by Jo Beverley
She remembered that hair rough against her skin last night and wondered if she’d like the feel of him more or less if he were clean shaven.
She realized he must have shaved after that night. Then why not shave every day? She shrugged away that question. She didn’t know the ways of men.
Her hand had reached out to touch him, to cherish him, but she drew it back. Let him sleep.
She eased out of the bed and restored the curtains after herself. Then she stretched and smiled. She felt wonderful. Full of some new energy, perhaps even looser in every joint. She moved the window curtains an inch to look out and saw gray and drizzle. Not a good day for cat hunting. Still, she smiled.
Someone had been in and built up the fire for the day. Bella felt a jolt of horror at being caught in a man’s bed—but then she chuckled. Here, they were a married couple. It was allowed.
She smiled at the simple wedding ring, stroking it, daring to dream. . . .
A water jug had been set on the hearth, covered by a thick cloth. She carried it to the washstand and poured half into the bowl, and then returned it to the hearth to keep warm for him. She gathered a clean shift and stockings, and added her petticoat and gown, and took them all behind the screen. Then she took off the nightgown to enjoy a full wash of a body that felt subtly, delightfully different.
When she started to dress, she was reluctant to become sober, prim Mistress Rose, but she did so, pinning up her hair, and fixing the mousy wig on top.
She added the plain cap, then went into the parlor to wait for Thorn to rise. Tabitha looked up, made a sound that seemed like, Oh, it’s only you, and went back to sleep.
Bella simply sat, her hands idle, not even thinking in any particular way, but feeling content.
Thorn emerged about half an hour later, dressed and ready for the day. Tabitha greeted him enthusiastically, and he had a short conversation with the cat. Bella watched, awash with idiotic tenderness, but also with anxiety. Was he avoiding paying any attention to her because he was regretting what had happened in the night?
When their eyes met, he smiled in a way that eased any niggling doubts.
“Good morning,” she said, knowing she was blushing.
His smile deepened. “Good morning.” He looked around. “Breakfast?”
Bella shot to her feet guiltily. “I should have—”
“Bella. I’m merely concerned that you’ve been waiting for me. I don’t like to think of you going hungry.”
He went to the door to bellow for a servant.
“So useful to have a shipboard voice,” she remarked, still smiling. She couldn’t help it.
He grinned at her. “Extremely so.” He went to the window. “What a miserable day, but good for making plans.” He turned to her. “Your brother was at the Old Oak last week, and he visits frequently.”
That reminded Bella where Thorn had been last night. She pushed the awareness away. Nothing would spoil the present.
“How does he avoid scandal?”
“There’s a discreet door into some back rooms for special gentlemen, so they don’t have to be seen by less sneaky men.”
Bella grimaced at the thought, but she asked, “If he’s a favored gentleman, won’t they warn him of your inquiries?”
“I’m not such a fool. I was very discreet until I realized how much he’s disliked there.” He shot her a guarded look. “He’s not kind.”
Bella had some idea what that might mean. “He has no notion of kindness. Does that mean they might help us?”
“With pleasure. They won’t regret the custom of a man like that.”
“How sweet it is that he’ll get his comeuppance in part because of his own foul nature. Have you devised a precise plan?”
“No.” He came to stand closer to the fire, which meant closer to her. “It would be easy to expose what happens in the back rooms to the clients in the front, but I’m not sure that will be enough. We need some truly respectable people to be brought face-to-face with it.”
“And they won’t patronize the Old Oak. Might it take a while to discover a way to do that?” Bella asked, concealing her hopefulness.
“It might,” he agreed. “Are you sure your elderly relation won’t become concerned?”
She hated lying to him, but she must. “As I said, she’s visiting friends, so I’m at liberty for quite some while.”
“Lucky wench.”
“I am not a wench,” she said, but with a smile. Which he echoed. She felt as if he’d moved closer. “What of the gaming?” she asked. “How is that done?”
