The Dowager's Daughter

by Mona Prevel

  Marcus bent his head low to reply. “He is not a gentleman, my dear, not in the truest sense of the word. He happens to be a poet.”

  “Really?” Althea gave him a closer look. “Lord Byron looks more the part, I fear.”

  Marcus laughed out loud, and received a chastising glare from the poet for his trouble.

  The prince entered the room at a quarter after nine. He was resplendent in the uniform of a field marshal, a rank he had had the foresight to bestow upon himself directly after assuming the title of Prince Regent.

  The exiled members of the French royal family were then ushered in, their high-bridged Bourbon noses making them easy to recognize. After a lengthy exchange of tributes, larded with flowery compliments between host and guests, dinner was announced.

  Marcus escorted Althea into the Gothic conservatory. The room was a good two hundred feet in length and the table was not much shorter. They were placed about halfway down, a comfortable distance from the coterie of royalty surrounding the prince at the head.

  Althea took her seat, not quite believing the spectacle unfolding before her. A stream, fed by a large catch-bowl, meandered down the middle of the table around huge banks of flowers. Flashes of gold and silver betrayed the presence of fishes swimming in the water.

  Her gaze followed the stream to the end of the table—she saw that John was seated there. They exchanged glances. He gave her a brief smile before looking away.

  Iron butterflies danced in her stomach.

  When soup was served from gargantuan silver tureens, she was unable to swallow it. A lavish meal of roasts, cold dishes, plus mountains of fruit, both in and out of season, followed this. It was accompanied by the appropriate wines and iced champagne offered in copious amounts, but Althea merely toyed with her food and drank very little.

  Although she took little interest in what was set before her, Althea did notice that everyone who sat at the prince’s table was served their food on silver plates. She mentioned it to Marcus.

  Marcus nodded. “You might be interested to know that even the multitude dining outside in the garden are being served their food on silver. I suspect that our host used up every ingot of silver the smiths had at their disposal. I pity anyone setting up house right now. There is bound to be a shortage of silverware for a while.”

  When the banquet was over, Marcus took Althea aside. “If you have anything to say to my brother, he will be waiting for you in a small room directly opposite the one we were in earlier.”

  Her heart beat faster.

  “I do not mean this unkindly, my dear. I think you would make a fine addition to our family, but please, I beg of you, do not go there unless you have made up your mind to marry him. He has been hurt enough.”

  “I am sorry for that. I love John and I want to marry him. I was not sure that he loved me in return. Since my come-out I have been subjected to all sorts of indignities.”

  “I can imagine. You are considered to be the most eligible young lady to enter Society for many a year. Fortunately, our parents were a love-match and John and I were raised to believe that love is the only reason to get married.”

  “I think I shall get along with your parents very well.” She gave Marcus a shy smile. “You also.”

  Marcus gave her a bow. “Thank you, Althea. It will make life more pleasant. Now just wait another five minutes before you go, or tongues will be wagging harder than hounds’ tails at a foxhunt.”

  John waited for a slight nod from Marcus, then walked down the corridor to the room that their host had graciously allowed him to use. He found that the room was furnished in the Chinese style, reminiscent of the pavilion at Brighton.

  He had been there less than a minute when the door opened. He rushed forward, eager to reconcile with Althea. “I am so glad you came,” he said, then stood stock-still.

  It was Belinda Vickery who walked through the door and lost no time closing it behind her. “I am happy to hear you say that, John darling,” she said in a voice as sweet as Jamaican sugar. “You, too, must realize that a love such as ours cannot be denied.”

  John stepped back. “I realize nothing of the sort. I rather thought you would have married your rich suitor by now. What was his name?”

  Belinda gave a disparaging shrug. “It is of no importance. The man was a charlatan. It turned out that all he owned went down on a ship returning from China. Can you imagine anything so bourgeois? Naturally, my dear papa sent him packing.”

  “Naturally,” John echoed.

  Belinda gave a nervous giggle and proceeded to roam the room, picking up and then replacing one treasure after another. Then she came upon a looking glass and she gazed into this until John coughed to get her attention.

  She looked surprised to see him, as if she’d been so absorbed with her own image she had forgotten he was there.

  “I do not wish to seem unkind, Belinda, but please leave. I am expecting someone else.”

  Her eyes widened in surprise. “Another girl? That is impossible. I am your true love, and always shall be.”

  “Belinda, any love you and I might have shared died long ago, and I am not foolish enough to believe that you think otherwise. I suppose it was unsporting of me not to apprise you of the inheritance I was expecting, but there you are.”

  Her face contorted with rage and it occurred to John that it was probably the first genuine emotion that he had ever seen registered there.

  John heard the handle turn in the door and the look of rage on Belinda’s face turned to one of indescribable malice. Before he could stop her, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly on the lips.

  He put her from him in time to see Althea standing in the doorway, her face frozen into a mask of horror. John would have sold his soul to the devil to have spared her the torment he saw on her face.

  He reached out to her in supplication, but without a word, she turned on her heel and fled the room.

