Wanted, a Gentleman

by KJ Charles

  “I—hope—you—die—in—a—ditch,” Theo said, as clearly as he could given his mouth felt afire. “To hell with you.” He headed toward the door, picking up the candlestick.

  Geoffrey seized his arm. “Wait. What did you mean by that? ‘What he’s planning’?”

  “I thought you wanted me to sleep in the stables.” Theo shook him off. “Listen, curse you. I’ve been dragged halfway across the country, thrashed, and insulted. I’ve lost out on my forty pounds that St. Vincent was to give me before you let him know I was a spy in his camp. If you want my help now, you’ll bloody well pay for it.”

  Geoffrey wore the expression of a man who had just had a lapdog bite his fingers off. Theo had always been so careful to conciliate and appease him before, since he had been so hopelessly in his power. Now the worst had happened, and Theo found he was exulting in the wreckage.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “Well—but—what?”

  “I know what St. Vincent’s orders are,” Theo said. “And I know what he intends to do to bring the girl back to her home. And, on the subject, he knows that you’ve helped yourself to her maidenhead.”

  Geoffrey’s cheeks flamed. “You won’t speak like that of my fiancée.”

  “Oh, don’t give me your flannel,” Theo said contemptuously. “If you respected her, you wouldn’t have tupped her.”

  Geoffrey didn’t deny it. “What is it to you?”

  “To me, nothing. To the Conroys’ man, tasked by her father to bring her back in one piece?” He raised a brow. “What do you think?”

  His cousin was no more a fighter than Theo was. He looked again at Theo’s battered features with an expression of dawning alarm. “If that savage strikes me—”

  “—and tells the local magistrate that you were running away with his master’s daughter,” Theo interrupted helpfully, “I’m sure that will go very well for you. I daresay magistrates love to aid bankrupts who are running away with underage heiresses.”

  “And you plan to help him, do you?” Geoffrey said bitterly. “Turning your back on your family?”

  “My family, in your person, can go to the devil,” Theo said. “And so can St. Vincent for what he has done to me, and so can Miss Conroy, the silly trollop. I’m for the highest bidder.”

  “If you want payment, you’ll help me get Miss Conroy to the altar,” Geoffrey retorted.

  “You cancel my debt. The same bargain as before, but I’ll have it in writing. You give me that, and I’ll tell you what St. Vincent’s got planned for you.”

  “No, you tell me what he has planned, and I’ll see if it’s worth my while to give you a penny.”

  “You’ve got this wrong,” Theo said. “You think I’m still under your thumb, but I’m not. It’s too late for that. You’ve hag-ridden me for years, and I’ll be damned glad to see St. Vincent deal with you. Or I should, if he hadn’t—” His hand crept up to his battered face. “I tell you this, Geoffrey: you won’t like being on the receiving end of his temper or his fists. I thought he was going to murder me.”

  His cousin’s appalled expression suggested he had no trouble believing that. It might have made Theo laugh if his eye and lip hadn’t hurt so much. He pointed a finger at Geoffrey instead. “I’m damned tempted to let St. Vincent deal with you and see if you’re in any state to pursue me for debt when he’s finished with you—him, with the Conroys’ wealth as a shield. But I should also like to serve the swine out myself for this insult. On the whole, I’d prefer to be secure just a fraction more than to see you get what you deserve, but it’s a close-run thing. So.” He planted his hands on his hips. “Take my terms or be damned to you.”

  Geoffrey hesitated. Theo snarled. “If you’re not interested, I’m going to bed. To the settle downstairs,” he added sourly. “Enjoy your night.”

  “Wait.” Geoffrey visibly reached a decision. “For that price, you’ve to do more than just tell me his plans. I want your help getting the dog off my scent. And the bargain includes my marriage. If I can’t get Miss Conroy to the altar, you get nothing.”

  Theo hesitated, glowering, but finally nodded grudging assent. “Very well. I want it in writing though. Is there a pen and ink?”

  There was, the nib badly cut and the ink thick and lumpy. Theo considered, then wrote.

  In consideration of Mr. THEODORE SWANN’s assistance in aiding Mr. GEOFFREY HAZELWOOD to secure Miss CONROY’s person in marriage, the said Mr. HAZELWOOD agrees to cancel Mr. SWANN’s debt of Seven Hundred Pounds and all Interest on that sum forthwith, nor is any further sum to be due from Mr. SWANN on that debt, from the date of this Memorandum. This Agreement not to be affected by the Monies to come with Miss CONROY, whether she bring Riches or Nothing to Mr. HAZELWOOD’s coffers.

