Unmasking the Thief, page 13
There was something about Matilda Mather, and he suspected it was as dangerous as she called him.
She slipped out of the gate into the lane with her serviceable cloak flung around her shoulders, the hood covering her hair. She glanced to the right and left before hurrying toward him. A frown of worry creased her brow.
“What is it?” she demanded before he could speak. “What is wrong?”
He drew her hand through his arm and strolled back the way he had come. “Nothing, unless you know more than I. I only wondered what came of your encounter at Grillon’s.”
Her frown deepened. “Not many things pass you by, do they?”
“Not when I’m paying attention. Your mother and sister are here, presumably, to renew their supplications in person?”
“That, and Marion wants a Season before she marries. I can’t help thinking that is an excellent idea, for she might just meet someone she likes better than Thorne.”
“She might, but fortune-hunters come in all guises.”
“You are a cynic,” she remarked, casting him a look of curiosity that he wasn’t sure he liked.
“I have been about the world a bit. Did Thorne let fall anything significant to you or your sister?”
“Not really. Though he seemed quite excited by the return of Lord Wenning. Thorne wants his support, both in the Lords and among his foreign office contacts. And Marion wants to go the ball at Wenning House next week. He has promised to try and get her a card, though I’m not sure cadging extra invitations for country bumpkins is the best way to endear oneself to the nobility.”
“Your family are country bumpkins?” he said, amused. “I find that hard to believe.”
She shrugged. “Country gentry, then, without a hint of town polish.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” he asked curiously.
“No, I see myself as the governess. It’s how other people perceive us that is the issue. I cannot but think Thorne will hurt Marion in the end. I don’t want other people doing it, too.”
“So what would you have her do? Hide in the country or spread her wings?”
“Are you making fun of my own partially clipped wings, Mr. Francis?”
“Not at all. I’m wondering how many people actually see the governess.”
“Very few,” she replied tartly. “Had I not been wearing a red tulip at Maida to attract your attention, you would have walked past me and still would, after several meetings.”
“And kisses,” Francis reminded her, just to make her blush. “Don’t forget the kisses. And I beg to differ. But then, despite my jaunting about the world, I am a country man at heart.”
“Are you?” she asked doubtfully. Her color had risen, but curiosity seemed to have overcome embarrassment.
“Indeed. When I first encountered your enterprising young friends at Maida, I was looking forward to retiring to the country. I have leased a charming little place in Kent.”
“You would retire to Kent rather than Spain?”
From habit, he smiled and drew his gaze free. “There is nothing for me in Spain.”
“I heard you had land there.”
“Did you, by God?”
“Isn’t it true?”
“Yes, as it happens, but I have no intention of ever living there.”
“Why not?”
“Bad memories. Miss Matty, should you ever wish to change professions, interrogation would suit you very nicely.”
“I believe I have learned from a master.”
He held both hands to his heart. “You overwhelm me.” Then he covered her hand on his arm. “What else would you like to know?”
“Why I have been summoned here.”
He considered, for in truth, there was no real reason for “summoning” her at all. “Two reasons. First, to ask you if Thorne has any connection to the army. Was he ever a soldier?”
“No, I don’t believe so. Though according to Mama, he was very proud of dining with the Duke of Wellington last year. And your other reason?”
“To arrange to meet here at this time every day.”
At least he had the satisfaction of having surprised her, though her expression was quickly veiled. “My reputation would not survive it.”
“Yes it would. The lane is quiet, and with your hood up, no one will know you.”
She hesitated, her gaze on the ground at her feet. “Is it necessary?”
“No,” he admitted, “probably not, but I’m hoping it will be fun.”
She snatched her hand from his arm. “Then you are doomed to disappointment,” she muttered and fled through the gate back into the house.
It would not have sounded encouraging to most men, but Francisco was smiling as he sauntered on to the other end of the lane and turned his feet in the direction of St. James.
*
As Matty ran up to her bedchamber to be rid of her cloak and pat her breeze-blown hair, her heart still beat a wild tattoo. She had no idea what was happening between her and Francis—Francisco—though she suspected it was idle amusement on his part and folly on hers. And yet something glowed within her because he did not mind that she had been informally engaged to Thorne. If anything had changed, it was that he seemed to trust her more.
She paused before the glass, pressed one hand over her heart to calm it, and just for an instant, let herself smile—a quick fugitive smile that lit her eyes with sheer excitement. Her life was suddenly much more complicated, even difficult, but somehow Francisco had raised it to fun.
Perhaps she should not even believe in his flirtation except as a means to obtain her help, but she had the impression he was as taken by surprise as she. Is it so hard to believe? she asked her reflection with its fading smile. If he sees me? After all, men flirted with me before.
Before Thorne. Before she had become a governess. Her first posts had not been easy or pleasant, but she had endured them. Not the first time, she wondered what Francisco had endured, the extent of the memories that kept him from living in the country of his birth. Where he had once told her his parents had been killed. She had almost felt his pain when he mentioned it, even hidden by flippant words and veiled eyes. There was so much she wanted to know about him.
