A Midsummer Bride

by Amanda Forester

  Harriet put her hands on her hips and the dowager crossed her arms.

  “Fine,” muttered Penelope and removed the shawl.

  At the duchess’s request, Leclair condescended to do the young ladies’ hair. The result was stunning. With cascading curls, skintight gowns, and salacious curves, Harriet and Penelope hardly resembled their former selves.

  The duchess grinned with delight. “I am sure the men will be throwing themselves at your feet.”

  “Sounds like a lot of bother,” said Penelope.

  “We might trip over them,” finished Harriet.

  “Hopeless, the lot of you,” muttered the dowager. “Put on your half-masks, we shall see what this evening brings.”

  They donned their masks and walked down the grand staircase together, receiving more than a second look from the guests assembled in the marble entryway.

  “They must think we are someone else,” whispered Harriet.

  “That is all the fun of a masque,” replied Penelope. “Oh no, he would not do that!”

  Harriet was surprised by Penelope’s sudden change in topic and watched as Penelope marched up to a tall man holding a copy of Debrett’s Peerage of England. Penelope pointed to the book and seemed quite unhappy, though why the book would cause distress was beyond Harriet.

  Harriet felt a momentary discomfort at being abandoned by Penelope, until she realized that with the mask, no one knew who she was. With her emerald silk gown and styled hair, no one would likely guess either. She could be anyone—except she was six inches taller than most women.

  The happy revelers were encouraged in their appreciation of St. John’s Eve by a round of hot toddies, which were passed out on trays in order to facilitate the walk up the path to the bonfire at the castle. Some of the elder members of the party, the dowager and Langley among them, decided to forgo the walk and have their own celebrations in a more moderate, although hardly temperate, manner. They played cards and drank wine until midnight, when they all switched to whiskey, neat.

  The younger members, or those still interested in adventure, took to climbing the hill. Not wishing anyone to feel the least uncomfortable from the short hike, way stations were arranged along the path offering more hot drinks, such as rum punch or wassail, and a nibble of biscuit or sandwich was offered as well. Once revelers reached the courtyard of the old castle, they were greeted by more generous libations and musicians playing all the country-dances. In the middle of the courtyard, a large bonfire raged, casting everything in an orange hue. The seasoned wood cracked and sparked, shooting fiery bursts high in the air, giving the arrangement a dangerous tone.

  It was Midsummer’s Night Eve, and mischief was in the air.

  “Bonsoir, mademoiselle,” said d’Argon with an accent that could only be his. “Such celebrations, they are quite amusing, no?”

  “Good evening, monsieur,” replied Harriet, adjusting her mask. She could hide her face but not her height.

  “I must say you look stunning tonight. So different from your usual self I would not have known you. Would you care to dance?” He swept her a bow so polished there would not have been a lady in all of Britain who would have denied him. Of course, she was an American.

  “I would be delighted.” Apparently some things worked just as well on Americans as on the English. Despite the barb about her “usual” appearance, she followed him to where the other dancers were assembling. She did wish to know his reaction to the rumor of her poverty if he had heard it yet. Apparently, he had taken a ride that afternoon.

  He led her to the dance area, which in this case was the grass of the courtyard. They joined a line of couples for a country-dance. It was familiar to Harriet, yet outside in the dark with the bonfire, the dance had never seemed so vibrant and alive.

  After the set, Harriet was breathless, and the mask was uncomfortable. “I need to catch my breath,” declared Harriet.

  “Allow me the pleasure of escorting you,” said d’Argon. He led her away from the others to a dark corner on the side of the castle. They were perhaps not as alone as one might think, since many couples were engaged in a private tête-à-tête in the dark recesses of the castle courtyard.

  Harriet removed her mask and was relieved by the coolness of the night air on her face.

  “You are very beautiful tonight,” said d’Argon in a low voice.

  “I borrowed the gown from Miss Rose.”

  “You should do so more often. With the masque, you look quite the picture.”

  Did he mean she looked better with her face hidden? She decided to change the subject. “It is a beautiful night.”

  “Oui. Perhaps we should walk behind the castle. I believe there are some hidden treats for the guests there, or so I have heard a few say.”

  “That sounds amusing.” Harriet was always interested in fun diversions.

  They walked around the back of the castle until the sounds of music were muted and the darkness surrounded them. In the corners, out of sight, Harriet noted the soft sounds of people together, whispering… kissing. When they reached the far side of the castle, they were greeted only with darkness. She suspected there would be no surprise other than what may be found on the arm of the duc d’Argon.

  “I do not believe there is any secret here to be found,” said Harriet.

  “Do you not think so?” His voice was low and seductive.

  “But I can show you something remarkable.” Harriet grabbed his hand and dragged him to the old kitchens where her laboratory was. She knew this area well from climbing in the dark, so the lack of light did not alarm her. “Wait here,” she said and left him at the door. She did not want him bungling about making a mess of things.

  “Miss Redgrave, what is this you wish to show me?” His tone could not hide his annoyance.

