With His Lady's Assistance (The Regent Mysteries Book 1)

by Cheryl Bolen

  Virginia issued a fresh wail. "Tell her, Cornelia," she managed between sobs.

  Daphne's glance met the smaller twin's twinkling eyes. "Virginia has just learned of Ronald's lady bird."

  Surely, Daphne thought, Virginia could not be naive enough to believe her husband of five years would remain forever faithful. Feigning a resignation to infidelity, Daphne said, "Is that all?" She would like to whack Sir Ronald over the head with an iron mallet. Since Sir Ronald Johnson had married her sister, he'd had no less than seven different lady birds--a fact he had cleverly managed to conceal from his wife this half a decade.

  Like a jack-in-the-box, Virginia's limp body sprang up, and she glared at her elder sister. "Today is unquestionably the blackest day of my life."

  Daphne's sympathies might have been easier bestowed had Tuesday last not been Virginia's heretofore blackest day (when The Times credited Lady Cowper--instead of Virginia--with wearing the loveliest lilac gown at the Duchess of Richland's ball). Where Virginia was an idealist, Daphne was a realist. She looked down her spectacles at Virginia's tear-streaked face and spoke pragmatically. "My dear, you are not acting like the daughter of an earl. Nor like the sister-in-law of a duke. Nor the wife of a baronet. Your behavior is decidedly middle class. Only men of the lower classes heed their wedding vows."

  To which Cornelia giggled.

  Virginia scowled at her twin. "But Ronnie and I discussed infidelity before we married, and he promised he would never love anyone but me."

  Daphne patted the back of her sister's hand. "And I believe that. Surely you know a man doesn't have to be in love with a woman in order to have intimate relations with her. Men," Daphne announced prosaically, "are like animals, totally indiscriminate with their bodies."

  Cornelia and Virginia looked at each other, their eyes wide with shock that their maiden sister knew of such things.

  "But---" Virginia broke off with a piercing sob. "Ronnie's body belongs to me." Daphne had never heard the word "belongs" pronounced more forlornly.

  When Cornelia started to laugh, Daphne silenced her with a threatening scowl and shake of her head. This was no laughing matter. Poor Virginia still believed in love matches, and there was no doubt she was madly in love with her Ronald. "Now, pet, you mustn't be mad at Ronald. He's only doing what all the men of our class do," Daphne said. "You mustn't take it personally."

  "A pity you had to find out," Cornelia said. "Daphne's right. You're behaving in a most middle-class fashion." She shrugged. "I've known about Lankersham's lady birds forever. It's simply something we never discuss." She burst out laughing. "Poor Lankersham. He tries so vigilantly to conceal these affairs from me. He never takes his own carriage to Marylebone Street when he visits Mrs. Hennings."

  "I daresay you never would have found out," said Virginia (whose tears had remarkably vanished), "if Rundel & Bridge hadn't accidentally sent to you the sapphire necklace he bought to match her eyes."

  Cornelia giggled. "I do wonder what I was supposed to have received that day. Do you suppose Mrs. Hennings received a topaz necklace--to match my eyes?"

  "However did you know Mrs. Hennings is in possession of blue eyes?" Daphne asked. It wasn't as if she or her sisters moved in the same circles with London's doxies. How odd it seemed to finally be mentioning Mrs. Hennings's name in front of Cornelia, whose husband was said to be besotted over the former actress.

  "I saw her on the stage before she came under Lankersham's protection," Cornelia said. "Even from our box, I could discern the distinctive blue of her eyes."

  She would, Daphne thought, pushing her spectacles up her nose. She got the good eyes.

  Virginia began to weep again. "It's different with you, Cornelia. You never claimed to be madly in love with Lankersham. You married him in order to become a duchess. My marriage was a love match."

  "And so it still is," Daphne assured, dropping a soft kiss on Virginia's warm brown hair.

  "I did, too, love Lankersham!" Cornelia protested with the stomp of her satin slipper against her carpeted floor. She lifted her chin, a martyred look easing across her lovely face. "I still love him."

  Her sister, Daphne decided, could rival Mrs. Siddons for most-talented actress in all of England.

