The Wedding Chase

by Rebecca Kelley

  “A cup of tea will do nicely.” He lowered his voice. “I’d sooner have rat poison than that nasty concoction.”

  Mrs. Carland chuckled. “Ratafia is unpleasant. I can’t think why so many ladies drink it. I prefer a good port.”

  “I’m disappointed, Mrs. Carland.” His answering smile was real, comrade to comrade. “I’d have laid odds on you being a brandy drinker.”

  “I do like a little of Napoleon’s best, now and then, late at night when I can sneak it out of my butler’s pantry.” She grinned widely. “But don’t breathe a word to Zel, she’d probably have me drummed out of the organization.”

  Wolfgang drew Mrs. Carland’s hand through the crook of his elbow. “Lead on to the liquid refreshments, dubious as they might be.”

  Her laugh reached out, solid and warm. “Dubious tea for his lordship.”

  He joined her laughter, inordinately pleased that Zel would have such a friend as Emily Carland.

  The cat crouched, still and patient, the only sign of life an occasional twitch of her whiskers or tail. The tiny gray mouse ambled by, oblivious to his fate, unaware of his mortal enemy’s sable coat gleaming in the thin scratch of moonlight filtering through the open window. The rich fur shimmered as muscles bunched, preparatory to the deadly pounce. The mouse squawked, caught, rib cage securely wedged under one velvet paw, while the other paw, claws extended, batted playfully at the now blood-soaked snout.

  Devil’s fangs! Jerking upright, he rubbed the sheen of perspiration off his nose and mouth. Wolfgang took a few deep breaths to slow his racing heartbeat. He should buy back his commission today. Somewhere in the world there had to be a war with England. Yes, the conflict in the former Colonies. They must need good officers to fight the Americans, and it had to be a damn sight safer than London was right now.

  He pushed out of the bed, pacing to the mullioned window, flinging the curtains wide. The sun was just beginning to brighten the morning sky. Ari could use an unfettered gallop through the park as surely as he could. Maybe he’d be lucky and someone would take a better-aimed shot and save him from the misery sure to come if he didn’t extricate himself from the reluctant clutches of one Zel Fleetwood.

  CHAPTER 7

  POLYPHONY

  A musical piece wherein two or more independent but integrally related melodic parts sound against each other

  “Come here. Take those spectacles off and let me look at you, gel.”

  “Lady Darlington, please do not call me ‘gel.’ ” Zel walked slowly into Aunt Diana’s bright drawing room, offering her hand to the elderly woman seated on the sofa. “I am a grown woman, not a child.”

  With a chuckle, Lady Darlington took Zel’s hand, squeezing her fingers. The eyes scanning her were keen, a familiar silvery gray. “A disciple of Mary Wollstonecraft?”

  “I admire her writings, but if I considered myself a disciple of anyone, it would be Catherine Macaulay or Mary Astell. Their opinions are every bit as succinct, their lives a clearer example to other women.” Zel signaled Smythe to bring the tea.

  “You think Wollstonecraft a hypocrite or a weak soul?” Lady Darlington’s lips curled, a startling echo of another crooked smile.

  “I would not judge her quite so harshly.” Zel smiled back, charmed in spite of herself by that smile and her guest’s blunt conversation. “But one must admit her behavior diminished the respect accorded her. To throw herself so relentlessly at a man so obviously unworthy of her, does not advance the notion that women are thinking, rational beings.”

  “Reputation is everything, in this society.” Lady Darlington tapped her carved ebony cane against the table leg.

  Zel felt her skin warm. “Unfortunately it is.”

  “Miss Fleetwood, may I call you Zel?” She continued without waiting for the answer. “Zel, I’m not one to shy away from the delicate or unpleasant. May I speak frankly?”

  “Please do.”

  “I know my grandson’s attentions have done you harm. He has admitted so and requested my help.” Zel squirmed under her close scrutiny. “You are not his usual. What are his intentions?”

  “He has no intentions.” Zel’s face went from warm to hot. “I mean, you should ask him.… I mean, he sees the damage done and wishes to make amends, so we both may get on with our lives.”

