by D. L. Carter
Lady Philomena clenched her hand, coming up as if to slap, but Shoffer stepped between the dowager and Beth and the moment passed.
“I can see North’s influence over you has grown,” moaned Lady Philomena. “I have heard what is said of him. How can it be that you continue to receive him? Do you not know how you are regarded? The effect upon Elizabeth’s standing? How can it be that a man of wit and rank can be so taken in? If you continue this association, I can foresee that no family of sensibility will have either of you.”
“Good,” was Beth’s only reply.
“You have no voice in whom and when I wed, Your Grace,” said Shoffer.
“It is your responsibility to marry. I have told you over and over. If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, you must marry. And you should marry soon to bury these dreadful rumors.”
“Well, there is your problem,” said Millicent from her place at the poorly lit end of the table. “You have not said it enough. One hundred times! Surely you are aware that you must repeat that particular command exactly one thousand times, and when you have done so, our friend Shoffer will leap up and cry ‘of course, I must wed,’ and marry the first woman he sees thereafter.”
The guests laughed.
The dowager glared down the table. “Your mockery is not appreciated. It is required that Shoffer should make an advantageous, appropriate match that supports the dignity of his station and remove from our family name the stain you have brought upon it.”
“How very dull you make it sound.” Millicent lifted her still full wine glass and studied its depths.
“Dull or lively makes no difference. I was speaking of marriage, not a Cheltenham farce. Shoffer has delayed taking up this responsibility for spite. If he bore any respect for his rank, he would have wed at my direction years ago.”
“And yet, I did not.” Shoffer rose and stared the elderly woman down. “But to comfort you, dear grandmother, I shall tell you. I have met the woman I would marry given the chance. But, let me be clear, if I cannot marry her, I shall not marry at all.”
The dowager went pale as ash at his look and tone. Shoffer moved closer to tower over the tiny woman.
“I love – a word with which you are not familiar, dear grandmother – nevertheless, it is true. I love Helene Winthrop and if she would consent to be my wife, I would be the happiest of men.”
Millicent dropped her glass, which shattered on her plate, and all heads turned toward her.
“Who, pray,” shrieked the dowager, bringing all faces back to her end of the table, “is Helene Winthrop?”
Millicent’s mouth worked, but she could not think of a single word to say.
Into this silence Shoffer said with deadly calm. “Helene Winthrop currently does me the honor of being my mistress. Should circumstances ever change, I hope to have the greater honor of having her as my wife.”
Up and down the table came cries of shock and disbelief.
Millicent’s heart turned over in her breast and she pressed her hand against that ache. He loved her. Loved her. He wanted to marry her. Despite everything, he loved her. She could not believe it. Still, no matter what he wished or said, marriage was not possible between them. Her thoughts held her paralyzed as the rest of the table roared like a swarm of angry bees.
“I say, Shoffer,” Lord Edgeware chided him. “It is not done to name your bit of fluff like that, especially in mixed company.”
“I am not ashamed of her and neither is she of me.”
“Who is this woman?” demanded the dowager. “Mr. North, I am certain this is yet another disaster that you have visited upon my family. It is bad enough that you encroach upon us and bring dishonor upon our name for the first time in its history…”
“Spare us,” cried Shoffer. “What of the third duke who slaughtered all his captives on the way home from the battlefield rather than be bothered to feed them long enough to ransom them? Or the one who tried to drink the whole family into penury? Or the one who assisted in the dissolution of the Catholic Church by raping as many nuns as could be found? My association with Mr. North – entirely innocent as it is – is barely a smudge in the deep pile of filth that so many of our allegedly noble families have as their heritage.”
The dowager ignored him and went so far as to seize Millicent by her arm. “Who is this Helene Winthrop to you?”
“I…” Millicent stammered for a moment, then spoke weakly, “I am surprised that Shoffer would say her name before this company.”
“I will apologize to the lady later,” murmured Shoffer. “For your information, Lady Philomena, Helene is the widowed cousin of Mr. North.”