  “See, look. I was doing some experiments with luminescence and, well, see for yourself.” She held up the bottle of the strange powder and it glowed in her hand. “It is very odd. I cannot wait to complete more experiments on this.”

  “Interesting,” said the duc in the manner of people who did not find it interesting in the least.

  “’Tis verra interesting,” said a voice that could only be Thornton’s.

  Thirty-four

  “No. I will not allow you to use this book as bait,” Penelope whispered, following Marchford as he greeted guests and was altogether too friendly while holding her annotated copy of Debrett’s. “What are you thinking of walking around the entryway so that everyone can see it?”

  “I can only concur with Miss Rose,” added Mr. Neville, coming up behind them. “If this book is of a sensitive nature, it should not be where anyone can see it.”

  “But who would think anything unusual? It is merely a book which many of the peerage have in their possession,” said Marchford.

  “But they don’t carry it about,” chastised Penelope. “I will put it away safely.”

  “No! I should be the one to do that!” declared Neville.

  “Here.” Marchford handed the book to Neville. “Wait for me in the library, I will be along shortly.”

  “What are you doing?” hissed Penelope as she watched her precious volume walk away.

  “If Neville thinks it is a sensitive document, so will the traitor,” Marchford whispered in return.

  Marchford greeted guests awhile longer and then strolled to the library, where Neville was sitting on the settee. He slapped the book closed when they entered.

  “I need not tell you to keep that volume safe,” warned Neville.

  “No, you need not,” agreed Marchford, extending his hand for the book.

  Neville handed it over and stalked off.

  “I do not wish my book to be used in such a manner,” said Penelope when they were alone.

  “The demands of King and country, my dear.” The room was well lit by several lanterns blazing and Marchford quickly checked them. “I want this room as bright as the noonday sun.”

  “The book repres
ents years of work,” Penelope tried to explain.

  “Listing the worth of men to be judged and sold to enterprising young women? I could suggest that I would be doing mankind a service by removing this text from your possession.”

  Penelope gasped. “You would not be so cruel!”

  “At this moment, I only wish to use the book to catch a spy. You may have it when the mission is complete.” Marchford placed the book carefully on the table. He stepped back to the curtains, surveyed his perspective of the book, and appeared satisfied.

  “Can you assure me that it will be safely returned?” Penelope resisted the urge to snatch the book from the table.

  “No,” replied Marchford, for he was an honest man. “But you shall have the supreme comfort of knowing that your precious object was used in the service of your country to protect England from foreign invaders. What more could anyone ask?”

  “But—”

  “Enough. I do not wish to displease you, but I must use this. I will be here, waiting for the spy. When it is taken, I will grab him. It is very simple. But you must leave, and now. The trap is about to be set.”

  “Your Grace?” called the butler. “You are needed at the bonfire, sir.”

  “I’m on my way,” called Marchford. He opened the door to the library. “Go!” he hissed.

  Penelope folded her arms across her chest and shook her head.

  Marchford’s valet walked in and the men quickly exchanged coats. Marchford handed him the mask and the valet walked off.

  “Go now,” mouthed Marchford.

  But Penelope retreated out of reach and Marchford had no choice but to swing the door shut, with her still inside. He motioned for her to leave and ducked behind the drapes, between the wall and the curtain. Penelope followed.

  “Leave!” he whispered in an irritated tone.

  “I’m going to stay with my book,” she whispered back.

  “There’s no room.”

  “I am small enough.” She pressed herself against him behind the curtain. She was immediately hit with a wave of heat.

  “Penelope,” he growled in a whisper. “You need to leave. Now!”

  “As long as my book is here, I am here.”

  “You are compromising an investigation.”

  “You are compromising the work of many years.”

  “If you get any closer,” he hissed in her ear, “I will be compromising you!”

  Another wave of heat flashed through her. If he was attempting to get her to leave, this was not the best tactic. She put her hands on his chest in order to move closer. He glared down at her in a decidedly unfriendly manner. He may have been unhappy, but there was nothing he could do about it. He needed to remain still and silent in order to lure in the thief. If the spy would even take the bait.

  Consigning himself to wait, he leaned against the wall. She leaned against him. He sighed and put his arms around her. It felt good. It felt better than good. Utterly inappropriate thoughts flashed through her head.

  Here she was, concealed with one of the greatest catches in all of marital history. The opportunities were endless. True, he didn’t want her here. And true, she knew he had many more tempting offers if he wished for a discreet liaison. But she was here now, and he was, if not hers for the taking, at least in a position to do very little to fight off her advances.

  She raised her head off of his chest, unsure of when she had actually laid it on him. She must stop these thoughts. First of all, she was a respectable lady, and in a position where she needed to keep that respectability intact. She was not a married woman with deep societal ties. She could not bandy about her reputation without a care. Her social status, her credibility, her very living as a companion all depended on her keeping her reputation untarnished. She had not the face nor the fortune for anything else.

  “You should go,” Marchford whispered again, but he held her tighter instead.