She hurried from the room, trying to thrust Francisco from her mind so that she could join the family celebration of Adrian’s return.
*
With Matty’s hint about Wenning, Francisco made White’s his first port of call, and sure enough, there in the coffee room, he glimpsed the Earl of Wenning himself, with a group of friends who included none other than the scandalous young Duke of Dearham. The latter seemed to be receiving the ribald congratulations of his friends for his recent unexpected marriage to a distant cousin few of them had met.
“The matchmaking mamas are desolate,” Lord Calton assured him. “You foiled all their plans out of season!”
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” the duke said amiably.
“So, what have you done with the poor lady?” someone asked. “Have you left her buried in the country so that you can continue your wicked ways?”
“My dear fellow, I am utterly reformed, I assure you.”
“He probably is,” Calton agreed. “I’ve met the lady, and I would reform for her.”
“Good God,” the Earl of Wenning said lazily. “When do we meet this lady with such unique power?”
“At your lady wife’s ball, of course,” the duke replied. “It’s the one event we can fit in, for we are en route to the continent on a delayed wedding journey. Not sure I can make it last two years like yours, Wenning.”
“I was working for most of that. Besides, mine had been postponed for longer than yours. We deserved a little extra.” Wenning’s heavy-lidded eyes glanced up as Francisco strolled past, moved on, and then whisked back, widening.
Francisco bowed. “My lord. Gentlemen.”
Not all of the earl’s companions were known to him, and he didn’t really want Wenning introducing him by his own name when he was always Francis in England now. Instead, since the room was quiet, he found a seat on his own, ordered a brandy, and picked up a newspaper. Over the paper, he could keep an eye on the door and watch for Thorne.
But after only a few moments, Wenning sauntered up to him, smiling, hand outstretched.
Francisco rose and took the hand. “Francis. At your service.”
“Glad I didn’t put my foot in it. Good to see you here. How are you?”
They had met in Constantinople when Wenning had given him unexpected aid in a nasty moment. Francisco had returned the favor when the earl and countess were traveling. There was more to Wenning than met the eye, and Francisco rather liked him. He liked his beautiful, indomitable countess, too, cheerfully traveling, as she had been with a small child in her arms and in the early stages of another pregnancy.
There had been an understanding, a closeness between the couple that did not rely on physical proximity or flowery phrases. Francisco had secretly envied them that closeness, and as he recalled it now, his mind conjured the image of Matty Mather, her fine eyes dancing while her eminently kissable mouth remained serious.
“Well,” Francis replied. “As I see, are you. How is her ladyship?”
“Thriving. It is an adjustment to be home. I expect for you, too?”
“Oh, I have been back several times since I last saw you.”
“Then you never did retire? From the post you do not have.”
“Not quite. Tell me, Wenning, are you acquainted with Sir Anthony Thorne?”
“Yes, slightly. I hear he has become everyone’s man of the moment.”
“I hear he is eager to renew his acquaintance with you. Or at least make the acquaintance.”
“I don’t involve myself in politics, only with policy.”
“If you would do me a favor, which, of course, you are not obliged to do, you could listen to him.”
“I always listen. You’ll come to Grace’s ball?”
“Am I respectable enough?”
“My dear fellow, you are a member of White’s.” Wenning grinned and passed on toward the dining room in the wake of his friends.
Shortly after that, Thorne arrived in company with a fellow member of parliament and a young baron whose name Francisco couldn’t recall. They were soon in company with a large group of impressively important men, including Dominic Gorse’s father—the Marquess of Sedgemoor—and two senior army officers.
Francisco, having seen enough, strolled off to keep his dinner engagement with the Dunnes in Barclay Square.
*
“Guess who I met tonight?” the Earl of Wenning said to his wife as he lay down beside her and blew out the last candle.
“Johnny Dearham, Calton, probably my brother Rollo, if White’s hasn’t blackballed him for debt—”
“Francisco de Salgado.”
She turned into his embrace. “Really? I would have thought London a little dull for him! How is he?”
“Investigating. Did you, by chance, invite Sir Anthony Thorne to the ball?”
“Of course,” she replied with a hint of self-mockery. “He is said to be the upcoming man, the rising star of the party.”
“I wonder who it is who keeps saying that?”
“Himself, probably. Hope says he is entirely self-confident. He is also, according to her, engaged to marry the sister of the Doves’ governess.”
“I thought a man like him would look higher for a bride.”
“Apparently, the sister inherited a fortune.”
“Ah.”
“And the governess, whom I don’t believe I’ve ever met, seems to be quite out of the ordinary. She got Hope and Catherine out of considerable trouble at some risk to her own reputation.”
Wenning sighed into her responsive ear. “I gather Hope is proving to be as much a magnet for trouble as you were.”
“Thank you for the were.”
“My pleasure,” he murmured, delicately nibbling her lobe. “Thorne asked me if you would consider inviting his betrothed and her mother to your ball.”
“Hope asked me to invite the governess as well.”
“Will she not feel out of place?”
His wife’s arms slid around him. “I have no idea. One can only ask, though I confess I am curious. Perhaps I shall call on the Doves tomorrow. Shall I invite Francisco?”
