A Wedding Code

by Jacki Delecki

  Gus barked at the mention of treats.

  “Gus recognizes that word. I’ve been teaching him t-r-e-a-t-s in seven languages. I think he’s caught on to the spelling too, although he still responds the most to English. Most likely since English is his first language.”

  Derrick chuckled. Amelia had told him about Edward’s prodigious skills with language, mathematics, and codes, but he hadn’t spent much time with the lad, except on the cricket field. And during the fierce competition, one spoke only to encourage one’s teammates.

  “Oh, I’m in for it. Look at that scowl on Cord’s face,” Edward said.

  Amelia waved at Rathbourne, who stood on the front steps, his legs spread as if braced for battle. “He isn’t angry with you, Edward. He was worried,” Amelia reassured.

  Derrick wasn’t as convinced about Rathbourne’s understanding nature when it came to boyish antics that caused stress to his wife. But Derrick knew Amelia wouldn’t allow Rathbourne to hurt the boy’s feelings.

  They made their way to the front of the estate, where several guards were positioned.

  Rathbourne rushed down the stairs. “Thank God you’re safe. You better have a darn good reason for this latest infraction.”

  “I’m sorry for the worry, but you’ll be glad that I was missing.”

  “How can I possibly be happy that you were missing?” Rathbourne ran his hand over his hair. “Only a Harcourt could say something as nonsensical and convoluted.”

  “Careful, old man,” Kendal warned. “Edward has important news, but I think we should take him into the library and away from listening ears.”

  Rathbourne looked to Derrick, who nodded.

  Amelia took Rathbourne’s arm as they climbed the stairs. “You must remember that Edward is only the messenger for this most difficult news.”

  Rathbourne glared at Amelia as if she had lost her mind. Derrick waited for Rathbourne’s reaction, ready to defend Amelia from any censure.

  “I’m sure I’m capable of refraining from blaming Edward for whatever news he plans to share.”

  Amelia and Rathbourne followed Kendal and Edward into the library. “Michael, move him close to the fire.” Amelia directed. “I’m going to find the Bromptons. We must send for a doctor to examine Edward’s injuries.”

  “Injuries? I thought he was tired.”

  “Edward will explain everything, but he twisted his ankle.”

  Amelia paused, taking Edward’s hand. “These men will handle the spies. You must not worry about anything but getting better.”

  Then Amelia addressed Rathbourne before bustling to the door. “You’ll be grateful for Edward’s information.”

  She smiled at Derrick as she hurried out of the room.

  Rathbourne blew out a loud breath. “Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Kendal walked to the fireplace and stood with his back to Rathbourne. “Go ahead and tell him.”

  Rathbourne moved next to Edward. “I’m waiting.”

  Edward gulped, then blurted out. “I overheard French spies in the woods last night plotting to kidnap Charles tomorrow night.”

  Derrick wasn’t sure how Rathbourne would react, but he knew what he would do if anyone threatened Amelia.

  Rathbourne stiffened and fisted his hands at his side. “Go on, tell me everything.”

  Edward, now confident that he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of Rathbourne’s wrath, recounted everything he overheard, in detail.

  The only visible sign of Rathbourne’s reaction was the slight, barely noticeable tic in his thick jaw.

  “You were very brave to try to see the men’s faces. I’m thankful you are not badly injured. I’m not sure what story we will tell your sister, but she must not know about the threat against Charles. Do you understand?”

  “Edward understands that Hen needs rest, and that she must not experience any stress. Isn’t that so?” Kendal said, looking at his brother.

  “I’d never do anything to worry Hen.”

  Derrick waited to see how Rathbourne would respond to the boy’s ignorance of how traumatic his disappearance would be for his sister.

  Rathbourne rubbed Edward’s hair. “You did well.”

  “I didn’t see the man’s face, but I could identify his voice,” Edward added.

  “You are not to be involved. Do you understand?” Rathbourne didn’t raise his voice, but by the harsh tone, he left no doubt that this was a command.

