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

by Cheryl Bolen

  His eyes still closed so he could evoke images of Daphne, he drew both her hands into his and kissed them, tasting their pudginess with nibbly bites. "I shall never know a moment's happiness until this woman's husband is dead." There! He had thrown out the gauntlet. The end to this charade was in sight!

  She did not respond.

  He allowed himself to believe that she was framing her response, deciding how she would approach him about her plan to kill her husband.

  He was feeling quite smug with himself when she finally did respond.

  "As much as I loathe ze man, I vish him no harm."

  Jack bolted up. What the hell? "But, your Royal Highness, as long as he draws breath, we can never be together as a man and woman who love each other."

  "As appealing as zat is, ze appeal of being ze Queen of England is stronger."

  Chapter 14

  Having cut short his visit to Blackheath, Jack arrived at Sidworth House in time to watch Daphne and one of her sisters (he had the devil of a time distinguishing between the younger ones) leave the house, but not in time for them to see him. Even though London had escaped the snow which fell in Blackheath and Greenwich, it was beastly cold. These Chalmers sisters must be of hardy stock.

  After he secured his mount, he set off on foot after them and soon caught up with them. Daphne drilled him with an icy stare as her hand flew to smooth her undressed hair. She seemed irritated when she spoke to him. "Why . . . Mr. Rich! Whatever are you doing here so early?"

  He could not very well tell her he'd come to speak privately, at least not without offending the insipidly pretty sister. "My business today was finished considerably earlier than I had expected," he said as he fell into step beside her. Only that instant did it become apparent to him that today she was the same old Daphne, the one with bushy hair and spectacles -- even if she was wearing what appeared to be a new dress.

  Thank God for the spectacles.

  He was much more comfortable with her when she looked as she had when he'd first made her acquaintance. And he was also more comfortable knowing other men wouldn't be making cakes of themselves over her--which was completely irrational and thoroughly selfish of him since he certainly could never woo her himself.

  Daphne's narrow-eyed glance flicked to her sister, then back to Jack as she tucked her arms into his. "I pray that your business was successful?"

  His glance volleyed from the sister to Daphne, then he frowned. How in the devil was he going to be able to converse with his betrothed with that nosy girl attaching herself to Daphne like barnacles? He glared at the menace, then shrugged.

  "That, my dear, would depend upon your definition of successful."

  Now he had roused her curiosity. She flicked an impatient glance at her sister. "Oh, Doreen, why do you not run along to Cornelia's without me? Mr. Rich and I must discuss tedious business matters that have a bearing upon our future together." For someone so inherently honest, he thought, Lady Daphne was certainly blessed with a gift for prevarication.

  Doreen gave Daphne a sly glance before taking her leave. He suddenly realized she was not the youngest because the youngest sister (Rosemary? Was she not?) had not yet come out and therefore could not be permitted to walk without a chaperon to the duchess's townhouse.

  "Pray, Captain," Daphne said, once they were alone, "you must tell me what cut short your visit to Blackheath."

  A smile tweaking at his lips, he decided to prolong her impatience. "Really, my sweet, you must quit calling me Captain. You're apt to forget and use that name when we're in company."

  "Even though Mr. Rich is my own creation, I cannot call you that."

  He patted her hand. "Since we're engaged to be married, I see no reason why you can't just call me Jack."

  Her eyes widened as she gazed up at him. "It seems so . . . intimate." Her cheeks suddenly turned scarlet. She must be remembering the intimacy of their kisses.

  "No more intimate than . . . "

  "Kissing me?" she challenged, peering up at him.

  "Exactly." His throat went suddenly dry.

  "We'll turn into Green Park," she said, looking some thirty feet ahead on their left. The stately structures lining Piccadilly gave way for a lush pocket park that was completely surrounded by some of Mayfair's--and, hence, London's--finest residences. As they drew near he saw that at the far end of the park a few nurses romped with their charges, but by staying near Piccadilly Jack and Daphne would have the byways all to themselves. The privileged inhabitants of Mayfair did not take kindly to embracing the frigid elements. Unless their last name was Chalmers.