  Lady Darlington grunted, her look turning speculative as she smoothed her aqua skirts. “Has he said anything that would make you think he might be contemplating marriage?”

  “Good heavens, no!” Zel coughed the words out. “Whatever would make you say that?”

  “It’s not like him to care much about a woman’s reputation, but then he has never pursued an innocent.” The elderly woman leaned her tall, slender form forward in her chair. “You are an innocent, aren’t you?”

  Zel swallowed hard, speechless for perhaps the first time in her life, and grateful when Aunt Diana bustled in, Smythe and Remus close behind.

  “Smythe, set down the tray. I will pour. Lady Darlington, I am so pleased to welcome you to my home, it has been such a long time.” Aunt Diana moved to take the older woman’s hand, nearly tripping over the dog. “Remus, sit.” He looked up and wagged his tail. “Zel, do something with him.”

  “Mousey, come. Sit.” Zel smiled indulgently as the beast eagerly complied, throwing himself at the foot of her chair.

  “Fine dog.” Lady Darlington studied the hound. “I haven’t seen his like in years. My grandfather had one when there were still a few wolves around.” She turned back to Aunt Diana. “It has been too long. I’m afraid I don’t get out as much as I did formerly.” She took the offered tea. “I’m happy in the country with my books and music and the occasional guest. But with all the to-do of the Czar and such coming, I have to show myself, attend a few balls and soirees.”

  “Oh, yes, it will be only a matter of days before London will be abuzz with activity. You spoke of your music.… If I remember, you play the violin.” Aunt Diana pivoted to address Zel. “Your tea, my dear. You would love to hear Lady Darlington.… The two of you must perform a duet sometime.”

  “My grandson speaks highly of your abilities, Zel. Perhaps we can arrange a musical evening.” Lady Darlington sipped at her tea, then straightened in her chair. “But we must return to the business at hand. May I speak freely before your aunt?”

  Zel nodded, hoping the brazen woman would refrain from any further unanswerable questions.

  “When you came in, Mrs. Stanfield, we were speaking of your niece’s reputation and the harm my grandson has done it.” Zel stared at the woman, willing her not to say what she was surely about to say. “He normally does not pursue innocents, is she one?”

  “Of course she is.” Aunt Diana replied absently, as if she fielded such questions daily. “I assume you have a proposal?”

  Zel looked in amazement from one woman to the other. “You cannot blithely discuss me as if I were not here.”

  “My dear, of course you are here.… Lady Darlington only wishes to help.” Aunt Diana sipped her tea and gestured to their guest. “Please proceed.”

  “Wolfgang asked me to sponsor Zel. I am known among the ton as a bit of an eccentric, but my good name is unassailable.” She smiled. “I would lend it through association. No one will shun a friend of mine.”

  “I appreciate your generous offer, but—”

  “No buts, Zel, I insist.” Lady Darlington waved aside all protests with her long-fingered hand. “Wolfgang asks so little of me. Please don’t ask me to refuse. Besides, I like you.”

  “Zel would never dream of refusing, would you, my dear?” Aunt Diana’s vacant tone belied the steel in her eyes. Clearly outnumbered and outmaneuvered, Zel nodded her consent. Remus whined, rubbing his wet nose in her palm.

  “Now, as to Wolfgang’s intentions, I believe we should push for marriage.” Lady Darlington persisted as Zel was speechless for the second time in her life, and within minutes of the first. “You are beyond the first blush of youth, though very attra
ctive, but you could not make a better match than my grandson.” She lowered her voice confidentially. “I know about the affliction of your brother and father. Not many men would marry you with such financially troubled kin, but Wolfgang will keep them in line. And he has money to burn.”

  Try as she might Zel could not get enough air into her lungs to support vocalization.

  Aunt Diana took their guest’s part eagerly. “It would solve all our problems. But Zel claims she wants a mild-mannered man she can easily control.”

  “Nonsense! She’d be bored silly with such a man before the ink dried on the vicar’s register.” She surveyed Zel critically. “Though not a beauty in the classical sense, she’s very lovely in an elfish sort of way.” Zel groaned. Aunt Diana scowled at her, a clear signal to mind her manners. Lady Darlington continued, oblivious to them both, “And I’m sure my Wolfgang spotted your figure right away. He does have an eye for that sort of thing.”

