“I have come to ask...” Taking a deep breath, he forced the words out. “To ask a favor. But be assured that if it is inconvenient or against your principles for you to comply, you need only say the word, and I shall think none the less of you.”
The other man smiled engagingly. “Beholden as I am to you for my life, which for some obscure reason I value more highly than any of my worldly possessions, I can only say that anything I own is yours, you have but to name it—money, land, even my horses—ask for what you wish and it is yours, and I will still consider myself in your debt.”
“Nothing like that,” Digory said quickly. “All I ask is that—if it does not go against your conscience, of course—that you do not reveal to anyone that you know who I am and what I have done for a living.”
“Now you begin to make me suspicious,” Lord Edington said, seating himself in a leather-upholstered chair and indicating with a wave of his hand that Digory should be seated in its twin. The glint of mischief in his eye made Digory regret more than ever that he had come on this errand.
“In the normal course of events,” his lordship said, “I do not go out of my way to mention any of the activities I engaged in during our recent altercation with Napoleon, nor have I ever yet had reason to mention your name or the names of any of the others who shared my clandestine life. Which means there must be some pressing reason for you to appear on my doorstep in the middle of the night, only to ask me to refrain from doing something you should have had no reason to expect me to do in the first place.”
He eyed Digory thoughtfully. “It is a good thing that nothing you could do nor anything I could ever hear about you would be sufficient cause for me to think you capable of treason. So that means...” All at once his expression brightened. “That there is a woman involved in this somehow.”
Digory forced a smile onto his face, although he was not the least bit amused by this turn of events. “Your powers of deduction astound me.” And dismay me, he might truthfully have added.
“They should not,” Lord Edington said with a laugh that held much bitterness. “After you deposited my half-dead carcass on their doorstep, so to speak, the War Office informed me that while it greatly appreciated my earlier efforts, they had no further use for a spy who now had only one sound leg. So I spent the remainder of the war sitting in a windowless office here in London, analyzing reports other men had gathered. And what my superiors required of me was that I deduce everything from virtually nothing.”
“You sound a dangerous man to know. I had hoped I would not need to tell you everything that is going on, for as you well know, the more people who hear a secret, the more likely it becomes that the secret will be compromised. But since it appears likely that you will guess the half of it, I might as well tell you the whole.”
Digory quickly and efficiently related the essential details of Miss Pepperell’s predicament. “So she has persuaded herself—and I have reluctantly agreed—that the only viable solution to her problems is to marry, thus making it impossible, under the terms of her grandfather’s will, for any of her three cousins to inherit.”
“And she has decided you are the man she wishes to marry? I admire her taste, and I will be happy to welcome you to the ranks of the leg-shackled. The married state is really not so bad as it is reputed to be. In fact, you will find that the side benefits that accrue once you step into parson’s mousetrap are more to be desired than any financial gain.”
“Miss Pepperell is determined to marry me, but—”
“But you have objections? Is she an antidote?”
She is the most beautiful woman in the world, Digory wanted to say, but he contented himself with saying, “Not at all. But I question her motive for wishing to marry me. I fear that the real reason she has chosen me over her other suitors is merely gratitude that I saved her life. Added to that is fear that one or the other of her suitors may be in league with her villainous cousin. And to my way of thinking, gratitude and fear are not a sound basis on which to build a happy marriage.”
“But you are going through with it?”
“I have agreed to the marriage, but I have no intention of sharing her bed. I fully intend to have the marriage annulled once she is safely past her twenty-first birthday.”
“I had never thought you a dunderhead, yet hearing you utter such rubbish makes me begin to doubt your intelligence. What is the help you wish from me? Do you perhaps need me to speak up for you at the hearing on your sanity?”
“This is no laughing matter,” Digory said sharply. “Miss Pepperell must be married as quickly as possible, and there must be nothing havey-cavey about the marriage, or else her cousins will be quick to appeal to the courts to have it set aside. And since she is a minor, that means we must have her aunt’s permission. And to gain her aunt’s approval and written consent, I must pass myself off as a gentleman, not only until we are safely married, but also until Miss Pepperell is of age, lest her cousins become suspicious.”
“Ah, the last piece of the puzzle falls into place,” Lord Edington said. “And the aunt—Lady Clovyle did you say?—would never, of course, give permission for her niece to marry a smuggler.”
“Ex-smuggler,” Digory said absently. “But more to the point, she would not wish her niece to marry the unacknowledged by-blow of a singularly unadmirable peer of the realm.”
His friend raised an eyebrow, and Digory reluctantly said, “My father was the Earl of Blackstone.”
Lord Edington gave a low whistle. “Which would make Lord Blackheart, as he is called, your brother.”
“Half-brother.”
“I have always considered him living proof that a title and a country estate and the proper schooling cannot make a gentleman out of a scoundrel. In fact”—he paused, scrutinizing Digory carefully, then continued—“I would say that with the help of a good valet, we can turn you into a much more credible gentleman than he could ever hope to be.” Lord Edington was quite serious, but he failed to grasp the most essential fact.