  Her hand dug into his arm. "What happened at Blackheath today?" She froze and whirled to face him. "There's been a breakthrough, hasn't there?"

  "That would depend on your definition of breakthrough."

  Daphne's mouth dropped open. "She confessed?"

  He threw his head back and began to laugh.

  She stomped her foot. "Pray, why are you laughing?"

  Would that a few hours earlier he could have seen the humor in the situation. As soon as the princess confessed to her zeal for keeping her husband alive, he'd known that he had wasted several days on the wrong suspect. He was furious that all those hours traveling to and from Blackheath had netted nothing. That time could have been used to uncover other potential threats to the regent. Even more disgusting, he could have been spared from the most distasteful assignment he'd ever engaged in.

  Once the fruitlessness of his mission had become painfully clear, he vowed not to spend one second more with the portly princess. He had immediately leaped up, feigned a disturbing setback to his health, and had taken his leave.

  A good thing he had used a false name. And a naval identity. Hopefully, he would never see the princess again.

  Now he laughed harder and shook his head, still unable to satisfy Daphne's curiosity.

  "Pray, Cap--, er, Jack, what is so humorous?"

  Finally, his guffaws ceased. "We've wasted a great deal of time."

  Her spectacles slid down her nose as her brows drew together. "You're telling me Princess Caroline is innocent?"

  "I am."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because she told me her desire to be queen was greater than her hatred of the regent."

  Daphne's eyes narrowed. "You offered to do away with him?"

  Jack shook his head. "I was leading up to that when I told her we could never know a lover's happiness as long as her husband drew breath."

  An indifferent expression flickered on Daphne's face. "Then you and the princess must have been in a most intimate situation."

  "I never discuss my methods, only the results." His intense gaze held hers. "Even with my most trusted partners."

  She sighed and continued on deeper into the park, her arm still linked to his. "You're right. We have wasted a great deal of time. What do you suggest now?"

  "I've been thinking about that all the way back from Blackheath."

  "And?"

  He frowned. "I need to make the acquaintance of George Lamb."

  "Oh, dear."

  "You know him, don't you?"

  "Yes, of course. He's terribly interested in the theatre and poetry and things of that nature. I don't often see him at places like Almack's, but of course, he's not looking for a bride."

  "He's already married?"

  "Yes, and it's the deucest thing. Everyone knows he's the regent's illegitimate son--even though Prinny has never acknowledged him--and everyone knows Caroline St. Jules is the Duke of Devonshire's illegitimate daughter . . ."

  "What does Caroline St. Jules have to do with George Lamb?"

  "She's his wife."

  Jack went silent. "A most singular coincidence, to be sure. I suppose they both know the identities of their true parents?"

  She shrugged. "Who knows? Lord Melbourne will swear that George Lamb is his son, and as far as I know, George has never questioned it, though I'm not particularly well acquainted with him. Mama dislikes
his mother."

  "And Caroline?"

  "Surely she would have to know. Everyone knew about her mother's love affair with the duke--and, of course, she ended up marrying the duke after the first duchess's untimely death. Both of the second duchess's illegitimate children were raised in Devonshire's house while the first duchess was still alive."

  "What did the duke's first wife have to say to that?"

  "Oh, she had been banished for having her own illegitimate child! When the duke finally allowed her to return, the three of them were a menage a trois."

  "Sounds like fodder for Gibbon," he mumbled.

  She raised a quizzing brow. "You think perhaps Edward Gibbon could be scribe to The Decline and Fall of the English Aristocracy?"

  "The demise of the aristocracy is not inconceivable. Look at the French." How many of those French noblemen had fled to England with only the clothes on their backs, their consequence as tattered as a coronet robbed of its jewels?

  Only a similarly horrific purge could place Daphne on an equal plane with him. And as much as he wanted to be on an equal plane--or a desert island--with her, he could never wish such a catastrophe on her family.

  She scrunched up her nose. "I'd rather not."