  “Lady Darlington, please, this line of conversation is insufferable.” Zel’s skin burned until she felt the blush to the tips of her fingers and toes. “I have absolutely no desire to further my acquaintance with your grandson, let alone marry the man. You must know matrimony was never his intention.”

  “Did that wicked boy try to persuade you to become his mistress?”

  Zel sucked in her breath. This woman would not get the best of her. “Not in so many words.”

  “I’m sorry if he offended you, but he would try that first.” The presumptive gleam in her eye was unmistakable. “And as you have refused him and his interest has not diminished, we have him exactly where we want him.”

  “My lady, you continue to misunderstand.” Zel’s usually husky voice hit soprano notes. She caught Mouse’s scruffy hair in her fingers. “I do not want him anywhere.”

  “ ‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’ ” Lady Darlington lowered her brows.

  “Yes, dear.” Aunt Diana jumped in, her eyes backlit with excitement. “You need a husband, and you would not have to sacrifice yourself to a feeble old man. How does that saying go? ‘The angel you know is better than the angel you don’t.’ ” She frowned. “That doesn’t sound right. Is it the devil you know?”

  Lady Darlington laughed heartily. “Indeed I am sorry to admit Wolfgang is a bit more of a devil.” Her eyes narrowed on Zel. “But I sense he would make you a good husband and you may be just the wife he needs.”

  “How can I convince you I will not marry him? Do not press this match. You will find neither of us grateful.”

  “Oh, dear. It looks like I have my work cut out for me. What do you have against the sweet boy?”

  “Sweet …” Zel snorted, then controlled her tongue as Aunt Diana launched a hard glare in her direction. “In the first place, I regard marriage as an institution incongruent with my needs for personal freedom. As for my objections to Lord Northcliffe, they are numerous.”

  “Despite your objections to marriage you are on the marriage mart. Now, please enlighten me as to my grandson’s faults.”

  “He is a man who would wish to dominate, and I will not be submissive. I live a quiet, orderly life. His is anything but. I believe in virtue. He does not. I do things in moderation. He to excess.” Zel smiled tightly. “I hold dear my women’s work and my family. I doubt there is anything he holds dear.”

  “You’re wrong about him. What he shows to the world is not necessarily the man inside. His life has not been easy.” The lines in the older woman’s face seemed more deeply etched. “I wish I could have done more for him, but his father disliked me. I was barred from their home, even though it was my daughter’s estate through my brother’s bequest. I saw them only on occasion in London.” Her long fingers folded and unfolded on her lap. “His father was a harsh, pious man, who never understood Wolfgang’s impetuous spirit. And my daughter, a cold woman, was no help. When his younger sister died …” She sighed. “I go on too much. Forgive an old woman’s reverie.” Lady Darlington pulled herself upright. “You are invited to the Warricks’ literary evening tonight?”

  “Yes.” If only Zel could ask the questions she wished, but she sensed no more secrets were forthcoming.

  “Please permit me to call for you and Mrs. Stanfield.”

  Zel nodded, no longer adamant in her refusal of this woman’s aid. “We will be pleased to attend with you. Perhaps I can persuade my brother to act as escort.”

  She ushered Lady Darlington to the door, Remus trotting close behind. A footman, smartly liveried in silvery gray helped her into the fine town coach. Zel watched as the carriage rolled down the cobbled street, rubbing at the tightness in her neck. She should have refused anything to do with Wolfgang, but it seemed unreasonable to be rude to his grandmother. Besides, she found herself liking the spirited old woman. Closing the door softly, she leaned against its solid strength. Things were never simple where the earl of Northcliffe was concerned.

  It was not that he didn’t like poetry. Wolfgang crossed, then uncrossed his ankles, tracing the mazelike pattern in the carpet with restless eyes. In fact he truly admired any form of literature, if it was done well. But Lady Warrick obviously had no taste. She featured the most popular poets of the day, no matter how bad they might be. And tonight’s epic verse stunk. The author had never been within continents of a battlefield, had no idea how truly glorious it was to be impaled by a bayonet or hollowed out by a rifle ball. He squirmed in his seat, angling himself to better view his grandmother’s party.

