by Julia Donner
“And we shall live happily ever after, Othello?”
“I doubt that very much, Iago!” Ravenswold ruefully said and swept out the door. He came back a moment later and poked his head around the door.
“I’m still going to name the first boy after you. I always did like the name Peregrine.”
Asterly laughed and threw the wet cloth at Ravenswold, who was quicker. The sopping rag connected with a closed door. He whistled a merry tune to the beat of his boots clomping down the walkway, a man about to be made happier.
Mounting Poseidon, he said to the full moon above, “The Four Eligibles sans un. Now that I’ve led the way, I wonder who will be next?”
Chapter 33
Morning sunlight speared through the chapel’s narrow, stained-glass windows. Rave waited at the altar steps. Dabs of refracted color dotted the pews, warming flagstone floors and the side of his face turned to the open doorway. Dust specks floated in the light shafts. The acrid scent of damp stone merged with moldy paper. Somewhere, water dripped.
Eight o’clock had come and gone. Where were Cass and her Mutual Friend? He’d have Asterly’s head for this.
Rave scowled at the anxious vicar, who blurted, “Perhaps there has been a mishap, my lord.”
“We shall wait.”
“But we have waited for a full hour, my lord.”
Ravenswold returned his glare to the front door. “I hear them now.”
The clatter of galloping horses echoed on the hard-packed road. Then came the sounds of dismounting. A murmur of voices could be heard over the jingle of shaking bridle bits.
Cassandra burst through the door and ran down the aisle. The brilliance of her smile rivaled the spectacular light beaming through the windows.
“Sorry, Rave. Your man was late bringing the horses. Said Aunt Jane held him up. She’s on her way.”
“As long as you’re here, my love.” He turned to the scandalized vicar. “We shall wait for three more guests before commencing.”
Aversion rang with every word the vicar spoke. “But my lord, she’s wearing men’s attire!”
Asterly strolled down the aisle. “Demmed fine looking, if you ask me. Wish I had legs like that.”
The vicar pointed an admonishing finger. “None of that talk here, sirrah. And you will kindly use the word limbs in the presence of a…of this…lady.”
A carriage stopped in front of the chapel door, redirecting Ravenswold’s scowl from the vicar to the entrance. Lady Duncan could be seen through the open door stepping down from a landau. She swept into the church and marched down the aisle. The vicar retreated a few steps.
“Good morning, my midget! Splendid day for a wedding.”
The vicar, sensing a possible ally, gathered his courage. He pounced on Lady Duncan’s arrival as an opportunity to express his objections. “Madame, if you are indeed this female’s relative, I beg you to order her to postpone this sacred ceremony until she has donned the appropriate attire.”
“She’s clothed, you stupid man. But if you insist.” Lady Duncan whisked off her outer garment from her shoulders and draped the cloak around Cassandra. “That will do.”
Acknowledging Ravenswold with a nod, Lady Duncan took a seat in the first row of pews. Sir Harry, who followed Lady Duncan down the aisle, had been blocked from view by her bulk. He presented Cassandra with a small ale jar sprouting a jumbled arrangement of limp tulips. He kissed her cheek, and murmured, “All I could find on short notice.”
Cassandra grinned. “They’re lovely, Harry. Thank you! Give them to your brother to hold.”
“Ah! There you are, Perry. How could I have missed such a delightful female bridal attendant?”
Harry paused to brush road dust from Cassandra’s nose and cheeks with a scented handkerchief. He tucked wayward tendrils behind her ears and lifted her chin with his fingertips. “I think she’s the finest looking bride I’ve ever seen, Rave. And my good reverend, you will suppress your disdain. I will remind you to read your Bible. I refer to the verse about the lilies.”
Ravenswold’s impatient growl interrupted the start of Harry’s attempt to embark on a congratulatory speech. Defeated yet amused, Harry bowed to the bride and groom. In a dark tone lurid with suggestion, he whispered, “I believe it wants tending to, Cass.”
Cassandra laughed and took Ravenswold’s hand.
