Jo Beverley - [Malloren 03]

by Something Wicked

  “Why?” Cyn asked.

  “Your military advancement, of course.”

  As soon as the king and queen appeared and could see the pagoda, Rothgar supervised the servants as they piled the mattresses around the toy. Then, moving everyone to a distance, he handed the musket to Cyn. “I’m sure you’re more of a hand with these things than I am. Try to get the ball through that gap we left.”

  Cyn carefully loaded the gun, then raised it, sighting down the barrel. With a click, he cocked it. His finger squeezed the trigger and with a boom and a burst of flame, the ball sped forward.

  A moment later, a louder boom sent cloth and flock and pieces of gaudy metal flying in all directions.

  “Damnation,” said Cyn, lowering the butt to rest on the ground. “Imagine that uncovered and in closed quarters.”

  “Indeed,” said Rothgar, and turned to the balcony. But the king and queen had already disappeared.

  As servants hurried forward to take the musket and clear up the mess, he said, “The question is, would a replica of that toy be a treasured gift or send the king stark, staring mad?”

  Cyn collapsed into laughter.

  When they returned to the castle, they found not just their coach waiting, but a messenger from the king requesting Lord Cynric’s immediate presence.

  “Alas,” said Rothgar. “He has remembered to have you beheaded for lèse-majesté. Do you wish to take the coach and flee the country?”

  For once, Cyn did look alarmed. “ ’Struth, Bey, what do you think he wants?”

  “I suggest you go and find out. After all,” he added benignly, “you have always claimed to want to deal with life on your own.”

  Chapter 15

  When Elf awoke, she felt as if she’d been battered by the mighty Thames and thrown against the starlings at London Bridge. From dim memories of her dreams, she wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t been.

  Then she recalled tangled images of Fort sprawled bloodily over the box on which they had made love, dying because she had shot him . . .

  No! She struggled for reality. That had been Murray, not Fort, and she hadn’t fired the shot. But she’d ordered it, which came to the same thing.

  Then her brain cleared completely and she remembered that Fort had, indeed, been injured. In the leg.

  She forced open her gritty eyes and sat up.

  A leg injury might mean anything from a little blood loss to amputation, but either way, infection and death hovered. Only last year, young Sir Francis Cornhallows had died of a trivial wound that turned septic because he would not let the surgeon clean out the bits of cloth forced into his flesh by the ball.

  Her fumbling fingers found the bell rope and she tugged at it again and again, praying for Chantal to hurry.

  She scrambled out of bed, easily able to imagine the arrogant Earl of Walgrave scaring away his doctors. And he had no one to gainsay him. Except her. A line of bright sunlight shot through the gap in her drawn curtains. It wasn’t night yet. There might still be time to make him see reason.

  Chantal burst into the room, with Chastity only a step behind.

  “Milady! You are awake!”

  “Elf, how do you feel?”

  Elf clung to the bedpost, assailed by a fit of dizziness. “Dreadful.” She could hardly speak for the dryness of her mouth. “Water. That would help.”

  “You need more, milady,” said Chantal, and whipped away in a flash of dark skirts.

  Chastity poured water from a carafe and brought it over. “I think I must echo your kind suggestion to me once. I suspect you would love a bath.”

  “Lud, yes.” Elf drank the whole glass of water, then touched her hair. “Am I still powdered? I must look a veritable horror. But I have no time. I must go to Fort—”

  Chastity pushed her gently to sit on the bed. “There is no need. He is in no danger.”

  Elf stared into her sister-in-law’s eyes. “Has he been properly treated? Has the wound been cleaned?”

  “Yes and yes. I assure you, I stood over him and bullied him just as much as you would want.”

  “He will recover?”

  “As always, that is in God’s hands. He’s in pain. Fevered. But he seems to be healing.”

  The image of Fort in fevered pain had Elf off the bed again. “Surely it’s too early to tell if he will heal. Why are you here and not there? You’re his sister!”

