it either.”
“I don’t see how he possibly could have, the fake’s been in the ground eleven years and the real Star of Fortune in India until recently. Besides Messer’s Knapsley and Cox, I expect very few people have actually seen it. And I can’t envisage them admitting to something being other than expected. They’d have to admit to having been robbed first, and that would hardly advance their business.”
“I entirely agree. However, let’s get this lid back in place. There’s no sense in deliberately raising suspicions.”
The stone lid ground back into position with considerably more ease than lifting it had been. Everything firmly seated once more, they strolled back to the church porch.
“I can’t believe we just did that,” said Darleston as they neared the now illuminated porch. He took the bundle Neddy had made of the necklace and shoved it into his coat pocket before stripping off his discoloured gloves and pushing those in alongside. “This thing could probably do with a wash.”
“There’s always the font.”
Darleston shook his head, smiling too. “I think we’ve shown almighty God enough disrespect for one night. We’ll find somewhere to polish it up after the ceremony. Right now, let’s get inside and make sure Jenkins is ready for them and he understands that we don’t want a full mass.”
“You know, Rob, I think he probably already knows that.”
A welcoming basket of holly and mistletoe met them by the church door. Beyond, raised candles illuminated the path to the altar. “Are they here?” Jenkins asked.
Neddy nodded. “Those are Giles’s horses I can hear. Now where have I left my hat?”
Chapter Sixteen
Dawn was painting saffron cracks across the sky as Giles’s carriage returned to Jermyn Street. “Wake up, Mrs. Dovecote,” he coaxed. “I’m afraid we’ve business to conduct, as much as I’d like to simply take you home.”
“I’m awake,” Fortuna groaned and snuggled more tightly to his chest. The scent of him, musky and familiar, so warm and vital beside her, soothed some of the unease she felt over facing her family. The Allenthorpes were expecting to attend a wedding, not to be told they’d already missed it.
After she and Giles had exchanged their vows in the lovely little church, the same one in which her godfather had married, and in which Aunt Hattie was buried, they’d driven out of the village and made gentle love in the carriage. The twins had left them at the church, promising to meet up with them again soon after daybreak.
“Come, my l
ove, you know we have to do this,” Giles further coaxed.
Fortuna smiled up at him, loving the way that when he said ‘my love’ it rumbled deep in his chest.
“They can’t part us now. There’s nothing to fear. But we need to clear the shadow shrouding your family’s future.” He stroked her feathery blonde hair back from her brow. “Then, Mrs. Dovecote, I intend to take you home, and spend the rest of eternity bedding you.”
“I think I shall like that.”
Giles shifted his weight slightly, so he leaned over her, and his breath whispered against her ear. “I think I shall like it too.” He blew. The tickle caused her to hunch her shoulders. She scrunched her face up too, trying to hide. Giles gently bit her earlobe, then sucked.
“You shan’t coax me from the carriage if you insist on doing that.”
His attention remained fixed.
Fortuna sighed, as shivers tingled down her spine and through her breasts, causing her sensitive nipples to perk up in expectation. She straddled his lap, pressing up against his covered loins.
One hand still stroking her hair, Giles played the other lightly over her bottom. “What time were you expected to rise?”
“Six. The wedding was to be at quarter past eight.”
He dragged his timepiece from his pocket by the chain and glanced at the ornate face. “Time yet, then,” he slid his fingers up her thigh, “to make you writhe like a virgin whore.”
Fortuna rubbed her nose against his. “Do they writhe more than the usual variety?”
Giles snorted in amusement. “I’m not sure I’m qualified to say. I don’t think I’ve ever had the misfortune of bedding a true virgin, just a handful of pretenders.”
She glared at him. “I didn’t pretend. I admitted the truth.”
“A trust I’ll always appreciate.” His smile ran into the green of his eyes. “Lift your bottom a little, love.”
His newly exposed cock slid against her, teasing the swollen lips of her puss.
She pouted. “Don’t tease.”
Giles grinned. “I think you like it when I tease.”
“I like it when you fill me.” She bore down and over him, taking his full length.
He groaned and tilted his head back, eyes closed. “And I like it when you’re insistent,” he ground out.
She arched against him, lifting herself, riding him until her moans of pleasure lapsed into incoherence. She thrashed in delight, oblivious to the street waking around them, aware only of the glorious building ache inside her as it spread, heating her flesh, until orgasm sliced through the haze of sensation. It struck like lightning, fizzled through every nerve as her body claimed him.
He lifted her free of his cock before spilling his seed. “Why?” she asked.
Still dazed after his release, Giles mopped the mess from her thighs and his stomach. “Because, let’s not fill the nursery just yet. I want you to myself for a while. We’ve plenty of time to make additions.”
“But I like to feel you come inside me. Isn’t there a way? I’ve heard tell of sheaths with ribbons.”
“Have you indeed!” He sank back laughing. “Then I’d best set Leach to the task of acquiring some. They’re a goddamn nuisance though, Fortuna. You have to soak the things for an hour just to get them on.”
“Perfect for a lengthy build up,” she said brightly.
Giles snorted. “Dear God, what have I created? I’m not sure I’ve the stamina to keep up with you.”
“Yes you have.” She leaned forward to kiss his lips. “I love you, Giles.”
“As do I you. Which is why it’s now time we left this carriage.”
The street had been clear when they had first pulled up near the Allenthorpe’s house. Now, as they stepped down from the carriage, it was to find themselves surrounded by vehicles. Sir Hector’s barouche occupied the space immediately before the Allenthorpe’s front door. A wave of nausea troubled Fortuna as they passed it and ascended the steps.