The groom’s frustration ended when the last guest burst through the door and jogged down the aisle. Breathing heavily, Freddy Bates halted at Cassandra’s side. “Got an urgent message. Must leave as soon as you’re leg-shackled, so I shall give this to you now, Cass. Use it with my blessings to keep this bear in line.”
Awed, Cassandra slid her fingertips along the pistol barrel. “Oh, Freddy, this is too kind of you. A Manton! I shall cherish it always.”
“And hide it from my sinful covetousness,” Lord Asterly murmured. “That’s his favorite, the best demmed barker in all of England.”
Frederick Bates, a buck hardened by many dissolute years on the town, blushed when the bride kissed his cheek. “You are now my favorite of the Eligibles.”
Freddy bowed, moved to take a seat and then turned back. “By the way, I should tell you that it’s loaded.”
The vicar’s eyes fluttered. He fainted, sinking into the billowing folds of his surplice and robes.
Asterly calmly plucked the tulips from the ale jar and dashed its contents into the vicar’s face. “There. I’ve done my part, I think.”
The sputtering vicar got hauled to his feet and held upright between Harry and Freddy. A shake of his head flung the water drops from his hair and nose.
“I shan’t do it, my lord! This is blasphemy. I tender to you my notice. You may give this living to someone who will gladly perform this hypocrisy. Not I!”
Cassandra gently withdrew her hand from Ravenswold’s before he could react. She ascended the altar steps in a single stride. The vicar shrank away as she deliberately shifted the pistol from her left hand to the right.
“No, my good man, you will marry us now and with no more fuss. We have anticipated our vows, you see, and I won’t have the world counting their fingers because of your silly belief that God would rather we burn until we observe the social niceties. You are a foolish man but the only clergy we’ve got at the moment. Don’t make me waste a shot. That would displease me no end.”
When she returned to her groom’s side, the terrified vicar rattled off a garbled version of the ceremony in short order. He was abandoned after signing the register.
The wedding party recessed, whooping and laughing up the aisle. The merry group stood on the church steps to wish Freddy Godspeed.
Freddy mounted and resettled his cocked hat. “Glad you could make use of my barker, my Lady Ravenswold. Keep her polished and clean. I may have need to borrow her.”
Cassandra grinned up at him. “No more duels for this one, Freddie. But to keep her limber and in honor of this day, I shall dedicate a memorial.”
She turned sideways, lifted the pistol and aimed at the wrought iron fence surrounding the church. A blast tore the tip from the corner spike. Acrid smoke blossomed and was carried away on a freshening breeze.
“The next one I clip will be on our first child’s baptism. I wager less than a year from now. Am I right, Rave?”
Her contented giant replied, “
Whatever you say, my love.”
Dear Reader:
If you liked this book, please consider writing a review, and check out the excerpt for the second installment of the Friendship series, THE HEIRESS AND THE SPY, which follows this list of titles.
Visit me at my website: MLRigdon.com
Fantasy by M.L.Rigdon
Seasons of Time trilogy
PROPHECY DENIED
BEYOND THE DARK MOUNTAINS
HER QUEST FOR THE LANCE
Contemporary
THE ATLANTIS CRYSTAL (A Philadelphia Hafeldt novel)
SEDUCTIVE MINES (Another Philadelphia Hafel
dt adventure)
NEVER LET ME DIE (Romantic suspense with paranormal elements)
YA Fantasy
Songs of Atlantis series
THE VITAL
MASTER OF THE DARK
CANTICLE OF DESTRUCTION (Spring 2014)
INTO THE EAST (Fall 2014)
Writing Historical Fiction as Julia Donner
The Friendship series
THE TIGRESSE AND THE RAVEN
THE HEIRESS AND THE SPY (Winter 2013)
THE RAKE AND THE BISHOP’S DAUGHTER (Fall 2014)
THE HEIRESS AND THE SPY
By Julia Donner
PROLOGUE
Spring 1812
Campsite near Ciudad Rodrigo, Spain
Lieutenant Devon Shelton withdrew a miniature from the inner breast pocket of his tattered jacket. “Perry, I have a favor to ask.”
Captain Lord Peregrine Asterly leaned forward to drop a log on the campfire coals. He waited for a break in the distant rumble of cannon bombardment to reply.