  Zel and Grandmama sat as cozy as sisters on a small sofa, faces inches apart. His grandmother had her back to him but he could see Zel clearly, her mouth pinched with stifled laughter. They were certainly enjoying the evening more than he. Mrs. Stanfield sat quietly in the chair on Zel’s other side and next to her the brother, Robin Fleetwood.

  Wolfgang stretched out his legs, knocking the chair in front of him, relishing the look of surprise that would appear on the young man’s face when they were formally introduced. Making only a vague reference to the night in the gaming hell, he’d allow Fleetwood to seek him out later, in private, to thank him for his help and discretion. He’d have an ally in Zel’s camp.

  The pattern in the carpet now committed to memory, he shifted his attention to the intricate ceiling plasterwork. Still the poet rambled on. The sofa in front of him had a wildly meandering floral design, and the drapes at his side were similarly convoluted. Lady Warrick’s taste in decor was only slightly better than her taste in poetry, bad but not so boring.

  When the soporific monologue finally ended, Wolfgang jumped to his feet, eager for a little wine and intelligent conversation. He beelined for Grandmama’s bobbing feathers and lustrous sapphire gown. Zel stood beside her, luminous in provocatively draped emerald-green silk. Putting these two together was either a stroke of genius or idiocy. He feared it would likely be the latter.

  “Wolfie, I am so enjoying your young lady’s company.” Grandmama’s first words to him after meeting Zel only confirmed his fears. His young lady? Satan’s tail, she had probably already begun to plan the wedding.

  Zel coughed and whispered, “Wolfie?” She was so amused by the childish nickname, she missed Grandmama’s use of a possessive pronoun. “My brother is about somewhere. I will introduce you to him later, my lord.” She smiled and mouthed, “Wolfie.”

  “I’d be most pleased.” Most pleased to put his hands around that long, graceful neck of hers. Better yet, his lips, tracing a line from her stubborn chin to her bare shoulder. That would shut her up. He settled for tucking his hand in the crook of her elbow. “Grandmama, Miss Fleetwood and I will fetch refreshments. Would you and Mrs. Stanfield prefer lemonade or wine?”

  “A little sherry for me, dear.” Grandmama positively beamed as Zel’s aunt nodded in agreement.

  “Two sherries it is.” The old tabby had likely progressed to naming great-grandchildren by now. Wolfgang pulled Zel a little harder than he meant to and was rewarded or tortured when her breast and thigh pressed
into his side. Her eyes widened, then quickly narrowed. He grasped her elbow more firmly, anticipating her move before she could jerk her arm away.

  “I see you and Grandmama are getting on famously.” He twisted the corners of his mouth in a parody of his usual grin. “Just as I’d feared. You both look like you stepped off with the crown jewels. Did your maids consult on your toilette? Both pretty as a picture.” Wolfgang blabbered on, ignoring her smile. “Where is your brother? Did you like the poet? I found his knowledge of war most amusing.”

  “Oh, calm down.” Her smile broadened. “You have nothing to worry about from me. I have no intention of disrupting your bachelor state. I believe between the two of us we can outflank your grandmother, no matter how determined she may be.”

  “You’re an angel.” He released her elbow, taking her hand.

  “Do not kiss my hand. It would not be appropriate for our brother-sister status.” Zel eyed him warily. “We have a close charade to play. We must appear a tidy little family group and still find a way to convince your grandmother we do not suit.”

  “You! You swine! Take your hand off my sister!” Fleetwood stepped in front of him, red-faced and sputtering.

  “Robin, this is Lord Northcliffe.” Zel pulled free of Wolfgang, placing her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “Lady Darlington’s grandson.”

  “I know too well who he is.” Fleetwood took another step forward, inches from Wolfgang’s face.

  “I’ve said nothing to your sister.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you haven’t, Lord Northcliffe.”

  What the devil was wrong with the ungrateful cur? No wonder he didn’t make a habit out of saving people’s lives, if this was the thanks he got. “Fleetwood, let’s find a salon and continue this in private.” He kept his voice even and low. The room around them had fallen far too silent.