“I cannot become a gentleman,” Digory pointed out. “I can merely pass myself off as a gentleman. Which is why I have come to ask your help,” he added, lest his companion had forgotten the original purpose of the visit.
“And all you wish me to do is pretend I have never met you?” Lord Edington shook his head. “It will never do. What you need is someone to vouch for your credentials, as it were. People are suspicious of anyone they know nothing about. To begin with, I shall propose your name at White’s, after which we must see about getting you into Almack’s, for if you make no attempt to be accepted everywhere—and I mean without exception—then people will begin to whisper. ‘Why do you suppose he does not go riding in the park at five?’ they will ask. ‘If he is who he claims to be, why is he not a member of such-and-such club?’ ‘What is his shortcoming, that he was not invited to Lord What’s-his-name’s ball?’”
“With every word you speak, you make the task seem more impossible,” Digory said. “Perhaps Miss Pepperell is right. Maybe we should elope to the Continent.”
“Nonsense,” Lord Edington said. “You must trust me on this. While I bow to your superior knowledge of the winds and the tides, and I readily admit that your mastery of the French tongue far exceeds mine, in matters of society I am the expert. And in my opinion, you will take the ton by storm if you are once properly introduced. I can see it all now,” he mused. “If we play our cards properly, the hostesses will be falling all over themselves to secure your attendance at a dinner party or ball, and you could easily become the latest fashion.”
“Do not forget that notoriety could be as dangerous for me as for any spy,” Digory pointed out.
“Except, of course, that if this charade comes unraveled, you will not pay with your life,” Lord Edington said. “Now then, we must consider who else we can enlist in this project, because the more people who claim you as friend, the less speculation there will be about your origins. And we must also do something about your
wardrobe.”
“And I suppose I must again bow to your superior knowledge of fashion,” Digory said, unable to keep a trace of sarcasm from his voice.
“Actually I don’t pay a bit of attention to what I put on,” Lord Edington said. “I am not a dandy, after all, so I find it easier to leave everything up to my valet. He knows precisely which way the winds of fashion are blowing. But I am not willing to give him up, not even to you, so that means—”
“No,” Digory said flatly. “I am only too aware of the way servants gossip about their masters, and I want no strangers in my house. Almost all of Miss Pepperell’s servants have been with the family since she was small, and I am reasonably sure they can be trusted. Moreover Big Davey has agreed to act as my coachman, and Little Davey will be my groom, although in actuality they will be protecting Miss Pepperell.”
“But you must have a valet who is au courant,” Lord Edington protested.
“I have managed to dress myself for many years now, and as I am not yet in my dotage, I believe I can continue a bit longer.”
“You cannot refuse to have a valet,” Lord Edington said. “Every gentleman, no matter how flat his pocketbook, has a valet. Period. No exceptions.”
Digory opened his mouth, but Lord Edington forestalled him. “Did you or did you not come to me for advice as to how to be a gentleman?”
As much as Digory wanted to quibble—for in the beginning he had only intended to ask Lord Edington not to betray him—he knew it was pointless. As much as Digory hated to admit it, he did need a valet. Not having one would only cause tongues to wag in the servants’ hall.
Apparently taking Digory’s silence for tacit consent, Lord Edington said, “And I know precisely who we shall get; we shall steal Lord Vernon’s valet.”
“Wonderful,” Digory muttered, “and now I am to have as my personal servant a man whose loyalty can be bought.”
Lord Edington began to curse with astounding fluency. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, “There are times when I don’t know whether I should laugh or draw your cork, and right now is one of them. Did you ever meet Joe Youngblood?”
Digory thought for a minute. “Wickham’s batman?”
“More than just a batman—could pass for brothers if they were dressed alike. Wickham made full use of that. Used to dress Youngblood up as a gentleman and use him as a decoy. Not even the War Office knew anything about it. Anyway, he’s a good man—knows how to keep his mouth shut—and he’s a superior valet now. Since Wickham was killed at Quatra Bras, Youngblood has been working for Lord Vernon, but he’ll come to us once I explain why we need him. I will not have to buy his loyalty. Since he was privy to all of Wickham’s secrets, he doubtless knows what you did during the war, and that being the case, you will be hard put to get him to accept a salary. Buy his loyalty—bah!”
Digory began to wonder how many other servants in London might be former government men—men who would recognize him—but he kept his worries to himself. Now was not the proper time to trouble Lord Edington with additional worries—not when the viscount was rubbing his bad leg.
Despite her red hair, Adeline Lady Edington was by nature a patient, easy-going woman. Nonetheless, when she had sufficient cause, her temper could be awesome. In this case a full half hour of waiting in bed for her husband was ample time for her to lose all interest in massaging Matthew’s leg and to begin instead to consider which vase she should break over his head.
What could he possibly be doing at this hour of the night that was more important than being with her? Leaning back against her pillows and watching even more minutes tick away on the mantel clock, she pondered that question.
Rather belatedly the obvious explanation occurred to her While she had been sitting up waiting for him, he had undoubtedly fallen asleep in his own room.