  “Kendal, take him up the back stairwell, away from Henrietta’s rooms, to Gwyneth’s old drawing room.”

  Kendal nodded. “I will stay with Edward until the doctor arrives, but I’ll want to be apprised of the plans.”

  Derrick rushed to open the door. The toll of retelling his torment was etched in Edward’s ashen face and the way he lay listless in Kendal’s arms.

  “I thank you, my lord, for rescuing me off the cliff.”

  Derrick nodded. “It was no problem. You know, you’re much easier to watch over than your brother.”

  But Edward had closed his eyes, already asleep in his brother’s arms.

  Kendal, needing to have the last word, whispered, “You’re never going forget Paris, are you?”

  Derrick rubbed his chin. “Most likely not.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Derrick closed the door and sat in his chair across from Rathbourne’s desk, watching his superior pace in front of the window.

  A knife-sharp tension permeated the cavernous room.

  Shoulders rigid, jaw jutted, clenching and unclenching his fists—Rathbourne was in a silent, burning rage. Derrick imagined Rathbourne was mentally choking the life out of the men who dared to threaten his newborn infant.

  Derrick said nothing. What could he add to the fury the men were experiencing? They all had killed men in their line of work. And at times the killing lines got blurred, but never would any man of honor harm an infant. Fouche would burn in hell for his evil, and Derrick wanted to help send him on his way.

  Rathbourne turned. “I want Ash to handle this newest threat. He should be back soon from the search. I sent word to the men when you returned with Edward.”

  Derrick sat forward. “I want to be part of taking these bastards down.”

  Rathbourne tunneled his fingers through his hair. “No, you are the bridegroom. The wedding must go on as planned, so we don’t alert them that we’re aware of their plan. Besides, Henrietta would have my hide if I interfered with Amelia’s wedding.”

  And as if both men didn’t immediately think of his wife’s reaction if anything happened to her babe, Rathbourne strode back to the window and stared out at the grounds.

  “What is taking Ash so damn long?”

  Grateful for action, Derrick jumped up. “I’ll check whether he’s returned. Since he doesn’t know of this latest threat, he might not hurry.”

  Rathbourne nodded. Not changing his brooding stance.

  Too impatient to wait for the footman, Derrick opened the door. Pierpont stepped back when the door flew open.

  Derrick surged forward, crowding the Frenchman.

  “Why are you in this hall, Pierpont?” There was no need for Pierpont to be in the family quarters.

  Pierpont didn’t flinch at Derrick’s intimidating posture. Pierpont definitely had balls. Most men would have given Derrick space, well aware of the damage he could inflict.

  Pierpont patted his pomaded hair and spoke in his usual, irritating sing-song voice.

  “I thought I heard Mademoiselle Amelia’s voice. She’s been gone for hours, and she needs to make some important decisions.”

  Derrick watched the Frenchman’s eyes shift to the open door of the library. Had he been lurking in the hall when they returned with Edward? Where was the footman-guard who was always stationed at the door? He had been there when they arrived. Most likely he was now assisting Kendal and Amelia getting Edward settled.

  Despite Amelia’s trust in her protégé, Derrick did not share her favo
rable opinion. He wanted Pisspot away from Amelia, away from Rathbourne House, and away from England. If he had his way, he would banish the snake back to France.

  “Miss Amelia has left word that you should return to Bonnington Estate.”

  “But what about the flower arrangements?”

  Derrick inched closer to make sure Pierpont felt the difference in their size and strength, and recognized who would win in a battle between them.

  “You are to make those decisions, but Miss Amelia wants you back at Bonnington House. She says there are important details you must see to.”

  Pierpont’s lower lip curled before he executed a formal bow. “As you wish, my lord.”

  Was Derrick imagining the insolence in his response? Derrick waited and watched Pierpont saunter down the hallway, his hips swaying in an overly affected manner, as if he knew Derrick was watching. It was impossible not to suspect everyone, including an inconsequential designer, when treachery threatened.

  Derrick didn’t have time to sort out the mystery surrounding the French designer when there was a real threat against Cord’s family.