  Virginia's eyes narrowed. "You're forgetting, dear sister, you have always shared everything with me, including the fact you were marrying Lankersham when it was Jake Bolingstoke whom you truly loved."

  The very memory of how compatible Cornelia and Bolingstoke had been saddened Daphne. Had her sister been allowed to marry the man she really loved, Cornelia would not now be having affairs with every man who flattered her. Daphne frowned. A pity Papa was such an utter snob. He had decided because Bolingstoke was without fortune, he was without worth. And he'd been very wrong. Now married to another, Bolingstoke was making a name for himself in the House of Commons. And Cornelia was making a name for herself as a high-ranking woman of easy virtue.

  Cornelia tossed her head back and laughed. "Dear me, I had quite forgotten about Bolingstoke. It was so long ago. I assure you I'm completely devoted to dear Lankersham now."

  Daphne leveled a serious look at her duchess sister, who was prettier than any opera dancer she had ever seen. "You--being a married woman--must discuss Mistress Etiquette with your twin. She'll make a cake of herself if she launches into a jealous rage."

  Cornelia looked contrite. "Well, Ging," she addressed her twin in a tender voice, "we really do need to discuss this like the upper class wives that we are."

  Rebuttoning her gloves, Daphne got to her feet and bid farewell to her married sisters.

  * * *

  Jack had been watching Lady Daphne Chalmers for two days now. Well, actually, the first day he'd been watching the wrong Chalmers sister. The misapprehension had come about when Jack had asked a fellow at Almack's to point out Miss Daphne Chalmers. The man had indicated a young woman in pink. Not that he'd said "pink." He'd merely pointed, and there were but two women in the direction he had pointed. Jack had erroneously assumed the ill-dressed woman in spectacles was Miss Chalmers's maid. For the elegant lady in pink must be Miss Chalmers, daughter of an earl and sister to the wife of the regent's cousin. He was to learn later that the elegant woman in pink was Miss Chalmers. Miss Annabelle Chalmers. Aged one and twenty. Daphne, aged four and twenty, was the eldest of the six Chalmers sisters and the most well-informed aristocrat in the kingdom. Everyone said so.

  After dancing with Annabelle Chalmers, who spoke incessantly and with much of her conversation peppered with "Daphne says," Jack quietly observed Miss Daphne Chalmers for the rest of the night. The woman never lacked for dance partners. Despite that she was taller than several of her partners. Despite that her bosom (or her lack of one) resembled her dance partners'. Despite that at least fifty ladies in the room were possessed of more beauty than she and that a hundred ladies in the room dressed more fashionably. What's the deal? he wondered.

  Nevertheless, men queued up throughout the night to be entertained by Miss Daphne Chalmers. That the men were entertained rather than captivated by Miss Chalmers was evident from the manner in which her partners repeatedly tossed back their heads to laugh--and sometimes even to guffaw. Then, too, there was the fact none of the men appeared nervous when dancing with her though they were when dancing with one of the Pretty Young Things. The men obviously looked upon her as a sister. Or as one of the fellows. Which, no doubt, explained how she secured the confidences of so many people. And why she wasn't married.

  After having become familiar with Miss Daphne Chalmers' habits, Jack was finally ready this morning to make her acquaintance. He was even moderately confident that he looked like an upperclass gentleman. Thanks to Weston.

  A pity Lady Daphne Chalmers wasn't pretty. He would have liked for her to have been a beauty, especially because of the plan he wished to propose. But Miss Chalmers wasn't even tolerably good looking. In addition to being built in the pattern of a gaslight pole, the woman was possessed of a mane of wild, b
ushy golden curls that was totally at odds with current fashion. Miss Chalmers, in fact, was at odds with all fashion. Worse yet, she never removed those damned spectacles! Miss Chalmers was assuredly the least vain woman on the face of the earth.

  During the two days he had watched her, Jack noticed that unlike her unmarried sisters, Daphne Chalmers never traveled with a maid, no doubt a concession to her entrenchment into spinsterhood. This being the case, Jack was assured his impending conversation with Miss Chalmers would be private.

  Less than half an hour after she had entered the lavish Lankersham House, she reemerged and began to walk back to Cavendish Square.

