That morning, while Charley and his father had gone off for the special license that would allow them to marry privately, and while the modiste had fussed with her extravagant new gown, Paulette and Lady Sirena had shared the hair-raising stories of their marriages with the other two sons of Shaldon. Her situation was quite mild by comparison.
Still, her gown had a secret pocket for Papa’s sheathed blade, though to pull such a weapon out at a ton ball would be reckless indeed, even for one such as herself.
Seated across from them in the formal town carriage, Lord Shaldon was a silent companion. Lady Perry chattered enough for both of them.
Graciela’s stomach danced and fluttered with each start and stop as their carriage crawled with the traffic. The swearing and shouting of grooms and coachmen permeated the thin walls. Beyond their usual guards, she could see throngs of common people crowding to see the great spectacle.
It was exciting and potentially quite dangerous. If Kingsley had learned of Charley’s trip to Doctors’ Commons, or if it had come to Gregory Carvelle’s ears, she could be in very great danger. They were men who did not like to be thwarted.
“It will be worse for the coronation this summer,” Lady Perry said. “I shall flee to the country. Will you come with me, Father?”
“Would that I could.” A rare smile touched his lips.
“What about you two? Surely you would rather honeymoon elsewhere than stay and be crushed by these crowds. Graciela must see Cransdall. And we can look about the county for an estate for sale. Do you think you will buy a house in the country?”
Graciela looked at Charley. They had not had time to discuss their long term living arrangements.
“Well you could certainly afford it, with Graciela’s dowry,” Lady Perry said.
Charley’s loud sigh reverberated in the carriage. He had explained the hurriedly drafted marriage settlement in precise detail to her before Lord Shaldon had signed it on her behalf. Besides the portions set aside for Reina and their children to come, her dowry would be hers. Whether he himself had enough money to buy a house, she didn’t know, but she knew he would not pressure her to use her money.
“Your mother left Charles an estate in the Yorkshire,” Lord Shaldon said.
Charley’s gaze whipped from the window.
As her only active guardian, Lord Shaldon had unhesitatingly agreed to Charley’s marriage terms, so unfavorable to his own son. Now she knew why.
“I had meant to tell you tomorrow, after I retrieved the title from safekeeping, but there you see, your sister is an impatient one.”
“An estate.” Charley frowned.
Her heart slipped down to jostle about with her stomach. An estate would tie him down, as would having a wife and child.
“Yes. All in good order, as you could expect from your mother and Bakeley. There is a substantial bit of cash also. You should garner four or five thousand a year, if you are wise.”
“The same as Bink.”
“Yes.”
Lady Perry extended her arm and touched Gracie’s knee. “Mother was very rich, and a dab hand with investments. What did she arrange for me, Father?”
When he didn’t answer she laughed and turned back to Gracie. “He never told Bink or Charley anything until they settled on their wives. Bakeley of course will inherit everything else.”
She smiled politely. She had heard the story of Bink’s inheritance from Paulette.
“Mother’s family was common and grew rich through mining and banking. She saw to Bink’s education before he ran off, and she required Charley to live on a small allowance and to be productive. Bink went into the army, and Charley here served in the Foreign Office.”
She looked up at Charley and smiled. “You are a spy then.”
He shrugged. “I told you—I gadded about Europe listening to gossip. Nothing more.”
Yes, he had told her that before. And the scars on his body? They had not gone so far as to talk about those yet.
“I can come with you when you visit your property,” Lady Perry said. “Shall we go soon? I know it is your honeymoon, but surely you will want to take Reina, and I can happily divert her and play nursemaid. You may put me in another wing of the house entirely.”
“Perry.” Charley’s voice held a warning.
“Or I can sleep in the nursery.”
Loud shouting erupted nearby, sending her nerves jumping. “Remind me now why we had to come,” she whispered to Charley.
He squeezed her hand, but his other was reaching into his coat, where she knew he had a weapon stored. “Father insisted,” he whispered back.