“In those private back rooms. I found that convenient, as I was able to play instead of using the other services.”
Bella blushed with relief and knew he saw it.
“Did you lose much?” she asked.
“How very wifely. Does it not occur that I might have won?”
He was teasing, so she smiled. “Did you?”
His lips twitched. “No, but only because I thought that wise. A losing customer is always welcome.”
Their breakfast came then, and they abandoned such talk. Instead, they discussed what area to visit today in search of cat-rabbits of Hesse.
They spent another day like the last, ambling through country lanes in search of cat- rabbits. The skies were gray, but nothing could dampen Bella’s spirits. The kittens were particularly restless, and she had kitten-herding duty while Thorn drove. Tabitha permitted it; in fact, she leapt down to explore, perhaps to hunt.
When she returned, Bella scolded her.
“This is your job, you know.” When Sable scrambled to the edge of the carriage as if thinking of attempting the jump, she captured him again. “Can’t you make them behave?”
“Ee-ow,” and a snort.
Bella laughed, because she was enjoying the kittens too.
When they stopped to dine at an inn, however, Bella put the kittens in the basket and the basket on the floor of the parlor. To Tabitha, she said, “Take up your duties, mother.”
Tabitha sighed, lay down, and the kittens attached themselves.
“That wasn’t what I meant!” Bella protested, and found Thorn laughing at her.
He swept her into his arms for a quick but thrilling kiss, knocking her hat askew just as a maid came in to lay the table.
Bella pushed out of his arms, but all she could think of to say was, “My, my,” which made her sound like a moonling.
“If you don’t want to be kissed, wife, you shouldn’t be so kissable.”
The maid chuckled, and shot Bella a congratulatory smile. Bella turned to straighten her bonnet and saw her own pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, even behind her tilted spectacles. The maid saw a loving couple. Bella could only dream it might one day be so, but she was haunted by the knowledge that when this adventure ended, they might part.
As they rolled back to Upstone at the end of the day, it began to drizzle. Bella shut the basket on the cats and pulled up the hood of her cloak. Thorn had only his three-cornered hat to protect him.
“Should have brought a cloak,” he said wryly. “Don’t look so worried; I’ve been wetter by far than I’m likely to be today.”
“Do you often encounter rough seas?”
“Better than a dead calm. Just as a temperamental woman is better than a cold one.”
The question jumped out before she could stop it: “Which am I?”
He looked at her, eyes twinkling. “Neither. You, my dear, are a brisk wind on a sunlit day, filling the sails and giving the ship wings.”
She stared at him. “I wish I were.”
“What? A wind?”
Bella laughed the moment away. “No, I don’t think I’d like that.” She was saved from finding something sensible to say by sight of a rider cantering home, head down against the rain.
She expected him to pass, but he drew up. “Good day to you. You the people who’ve been asking about cats and rabbits?”
Bella sat frozen. It was Lord Fortescue, a friend of h
er father’s, and still fit and alert at gone sixty. If he was suspicious of them, he’d look at her closely. Might he recognize her?
He said, “Good God!” and she braced for trouble, but he apologized. “Your pardon, ma’am, but, Ithorne . . . what are you doing here like . . .”
“Like an ordinary human being?” Thorn completed amiably. “Incognito.”
“Ah.” Another look at Bella, one that saw a mistress, and then his attention was all on the supposed duke. How was Thorn to handle this?
“Serious business?” Fortescue asked.
“Not at all, sir. Some peers seek foreign lands or distant stars. I seek more cat-rabbits like this one.” He opened the basket.
Tabitha glared up and then hooked the lid back down over herself and her kittens.
“Deuced odd creature. Won’t keep you in this rain. Where’re you staying?”
“The Hart and Hare in Upstone.”
“May I call on you, Ithorne? There are some matters I’d like to discuss.”
Bella saw Thorn’s face twitch, but he said, “Of course, sir. Sup with me tomorrow night.”