  When he believed there was no one observing him, he walked up beside her, his step falling in rhythm with hers.

  She shot him a what-are-you-doing? look, then asked, "Were you not at Almack's Wednesday?"

  Since he had not danced with her, he realized that Miss Chalmers was possessed not only of a keen memory but also of excellent powers of observation. Which could serve them rather well. "I was."

  "You know it's improper for us to speak since we've not been formally introduced."

  "I believe the Prince Regent has informed you that a man acting on his behalf would be making himself known to you."

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide, and nodded.

  "I am that man."

  She nodded again.

  "Shall we sit at the bench in the park?" he asked, looking toward the fenced park in the center of Grosvenor Square.

  "Do you have a key?" she asked. "I don't."

  He shrugged. "Then we won't sit."

  "There's a church around the corner. . ." she began. "We can speak privately there."

  Now he knew why the men at Almack's treated her like one of the fellows. She was like one of the fellows. Any other woman who had been approached in this manner would be firing off questions like a barrister in chancery. But not the Chalmers chit.

  He smiled to himself. Working with Miss Chalmers would be like working with Edwards again. Jack frowned; his gut clenched. Edwards was dead. He coiled his fists and forced from his mind vengeance on the Duc d'Arblier.

  They soon entered a dark little chapel whose stone walls were black with London's soot. Jack followed Miss Chalmers down the uneven nave until she swung open a hip-high gate and took a seat on a worn wooden pew.

  He entered the cubicle and sat facing her.

  "Sir," she addressed him, "I'm afraid you have the advantage over me for you know my name, but I do not know yours."

  Since he was seated and unable to bow, he inclined his head, a lazy smile tweaking at one corner of his mouth. "I am Captain Jack Dryden."

  "You've just come from the Peninsula?"

  Now how in the hell did she know that? He had specifically asked that the Prince Regent not reveal that piece of information. "What makes you think so?"

  "Your suntan has not faded."

  A most observant woman, to be sure. Not only observant but quick thinking, too. He gazed into her spectacles. Her eyes were green. Mossy green and rather large. A pity the spectacles drew attention away from such very fine eyes. He was close enough to smell her fresh scent, but he was unable to identify it.

  "It occurred to me during our walk here," she said, "that his majesty must have summoned you here for a very important mission, but I'm utterly incapable of understanding how I fit into all of this."

  "I shall enlighten you. What I'm going to impart to you is of a most confidential nature. You are to tell no one." He gave her a stern look.

  Her eyes widened even larger, and when she nodded he thought she looked like a repentant child.

  "His Royal Highness tells me that unlike others of your gender, you're incapable of betraying certain confidences."

  Her lashes lowered. They were rather long, he noted for the first time. "I'm a noted gossip, Captain, but I have a self-imposed code that I adhere to."

  He quirked one brow.

  "I've never spoken of it before," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "It seems so . . . almost evangelical." She slumped and glanced away from him. "You see, if I'm aware of someone breaking one of the Ten Commandments, I'm conscience bound not to divulge such an act. It's my belief that if I blacken someone's character--even someone who has already blackened his or her own character--that makes me just as culpable as the original offender."

  Good lord! He'd read the very same thing in a theology book at school, but he'd bet a pony Miss Chalmers had come to such a conclusion through her very own cunning because everyone knew females (except for Hannah More) did not read theology books. "Actually," he said, "the matter you're to be discreet about can't tarnish anyone's name at present because we don't know who the . . . offender is."

  "Pray, Captain," she said, leaning toward him and lowering her voice, "what is the offense?"

  He spoke gravely. "Someone is trying to murder the Prince Regent."

  She gave an involuntary exclamation. "That is perfectly despicable! Our dear sovereign is the most amiable man I've ever known." She went silent for a moment, then reflected aloud. "The attempt on the regent must have occurred ten days ago."

  "How could you possibly know that?"

  "I don't actually know it," she said. "It was just a guess. Anyone in the prince's inner circle knows that he hasn't left Carlton House in the last ten days and that he's canceled any number of outings, including a ball at my sister Virginia's."

  "Yes, the second attempt on the regent's life took place ten days ago."

  Her face blanched. "Second?"