  She struggled against the urge to melt into him. She must focus her attention on something else. “I have some marital prospects to review with you,” she whispered. The library was large and the curtained window was far from the door, so that no one could hear them whisper.

  “Now?” His face was incredulous.

  “I have your attention.” And she needed to get her mind off of his physique, which was flawless by her estimation. “First of all, there is Miss Maria Cornwall.”

  “No.”

  “But I have not even begun to tell you her finer qualities,” protested Penelope.

  “I am sure they are lovely indeed, but I went to school with her brothers. Twins. Would rather jump in the Thames than have those hellions for brothers-in-law. I would go broke just paying their debts.”

  “Fine. There is Lady Evangeline, daughter of the Earl of Braxton.”

  “No.”

  “I put a good deal of thought into these choices and even wrote up short descriptions of each. The least you could do is listen to the entire presentation. Besides, what could be wrong with Lady Evangeline?”

  “Nothing is wrong with her. Lovely girl. Now her mother on the other hand is a horror and currently not on speaking terms with my grandmother, who despises her. Evangeline will not do.”

  “I don’t suppose you would consider Miss Crawley. She is an attractive girl.”

  “And vicious. I do not wish to marry anyone who scares me.”

  “Coward,” accused Penelope.

  “Quite so.”

  They were quiet for a moment, and Penelope found she was enjoying his masculine scent. It was quite intoxicating. She struggled against doing something horribly embarrassing and searched for some topic of conversation to focus her mind on something other than the strong man before her.

  “How did you get into this business anyway?” she whispered. She looked up and realized he was peeking out of a hole in the drapes he had previously made. Clever.

  “Since my half brother was intended to be the next duke, my job as the younger brother from a second marriage was to find respectable work as far away from home as possible. Besides, my grandmother complained I made her teeth grind.”

  “You still do make her teeth grind.”

  “She would say I am too much like my mother, a more heinous insult she could not imagine.”

  “Naughty boy.”

  “Very true.”

  “So how did you end up in Cadiz? It is far away and under a constant state of war with the French and their allies.”

  “Precisely so. It was the perfect place for me. I met the diplomat through the normal channels. There is a work program for second sons of the aristocracy. We must be farmed out to do something respectable, such as politics, military, or the clergy. We must stay out of the way and marry rich so as not to put too many demands on our elder brothers who will inherit.”

  “I wonder that younger sons are not simply drowned at birth,” commented Penelope.

  “It would be efficient, and I grant you there may be some who would agree with you, but you are forgetting the primary reason for being a second son.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “Why to serve as a spare to inherit in case the elder sibling dies or is not able to spawn young.”

  “And that is what happened to you.”

  Marchford leaned the back of his head against the wall and looked up at nothing. “I was angry at Fredrick for dying. I know that cannot make sense since it was hardly his fault.”

  “I understand. I was mad at everyone when my parents died. Them. God. My sisters. The doctor.”

  Marchford nodded. “I was so displeased, I returned to Cadiz. Of course I did have work to do there. But also, I wanted to avoid returning and taking the title that belonged to my brother. Fredrick was…”

  He paused for a long time. The minutes dragged on and Penelope listened to the clock tick away the seconds. It was eternity but she would not interrupt his story for the world. He never spoke of Fredrick. Never.

  “I begged him not to die.”
Marchford’s voice was flat. “But he was always doing things his own way. He was a remarkably strong man for having such a weak body. It was the fever early in life, you understand; he never fully recovered. Maybe because his body was weak he learned to be strong inside. I wish you could have met him.”

  “I would have liked that.” Despite hearing little from him about his brother, Penelope knew Marchford looked up to him and protected him. His wishing her to meet him was an honor. Truly.

  Marchford took a deep breath as if to clear away the painful memories. “It was just me and my grandmother then. She could not look at me without grinding what was left of her teeth. It was a hard time for all of us. First my father and then my brother had acted as a buffer between us, but then it was just too painful to be together.”

  “So you continue to work for the Foreign Office.”

  “Yes. I catch spies. It is an odd line of work for a duke, I grant you, but I still wish to protect my country.”

  “I am sure your father would have been proud of you.”

  “I would like to think so.” Marchford’s tone was somber.

  “How old were you when he passed away?”

  “I was ten. He died in a fire at his hunting box.”

  “I am so sorry for your loss.” Penelope meant it. She could see the pain on his face, even after so many years. She searched for something to get his mind off the painful subject.

  “So tell me, since you have rejected my leading candidates to be your wife, what exactly are you looking for in a partner?”

  “I have already told you the qualifications.”

  “Tell me again.” Penelope’s voice sounded husky, even to herself.

  Marchford looked up at the ceiling in thought. “She needs to come from a good family, one that has no members who are currently at war with my grandmother.”

  “That rules out half of the families in England.”

  “Second, she must have a brain in her head.”

  “That rules out the other half,” muttered Penelope.

  “And third, as to appearance…” He glanced down at her, his arms still around her. “I thought I asked you to cover your cleavage.”