They arranged the time, and Lord Fortescue touched his wet hat and rode off. All the while, Bella looked ahead, wondering why Thorn hadn’t simply corrected the error.
As he set the horse into motion again, she exploded. “What are you thinking? Bad enough to pass yourself off as your brother—I’m sure that’s illegal—but to invite Lord Fortescue to dine? He might not see the differences in this weather, but across a table . . .”
“Trust me,” he said calmly. “My half brother and I are very alike.”
“But he’s a duke and you’re a sea captain. Why not simply correct him and tell him who you are?”
“At first it seemed simpler not to. I had no idea he’d seek another meeting.”
Bella wiped a drip off her nose. “He wants to talk politics. You know nothing about politics.”
“Don’t I?”
“Not as your brother must.”
“True,” he said with an irritatingly cryptic smile. “I keep aware of the elements, however. The question is, should you attend?”
“No,” Bella said firmly. “I want no part of it. In any case, Lord Fortescue was a friend of my father’s. He paid little attention to me, but he still might recognize me.”
“Ah. Very well.”
“Can’t you put him off?” she begged. “The law is harsh. They hang people for almost anything. I’m sure impersonating a duke is some sort of treason.”
“Bella,” he said, perhaps even laughing at her. “Trust me.”
She opened the basket and said, “Can’t you talk sense into him?”
The cat’s eyes opened to slits for a moment, then closed again. The silent answer was clearly no.
“This could ruin my revenge,” she said to the irritating man. “And if you say ‘trust me’ one more time, I’ll . . . I’ll stick my hat pin in you.”
He only laughed.
They were welcomed back to the Hart and Hare with towels, roaring fires, and a hot punch. Bella made full use of all of it, but Thorn disappeared. She immediately worried that she’d offended him with her protests.
She was sitting before the fire in the parlor in dry clothing, taking comfort from a cup of hot punch, when he appeared, drying his hair with a towel. He’d removed his jacket, and wore only his waistcoat over his shirt.
“Where did you go?” she asked. “To cancel the arrangement with Lord Fortescue?”
“No.” He poured some punch and sat down. “The innkeeper wanted to give me a note without your seeing it. From the Old Oak.”
“You’ve been there? Now?” She hated the thought of him visiting the brothel again, even briefly.
“Briefly,” he said with meaning. “Augustus will be here tomorrow.”
He seemed pleased with the news, but Bella’s stomach lurched.
Tomorrow.
This could all end tomorrow.
“So we need to make plans quickly,” she said. “Excellent.”
“New plans,” he said, leaning forward to refill his glass. He offered her more, but she shook her head. More drink and she might burst into tears.
“Mistress Calloway, the innkeeper, had assumed that I was interested in a time when your brother would make a private visit to the Oak. But today she thought to tell me that tomorrow is the magistrates’ court here in Upstone. Your brother will be here in that capacity.”
“But that’s of no use to us, is it?” Bella asked. “Unless he goes to the Oak afterward.”
“The Oak comes to him.” He drank with relish. “The three magistrates hold court here at the Hart and Hare, and stay the night afterward.”
He was smiling like a cat with feathers around its mouth, but Bella was focused on something else. “He’ll be at this inn? What if our paths cross? He’ll recognize me!”
“Maybe not, as you are, but yes, you’ll need to stay out of sight. But listen, this could be perfect for your plan. After their legal duties, the three magistrates enjoy a hearty supper and a convivial evening, which involves card play . . .”
“Ah!”
“. . . and—excuse me—whoring.”
“Here?” Bella asked.
“Here,” he said. “In the same ground- floor room where they hold court. Mistress Calloway sends three of her women here and they enter through the window. I can’t believe the inn people don’t know, but they can pretend they don’t. No one crosses the magistrates. They regulate all matters of trade as well as crimes, and if someone offends them, some irregularity can always be found.”
“Disgusting.”