  He nodded and went on to explain the circumstances of the two attempts on the regent's life.

  "You're well acquainted with his majesty?" she asked when he finished.

  His booming chuckle filled the tiny chapel. "Hardly. The second son of a country squire does not travel in such exalted circles."

  "Then...?"

  Jack shrugged. "Apparently my commanding officer recommended me to the regent because I've had some success in clandestine operations for the military."

  Her eyes flashed. "You're a spy!"

  He nodded.

  A smile breathed vibrant life into her slim face. "How delightful! Prinny wishes for you to investigate these attempts, but I still don't see how I fit into all of this."

  That this woman of uncanny aptitudes had not yet comprehended her role rather disappointed him. Her lapse in reasoning must be attributed to her shocked concern for her monarch. "If I'm to . . . for lack of a better word, infiltrate into his majesty's circles--"

  "Oh yes, I see!" she exclaimed. "I'm to help you not be a fish out of water."

  "Exactly."

  "How very exciting! I shall be honored to be your assistant in this endeavor, captain. Where shall we start?"

  Jack's pulse raced. "You'll start by pledging to be my fake fiancé."

  Chapter 3

  Daphne broke into hysterical laughter. No one in possession of even tolerable vision would ever believe a handsome man like Captain Sublime could be attracted to the completely unattractive Daphne Chalmers. The light in the chapel was not so dim that she could not take in the perfection of the officer's appearance. Of course the first thing she (and all the Pretty Young Things at Almack's) had noticed about him was his dashing figure. Those long, muscled legs. Those unquestionably broad shoulders. That trim waist. And now that Daphne had the opportunity to observe him up close, she realized he was quite possibly the most handsome man she had ever seen. Not only was his skin dark, but so were his eyes and his hair. He brought to mind a Spanish nobleman, though when he talked, his voice was that of an English gentleman. A very manly English gentleman. The ruggedness in his square jaw and straight nose was tempered by his kindly black eyes and the graveness of his lowered voice.

  "What's so funny?" he asked.

  "No one would ever believe a handsome man like you could be attracted to a wallflower like me."

  He frowned. "You most decidedly are not a wallflower. Have you forgotten I wit
nessed you at Almack's the other night? I don't believe you sat out a single set."

  "But you, my dear captain, were not one of my dancing partners. Anyone who knows me would know that I've had no occasion to develop an attachment to you," Daphne said. "In fact, the one time we were in the same room together we did not even dance with one another."

  "I believe I know how we can get around that."

  She arched a brow.

  "We can say I had already developed an attachment to you, an attachment that you were trying to ignore because of the disparity in our stations. Now, though, you have decided the disparity is not as great as our . . . love."

  Daphne had never blushed in her life. Until today. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "Pray, Captain," she said in a shaky voice, "how is it we would even have met?"

  "You spend a great deal of time at Hatchard's Book Shop. Unchaperoned."

  Her eyes widened. "You've been following me?"

  "Of course," he said with amusement.

  "Oh, dear." She tried to think of what she had been doing these past few days. She had gone to the theatre last night and Almack's the night before. During the day she had visited the twins and gone to the book store. Dear dribble, how decidedly dull she must appear!

  "We can say we made each other's acquaintance at the book shop and it blossomed from there."

  "I do not mean to offend you, Captain, but my father would never consent to my marrying you."

  "Your father has confidence in your judgment, Lady Daphne. If you assure him I'm the only man you'll ever have, he'll agree to our betrothal. After all, you are his favorite."

  Lady Daphne Chalmers decided Captain Jack Dryden must be a very good spy. No wonder he had been recommended to the regent for this immensely important job.

  "But how will we break off the engagement--assuming I can persuade Papa of my desire to become your wife?"

  "You'll cry off, of course. After being in my pocket for however long it takes us to catch the culprit, you will proclaim that our closeness has shown you that we weren't suited after all."

  Takes us to catch the culprit. She liked the sound of that. She liked that Captain Dryden was going to let her be his partner in this investigation. Already he was treating her like the intelligent woman she was. She liked, too, his positive attitude. He had no doubts he would succeed in his mission of apprehending the fiend who wanted to slay their very amiable ruler.