The carriage jerked ahead and the noise subsided. Whatever the trouble, it had been settled.
She clung to his hand, trying to be brave, but the night with so little sleep, the bustle of the morning and onslaught of family and friends, the fitting into this beautiful gown and the afternoon...
She pressed a hand to her throat and felt the jewels resting there. Charley’s engagement gift was a necklace of the palest rose quartz beads, polished like pearls and strung between silver spacers. It matched her pale pink gown and its overlay of silver gauze netting. The description of the gown had not sounded beautiful. She had thought to wear it out of obligation.
But then she had seen it, and when Madame slipped it over her head, she became like a princess.
The diamond on her finger dazzled also even in the dim lamp of the coach lights. That had been Charley’s mother’s. She would treasure it.
“Do not leave my side,” she said quietly. “I shall fill up my dance card with your relatives and friends. Your brothers and Penderbrook.” She ticked off the names on her fingers. “They can each dance with me twice. Does the Vicar dance, do you think?”
“Perhaps a country dance.”
“I will importune him for two. And you, Lord Shaldon—”
“Lame leg, my dear. That will be enough as we are not staying the whole night. Charles must do his duty for the rest of the evening.” He nodded at his son and another rare smile bloomed.
Next to her, Charley squirmed. She looked at him quickly and saw his embarrassed nod.
Oh. There had been a second meaning to Lord Shaldon’s comment.
It was clear, father and son cared for each other. There was a silent conversation in this moment, an exchange of emotion, a closeness, and no wonder—they were both in the same profession. Neither Lord Bakeley nor Mr. Gibson had followed their father into the spy business. Nor Lady Perry, though if ever a lady was prime for adventure, it was Perry. She was cloaked in a sense of restlessness that her father and brothers did not see.
The lights brightened as they approached the rooms rented for the occasion, and she straightened and closed her eyes for a moment. She must act a lady tonight, for Charley’s sake and for Papa’s. She must make him proud, even if it turned out that he was truly dead.
Charley exited first, his gaze sweeping the arrival area. Their guards were in place. The footmen hired for the ball were held at a distance. The lights of the assembly rooms beckoned. Now they had only to face the evening and the possibility, the very likely possibility he thought, of a confrontation with Kingsley, or Carvelle, or possibly the Duque himself.
He shook off the sense of impending doom. It wasn’t like him to look for the worst. He’d deal with whatever came up, with Father, and Bink, and Bakeley to back him up.
It was Gracie he worried about. Gracie, and the terrible portent that greeted him every time his eyes met his father’s.
He knew that look. Father was quite pleased with his choice of a bride, which meant…Gracie was the key to a spy. Perhaps not the spy Farnsworth had set him upon, the one mixed up in his mother’s death, but another one. For Father, the war would never be over. In his devious way, he had used Bink’s marriage to Paulette, and Bakeley’s marriage to Sirena, to lure old enemies.
Charley assisted both ladies down, and by the time his father was ready to exit, the ladies had moved to stan
d with the guards, and his brothers had joined him.
Bakeley glanced around. “Bink and I agree. Insisting you go to this ball on your wedding night? Father is up to something.”
“Do you know who we’re looking for, Charley?” Bink asked. “A bit of intelligence would help.”
“Someone related to a Spanish lady,” he said.
“The Duque,” Bakeley said.
“Or Kingsley.” Bink clamped a hand on Charley’s shoulder. “Never fear. We’ll all help you protect her. Even Kincaid here.”
Kincaid had arrived, dressed in Shaldon livery. He would keep track of the guards, the teams, and the coaches. They stepped back to let him assist Shaldon.
“Ten to one, whoever it is, he or she will be here tonight.” Bink grinned.
“He,” Charley said. “That much I do know.”
“As I said, a bit of intelligence might help,” Bink muttered.
Charley knew a good deal more than them, some from Farnsworth, some from his father, some from the records he’d dug up on his mother’s accident, and those hideous memories, but all he had were pieces of a puzzle. Only his father knew the whole picture being assembled.