  Derrick moved toward the door when Ashworth came striding down the hall.

  “What the hell, Brinsley? Scowl much?” Ash slapped him on the back. “For a man who is about to marry, you don’t look as if the prospect of wedded bliss is agreeing with you.”

  Derrick shook his head.

  “Is something wrong with Edward? Or Charles?”

  “For now they are both fine.”

  “God, Brinsley your cryptic comments…”

  Derrick leaned down to Ashworth and said in a quiet voice, “Not here. In the library. Rathbourne is waiting for us.”

  Ashworth hastened his steps.

  Rathbourne turned at the men’s entrance.

  “What the hell, Cord? You’re spending too much time with Brinsley. You’re starting to glower in precisely the same manner.”

  Ashworth’s joke fell flat when both men glared at him.

  He threw up his hands. “Forgive me. I thought that you two would at least crack a smile after finding Edward.” Ashworth walked to the brandy table. “You look like you both need a drink. And if you don’t, I do. What a blasted, muddy mess.”

  Brompton, at almost a run, dashed in the room before the footman could close the door. Breathless, he paused. “Excuse me, my lord. I wouldn’t interrupt if it weren’t important.”

  “Lady Henrietta?” Rathbourne rushed toward Brompton.

  “No, my lord. Her ladyship and babe are fine. But it is about his little lordship.”

  Rathbourne growled. “What about Charles?”

  Brompton’s voice quivered. “It is very irregular, but Lisette, the new French maid, and her brother have requested an immediate audience with you. I explained I would handle whatever problem they were having with adjusting to the household. But they insist it has nothing to do with their duties, but that…”

  Ashworth threw back a taste, and then walked over to the elder butler, who had frozen. “Brompton, whatever you have to say will not upset his lordship. He appreciates what an outstanding job you and your wife do.”

  “Thank you, Lord Ashworth. In all my years, I have never had to handle anything this upsetting, despite the extreme irregularities at Harcourt House. I am flummoxed as to how to proceed. I…”

  Derrick interrupted before Rathbourne could explode. “What do they want to tell Lord Rathbourne about the baby?”

  Brompton whispered, “That they were sent from France to kidnap the baby.”

  Ashworth choked on the brandy. “Bloody hell, not what I was expecting to hear.”

  “We are already aware of the plot, Brompton.”

  Ashworth turned to Rathbourne. “We are?”

  Derrick nodded at Ashworth, who threw back the rest of the brandy.

  “You did well to bring the plot to my attention, Brompton. You must not tell anyone, including Mrs. Brompton, about it. She is too attached to my wife, and if she perceives any threat against the baby, she will not be able to hide it from Henrietta.”

  “Yes, my lord. I will not inform my wife.”

  “Escort Lisette and her brother in. And once I’ve spoken to the siblings, I will summon you to inform you of how our plan will impact the household.”

  “Sir, you may depend on me to protect the babe with my life.”

  Rathbourne’s face softened, and for possibly the first time, he walked next to the retainer to the door. “Thank you, Brompton. I do not plan for it to come to such a desperate act, but I appreciate your loyalty.”

  Ashworth strode to Derrick. “Fill me in quickly.”

  “Edward overheard the plot to kidnap the babe when he was in the woods. Obviously Rathbourne already knew who in his household was part of the plan, since he didn’t show any reaction to the French siblings’ request. I think he had planned to trap them before they could come forward.”

  “And here I was being delighted that we found Edward. Can’t we have one day without any plots and treachery?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Amelia’s carriage pulled into the elaborate portico of Bonnington estate. She stared at the multiple gleaming windows, sparkling in anticipation of tomorrow’s ball. The artist in her appreciated the perfect symmetry of the red brick Georgian estate, with its central entrance and elegant portico.

  As a young girl, she always imagined her ancestors’ guests arriving for a ball in elaborate panniers, piled hairstyles replete with birds, and secretive masks covered in feathers and jewels. She always felt she should have been born in that era of romantic intrigue and drama, but, after the past few days, she had learned she preferred being part of the current era, part of the fight against the French.