  “You can’t put that,” Geoffrey objected, looking over his shoulder.

  “I can, and I damned well shall. I won’t have you turn on me if your golden goose is barren of eggs. That’s not my fault.”

  “If her father don’t pay up, I shall be ruined,” Geoffrey said. “I’ll need the money from you then.”

  Theo found himself speechless. “I don’t give a tinker’s curse what you need,” he managed at last. “I hope you starve. Are you expecting me to help you win a rich bride and then be your banker if you fail to get the funds? Go fry your face.”

  “I could be left with nothing,” Geoffrey said obstinately. “Saddled with a worthless wife and still in debt.”

  “Or, you could have St. Vincent throw you into a ditch and not win her in the first place.”

  Geoffrey’s face set in a mulish expression. “Half.”

  “What?”

  “If I marry but the old man doesn’t pay, I’ll halve your debt. Three hundred and fifty, with interest of thirty-five a year.”

  Theo threw down the pen and pushed his chair back. “You are the greediest man alive.”

  “You’re the one claiming my money,” Geoffrey retorted. “Asking me to buy a pig in a poke for seven hundred pounds, when I might see no return on it? I am not such a fool. I’ll take my chances with the other.”

  “I wish you joy,” Theo said viciously. “I hope he beats you to a pulp. Very well, let us say, halve the debt if you marry and Conroy does not come up to scratch, but you will pay me two hundred if he does.”

  Geoffrey objected vociferously and a nasty but brief argument ended with Theo resentfully agreeing to the previous offer. His cousin, triumphant, scooped up the pen himself to write, striking out the disputed sentence and replacing it.

  This Agreement to be affected by the Monies to come with Miss CONROY as follows: if she brings less than Five Hundred a Year to Mr. HAZELWOOD after the marriage, the Debt and Interest to be Halv’d. If more than Five Hundred, the Debt to be Cancell’d.

  “Five hundred my arse,” Theo said, once Geoffrey had finished writing. “Two.”

  They argued about that. Theo fixed immovably on three hundred, and Geoffrey grudgingly struck out the number and replaced it. He read the document over, and bent to write again:

  If the Lady is not Secur’d to be Mr. HAZELWOOD’s wife, the aforesaid Mr. SWANN has no claim on Mr. HAZELWOOD and his debt remains to be Paid in Full.

  He sprinkled sand on the paper to blot the ink. Theo took the paper up, reading it over carefully.

  “What now?” Geoffrey demanded.

  “Just making sure. I do not intend to have you cheat me as your damned father did.”

  “He did not!”

  “The terms he forced me to were usury,” Theo said savagely. “I have laboured for your enrichment seven years, and I will not do so any longer if I can help it. I want to be free of you, and when you cancel the debt, my dearest hope will be never to see you again. Gouger.”

  Geoffrey scribbled his name. “Just get on, will you? I’m tired of your prattle.” He watched Theo sign his own name, and handed him the contract. “Well then, let me hear it.”

  Theo slept, or dozed, on the settle in the taproom, huddle
d into himself against the chill night air, his face throbbing agonisingly. It meant he was roused by the first movements of the house, as yawning maids stumbled down to light the fires, but that was all to the good. He had work to do, and it had to be done as soon as possible.

  He’d given his cousin a fine scare the previous night, spinning a tale of Martin’s intended vengeance entirely from his fertile imagination. The only difficulty had been keeping himself from the wilder Gothic excesses that had presented themselves. Geoffrey had been quite ready to believe that Martin, with his faster carriage and greater resources, intended to overtake them, waylay them in some little-frequented stretch of road, and there mete out violent punishment for Geoffrey’s sins.

  Frankly, Martin probably could if he wished. Theo felt his stomach roil at the memory of those blows last night. The jarring impact, the pain of course, but mostly the set, terrible look on Martin’s face as he’d struck. And the noise of it. Theo hadn’t quite remembered how loud and sickening and meaty punches sounded.