  Chastity eased her back down. “Elf, you have slept a day and a half. It’s Sunday afternoon.” She went to throw back the curtains, flooding the room with light, so Elf covered her aching eyes.

  “A day and a half,” she murmured, “and the world carried on without me. The king?”

  “Is safe.” Chastity refilled the glass and brought it over. “Cyn arrived in time.”

  “Thank God. And the stone?”

  “Has been quietly returned to Westminster Abbey, with some story of it having been moved in order to repair the throne. I must confess, I wasn’t aware of it being there at all. Do you believe in this idea of it conveying mystical kingship?”

  Elf drank part of the water and stood again, more carefully this time. The dizziness seemed to have passed, so she moved about the room, feeling stiffness and aches in unlikely places.

  That reminded her of a great many problems. She’d rather deal with the Stone of Scone. “I don’t know. It didn’t seem to do the Stuarts much good. They were crowned on it.”

  “True. Did you hear about Cyn?”

  “What?” A score of horrible possibilities leaped into Elf’s mind. “What happened?”

  “Oh, nothing bad . . .”

  But then Chantal hurried in with a coffeepot, along with a neatly peeled and divided orange and a selection of cakes. On command, she bustled off to see to the bath.

  Elf eyed the elegant tray. “Ask for water, and I get a meal. Please, have some and tell me what Cyn’s been up to.”

  Chastity picked up a piece of orange. “As for up to, he and Rothgar exploded that mechanical toy, safely outside Windsor Castle, of course. However, Cyn first had to ride hell-for-leather to warn the king. Would you believe he found him standing right by that thing, in a ferment to turn it on, and only waiting for the queen to arrive?”

  “Saints save us!”

  “In this case, Cyn saved us. He hustled the king out of danger with a fair degree of military brusqueness. At that point, His Majesty doubted Cyn’s tale. But when he saw the thing explode into a thousand lethal bits, George summoned Cyn back, clasped him to the regal bosom, and declared him Lord Raymore!”

  Elf stared at Chastity. “But why Raymore?”

  Chastity was fighting to keep a straight face. “Apparently it’s the name of . . . of His Majesty’s favorite horse!”

  They collapsed into giggles.

  “And Rothgar,” gasped Chastity, “would only say that Cyn shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth! Particularly when the king accompanied the title by an estate to support the viscountcy.”

  “A viscountcy! That advances him over Bryght and Brand. What does Cyn think about this?”

  Chastity grinned. “Of course, you know him so well. Mostly, he’s embarrassed to be rewarded for merely doing his duty. He’s also slightly suspicious that Rothgar somehow arranged it all. You know how he’s always been about accepting support from the family.”

  “He carries it to extremes.”

  “I agree, but you know men.”

  Elf thought of Fort and Sappho. “I am beginning to.” She turned to face her sister-in-law. “You know Fort and I were lovers.”

  Chastity’s cheeks became a little pink. “Yes. I’m hardly one to throw stones.”

  “But you loved Cyn.”

  “True. Do you not love Fort?”

  Elf turned away to look out of the window at the quiet of Marlborough Square. “Yes. It’s so foolish, though, to give my heart to an impossible man.”

  “Perhaps all men are impossible. When I made love to Cyn, I believed marriage between us was impo
ssible. I, too, wore disguise, though as it turned out he knew who I was. I gather Fort really didn’t recognize you.”

  “Why would he even suspect anything so unlikely? And we spoke French nearly all the time.” She turned back to Chastity. “I’m very afraid I’ll be with child.”

  “You must have thought of it.”

  “After a fashion.” A nervous laugh escaped, and she smothered it with her hands. “It seemed simple enough in theory. But now . . .”

  Chastity became very serious. “Even if you are with child, Elf, I don’t think he’ll marry you.”

  That caused a pang, though she smothered it. “It would be unfair to expect him to. Our contract was clear.”

  “Contract?”

  Elf waved the question away and moved restlessly around her room. “For a moment last night, I wanted Bey to force a marriage. ’Twas madness, and Fort would rather die. But surely we shouldn’t just create a child and deny it its heritage . . . ?”