“Someone from the old days, so older,” Bakeley said. “Right, then. Let’s gather these fillies and get off this street.”
They entered together, each man tucking a lady’s hand into his, except for his vicar cousin. His father, he noticed, had handed Perry over to Penderbrook and was escorting Lady Jane. Perhaps she too had a spy attached somewhere in her past.
He maneuvered them to the back of the group, Gracie offering no resistance, but she was stiff as a royal duchess next to him. “Tonight is our wedding night,” he murmured.
She sent him a tremulous smile. “Why did your father insist that we come?”
“It is to be our shocking come-out,” he said. “I’ve married an heiress and you’ve caught yourself a rich earl’s son. And he’s up to something. I’m not sure what." The last thing he wanted was for her to worry.
She jerked her chin up and gazed at him. “He’s after a traitor.”
She had spent the morning with his brothers’ wives.
“Yes, so I would imagine. And erase that frown, please. This is the happiest day of your life.” He let a warm gaze travel over her. “Do it for England.”
“Am I English, then? Papa changed sides more than once, and I was not really sure.”
“You are now.”
She took in a breath that made her fine bosom rise in its silver cage, and he couldn’t help smiling. He would ravish her three ways tonight, if he could find the stamina.
“I will do it to honor my father.” She waved a gloved hand. “Whatever this is I am supposed to do.”
“You are supposed to be just what you are—the most beautiful woman at this ball.”
He swept a gaze over the crowd. It was more than the usual assortment of peacocks and peahens, but then, the king peacock of all of Europe was soon to be crowned and no one wanted to miss out on the spectacle.
He recognized many faces from his travels across Europe. The Duquesa was there, glowing and golden. From the tense line of her lovely jaw, he knew she’d spotted him. He easily deciphered the look she directed at a lady wearing a mine-load of diamonds on her neck and a dish filled with feathers atop her head. Her duque had no regard for his marriage vows, was probably right now in a cranny, lifting another woman’s skirts. The lady had managed the marriage these many years with the help of her powerful father. And French letters.
She’d asked for a meeting again just that morning. This time, her messenger had waited, and he’d sent his deepest regrets.
But two notes, two days in a row, meant the subject was something important, and with Farnsworth gone, there was no one else to make contact.
He must have that dance with her.
Names of attendees boomed across the room. His father was announced, then the rest one by one. After Bink and Paulette, Charley stepped forward with Gracie and handed over a card.
“Mr. and Mrs. Charles Everly.”
There was not much of a ruffle in the room, but looking over his wife’s head, he saw one pair of eyes widen. And then two men stepped up with the Duquesa—her husband and Lord Kingsley.
Gracie saw them also. Her breasts rose again. “Bugger the man,” she whispered.
“Indeed,” he said. If possible, with a very sharp sword.
Chapter 25
After several sets, Graciela stepped off the dance floor with Mr. Penderbrook and her gaze followed his.
Charley had just released his sister and was leading the Duquesa onto the floor.
Penderbrook moved quickly to block her view. “It’s only a dance,” he whispered. “Just like ours.”
She sighed. “You would say that, Penderbrook. You’re a man.” Yet, he was right, and she shouldn’t be staring like a jealous wife.
She forced herself to turn away. Across the room she spotted another face, and her nerves prickled. Captain Llewellyn had made a late, unannounced appearance. He started their way.
They had reached the side of the room and Penderbrook leaned close to her ear. “I believe he dallied for reasons of national interest. What reasons, do not ask, because I don’t know. Who is next for you?”
“Mr. Gibson.” Only Mr. Gibson was nowhere in sight, but Captain Llewellyn had almost reached them. “Perhaps I shall beg off.”
“No. Go and dance. Give Everly a kick when you pass him.”
She sent him a rueful smile and turned to greet the Captain, who bowed and greeted her.
“Are you free for this dance?” he asked.