  He explored his swelling face with tentative fingers, cursed the bastard who’d decided to inflict this on him, and went off to bribe a stable hand in the matter of sabotaging Martin’s chaise so that he could not pursue the larger, slower coach. He’d promised that to Geoffrey as part of their midnight scheming: he would ensure that Martin could not follow for hours, by chaise or hire of a horse. That would not be hard to achieve, he’d explained, here where Martin’s colour would probably make him an object of suspicion anyway. A generous lubrication with what remained of the Conroys’ money in Theo’s pocket should ensure that the stable hands of the Farmers Arms would be slow and obstructive, and give the coach the best part of a day’s head start. Martin would never catch up with them.

  Them, because Theo was to come with Miss Conroy and Geoffrey. He’d insisted on that. “Do you think I wish to be left here alone with that brute?” he’d demanded. “He’ll murder me!”

  Geoffrey had made his lack of concern quite clear, but had acknowledged that Theo could make himself useful in other ways: making arrangements, bribing people on their route for silence, and otherwise allowing Geoffrey plenty of time to concentrate on keeping his intended bride up to the mark.

  “She’s shuffling,” Geoffrey had said sourly. “Changing her mind, just like a woman. Wants her father at the wedding, wants a fine dress, wants this, wants that. It’s a deal too late now, and so I let her know.”

  “As long as she says yes at the right moment,” Theo had observed. “Otherwise we’re all wasting our time here.”

  So Geoffrey was to spend the morning pressing kisses to Miss Conroy’s fingertips and assuring her of his sentiments, and Theo was to be attendant, factotum, and—why not say it—henchman.

  He spent a good half hour explaining to the stable hands what he wanted of them, receiving first disbelief, then roars of laughter as the unsubtle jest dawned upon them. By that time, Geoffrey and Miss Conroy had been roused and emerged into the inn yard, pallid and blinking in the morning sun. Neither appeared as though they had slept much better than Theo, and Miss Conroy’s puffy eyes suggested that she had been crying.

  They hurried through proceedings for departure. Theo glanced around nervously and repeatedly for interference, and saw from his cousin’s twitches that his worry quickly became contagious. As Geoffrey handed, or bundled, Miss Conroy into their coach, Martin emerged from the inn, looking as though he’d thrown his clothes on. “You will wait here,” he ordered Geoffrey savagely. “Don’t you dare set off, sir. Ho, there, my horses!” He marched to the stables, bristling with impotent fury.

  “They had better have done their work,” Geoffrey said in Theo’s ear.

  Theo nudged him and indicated the ostler who stood, grinning, by them. “Is it as I asked?”

  “Quite as you asked, sir. Oop, there he go.”

  As he spoke, Martin’s full-throated bellow of fury echoed off the inn-yard walls. “What the devil do you mean, broken wheel shaft?”

  The ostler gave a satisfied nod. “You be off now, sir. I dessay there’ll be no traffic following you for a goodly while.” He winked with great significance. Geoffrey handed him a shilling and made a noise of grudging approval in Theo’s direction. It might have been as close as his cousin had ever come to thanking him.

  The coach bowled off. Theo took the rumble seat, outside on the back, since Geoffrey had made it quite clear that he was not welcome inside. It was no hardship yet, except for the jolting: the air was fresh so early in the morning, the sun was bright but not yet too hot, there were birds chirruping and a pleasant breeze and a view over green fields and all that sort of bloody pastoral nonsense that people used to justify their misfortune in living outside London. It reminded Theo of the place that had once been his home, and he shut his eyes against that memory and turned his mind to the next book he had to write. A widow, with child, he’d decided, advertising for a husband and finding herself caught up in an inheritance scheme . . .

  They stopped at a staging post, the White Hart, a little way outside Darlington. Theo let himself down from the rumble seat, stiff in every joint. Miss Conroy, stepping out of the coach, recoiled at the sight of his battered face. “Did Martin really hit you?” she demanded. “Why?”

  “He didn’t trust my intentions to you, miss. Which are none but the best, of course,” Theo added with a servile bow. She gave him a look of frank distaste and swept away.

  Naturally he was not welcome to take tea with the lovebirds in the parlour. He sat alone in the taproom, reading at a table that gave him a view of the corridor, and when Geoffrey went to the privy, he tucked the book into his pocket, and went to knock on the parlour door.

  Miss Conroy sat alone, fingers knotted together. She did not seem pleased to see him enter. “What do you want?”