“Certainly, Dev, if it’s in my power to do so.”
Devon angled the palm-sized portrait to catch the firelight, which also revealed his troubled expression. “I suppose I should first ask if you’ll be fighting with us tomorrow?”
Asterly ran a hand over his face and scratched a bristling jaw. “I haven’t heard. There’s talk of sending me back to the mountains.”
“I see.” Devon flashed an unexpected grin. “Perry, did you know your face has gone brown as a guerrilla’s?”
“I’ve helped it along with a black-walnut stain. It never hurts to blend in with the locals.”
“Wonder how Wellington would manage, if not for you and El Empecinado’s fellows intercepting Boney’s dispatches.”
Asterly said, “You mentioned a favor. What may I do for you?”
Devon curled his fingers around the miniature, clenching it safely within his fist. “It’s about Elizabeth.”
“Now there’s a game one! Your lady’s name is on everyone’s lips from here to Badajoz.”
“That’s my Elizabeth.”
“How does she do it, Dev? Wellington has the devil of a time getting his supply train set up, and her carts come rolling in, unmolested, not a bottle broken or a crust disturbed.”
Devon exhaled a silent laugh. “She won’t allow it. Can’t have me making do with stringy rabbit or moldy bread for my supper.”
Asterly grunted and shook his head. “Moldy bread? She sent you a cook, three servants, remounts fit for a pasha, Prussian wine, hams, and a stack of silk underwear. What will she do when she finds out you gave most of it away?”
“Scold me. Send more. My girl has a generous spirit. I regret I couldn’t give her what she wanted most.” Shadows from the flames wavered across Devon’s face when he looked up. “Children.”
Asterly squatted by the fire. He poked the embers with a stick and dryly said, “She’s undoubtedly someone who’s never been saddled with an annoying sibling.”
“You’re right. None living.” Devon tucked the miniature into his pocket and placed his palm over the small lump nestled against his heart. “Perry, this favor I have to ask is not a trifling matter.”
“Doesn’t signify. Go on.”
“You see, Elizabeth is somewhat managing but in the nicest possible way. The problem is…she won’t let a thing rest until she knows there’s nothing left to be done. That’s why I want to ask you to find me after the battle tomorrow. I don’t think I’ll be making it this time.”
“Nonsense, Dev! You made it through Badajoz. You’ll make it through tomorrow.”
“Then, let me say it this way. If I don’t come through, I want you to find my body and ship it home. I don’t care if it’s only an arm or leg that’s left. There’s some coin sewed into the hem of this jacket that should cover it.”
“I shouldn’t think I’ll need—”
“Of course, you’ll need. We’re friends, Perry. I know you have less than I did when I married Elizabeth. Have I offended you?”
“No. It’s the truth.”
“Please, Perry, send what’s left of me in a decent casket for Elizabeth to bury. She’ll get over me that way and marry someone else. I want her to have a happy life.”
After four years of war, Asterly knew better than to disagree with his friend. Battle-hardened men often knew when their time had come. “I’d be honored to be of service, Dev. May I see your portrait of her again?”
Devon’s weary face lit up. He delved into his jacket pocket and extended the miniature. Asterly angled the small portrait toward the fire’s wavering light. The recently cut green wood popped and sizzled as he studied Mrs. Shelton’s unsmiling likeness. The warmth in her eyes overwhelmed the image. Something stirred in a heart he’d thought dead from so many years at war.
Pride rang within Devon’s whisper, “She’s much prettier than that, you know. Well, perhaps not what one would call pretty, but she’s handsome. No painting can show how wonderful she is in person.”
“She’s lovely, Dev. Every man must think his wife is the fairest, of course, but Mrs. Shelton has a certain something.”
“Yes! I’m glad you see it, too, Perry! I wish my parents could.”
Asterly gently brushed his thumb across the portrait encased in bronze and thick glass. “How could anyone help but love a face like that?”
Devon snorted. “You’ve never met my parents. They treat her dreadfully, Perry. That’s another reason why I wish you’d contact her the next time you’re in London. My parents rarely speak to her. If she had an interest in securing a place for herself in the ton, Mother and Father might treat her differently, but she won’t risk a snub.”