  She no longer cared about her ball gown or the flowers. Instead, she wanted to help Cord and Ash prevent baby Charles’s kidnapping. How her expectations of a perfect wedding had shriveled and wafted away.

  She climbed out of the carriage, steeling herself to greet family and guests who had already arrived for tomorrow’s wedding. What she really wanted was to sneak past the drawing room and collapse on her bed. After Hen’s labor and the search for Edward, she was exhausted, but also edgy and nervous about the newest threat. She needed a hot bath and a nap before her appearance at tonight’s dinner party, hosted by her father in her and Derrick’s honor.

  She had envisioned this day for months—the overflowing, fragrant flowers, the unique and delicious menu, the guest rooms planned to the last detail for luxury and comfort, playing the role of a sparkling hostess for the arriving guests.

  But all that mattered now was keeping Hen’s baby safe. And despite the men’s reassurance that they would apprehend the wicked monster, she wanted to help in tonight’s capture.

  She had stayed with Edward for hours, hours when she was supposed to be entertaining the guests. But even then he hadn’t wanted her to leave, so she remained with him until he fell asleep.

  Her absence from her home was conspicuous. She planned to spend the day enjoying her large family and the many friends who traveled a great distance to attend the wedding.

  Derrick had no family, since he was estranged from his brother, and always spoke of Amelia and Aunt Mabel as his only family. He sacrificed his good name in society to spare Lauren, the woman he saved from marriage to his abusive brother, the Marquess of Falconbridge.

  Jarvis opened the door. “Miss Amelia, I’m grateful you’ve arrived. You’re needed in the library at once. Master Jack is shouting at one of the guests.”

  Amelia stared at Jarvis as if he were Medusa holding up a butchered head. Arguments were nothing new in the Bonnington household, as Jarvis was well aware. Growing up with men, Amelia was accustomed to angry bouts of shouting which were usually followed by a round of fisticuffs and ended with broken furniture.

  “At a guest?” Amelia shook her head. She didn’t have time for her pig-headed brother’s fights. “I’m not going to intervene between Jack and one of his f
riends, most likely arguing over a horse.”

  “Miss Amelia, he was shouting at a lady, Lady Mac Allister’s sister, Miss Abigail.”

  For the first time in two days, Amelia burst out in laughter. Jack, the epitome of male confidence and control, was actually shouting at a lady, a guest in their home. This she had to witness. Suddenly not feeling the least bit tired, she followed Jarvis to the library.

  Miss Abigail Lyon, upon meeting her ruggedly handsome and rakish brother last year, hadn’t been charmed and hadn’t swooned over his good looks. Possibly the first woman ever to remain so unaffected by said charm and looks.

  Miss Abigail, her wild curls held back with a bright blue bandeau, and dressed in a simple muslin dress, stood near the wall of books, her arms folded across her chest. “My point exactly. And if you read Elizabeth Montague, you would understand, from a woman’s point of view, that marriage is an expedient convention with very little advantage.”

  “Miss Abigail, how lovely to see you’ve arrived,” Amelia greeted her guest. “Jack, I had hoped to find you in the drawing room, entertaining our guests.”

  Jack, spared Amelia’s carrot top hair color, had hair the color of rich mahogany. But he was plagued with fair skin that betrayed his emotions. At this moment, his face was a fiery red.

  “Brinsley’s Aunt Mabel is in charge. She has taken over the tasks of hostess, and directed me to fetch Miss Lyon for afternoon tea before the ladies retire to prepare for tonight’s dinner.”

  Amelia had been too distracted with the events of the day to consider asking the socially powerful and connected dowager to step into the role of hostess. Of course Aunt Mabel could easily manage Amelia’s rambunctious brothers and the society ladies. Aunt Mabel could wage her own war against Napoleon if need be. And, of course, Aunt Mabel was matchmaking when she sent Jack to find Miss Abigail.

  “How interesting that you and Jack are discussing the merits of marriage. And how fitting the day before my wedding.”