“It is promised.” She spotted Mr. Gibson coming nearer, and the Captain followed her glance.
“Perhaps later.” He bowed. “I must apologize for my behavior yesterday, Grace. I’m returning to my ship earlier than expected, but I stand ready to assist you if ever you should need it.”
Mr. Gibson joined them, and, hearing the last remark, frowned. “Our dance, Graciela?”
She took Mr. Gibson’s arm, made introductions, and said, “Captain, I shall keep that in mind. And you should keep in mind that if you are a friend of my father’s cousin, you are no friend to me.”
A deep frown furrowed his brow. “I am not in league with him.”
She felt the Captain’s eyes on her as Mr. Gibson led her onto the floor.
Mr. Gibson looked grim.
“He was a friend of my father and mother,” she said.
Across the room, Charley and his partner were bowing and curtseying. She tried not to watch.
“I see. I shall step on her Excellency’s toe in passing if you wish,” he murmured. “I’m only a great clod anyway.”
She smiled and blinked away sudden moisture. He was kind, this brother of Charley’s, and anything but a clod.
Several couples away Charley inclined his head to his former lover, listening intently. The Duquesa’s eyes glowed, her full lips pursed in a pouty whisper. A large sapphire nestled in her breasts reflecting the astonishing blue of her eyes and the stones of the tiara that rested in her golden hair. The Duquesa was a glittering diamond to Graciela’s polished quartz.
Her heart began to race, leaving her breathless. Assignment or not, if Charley thought to keep contact with the lady, Graciela would leave him.
Not with Captain Llewellyn. She need not take ship at all. Now that she was married, she was of no value to Lord Kingsley or Carvelle. They would not come after her. She could find some place in England and wait for Papa to return. And if he didn’t come soon, she could hire a ship and go look for him. She had the funds now.
The music started and she tried in vain to turn her attention to the dance. Mr. Gibson blithely rescued her and covered her missteps. As the dancers moved and formed new boxes, she finally met with Charley.
“What did Llewellyn want?” he whispered.
She managed what she hoped was a sweet smile.
“I love you,” he said, withou
t lowering his voice, a frown coloring his words.
He was jealous, and when she looked, the Duquesa’s eyebrow lifted. And what in the name of God did that mean?
When the interminable dance finally ended, Charley came to join her and Bink, the Duquesa dangling her fingers along his arm.
She pointedly removed them and gave him a little nudge. “There you go, Mrs. Everly. I have returned your new husband to you.”
He was never yours to return. Graciela pressed her lips together to hold back the words, her cheeks burning.
“And I wish you every happiness.” The woman was still talking. “Such an enchanting gown you are wearing. I do like it much better than your attire the last time we met.” That came with a warm smile.
Perhaps she did not need to hate the Duquesa. She eased in a breath. “Es verdad.” It is true.
Mr. Gibson groaned. “Gowns, Charley. We are to talk of gowns?”
The Duquesa noticed him for the first time, letting her eyes linger on his wide shoulders and broad chest, and Graciela’s ire rose again. It was good Paulette was not present.
Charley made introductions.
“I spent a few years in your country, Duquesa,” Mr. Gibson said affably. “Ciudad Rodrigu, Badajoz, Vitoria. Madrid was quite interesting.”
“You were with your Duke Wellington?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
Charley took Graciela’s arm. “The quadrille is mine, I believe.”
“Wait.” The Duquesa looked over her shoulder, and the tiniest of shivers went through her. “Do not forget what I have said.”
Graciela followed her line of sight and chilled also. Next to her, Charley tensed. A man approached, parting the huddle of guests, like Francisca’s tlahuelpuchi searching for a source of blood. All eyes followed, greedy for a spectacle.
Her legs twitched with the need to run.
“Steady.” Charley breathed the word into her ear. “Your Excellency.” He bowed, as did his brother, and made introductions.
The Rogue's Last Scandal: A Regency Romance (Sons of the Spy Lord Book 3) Page 20