“But not our current concern. The event becomes debauched, so our revelation might be as simple as opening the curtains.”
Bella was imagining it all, slack jawed.
“More punch?” he offered.
She held out her glass, and then took a deep drink. “How do we open the curtains? We won’t be inside the room.”
“You won’t be anywhere near, but I’m sure I can find an excuse to enter.”
“And a way to make sure people are outside to see the scene?”
“Word can be spread. Picture it. It will be like the curtain rising in the theater. And on such a scene, such actors . . .” He smiled at her. “How your eyes sparkle.”
Bella supposed they did. “Is it very bad of me? What of the other magistrates? We catch them in this trap too.”
“Only if they are enjoying the same vices as your brother.”
“Do we know who they are?”
“I thought you might.”
Bella gasped. “Yes, of course! What am I thinking? One must be Squire Thoroughgood. That’s the man my father wanted me to marry.”
“He’s upright and righteous? That might spoil our plans.”
“Neither. Oh, I suppose he’s considered righteous, after a fashion, applying the law with a harsh hand, but he’s known for hard drinking, and for being unfaithful to his first wife.”
“How old is he?”
Bella shrugged. “Gone forty, I’d think. Why?”
“He was hardly a suitable choice for you.”
She grimaced. “My father insisted I must be married, and no one was competing for the honor. Squire Thoroughgood offered to rescue me from shame. My father approved. I remember him telling me that Squire Thoroughgood was a stern man who’d know how to keep a flighty wife in line, with a whip if necessary.”
His jaw was tight. “I wish your father weren’t dead. I’d enjoy giving him my opinion of his conduct.”
“He’d have had you thrown out.”
He smiled in that grimly confident way he had sometimes. “I doubt it.”
Bella supposed he’d go to such an interview with his crew beside him.
She contemplated the morrow with increased satisfaction. “If Squire Thoroughgood is caught up in Augustus’s shame, I will have no objection.”
“Good. Do you approve the plan?”
Bel
la drank more punch. “If it can be executed, yes. But the scene will have to be instantly and visually scandalous. How can we ensure that? The men playing cards won’t be enough.”
He took a drink, considering her. “They roll dice. When they lose, the women take off items of clothing.”
“Oh.”
“When the clothing is gone, there are other penalties.”
Bella decided she didn’t need to know any more. “So we merely need a signal for when matters have progressed far enough.”
He smiled, perhaps in accolade. “Precisely. However, it would be useful to have a few important witnesses at hand, as well as the ordinary folk. Ones not afraid of the magistrates and thus certain to spread the story far and wide.” He straightened. “Fortescue! Perfect.”
Bella put a hand over her eyes. “You want to involve Lord Fortescue in this outrageous plan? You’re mad.”
“Brilliantly so, I hope. Who better? He’s tough, testy, and straitlaced, and a viscount has nothing to fear from a magistrate. He wouldn’t normally concern himself with such misbehavior, but face-to-face with it, he’ll bear witness.”
“You sound as if you know him well.”
“I’ve had dealings with him.”
“As Captain Rose.”
He looked at her blankly, as if her comment made no sense, but then said, “Trust me, Bella.”
“Hat pin,” she muttered.
“Turn your sharp wits to whom else we can draw in as a witness. What of the family your brother wants to marry into?”
“Langham. But Mr. Langham is merely rich. He’s trying to establish his family here, so he won’t want to stir trouble.”
“Not even if it seems his daughter’s suitor is a thorough wretch? If he sees it with his own eyes?”
Bella considered that. “Yes. Yes, then he might act. From the little I’ve seen of him he is a devoted father. If he learned of that possibility, he would come here to see the truth.”
He nodded. “That can be arranged. Who else?” He tapped his finger on his glass as he thought. “Fortescue should be a strong witness. He detests hypocrisy. However, Langham, as you say, might not want to speak out. What of the vicar? Do you know what sort of man has the living here?”