“May I ask why she would be snubbed?”
“Her father, in trade, you know. That’s how I came to win her. She’s fabulously rich. Everything tied up in a trust. Like you, I haven’t a feather to fly with. But Elizabeth doesn’t think about money the way others do. She sees it like her father did—what it can do for others. Keeps a fleet of workers just to manage the charities. She writes of her amazement about the posies left on her doorstep every day. She can scarcely get out the door for the women lined up to thank her for the way she sees to me and my men.”
“Your boys are the best fed on the Peninsula,” Asterly said, unable to pull his attention from Elizabeth Shelton’s tender expression.
“You will see her for me, won’t you, Perry?”
“I should be honored, Dev.”
Asterly reluctantly handed back the miniature, but Devon shook his head. “No, Perry. Keep it for me. If I don’t make it through, return it to her, will you?”
“Put your heart to rest about your Elizabeth. Her flower-strewn doorstep will be the first one I cross when I get home.”
“And would you…Perry, would you look after her?”
Asterly heard his reply as if from a distance, felt the comforting weight of the portrait in his breast pocket. A premonition shivered down his spine when he promised, “I’ll take care of her, Dev.”
Chapter 1
Autumn, 1814 Cavendish Square, London, England
A discreet tap on the book-room door wrested Elizabeth’s attention from the ledger. Hope bloomed in her heart. Perhaps whatever waited on the other side would offer a change from the endless boredom. She longed for excitement—something, anything—to enliven the tedium of her days. Perhaps a valiant knight on a prancing steed?
Foolishness. She set down the quill with a slight shake of her head. She’d been reading too many novels. It would be wise to have a care. After all, what one wished for might actually happen. Her life held more than enough excitement in the form of threats from grasping in-laws.
Her butler entered. “Beg your pardon for the interruption, Mrs. Shelton.”
Elizabeth closed the metal cap on the ink standish. “A welcomed disruption, Crimm. Numbers become tedious after the fiftieth page.” She used both hands to close the heavy ledger. “Ah well, perhaps tomorrow a bom
b might explode on my doorstep.”
She huffed a sigh when Crimm had nothing to say about that. His dogged stoicism never failed to stir her sense of humor and evoke a naughty urge to challenge his sangfroid.
“I’m curious, Crimm. Where is my luncheon tray? No treats to reward my hard labors? I’ve done my letters neatly and at least deserve bread and butter. You know it’s my favorite.”
“Cook will have luncheon ready before the hour. You have a caller.”
She felt the smile fade from her mouth. Dread’s chill slithered down her arms and tightened her shoulders. “The Sheltons have sent someone?”
“No, ma’am. A gentleman is requesting to speak with you.”
Elizabeth tipped her head to one side, surprised. She rarely had morning visitors. “His style?”
“A baron, Mrs. Shelton, but he is not here in the usual capacity.”
This was Crimm’s subtle way of letting her know that the caller wasn’t another encroaching fortune hunter. Her tall, stout butler came to the desk and extended a silver tray.
Elizabeth slid the card off the gleaming surface. She pursed her lips as she read the name. “Where is he?”
Crimm discreetly touched the edge of her desk with a glove-tipped finger, checking for dust. “I have placed him in the green saloon.”
Elizabeth elevated both eyebrows. Crimm never stooped to escort visitors. He stationed a footman at the front door for that purpose. The footman delivered cards to Crimm, who made a decision as to the worthiness of the caller. The footman went back to the front door with a directive, telling the visitor to wait or to inform that the lady of the house was not at home.
Although acquainted with many of its members, Elizabeth had no interest in London society. Even a fringe-dweller would recognize this morning’s caller as a member of the select. His name and that of his twin brother, Sir Harry Collyns, were often seen in newsprint. For different reasons.
Elizabeth tapped the edge of the card against her lips and considered her butler’s inscrutable expression. This Lord Asterly must be a gentleman of some consequence and address. After searching her memory, she recalled what little she knew of him from Devon’s letters. In any event, she had complete trust in Crimm’s social acumen and intuition. Her caller had to be something out of the ordinary.