  He peered at her profile. "Tell me, my lady, are you confident that your own sisters are indeed your sisters?"

  She did not answer for a moment. "I know there's a great disparity in our appearances, but I truly believe we all share the same parents."

  "That's not just wishful thinking?"

  "It's my hypothesis based on my knowledge of my mother's character."

  "I have to admit I cannot see your mother cavorting with lovers."

  "She doesn't," Daphne said emphatically. "For two reasons, neither of which are related to morals."

  Now he raised a brow.

  "First, she truly loves Papa."

  Jack had to confess he had noticed a deep affection between Lord and Lady Sidworth. "And the second reason?"

  "She told the twins upon the eves of their marriages that she abhorred . . ." She paused and gave him a somber look.

  "Sexual intimacy?"

  She nodded.

  He was gratified that Lady Daphne differed from her mother on that matter. Not that it would do him any bloody damn good.

  "And your father?"

  "Has probably sired an illegitimate child or two in his time," she said with a scowl. "He's always had his lady birds, but never for any great length of time and never at the expense of his deep regard for our mother."

  Jack's memory flashed to his own parents' marriage, and his lips curved into a smile. For five and thirty years they'd been wed now, and the idea of either of them being unfaithful was as unfathomable as the idea of them sitting down as equals with Lord and Lady Sidworth.

  Thinking of his much-loved parents brought a touch of melancholy. It had been far too long since he'd seen them, far too long since he'd scooped his frail mother into his arms for an affectionate greeting. He vowed that as soon as he apprehended the villain who threatened the regent he would go to Laurel Farm and see his parents before returning to the Peninsula. If I apprehend the vile creature, he thought with an uncharacteristic lack of confidence.

  They walked in silence for a moment, the only sound children's faraway voices lifted in laughter. He decided he much preferred this small park to the hustle and bustle of Hyde Park.

  "I don't suppose your father ever . . . ?" she asked Jack.

  "Never. I'm quite certain."

  "And I don't suppose you would, either, were you married?"

  "If I didn't love a woman enough to be faithful I wouldn't wed her in the first place." Unaccountably, he thought of being married to Daphne.

  Then he forced such improbable thoughts from his mind. "About George Lamb. . . "

  "I know!" she exclaimed. "He belongs to my father's club. Are you not going there tonight with Papa?"

  "I believe I am." But he certainly was not looking forward to it. How would the son of a simple country farmer get on at one of London's most exclusive gentlemen's clubs?

  Having made a complete circle around the park, they began a second lap. "Dare I hope I can get George Lamb drunk enough to pour out his life's secret?" he asked.

  "You can try."

  By the time they reached the far end of the park, the nurses and their laughing children were gone, and he and Daphne were quite alone. She came to an abrupt halt and peered up at him. "I should like you to kiss me again, Cap--Jack."

  His name on her lips was an aphrodisiac. But he could not allow himself to weaken. For both their sakes. "I told you I wasn't going to kiss you again." The firmness of his voice belied his faltering reserve. He forced himself to stride away.

  She pouted as she tried to catch up with him. "But you admitted you enjoyed kissing me."

  "At the same time," he said sternly, "I told you it couldn't be repeated."

  "But if you . . . Why, Jack? Why won't you kiss me? I know you want to." She gazed up at him with woeful green eyes made even larger by the magnification of her spectacles. He noticed for the first time the pale, pinpoint freckles that dusted her nose. "Is it because . . . " Her voice broke. "Because I'm not pretty anymore?"

  His resolve not to weaken snapped like a weak link in an iron chain, and he hauled her into his chest. She felt so delicate and precious and ... desirable. But it was not his own feelings that mattered now. All he wanted was to reassure the fragile creature he held in his arms of her immense worthiness. "You think I care whether your hair's restrained or whether your dress is in the first stare of fashion?"

  "Truthfully? No," she said, settling her face against his sternum.

  "We've become entirely too close, Daphne." And -- bloody hell -- his use of her first name brought them even closer! He could not allow himself to call her Daphne ever again. "You're far too intelligent not to be aware of the impossibility of any kind of union between us."