  Chapter 16

  John brushed past Belinda and followed Althea out of the room. He stopped short when he saw that all heads were turned to watch her precipitous flight down the corridor. The last thing he wanted to do was to involve her in a scandal, so he turned around and walked the other way.

  The next time he saw her, along with her mother and uncle, she was taking her leave of the prince. John was about to follow her party out to their carriage when Marcus put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “Let her go, John,” he said. “You have done enough damage for one night.”

  John broke away from his grasp. “But I did nothing wrong. I am sure that if I explain everything to Althea she will understand.”

  Marcus put a finger over his lips. “Hush. Before you go haring off into the night, we need to talk it over, but not here. Too many people around with their ears pricked for my liking.”

  He led John to an alcove off another corridor. “This is better.” He sat down on a bench covered in rose-colored damask and gestured for John to join him. “Now tell me what took place, and be warned, brother—if I do not care for what I hear, I am likely to call you out myself.”

  “Belinda Vickery followed me into the room. I am surprised the prince even knows that family exists, much less invited them to this affair. I wonder how they managed it?”

  “I know you are searching for ways for it not to have happened, but it did and there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it, so you have to take it from there.

  “What did the little schemer want?” Marcus put up his hand. “No. Do not say, let me guess—she said that jilting you was not her idea, her parents made her do it, and nothing should stand between a love as great as yours. It is amazing how often a chap coming into a fortune transports some women to heights of hitherto overlooked passion.”

  “Marcus, I am suffering enough. I do not need you rubbing salt in the wounds. You should have seen the look on her face when I told her that I was waiting for another gi
rl and that she should leave—pure, unmitigated spite.”

  Marcus groaned. “Small wonder. Words like that could get you gutted like a flounder. Pretty speeches were never your forte.”

  “You could show a little sympathy. I have just been put through hell.”

  “Do not expect any sympathy from me, brother. I cannot believe you allowed that shallow little vixen to get the better of you.”

  John became defensive. “What would you have had me do? I could not very well boot her out, now could I? Force was out of the question. It is just not done.”

  “No. But the moment she entered the room, you should have left post haste, if not sooner. How could you be so naive? By Jove, I should have thought you would have learned something over the years, watching me wriggle out of similar situations. Well, what’s done is done. Then what happened?”

  “The moment she heard Althea coming in, the little jade flung her arms around my neck and kissed me. It was sheer spite on her part And to think I almost married that little nightmare! Brrr!”

  John slumped down on the seat, feeling utterly dejected. “I suppose you would have foreseen that You are right. I should have left and no doubt Althea will agree with you.”

  “Not quite. From my experience, the ladies have a habit of looking at things from a completely different viewpoint.”

  “Oh?”

  “Althea will probably be of the opinion that you did not struggle too hard when Belinda kissed you.”

  “Are you saying that there is no chance I can convince her to take me back?”

  “Not tonight. The hour is late and she will be far too tired to listen to your nonsense. Try again after breakfast. Mind you, I am not saying she will look kindly on your suit That might take a month of Sundays, but you have to start somewhere.”

  “That makes sense. I shall call on her tomorrow.”

  “Good, now go home. Things have a way of looking better after a good night’s sleep.”

  Knowing that most members of the ton seldom broke their fast before ten o’clock, John arrived at Camberly House at eleven-thirty to be told by the housekeeper that Lady Camberly and her family had left for her country seat earlier in the morning.

  He was tempted to follow her, but not only was a summer storm brewing, he realized it made more sense to return to Fairfax House to collect his servants and carriage and accouterments and start out early the following morning. Having decided this, he reclaimed Orion from the groom and rode away.

  On returning to Camberly, John called on Althea several times and she was never “at home” to him. He sent her a letter by courier, and it was returned unopened. One week later, he was standing by his library window, gazing at the towers and turrets of Camberly Hall and feeling thoroughly depressed by the hopelessness of the situation, when Marcus walked in.

  John was pleased he came. “Hello. I did not expect to see you. Keeping an eye on me, are you? Making sure I do not make a cake of myself?”

  Marcus walked over and gave him a brief hug. “No. I came to discuss something with you.”

  “Whatever it is, sit down and have a glass of wine with me.”

  “Thank you, but if it is all the same to you, after riding for several hours I prefer to stand—but I will take that glass of wine. A little fellowship might do you some good. It does not do to mope about.”

  John looked at his shoes. “Then you guessed that I did not make any headway with Althea?”

  “It is very difficult to reconcile with someone who will not even talk to you.”

  John came to attention. “How did you know that?”

  “Just a guess. Why else would you be acting like a hermit? You look as if you haven’t eaten a decent meal in days. But enough of that. I have something far more serious to discuss with you.”

  “Concerning?”

  “Our affairs in France. We have suspected for some time that there is a traitor in our midst A plan gone awry here, an agent missing there.”

  “Whom do you suspect—my liaison, Bonheur?”

  “Not anymore. He has not been seen for a month. We presume that he was taken by the police, in which case he is probably dead. Savary has proved to be far more vigorous in extracting confessions from his victims than was Fouche.”