  “I wished to see if I could apologise, Miss Conroy.” Theo adopted his most obsequious stance. “I’ve clearly offended you with my presence and actions. But after all, we shall be cousins very soon, on the happy event of your nuptials.”

  Miss Conroy’s expressive face made it clear this was a disadvantage of matrimony that had not previously occurred to her. Theo went on: “And as soon-to-be family, I hope we can cry friends. I assure you, I’m quite determined to see you married to Geoffrey.” He smiled as widely as he could, knowing his mouth was distorted by the split lip. Miss Conroy flinched.

  Theo gave her a chance to say something, some polite assurance or acknowledgement. She didn’t, so he put a tiny bit of edge in his voice. “Miss, I hope you’ll find it in your heart to look on me with more kindness, for Cousin Geoffrey’s sake. Since we are now travelling companions and must perforce be friends.” Her eyes widened a fraction, uncertain and distinctly uncomfortable. Theo smiled again. “Now, please accept a little token from me, eh? Something to pass the journey.” He pulled the book from his pocket, ignoring the paper that fluttered out with it and onto the floor. “A romance, by Dorothea Swann. All about a couple flying to the border to marry. Just the thing, eh?” He handed her the book with a too-deep bow, smiled at her discomfited murmur of thanks, and left the room.

  Geoffrey was in the corridor as Theo emerged, obviously impatient as the garrulous landlord talked at him. He scowled at Theo over the man’s shoulder, and came up to him once he’d managed to remove himself from the one-sided conversation. “What were you doing in there?”

  “I finished my book, so I thought I’d give it to Miss Conroy. Make her journey a little less tedious.”

  “I don’t want you hanging around her. Keep yourself—”

  There was a crash from inside the parlour, as of pottery broken with great force, and a shrill, rising shriek of fury. Geoffrey’s eyes widened. “What the devil? Jennifer? Jennifer!”

  He pulled the door open. Theo stepped back, heard Miss Conroy’s enraged screech of “You horrible vile pig!” and retreated into the inn yard to find a stableboy.

  Martin’s chaise turned into the inn yard about five minutes af
ter. By that time, Miss Conroy had backed Geoffrey outside and was still demolishing his character fluently and at impressive volume. Theo, along with half a dozen other people, watched with interest. His cousin, with a red handprint clear on his cheek, was still making a manful attempt to get a word in, but Theo wouldn’t have wagered a shilling on his chances. Geoffrey had tried to steer his presumably erstwhile fiancée back inside to the private room and received another slap for his pains; the watching crowd had also stirred in a way that suggested they all took the young lady’s side.

  “Paying your horrible little cousin to get me to the altar!” Miss Conroy raged, disregarding the new arrival and waving the document under Geoffrey’s nose like a sabre. “Bargaining with him! Bargaining! Haggling! Over me! You disgusting lying dirty cheating greedy miserly mean-spirited nasty skinflint!”

  “Miss Conroy?” Martin’s deep voice cut through the noise as he swung down from the chaise.

  “Martin?” Miss Conroy’s eyes widened, then she pushed Geoffrey aside, snatched up her skirts and hurled herself into Martin’s arms as enthusiastically as any hero could have wished, burying her face in his shoulder. “Oh, Martin, Martin, thank heavens. Take me home. Please take me home.”

  “Of course I will.” Martin gave her a gentle hug. “Are you well?”

  “No!” She stepped back, face flushed, and indicated Geoffrey with a dramatic gesture. “He lied to me. He paid his horrible cousin to help him make me marry him, and he bargained about it!” Her voice cracked with distress, betraying a wounded heart that was, in Theo’s estimation, very well seasoned with injured pride.

  “Did you now,” Martin said levelly, running his eyes over Geoffrey’s person.

  Geoffrey stepped back. “This is a misunderstanding. Don’t you dare touch me. I will have the law on you.”

  “The lady is under age. You have been trying to force a marriage on her without her parents’ consent and, it seems, by deception,” Martin said. “I should very much like to have a magistrate hear what you have to say for yourself.”

  He advanced. Geoffrey took another step back, and found the watchers gathering in his way, preventing his escape. “This is a misrepresentation,” he managed. “My sentiments—only the most sincere— If you touch me, I’ll make her regret it! You know I can, and I will!”