It was only a small return, however, for the many torments they had suffered at their older brother’s hand when they had been too young to protect themselves. In consequence, even though his left hand was undoubtedly broken, Gervase felt a warm glow of contentment when he and Inigo descended the stairs and emerged into the fresh air.
Feeling more in charity with his younger brother than ever before, Gervase clapped him on the back and said, “I shall be happy to take you up in my curricle if you wish to make the dash to the Continent, but I warn you, I intend to leave within the hour.”
“No, I fear I cannot tear myself away from all the lovely ladies in London,” Inigo replied.
“You’re a fool if you think they will visit you in the Fleet,” Gervase said.
“Not to worry. I have been anticipating this eventuality ever since the old man died, and I have made adequate preparation. It is not, of course, the best of all possible fates, but I believe I can manage.”
“Now you have aroused my curiosity. Have you perchance discovered another beautiful heiress?”
“Ugly as sin,” Inigo said quite cheerfully, “and has not two thoughts to rub together in her noggin. Her father is a mill owner in Manchester, and he is so desperate to provide himself with an heir that he is willing not only to pay for my bloodlines, but also to allow me a comfortably long leash. Even got it in writing—signed, sealed, and delivered—that I can have as many mistresses as I want.”
“The devil you say!”
Inigo nodded. “Four thousand a year and I don’t even have to live with the old girl, just bed her until she’s in a family way. After that little chore is taken care of, I’m free as a bird until the brat’s two years old. The old man’s going to pay me a bonus of five thousand for the first grandson and two thousand more for each additional grandson. He would have paid seven if he could have found a willing baronet or ten for a baron, but his daughter is getting so long in the tooth that he was not loath to settle for the grandson of an earl.”
“Still and all, can’t say that I envy you, but then I’ve always had a queasy stomach,” Gervase said, offering his hand. “Well, I suppose this is good-bye then. Send word to me through Kidby if you ever decide to come to the Continent, and I’ll be happy to introduce you to the more interesting people.”
“What do you mean, you couldn’t find her?” Digory said, rising to his feet.
“Just that,” Big Davey replied, entering the study with Little Davey right behind him. “We looked all over Hyde Park, but she and Lady Edington were nowhere to be seen.”
“Nowhere? Did you check any of the other parks? Did you check at Lord Edington’s house? Did you check all the shops?”
“No, we didn’t. Nor did we think to check all of Dorset or Somerset or Northumberland or the West Riding,” Little Davey said sarcastically.
As much as Digory wanted to deny it, Little Davey was right. Without having some general area to concentrate on, it would be impossible to conduct an effective search.
And whatever happened to his wife, he was the one who would be responsible. Why had he ever been so foolish as to have allowed Bethia go out alone? He should have followed the carriage himself, rather than wasting precious minutes finding the two smugglers.
“There is no reason to worry,” Big Davey said. “She has only been gone an hour and a half.”
His words were no consolation, and from the expression on his face, he did not even believe them himself.
“We must work out a plan,” Digory said, but his mind was in too much of a turmoil to concentrate. All he could think about was that the villainous cousin might not yet have read the letter from Kidby—that he might see Bethia unprotected and injure her or kill her in the mistaken belief that he could gain thereby. Or he might have read the letter and still want revenge.
Digory’s thoughts raced down dark paths, but before he could give voice to his fears, he heard the front door open and close. Hoping and despairing at the same time, he strode out into the hall.
Bethia stood there calmly removing her bonnet and handing it to Uppleby, who had materialized silently from the nether regions.
Quickly, Digory looked his wife over from top to bottom, and he was relieved to see that she did not seem to have suffered any injury. In fact, she was smiling at him.
His relief that she was safe was tempered by the feeling that there was something not quite right about her smile. It took him a moment to realize that she was looking quite pleased with herself.
No, it was more than that. Hers was the smugly superior smile of a woman who has seen a man make a fool of himself.
Surely she could not guess that he had been so worried that he’d sent Big Davey and Little Davey after her?
He almost made his position even worse by asking her where she had been, but he caught himself in time. “Did you have a nice visit with Lady Edington?” was all he asked.
“Oh, yes,” his wife replied, pulling off her gloves. “Adeline and I got along famously. In fact, we have both decided to attend the Chesterfields’ ball this evening. It is sure to be a sad crush, and we agreed that we would not miss it for the world. Matthew is picking us up at nine, although if you have nothing to wear except your smuggler’s smock, you have my permission to stay at home.” Her smile became even more saccharine if that were possible.
“I have suitable evening wear,” Digory said, thankful that he had listened to Lady Letitia the previous year when she had insisted that he purchase a town wardrobe.
Bethia looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to try to dissuade her from going to the ball, but he merely smiled back at her.
Married only a single day, and already he was beginning to realize that there were more dangerous reefs and shoals in marriage than he had ever suspected during his years as a bachelor.
The room was cold and shadowed when Wilbur regained consciousness. He attempted to get up, but the effort only triggered waves of excruciating pain that made him scream before he passed out again.