  “Let us hope that you are mistaken. He was a good man. I would like to think that he went into hiding.”

  “If it gives you comfort—but just in case, we are ending this particular endeavour as the risks outweigh the benefits. But we would like to go out in a blaze of glory.”

  “And what does that entail—or should I be afraid to ask?”

  “We thought we would send one more message to Bonheur, implicating some key people both in the police force and the army in seditious activities. Not true, of course, but it should throw the French off-balance for a while.”

  “Correct me if I am wrong. You expect me to walk right into a trap? You are far too good to me, I must say.”

  Marcus looked hurt. “Of course not What sort of monster would that make me? From what has transpired, we have come to the conclusion that the French garnered their information from the letters that passed through Celeste Markham’s hands—and then, later, Althea’s.”

  John grabbed Marcus by the lapels of his coat “That is a filthy thing to say. How dare you suggest that either one of those fine ladies is capable of betraying their country?”

  Marcus held John off. “Steady on there—I do not think that for a minute. It is my opinion that someone at the house made a duplicate of the seal we use. They have been opening our messages, resealing them after reading them, and then you have been giving them to Bonheur and no one has been the wiser.”

  John pulled back, somewhat mollified. “I suppose that primrose design was too easy to duplicate. Whom do you suspect—the marquis?”

  “He is the most likely one—but then it could be his valet, or even that maid of Celeste’s. They are both French.”

  “If Savary did arrest Bonheur, one has to wonder why. Surely he was more useful to them alive?”

  “One would think so. Perhaps it was expedience? Savary’s performance could have been at an ebb and in need of a boost. Who knows what goes on among those jackals?”

  “Or—”

  “Or what?” John queried.

  “Perhaps someone else has taken Bonheur to gain information to further their own career. Someone who wishes Savary to be seen in an unfavorable light.”

  “And to top it off, you wish me to send one more message through the Markham ladies to set a trap for Savary and his agents? One that you have no intention of being delivered?”

  “You have the idea,” Marcus replied.

  “You must be absolutely mad. From your snug nest in London, all this intrigue must seem quite a lark, but if Bonheur is alive, I am sure he would tell you differently. Marcus, does it not occur to you that these machinations have placed Celeste and Althea in dire peril? If Savary, or one of his agents, saw fit to do away with Bonheur, perhaps the ladies are scheduled to be the final sacrifice on the altar of ambition.”

  “Surely not I doubt Buonaparte would risk it Such a deed would bring our revenge down upon the heads of his armies, and for what? Celeste and Althea would no longer be a threat to France.”

  John threw up his hands. “Marcus, Marcus. How can you be sure that Savary would even consult Buonaparte before acting? Come to think of it, the Marquis de Maligny has an unlikely association with two of the most unsavory characters ever to come out of France.”

  Marcus stiffened. “Oh? I take it these are people you have met?”

  “Not exactly. Althea pointed them out to me that afternoon we spent together on the esplanade. They were going into Hansford’s at the time and she thought it odd that they would do so, it being a Sunday. She did tell me the name of the taller of the two, but I am damned if I can remember it Began with a J. J-J-Joubert, I believe it was.”

  Marcus gestured. “Neve
r mind that—if they are French agents, I doubt they gave their right names. A good description would be far more useful.”

  “I saw them but briefly, but joubert was tall and dark—saturnine is the word that comes to mind. His associate was shorter, and rotund—rather jolly-looking, one might say.”

  “With hair the color and texture of straw,” Marcus inserted.

  The tone of his voice sounded through John’s being like a death knell. “Y-you know of this man, then?”

  “Auguste Reston. One of the most cold-blooded assassins and torturers in existence. Savary has the reputation, but it is Reston who does his dirty work for him.”

  Without a word, John took a highly polished ebony case from a cabinet and removed a pair of Manton pistols from it. He offered one to Marcus but he refused it. “Keep it, I’ve brought my own.” He patted his side.

  John’s eyes narrowed. “Then I suggest we get to Camberly Hall with all speed. We have to get Althea and her mother away from there. Then, to guarantee their safety, there is nothing for it but we hunt those villains down and kill them.”

  With that, they dashed out of the library to the rear of the house, the shortest route to the stables, where they hurried the grooms into saddling Orion for John and a fresh mount for Marcus, a large, black hunter named Thunder.

  Althea sat on a bench and stared unseeingly into the lily pond. Large, golden carp swam by her in the shadow of the lily pads, but she paid them no heed. Gradually the sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel path impinged upon her consciousness. She looked up to see her mother fast approaching.

  On reaching the pool, Celeste sat down beside her and let out a sigh. “That quite took my breath away. The weather is very close today.”

  “That is why I am sitting here, Mama. It is cooler.”

  “I quite agree—the willow offers wonderful shade. By the way, there is a letter for you from Philippe. I expect it is to express his undying gratitude for being welcomed back into the fold.”

  Althea grinned. “Either that, or to thank me for returning his ring. In which case it is his wife’s gratitude that should be without end.”