Muttering several very unladylike oaths under her breath, she threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, found her robe and pulled it on, then jerked open the connecting door.
Her husband, however, was not in his bed. To her astonishment, the only occupant of the room was her husband’s valet, who was dozing on a straight-backed chair.
“Abbott, what have you done with my husband?”
Startled, the valet leaped to his feet and stared goggle-eyed at her.
“Where is my husband?” she repeated, her voice rising with her temper.
“Well, I was merely undoing his cravat, just as I do every night”—he held up a man’s neckcloth—“and then Mr. Briston came in and said that a man had come round to speak with his lordship.”
“At this hour of the night?” Adeline’s mood did not improve. So her husband had left her waiting while he attended to some kind of business? The nerve of him! Well, when Matthew deigned to notice her again, he would find himself on the wrong side of a locked door.
Wilting under her gaze, the valet stammered out further explanations, even while he edged his way toward the door leading out to the corridor. “The visitor—I believe Mr. Briston said his name was Digory Rendel—insisted that his business could not be conducted during daylight hours, but what the man’s business is and why it can only be conducted in the wee hours of the morning, I am sure I cannot tell you.” With that he opened the door and eased himself out into the corridor.
Abandoned a second time, Adeline paced the room, planning several different kinds of mayhem to enact on her husband’s person, but then she stopped stock-still in the middle of the room. Something was bothering her—
Rendel... Digory Rendel... the name sounded familiar. Yes, now that she thought about it, she had definitely heard that name before. But where?
It took her only a moment of concentration to remember where she had heard it. Rendel—that was the name of the man who had rescued her husband in France and brought him back to her more dead than alive. And she had never even had a chance to thank him.
But why had he come back without warning after all these years? Surely he did not want to—
Oh, dear God, no!
She would not—could not!—let Mr. Rendel once again embroil her husband in some kind of clandestine operation. Whatever he wanted her husband for—or whatever the War Office wanted him for—Mr. Rendel would have to find someone else. Never would she allow her husband to risk his life like that again, never!
More angry than she had ever been before, she hurried from the room. One way or another she would stop Mr. Rendel from dragging her husband back into a world where lies and deceptions and intrigue—and near fatal wounds!—were the order of the day.
Matthew had just finished outlining the strategy he thought would best serve their purpose when the door was thrust open so forcefully that it crashed against the wall.
Adeline entered the room, her glorious hair streaming loose about her shoulders and a look of fury on her face, and Matthew realized he had committed a major error in judgment by not speaking with her before he came downstairs. “I can explain, my dear,” he said, but she ignored him completely.
“Get out of my house!” His normally soft-spoken spouse screeched at his visitor like a fishwife and then attacked him with her fists. “How dare you come here—how dare you! You are not welcome in this house! Get out, get out, and never come back!”
Mr. Rendel made no effort to defend himself for the few minutes it took Matthew to catch his wife from behind and pull her away from his visitor. Then he said, “I apologize for coming here. Upon thinking it over, I believe that it would be better if I made plans for an immediate trip to the Continent.” He had to raise his voice slightly to be heard above Adeline’s shrieks.
His arms tightly wrapped around his wife, who was now attempting to strike him, Matthew felt greater shame than he had ever thought it possible to feel. That his wife could treat a guest in their house so shabbily was beyond belief. And not just a guest, but the very man without whose courage and ingenuity Matthew would have died in France years ago. He had never thought she was particularly high in the instep, and
to the best of his knowledge, she had never been rude to anyone, so her behavior was totally inexplicable.
“You promised, you promised,” she wailed.
Promised? What had he promised? “Don’t leave!” he said. “Please,” he added when he realized he had barked out an order quite as if Rendel were one of his servants. “I am sure this is all a misunderstanding.”
Digory was not so sure. Not only did Lady Edington seem to know who he was—apparently Lord Edington did not keep secrets from his wife—but her outrage at finding someone so far outside her own class being entertained in her house was but a foretaste of how others of the ton would react if he tried to insinuate himself into their society.
He would have preferred to have simply left the house quickly and quietly, but Lord Edington had a look of such desperate entreaty on his face that Digory decided to stay a bit longer. Although since he was the cause of the present contretemps, it was hard to see what he could do to help.
On the other hand, his lordship seemed to be fighting a losing battle, so it would hardly be fair to desert him.
“What did I promise?” Lord Edington finally managed to ask.
“You promised never to go off spying again!” his wife replied, continuing to beat on him with her fists.
At her words Lord Edington began to laugh, and even Digory was forced to smile.
The laughter worked where attempts at physical restraint had not. Lady Edington ceased struggling and stood quietly in her husband’s arms, her eyes still flashing with temper, but otherwise remarkably calm.
“You have it backward, my love,” Lord Edington said. “Mr. Rendel has not come here to entice me into performing foolhardy acts of misplaced bravery.”
“He has not?” she asked in a very tiny voice.
“He is here only because he wishes an entree into society.”
“Oh.”
Digory watched the color rise in Lady Edington’s face.
The Counterfeit Gentleman Page 12