There could be no doubt but that their marriage was a nine-day wonder, Bethia realized once the four of them had worked their way up the stairs and the butler had announced them in stentorian tones'. An expectant hush fell over the ballroom, and then everyone who could possibly claim the slightest acquaintance either with Bethia or the Edingtons began as unobtrusively as possible to work their way over to the door.
Despite their scarcely disguised eagerness to know more about the mysterious bridegroom who had succeeded in snaring for himself the most eligible heiress of the Season, Lord Edington introduced Digory simply as Mr. Rendel and added not a word of explanation.
The situation was becoming a little tense, and it was soon obvious to Bethia that the other guests were prepared to wait right where they were until their curiosity was satisfied.
But then a young man shouldered his way through the crowd, clapped Digory on the back, and said, “Rendel, by Jove, when did you get to London? And why did you not let me know you were in town? M’mother is still mad as hops that you did not visit us at Christmas as you promised to do. Now that you are married, she will be even less willing to accept any excuse, no matter how reasonable. You had best write her at once and say you will come in August, or she will make my life miserable.”
The crowd began to whisper, but with three men to forge a path through the curious, Adeline and Bethia were soon comfortably seated in chairs set a bit apart from the chaperones and their young charges.
“My dear,” Digory said, keeping his voice low, “permit me to introduce Edward Townsley, whose mother has doubtless never even heard my name mentioned.”
“You wrong me,” the young man said with a grin. “She not only knows who you are, but she has considered you only slightly below the angels ever since you brought her precious little boy back to her with his skin intact. I’ve written her, by the way, and coached her in what to say if any of the old biddies write for more information, so you need have no worries on t
hat score.”
Bethia decided that Townsley was the very person to ask about her husband’s various adventures as a smuggler of brandy and men—he would doubtless be more forthcoming than Digory. But before the conversation could continue, the orchestra started playing a waltz, and Townsley led out Adeline.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well, what?” Digory replied.
“Are you going to invite me to dance?”
“I could tell you that I do not know how to waltz.”
“Indeed you could. And then I would feel obliged to point out to you that there are at least a dozen of my former suitors in attendance tonight, all of whom waltz beautifully.”
Without further demur, Digory led her out onto the floor and began to whirl her around the room with an expertise far beyond that of any mortal man.
The noise of the crowd faded, and all Bethia could see was her husband’s eyes—all she could feel was his hand on her waist—all she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears.
It seemed a lifetime—an eternity—and yet the music stopped all too soon, and they returned perforce to where Lord Edington was sitting.
For the next dance she was partnered by Mr. Townsley while Adeline danced with Digory. When the music stopped the second time, other men approached to sign their names on her card. Some were turned away with a single look from Digory, but others were allowed to scrawl their names for the country dances.
Bethia did not question her husband as to why some were acceptable and others were not. She assumed that the men who were allowed to dance with her had been to a greater or lesser extent involved in espionage.
She also did not contest Digory’s right to put his name down for all the waltzes. In fact, if it would not have been too scandalous for words, she would have preferred to dance with no one but her own husband.
In private he might not desire her as a husband is supposed to want his wife, but in public she could at least have his arms around her, and with that she must be content.
As soon as she was in her nightgown, Bethia dismissed Mrs. Drake and waited alone for her husband to join her.
But the minutes dragged past, one after the other, first a quarter hour, then a half hour. Despite the fire in the grate, a coldness began to spread, starting in her heart and chilling her to the marrow.
Finally, the need to be with him could not be denied, and she opened the connecting door. He was sitting staring at the fire, his legs stretched out in front of him. Without waiting for an invitation, she crossed the few feet separating them and laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Will you not come to bed now?” she asked softly.
“I think it will be better if we each sleep in our own beds from now on,” Digory said, unable to meet her eyes lest he succumb to temptation. “So long as we muss both sides of your bed, the servants will not suspect anything.”
His wife jerked her hand away as if she had suddenly been burned, and looking up, he saw such pain in her eyes that he knew himself to be lost. Fully aware that he was making a mistake, he stood up and put his arms around her. “I have changed my mind; we will sleep together if that is your wish.”
“I am sorry,” she said.
“It is not your fault. Come now, and I will tell you a story.”
As soon as they were together in bed with his arm around her and her head on his shoulder, she said, “Tell me a story about when you were a smuggler.”
“Those are not bedtime stories.”
“You used that excuse before. But I need to know everything about you. Tell me how you saved Lord Edington’s life.”
She did not know what she was asking, but perhaps it would be best to tell her—perhaps if she knew more about the things he had done before he met her, then she would be more agreeable to having the marriage annulled.
So he told her, leaving nothing out and making no attempt to gloss over the ugliness—no attempt to alter the events so as to present his own deeds in the most heroic way possible—no attempt to make light of the danger he and Lord Edington had been in.
When he was done, she took a deep, shuddering breath, and he thought she must be on the verge of tears. But when she spoke, her voice was calm.