  Chastity captured her and held her still. “Face battles when they come, not before. Advice from Cyn. Good advice.”

  Elf collapsed into her arms. “I suppose it is. It will be weeks before I’ll know. Anything could happen by then.” Including Fort’s death from wound fever. Or—if he followed through on his threats and made a scandal—at the hands of one of her brothers. She wouldn’t be able to stop them then.

  “ ’Tis a pity you didn’t take some precautions,” said Chastity, settling them both onto the sofa.

  That reminded Elf of her last real conversation with her brothers. “Ah, yes. The whore’s tricks! I assume you’ve been using them, since you’ve been married now over six months.”

  Chastity blushed. “Oh. Yes. Well, since we were expecting to travel to Nova Scotia, we didn’t want me to give birth onboard ship, or even travel with the extra burden of a child within me.”

  “But how is it done?”

  “A sponge soaked in vinegar is supposed to help prevent the seed taking root.”

  “A sponge soaked in vinegar,” said Elf, puzzled. Then she added, “You mean, inside?”

  Chastity nodded, quite red now.

  “Goodness. But how does it . . . You put it there?”

  “Or Cyn does.” Chastity turned away to take a piece of bread from the tray. “I don’t know quite what happened with you and Fort,” she said, fiddling with it. “But it’s not unusual for a man to touch a woman . . . there.” She turned back sharply. “If they are lovers I mean!”

  “Yes, I see. Goodness,” said Elf again.

  “It’s not the word most would use. Many would call it wicked to try to avoid God’s plan.”

  “I can’t believe it would be God’s plan to have a heavily pregnant woman on a naval ship crossing the ocean, never mind giving birth there. Thank you for telling me. I think we should spread this word to all women.”

  “Women and men do pass the word around. But it’s not approved or foolproof. Nature’s urge to conceive is not easily thwarted. In fact,” she said ruefully, “I’m beginning to suspect that nature has overcome in my case. But don’t tell Cyn. He might try to delay the journey, and I am as eager as he to see the New World.”

  Whether from loss again of her twin, or fear of conception, or longing for a child, tears ached around Elf’s eyes. “Oh, I envy you!”

  “The child or the New World?”

  “The adventure of it all!”

  Chastity hugged her. “If life here becomes too dull, just take sail and visit us among the forests and the Indians. We’ll find you all the adventure you could want!”

  “Ah, but will it be wicked enough for me?”

  They shared teary smiles, both knowing that the only adventure Elf really wanted was Fort. But then Chantal came in from the adjoining dressing room.

  Chastity rose. “Your bath is ready, dearest, so I’ll leave you.”

  Elf went through to her dressing room and took a long, thoughtful bath. She counted her scrapes and bruises, but mostly fretted about the possibility of being with child. What would she do if she were?

  It was all very well to think of bearing a bastard child abroad and giving it to foster parents to raise, but she would want to raise her child herself. She would want to feed it at her breast, rock it in the night, coax its first steps and words, and applaud its every little achievement.

  She’d think a father would want that closeness, too. He had mentioned those two children he knew of, and that he had provided for them and kept an eye on their welfare.

  Surely he’d want to do as much for a child of Elf’s.

  Elf knew she wanted more. She wanted them married and enjoying a child together.

  What if she bore a son? He would be Fort’s heir, but only if they married before the birth.

  If she demanded it, her brothers would force Fort into marrying her, but she could imagine nothing worse than to tie a man for life against his will.

  Oh, Lud, Chastity was right. Why fight a battle that might never arrive?

  One matter could not be put aside, however. At the time, Fort’s threat to make a public scandal had been serious. She’d put off telling her brothers for fear of what they would do, and now Fort was injured, perhaps he couldn’t do anything. But it would be folly not to take steps to prevent disaster.

  Elf rang for Chantal to wash her hair, then while it dried, she drank coffee and ate a slightly more substantial meal. Despite her long fast, however, her stomach felt too uneasy to accept much.