  Her face burrowed into his chest, and she nodded.

  They stood there for several moments like two forlorn souls, silent and sullen. When another pair of nurses and their cherry-cheeked charges turned into the park, he jerked away, and he and Daphne began to walk back toward Piccadilly. He felt something wet and peered down at the front of his shirt.

  Oh, God, her tears had soaked through the fine linen.

  * * *

  That night Jack and Lord Sidworth dined at Boodle's. The more time Jack spent with Daphne's father, the deeper his affection for the man grew. Though Lord Sidworth lacked the profound intelligence of his eldest daughter, the earl was possessed of many other attributes. His devotion to his family had shown Jack that a man's marital infidelities did not detract from his high regard for his wife nor did they lessen his affection toward his children. Lord Sidworth was just as besotted over Daphne as Jack's father was toward Penelope, Jack's only sister.

  Earl Sidworth was not only affable with his family, but he was genuinely liked by all those whose company he kept. Jack had observed that Lord Sidworth seldom spoke of himself, preferring instead to inquire about those with whom he spent his time, the result being that whomever he was with was immediately put at ease.

  Especially Jack. No potential father-in-law could have welcomed him more heartily or could have treated him more kindly. A pity Jack was living a lie. A pity he was not the rich Mr. Rich Lord Sidworth thought he was.

  The deceptions of the past two weeks had been the most difficult of Jack's long career of deception. Infiltrating a French camp, taking a musket ball in the leg, making love to d'Arblier's mistress--though fraught with peril for himself--did not ill use loyal British subjects, did not hold innocent persons up to ridicule, did not delude a trusting father. As badly as Jack felt about duping Princess Caroline, he felt even worse lying to Lord Sidworth, a man who was willing to entrust Jack with his most precious possession.

  Jack tried to absolve himself from this wretched guilt by reminding himself that if his lordship knew he was real
ly Jack Dryden he would likely wish him dead rather than see him married to Daphne.

  But such knowledge did not allay Jack's discomfort.

  "Stephenson," Lord Sidworth said to a contemporary of his who shared their table, "have you met Jack Rich? He's fresh from Africa."

  Stephenson's bushy brows drew together. "This the fellow who's been courting Lady Daphne? The city's abuzz with talk of wedding bells."

  Lord Sidworth chuckled. "Indeed it is." This was followed by the all-too-familiar slap against Jack's back. "Only man I've ever met that I'd entrust my eldest girl with," Lord Sidworth said. He sat down his wine glass and spoke as an aside. "He likes her spectacles."

  How quickly Lord Sidworth's admiration would turn when he learns who I really am.

  "Can't imagine her without them," Mr. Stephenson said. Turning to Jack, he added, "Remarkable girl. Terribly clever, too."

  "You cannot tell me anything about Lady Daphne's attributes that I haven't already discovered," Jack said. At least that wasn't a lie.

  His glance circled the table of six. Stephenson was the only man present whom Jack had not previously met. Sharing the table with them were the real diamond miner from South Africa--Mr. Bottomworth, Lord Sidworth's son-in-law Sir Ronald Johnson, and Lord Hertford. Except for Sir Ronald, it was an assembly that rather made Jack feel like a youngster.

  He wondered if George Lamb was at the club. Daphne had said Lamb was of the same age as Jack. Therefore, Jack eyed with interest every man who looked to be thirty, give or take five years. In his mind's eye, he pictured a younger version of Prinny. He expected the man's face to be fleshy, with a plump chin, and he decided the man would likely have a thick waist. But what if he looked like his mother, Lady Melbourne? Jack had no idea what Lady Melbourne looked like.

  The easiest thing, of course, would be to simply ask his dinner companions if George Lamb was at Boodles, but he could hardly do that.

  Instead he ate quietly, vowed to avoid making eye contact with Mr. Bottomworth, and prayed no one would direct a question about Africa at him. Surely after dinner they would mingle more with the other gentlemen in the subdued chambers.