Giles raised his hand to knock, only for the door to be flung wide. Mae and Alicia greeted them in eager excitement. “I’ve only just told them you were gone,” said the latter. “You could hardly have timed your arrival more perfectly. I saw you leave, of course.”
Fortuna flung her arms around her sister. “Thank you,” she whispered.
Giles wrapped an arm securely around her shoulders and drew her indoors. More confident, Fortuna led the way. They would end this whole sorry affair and make everything well again.
The family was gathered in Mr. Allenthorpe’s study. Her father still grey and ashen sat hunched behind his desk, Sir Hector straining over the wood to reach him. Her mother and sisters, stood like ballroom wallflowers against the extensive shelving.
“Fortuna,” her mother gasped. Mrs. Allenthorpe ran to her daughter. “Where have you been? Why have you brought this man here?”
Giles squeezed her shoulder reassuringly tight, and Fortuna offered her parent a conciliatory smile. But her mother, merely grasped her hand in alarm, and raised it up to better see the golden band around her finger.
“What is this?”
“I have married Mr. Dovecote, Mama.”
Every drop of colour leeched from her mother’s face. “Dear God, child you have ruined us all.”
Giles stepped forward. “No, indeed, she hasn’t.” He bypassed Mrs. Allenthorpe and headed to the desk. Macleane eyed him maliciously, Mr. Allenthorpe, in alarm. “I’m sorry for the rather unorthodox fashion in which I have married your daughter, sir, but I hope you will see it in your heart to forgive my presumption. I wonder if there is a representative of Knapsley and Cox present, for I believe they have something of Fortuna’s in their care.”
Mr. Allenthorpe, half shook his head, then nodded towards a wigged gentleman seated quietly to the right of the study door. All in the room turned towards that gentleman who stood and came forward carrying a small worn chest.
“Sir,” he nodded to Giles and then to Fortuna. “Am I correct in my understanding that this is to be handed to you?”
Fortuna smiled.
Giles shook his head. “You may give it to Sir Hector.”
Macleane’s piggish eyes lit up. He strode to meet the solicitor, and snatched the casket from him. The tiny key looked ridiculously small in his troll-like hands as he impatiently opened the chest. The room hushed as he drew the spray of rubies from within and bounced the Star of Fortune in his palms.
“You’re a fool, man,” he sneered at Giles, as he kicked away the wormy box. “You’ve just given away her only asset.”
Fortuna slipped her hand into Giles’s and squeezed tight. Too well she knew his temper. She recognized the sparks flaring in the green of his eyes.
“Take your winnings and leave, sir,” Giles insisted.
“Oh, I shall.” Macleane gave Mr. Allenthorpe a mocking salute, then left, still quietly gloating.
The room fell quiet after his departure, as the remaining occupants inhaled a welcome breath.
“Is it over?” Mrs. Allenthorpe asked.
“It would seem so.” Mr. Allenthorpe emerged from behind his desk, and came to stand beside his wife. “Fortuna?” He beckoned his daughter. “A perfect rakehell?” he remarked of her new husband, his brows impressively raised. “Though a gentleman beneath, it seems. I’ll trust, sir, that you can keep my daughter.”
“Admirably.”
Gabriel shuffled forward. He shook Giles’s hand and kissed his sister. “Can we not welcome him? He’s saved our skins, father. And I for one shall like him far more as a brother-in-law than that odious man.”
Mr. Allenthorpe nodded. “I do welcome him, Gabriel, and I recognized my debt. You did not have to do that sir.”
Giles shrugged, as if he gave away ruby necklaces every day. “Of course I did.”
“And I apologize for the events of our last meeting.”
“Which I entirely accept the blame for.”
Then the family huddled in around them, so many young women,
crushing against them. Overcome, Fortuna sniffed into her kerchief. Her ribs and ankle still ached and she wanted to sit down. Instead, she leaned heavily against Giles and murmured a request to leave. Only for the Darleston twins to arrive along with a score of other guests come for the wedding breakfast. They all chatted and murmured their approval over the last minute change of groom. No one seemed at all sad to see the back of Sir Hector.
“Isn’t there a meal to be had somewhere?” Neddy asked. Both he and his brother looked a little worn this morning, their shadowy eyes more than matches for hers and Giles’s. Apparently, they’d found something to entertain themselves with following their abrupt exodus from Acton church. She made a note to ask them about it later. Meanwhile it would wait.
“Considerate timing,” remarked Mr. Allenthorpe sometime during the breakfast. “I do appreciate your good sense, my fellow. It would have broken Mrs. Allenthorpe’s heart to see all this good food go to waste. I’ll trust I can rely upon you to keep the details of the arrangements with Sir Hector to yourself. Wouldn’t want to tarnish the family name, though there’ll be uproar enough over the last minute switch about. You are flush, are you not?”
“Father.” Fortuna huffed.
“Now if we could only see to getting Mercy and Patience settled,” said Mrs. Allenthorpe, turning her gaze upon the unwed men in the room.
Fortuna rolled her eyes. “May we run away now please, Giles?”
* * * * *
Soot smeared Fortuna’s nose. “Home,” she cried as she danced in the grubby entrance hall of Giles’s town house. He’d brought her home to stay this time. Married. Bound by the law of the land and before God, who’d have dreamed it?
“I thought your ankle pained you,” he said.
Fortuna laughed and continued to swirl. “It does.”
Giles caught her hand and led her up the stairs as he had done seventeen days earlier, but this time he headed straight for the master bedroom. They were bound together. There’d be no sleeping apart. No, his room and hers. He lifted her and threw her onto the dark tester bed that dominated his rather masculine room. Perhaps once the drawing room was restored they’d have to make a few feminine adjustments here too.
Three Times the Scandal (Georgian Rakehells) Page 30