“I thought as much,” cried the duchess. “Another of your foul family. You encroach too far. Leave immediately, Mr. North, and take your disgusting family with you. Elizabeth, you are coming with me. I am taking you to my house and you will spend the next week in your room praying that no scandal attaches to you from your association with this degenerate.”
“Your Grace,” interrupted Shoffer, glaring at the dowager. “You are becoming quite overset. I must insist you leave at once.”
Silence reigned as Shoffer took his grandmother by the arm and half dragged her down the few steps and onto the path beside the dining boxes. The cluster of revelers who were loitering there, hanging on every scandalous word parted like the Red Sea as Shoffer half carried his grandmother away.
“Well,” said Attelweir. “That was entertaining.”
“No, it was not,” said Lady Beth. “Mr. North, I am sorry you were spoken to in that manner. Sometime soon, I should like to be introduced to your other cousin.”
“That is unlikely,” said Millicent, so desperate for an excuse she settled for the absolute truth. “In the current circumstances, she is not considered fit company for you.”
“I do not care. I would dearly love to meet the woman who has captured Timothy’s heart.”
“Grant the poor girl’s wish, North,” said Attelweir with a lecherous grin. “Given the other sins, going about meeting with a mistress is such a small scandal for Lady Elizabeth to indulge in. I would not mind meeting the fair Helene myself.”
“Attelweir, your opinion has not been sought! You were not invited to this gathering and should depart.” Beth drew herself to her feet. “Since you arrived in Grandmother’s carriage you should hurry, else you will have to find other transport home, and, if your pockets are as much to let as usual, lacking a shilling for a hackney, you will have to walk.”
Attelweir paled at this frank reference, before witnesses, to his lack of blunt. He did not bother to bow to any of the watchers, but turned on his heel and vanished into the crowd.
Beth drew a deep breath, arranged her features into a pleasant smile, and beamed around the table.
“My dear friends, I hope you will not permit that … display on the part of my relatives to ruin your appetites or spoil your enjoyment of the evening. Please, do continue to eat. I am confident the fireworks will begin soon.”
Millicent obediently picked up her knife and fork, but could not eat since her plate was covered in broken glass and spilled wine. Around the table conversation resumed. Everyone was avoiding, at least in audible tones, discussing the very interesting announcement the duke had made. Millicent rarely heard the weather discussed with so much dedication.
Her own thoughts kept returning to Shoffer’s statement.
He loved his mistress.
Loved Helene.
Loved her.
She closed her eyes.
Shoffer loved her possibly as much as she loved him.
She could die in this moment and be content.
* * *
Shoffer returned from seeing his grandmother off in her carriage, scowling with such ferocity that people leapt out of his path. He climbed back into the dining box without acknowledging anyone present. Beth smiled at him when he resumed his place at the other end of the table and he managed a weak turning of his lips in retur
n.
“Did you see both of them off?” inquired North.
“Both of them,” repeated Shoffer. “What do you mean?”
“Attelweir. He arrived with Her Grace, remember? Did he catch up with you in time to be taken up in her carriage?”
Shoffer stared at his plate as if it contained the answer to all life’s questions. “No. I did not see him.”
North glanced about at the milling crowd, but could not spot the duc. “I hope the ladies will forgive me, but I think we should not stay for the dancing and fireworks.”
Shoffer nodded.
“I agree with North. I apologize to you all for the disruption, but it is better so. We should escort the ladies home.”
“Surely, you are being over cautious, Timothy,” said Beth. “We can safely stay until the fireworks are over. Please.”
“Forgive me, dear Beth. I shall arrange for you to come another night to view the fireworks, but tonight, I think it would be best to leave before the crowd. Once the fireworks are over, the pathways hereabouts will be over-full with people and it will be near impossible to locate our carriages.”
It looked for a moment that Beth would continue to protest, but Felicity rose, and recruiting Lady Edith with a glance, took the girl in hand.