  She hoped that wasn’t an early sign of pregnancy. She thought it mainly came from anxiety about Fort. Despite Chastity’s assurances, she desperately wanted to race over to see for herself that he wasn’t at death’s door. She wanted to wipe his brow and feed him nourishing broth.

  He’d probably spit it right back in her face.

  There had been that moment about shooting the bridge, though, when he might have been concerned for her.

  She grimaced. It was so easy to delude oneself about such things. Now her hair was dry she must face more immediate problems.

  She summoned Chantal to perform her usual magic, and soon Lady Elfled Malloren was ready to face the world, hair shining and neatly arranged under a lace cap, dressed in corset and hoops under cream lawn sprigged with forget-me-nots, and discreetly adorned with pearls. A glance in the mirror told her that no outward trace of wanton Lisette survived.

  Then she realized she was dressed exactly as she had been when she’d waved good-bye to Cyn and the madness had all begun. Yet now, this suitable appearance felt like a costume, a costume even more absurd than Lisette’s scarlet domino.

  Who was Elf Malloren now? Perhaps she had better venture out and answer that question.

  From a footman, she learned that Cyn and Chastity were in the garden while Bryght and Rothgar were in the office.

  After a moment’s thought, she headed for the latter, entering by the private side door that bypassed the busy clerks.

  Rothgar and Bryght were working at the same desk, poring over papers that seemed unlikely to have anything to do with her adventures. So soon did the ripples of the explosion fade.

  Both looked up and rose, showing no sign of anger or condemnation. She knew her cheeks were red, however, and just hoped they weren’t flaming.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

  “Nothing important,” said Rothgar, taking her hand and leading her to a chair. “You look much improved.”

  “Thank you. I gather I’ve slept the clock around.”

  “I think you needed it. Though we had to fight to stop Cyn sending for every doctor in town.”

  “Considering the worry I’ve felt over him for years, it’s only fair that he fret over me at least once.”

  “My sentiment entirely. So, are you completely recovered?”

  Elf knew she had turned a deeper red. A broken maidenhead did not mend. “I think so. Some bruises and scrapes, that’s all. Chastity told me some of the events. Have the Scots all been rounded up?”

>   “As best we can tell.” Rothgar resumed his seat behind the ornate desk. Bryght, more restlessly, perched on the edge.

  “Murray died on the lighter,” Rothgar continued. “You did well there, by the way. And one of his men was shot on the wharf. We think another was the dead man left at Walgrave’s. A fourth corpse was found at the Peahen Inn clutching a declaration of loyalty to the Stuart cause. We assume he committed suicide when he realized the game was up. They seemed to be the only four deep in the plot, though they hired others as needed. The men who took the toy to Windsor, for example, were dupes. They believed they had truly been hired by me to deliver the gift. Since the king wants the whole affair kept quiet, they are not even aware of the true nature of their act.”

  “And Fort’s part in it? Does the king understand that?”

  Rothgar’s eyes were all too understanding. “I think so. When I left, George was annoyed with Grenville for keeping him in the dark, and becoming a little suspicious of Bute. Not of his loyalty, but of his wisdom and judgment. That is as well.”

  Elf frowned at her brother. “You don’t have political ambitions, do you?”

  “Why the horror? Is it not the pathway paved with gold? But no,” he said with a smile, “I have not. I have enough to do managing my tumultuous family. But I will not stand by and watch my country in the hands of fools. George is sound enough, but not under Bute’s guidance. I suspect Grenville will take his place, and I reserve judgment. Of course, if Cyn had followed the path I laid down for him, he might one day have led the country.”

  “Heaven forbid!” declared Elf, knowing her brother was teasing, though that could well have been his plan once. She glanced at her other brother, the one chiefly responsible for the financial management of the family’s affairs. “Now Bryght, perhaps. He might enjoy being First Lord of the Treasury.”

  “Oh no,” Bryght said raising a hand. “Government finances are far too chaotic for me. I’d be in Bedlam in a month. Speaking of which, we wondered if you’d care to take some of the burden off me—”

  “Speaking of Bedlam or business?” Rothgar queried.