“I feel as if I have been living in a fool’s paradise,” she said. “As if I have been little better than a songbird who is shut up in a cage, and who knows nothing of the great world beyond the window.”
“The world is a dangerous place. Doubtless the bird is safer being cherished by its owner.”
“Safer perhaps, but look what it has given up for that security—the sky, the sun, the wind, the rain. I was petted and cossetted by my grandfather, who could deny me nothing I wanted, and I thought I was more fortunate than the masses, who live in poverty and squalor.”
“I am glad you recognize that.”
“I am not so foolish as to think I would have preferred to live in Soho or in some peasant’s hovel. But you have shown me just how restricted—just how superficial—my world actually has been.”
She still had no idea how dangerous the world at large could be. As reluctant as he was to disillusion her, he had to do it for her own good. “Surviving by one’s wits is not the same thing as uttering a witticism. Many of the spies who went to France did not come back.”
“You need not worry that I am being romantic,” she said, “for I know that war is not noble. But on the other hand, the tales you have told me have shown that there are things worth dying for, and that some men and women are willing to lay down their lives for others.”
She was quiet for so long that Digory thought she was falling asleep, but then she spoke again.
“I think what I want is to find out what I am capable of doing. I want to decide for myself where I belong and how I want to spend the rest of my life. Do you understand?”
“Not really,” he said.
There was another pause, and then she said, “Lady Letitia told me about going to Marseilles.”
“I am not taking you to Marseilles,” Digory said immediately.
“No, that is not my point. I just meant that I have never been allowed to think about what I want from life—I have never had the freedom to try something merely because it was what I wanted to do. Everything I have done, I have done because it was the proper thing to do. You may not have had a happy childhood, but you have taken the circumstances of your birth and made of yourself the man you wanted to be. I regret to admit that I have blindly accepted the life I was born into without even knowing that there could be more.”
And then he understood, and he told her so.
Satisfied, she snuggled closer against him, and soon he could tell from her breathing that she was sleeping. Having her in his arms made desire turn into pain, and he was afraid that if he stayed where he was, he would forget all his resolutions and kiss her awake.
Before he could yield to temptation, he disentangled himself and slid out from under the covers. On tiptoe he returned to his own room and his empty bed, where after a long period of tossing and turning he likewise managed to drift off.
In his dreams he was a child again, listening to his mother crying in the night and wishing in vain that he could do something to comfort her. But gradually the dream faded, and he became aware that it was his wife who was crying in the other room.
He could not lie there and listen to Bethia weep, even if it was torture for him to share her bed.
“I dreamed I was drowning,” she said when he slipped back under the covers and took her in his arms again. “The water was cold and dark, and I kept going down and down. And when I woke up, you were gone, and I was so afraid.”
“You needn’t fear your nightmares again,” he said. “I promise I shall never again try to persuade you to sleep alone.”
Chapter Thirteen
Oliver Lord Cavenaugh could not find fault with either the play or the performers, but he was well aware that the actors could have been speaking Russian and scarcely anyone would have not
iced. The theater was packed, but virtually every eye was directed toward Lady Letitia’s box, where that august personage was entertaining Lord and Lady Edington, and what was even more interesting, the former Miss Pepperell and her newly acquired husband.
During the first intermission the division had been sharply drawn between those fortunate enough to gain admission to Lady Letitia’s box and those who knew all too well that they were in danger of receiving the cut direct should they seek to presume upon a mere acquaintanceship.
All in all, it was proving to be a vastly entertaining evening, and he was not at all sorry that he had invited several other aspiring dandies to join him in his box. Although none of them could properly be called friends of his, they resembled each other in their gullibility and penchant for gossip.
“I say there, Cavenaugh,” someone behind him said.
Turning, Oliver saw it was Lord Herword who had screwed up his courage to ask the question Oliver knew they must all have been dying to ask.
“What can you tell us about this man Rendel? You seem to know him better than any of us.”
With secret delight Oliver launched into the spiel that he had prepared for just this occasion. “Rendel? Indeed, it is impossible to explain. I cannot believe the scandal that will ensue if it becomes widely known.”
“Scandal?” Bertram Brewster asked eagerly.
“Shocking, utterly shocking. That he would have dared—what gall he has displayed—what reckless disregard for the consequences.”
He paused so long that Sir Edward Tyrwhitt blurted out, “Tell us more—we are all ears.”
“All ears? No, no,” Oliver corrected him, “one needs only eyes to see that abomination of a waistcoat he is wearing this evening. Ecod, did you not mark it? I vow, I was positively overcome with shame. Really, my dear Rendel, I told him, as delighted as I am to see you in London, you positively must allow me to introduce you to my tailor. Not that there is much chance, mind you, of making him into a pattern card of fashion, but there are limits, don’t you know, and I cannot, I simply cannot have it bruited about that a friend of mine dresses with such total disregard for the sensitivities of his friends. I have my reputation to think of, I told him. Those were my exact words—I have my reputation to think of.”
The Counterfeit Gentleman Page 18