“I agree with His Grace. The crowd hereabouts has a rough and disgusted look about it. We best leave.”
Without discussing the matter, Shoffer and North took the lead with the ladies trailing behind them. Simpson and his uncle undertook to follow behind to make sure no one was separated by the crowd. By the time they had battled their way through the massed revelers, even Beth was willing to admit fatigue and agree to go home, instead of to some other entertainment.
As the ladies were aided into the carriages by the footmen, Shoffer, Millicent, and Simpson took leave of Lord Edgeware, who was planning to take a hackney home.
“Uncle,” said Simpson, “I wish to thank you for coming. I am only sorry that the evening was cut short.”
“Not at all. It was unexpectedly entertaining.”
Millicent scowled at the older man, which intimidated him not at all.
“The girl you are marrying seems a sensible lass,” continued the Earl. “Once the settlements are arranged come and see me and I will give you advice on investing her dowry.”
Millicent bit her tongue to stop herself from protesting that action and resolved to ensure the lawyers protected Mildred’s interests. Simpson gave a neutral grunt, shook his uncle’s hand, and aided him into the hackney. Millicent took leave of Simpson and Shoffer with a nod and climbed up to join the women of her own household. Millicent and Maude had their heads together discussing something or other and Felicity was resting her head on the squabs, her eyes closed. Millicent copied her, unwilling to engage in conversation.
All she wanted to do was pull out the memory of Shoffer declaring his love and relive it over and over.
Shoffer loved her. Wanted to marry her. Joy fought with pain. It was not possible, would never happen, but, oh, the knowledge he loved her that much, would marry her despite the differences in their ranks, their positions in society, she hugged to herself in the dark. Even her fictitious widowhood and position as mistress had not stopped him from declaring his intent before witnesses.
“Millicent,” hissed Mildred, as soon as she was certain their mother slept. “What is this? Who is the Helene His Grace was speaking of? Surely he cannot mean our cousin.”
Millicent winced. “I should have known that you would not let that pass.”
“What is going on?” demanded Maude.
Millicent blushed and leaned closer to her sisters. “I … His Grace and I …”
“What? What?” chorused her sisters.
“He knows that I am female. He calls me ‘Helene’ when we are alone together.”
“How did he find out?” demanded Maude.
Mildred slapped her arm. “Don't be more foolish than necessary. Did you not hear her? Millicent said ‘when we are alone together.’ Alone! Together!”
“Ohhhh. Millicent,” Maude's lips open in a moue of shock. “Well, of course he must marry you.”
Millicent leaned her head back on the squabs and laughed softly.
Her sisters fell silent and they left Millicent to her thoughts for the remainder of the journey. So deep was her preoccupation that she noticed no passage of time until they drew up outside Maricourt Place. Millicent descended first and turned to offer her hand to Felicity.
“Your pardon, sir,” came a voice from the shadows.
Millicent turned even as her footman leapt down from the rear of the carriage and seized the speaker by the collar.
“Stop,” cried the newcomer. “I am no robber. I only wish to speak to Mr. North.”
“Which one?” asked Millicent, even as her heart leapt into her throat. This was it, the moment when she was revealed as a liar, a fraud. With hope, she would have a few moments to warn her sisters and mother, perhaps send them on to Shoffer’s house. He would protect them.
“I am seeking Mr. Anthony North. I am Mr. Johanson, Mr. Perceval North’s lawyer. I have left my card many times to no effect.”
“Oh, dear God preserve us,” cried Felicity and fell into a faint.
Millicent leapt to stop Felicity’s insensible body from falling to the pavement. Mildred seized Felicity by the arm and the footman released his captive to take hold of Felicity’s torso. Merit, summoned by Maude’s cries, bounded down the stairs followed by half the staff. Millicent blessed the confusion that gave her another few moments to think.