“Invite Mr. Francis.”
She drew back an inch as though peering at him in the darkness. “Why is he using a different name?”
Wenning shifted, looming over her. “Do you know, I find right now that I don’t care?” He closed his mouth over hers, and neither of them cared about anything but each other until the morning.
*
With one thing and another, Matty felt she had been neglecting the education of her charges. So, she worked them hard the following morning, sending Adrian out with Pup and then refusing to let the boy distract his sisters.
It all went swimmingly until just before midday, when Adrian stuck his head around the schoolroom door. “Lady Wenning is with Mama and Catherine, and apparently, she’s asked to meet you two, as well. Miss Matty’s to bring you,” he added with a cheeky grin.
“Oh dear,” Susan said nervously. “Is she very stuffy?”
“Lord, no. And she likes Pup.”
“Oh well, she can’t be that bad,” Arabella said. “And Viola likes her.”
Matty rose calmly. “Just be sure she likes you. Best behavior, please. No running and remember how to curtsey.”
Adrian spread imaginary skirts, dipped his knees, and fluttered his eyelashes behind a make-believe fan, causing the girls to giggle all the way along the passage and downstairs to the drawing room. Under Matty’s watchful eyes—and to the accompaniment of Pup’s thumping tail as he welcomed them from his post lying on their visitor’s feet—the girls sobered long enough to curtsey.
“My daughters, Arabella and Susan,” Mrs. Dove said proudly. “Girls, your cousin Lady Wenning.”
There was no starch to her ladyship. She rose, smiling, and offered a hand to each girl. “I can’t think why we haven’t met before, although I suppose it’s my fault for being abroad for years! I’m very glad to meet you now. Hope and Viola have told me so much about you! And Pup, of course.”
“He’s taken a shine to you, my lady,” Arabella said shyly.
“Call me Cousin Grace, or I shall feel old.”
The girls looked awed, and her ladyship turned her smile upon Matty.
“Miss Mather,” Mrs. Dove said, hastily, “the girls’ governess and friend to us all. Her ladyship, the Countess of Wenning.”
Matty curtseyed. “Your ladyship.”
The countess offered her hand to Matty, too. “Miss Mather. I understand you have been a particular friend to my sister, too. I thank you for it.”
Since Mrs. Dove was looking intrigued and Catherine alarmed, Matty had no idea how to answer. Fortunately, Lady Wenning turned and picked up her reticule from the chair she had risen from. As she straightened, Matty saw that she was pregnant, a condition hidden again almost at once by the full cut of her gown.
“I have already spoken to my cousin,” Lady Wenning said, extracting a card and holding it out to Matty. “She is happy to spare you from your duties, especially since you may come with her or with your own family.”
Matty took the card and blinked at it. Her name was written on it in a flowing hand, inviting her to a ball at Wenning House.
“Oh no, my lady, it would be most unsuitable,” she blurted, then collected herself enough to add, “Though I thank you deeply for thinking of me. I shall remember your kindness.”
“Well, you must decide,” Lady Wenning said lightly, “though I hope you will come. Cousin Jane, I must be off. But I hope you will call soon. Bring all the children—even Pup!—and they can meet their new cousin. We’re off to the country soon after the ball and are likely to stay there for some months.” She beamed. “What a delight to meet you all! Goodbye for the present!”
The family all trooped out to see her off, Adrian hanging on to Pup’s collar. When Mrs. Dove returned, Matty was still standing where they had left her, the countess’s card still held in her nerveless fingers.
“Will you go?” her employer asked.
“Of course, I cannot,” Matty said, forcing a smile. “Though I appreciate her kindness in asking.”
“Then return it by accepting,” Mrs. Dove advised. “Your mother and sister are invited, too. And we all have cause to know you are a lady.”
Matty let out a breath. “It is a life I have left behind and do not miss.” She smiled faintly. “Indeed, such a party would always have been above my touch, ma’am. Now, where did those girls vanish to?”
Although she had no intention of attending the countess’s ball, as the day went on, she found herself thinking several times about the invitation. Was Lady Wenning truly so grateful for her help in retrieving the ring for Hope? It was interesting that Hope had even told her when she would not tell her brother, who owned the ring. Or did the invitation stem from more general gratitude because Matty kept an eye on the adventurous debutantes, both Hope and Catherine?
But there were surely simpler ways to show such gratitude. Had her mother somehow got to the countess and asked her to invite Matty, too?
No, her mother would never overstep in such a way.
But Thorne would.
Chapter Fourteen
It was almost the first thing she told Francisco late that afternoon when he had pulled her into an unused carriage house in the mews.
Jerked almost off her feet against his hard chest, she said crossly, “You’d be well-served if I screamed or boxed your ears. Lady Wenning has invited me to her ball, and I think Thorne is behind it.”
Francisco didn’t even blink. “You think he wants to renew his advances?”
“Of course not. I think he wants to make my position with Mrs. Dove untenable. Either she will be annoyed by the governess getting above herself and dismiss me, or I will be so overwhelmed by the joys of polite society that I will resign my post at once and cling to Marion.”