How had Perceval discovered her … his … Anthony North’s presence in London? Perhaps he had read the gossip pages of the London papers? How much did he know? Had she broken some unknown rule of the inheritance? What if Perceval wanted to meet with Anthony? Why was the lawyer looking for her and how could she get him to go away without revealing the deception?
Maude and Mildred near fell out of the carriage in their eagerness to be of aid to their mother. Millicent tried, but was unable to get Mildred’s ear to advise her of their late night visitor’s identity. In all the confusion, Mr. Johanson followed them into the house. Millicent was trying to regain command over her household when a familiar voice came from the door.
“North! North! Is Beth here with you?”
All in the hall fell silent and Millicent spun to face Shoffer and Simpson.
“Heavens, no, why would you think so?”
“My carriage left without us,” said Shoffer, his face ashen pale. “I thought perhaps Lady Edith and Beth thought we would travel with you and went on ahead home, but when I got there I found that they had not arrived.”
“Oh, dear God,” cried Felicity, and fainted anew.
“Attelweir,” said Maude, charging across the hall to seize Shoffer’s arm. “But where would he take her? Surely, he does not imagine he could take her to Gretna, not with her chaperone along!”
“I can only pray that Lady Edith stays with her,” said Shoffer. “But we cannot be certain he has headed north. He might hold her somewhere in London. But where?”
“Oh, poor Beth, in the hands of that scoundrel,” cried Maude and burst into tears.
Mildred was nearest and quickest.
“Have some sense,” she said, shaking Maude by the shoulder. “It’s more likely she’s stopped in traffic or she might have directed the coachman to take Lady Edith home first. Do not leap to the worst construction before anything is known for certain.”
Maude sniffled and retreated.
“We should check both possibilities,” said Millicent.
Shoffer nodded. “Simpson, go home and wait. If Beth arrives send a messenger to find me. North, you go to Lady Edith’s home and I shall go to Attelweir’s rooms. If he is planning on leaving the city, it is likely he will stop there first for his belongings.”
He had taken two steps toward the door before Millicent halted him.
“Shoffer, I cannot imagine At
telweir persuading your servants to drive him out of the city, particularly if Lady Beth was kicking up a fuss.”
“You are right. Unless, of course, he overpowered them and was driving the carriage himself.”
“The coachman and four footmen, plus the tiger, all overwhelmed by Attelweir?” Millicent shook her head. “If he can do all that, I must begin to treat him with respect.”
“We must be mistaken,” said Simpson. “It would not do to overreact and start a panic. Beth is likely delayed. Or home again. We are all over excited by this evening’s quarrels.”
“I will come home with you to be certain,” said Millicent. “I would not be able to rest not knowing if Lady Beth is safe.”
They hurried from the house. Fortunately, her carriage had not yet been taken back to the mews. It was not until Shoffer swung himself into the waiting carriage that Millicent remembered the lawyer. Perceval’s lawyer. What if the man spoke to her sisters while she was away? She paused on the step, considering whether she should go back, dismiss the man, before leaving.
No, there was no reason to fear. Good manners would have the man leaving the house quite soon after her departure. It was late and the man of the house was gone. Merit would see to it. Felicity was being taken to her room and Mildred was sensible. Even if the man cornered her, she would refuse to speak.
Millicent leapt into the carriage and sat beside Shoffer, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip.
The carriage lurched into motion throwing Millicent against Shoffer. Simpson, on the facing seat, clung to the wall for balance.
“She is likely home by now,” repeated Simpson.
“Do we even know where Attelweir resides?” asked Millicent. “He is not on my sister’s guest list.”
“Nor mine, though I am certain my grandmother knows,” replied Shoffer.
It was not necessary to dismount from the carriage at Trolenfield House. Forsythe, oil lantern in hand, stood at the top of the steps before an open door. He descended, hope shining on his features, when the carriage pulled up, but when he saw Beth was not with them his face fell.
“Still not here,” whispered Shoffer. “Am I being over concerned?”
