Unmasked by her Lover, page 19
“Welcome, my lord,” Lady Calvert said, extending her hand.
He took her fingers in his, bowing with exquisite grace, just as the duke’s military companion turned his head and met his gaze.
Damnation, he is here! Why does everything have to be so complicated?
Chapter Nineteen
Harry had been seated on a garden bench, pretending to read his book and watch Johnny lead a bizarre game of pall-mall when the carriage rolled up the drive and halted by the front door. Closing his book, he left it on the bench and sauntered toward the nearest side door. From the path, he could easily see that a single gentleman alighted from the carriage, helped by a manservant.
Harry had never met Lord Barden, but he guessed this was he. A well-dressed gentleman in his late thirties or early forties, perhaps, with somewhat oily dark hair and a tendency to hold his head too far back, as though to be better able to look down his nose at the world.
Harry entered by the side door and walked quickly toward the entrance hall, for he didn’t know where Meg was, and he wanted to be with her when she first encountered Barden.
In fact, he had not seen her yet this morning, and he longed to.
He let out his breath as he saw her standing just behind Martha and Calvert.
The duke passed him. “Good morning, Harry!”
“Your Grace,” Harry said and started after him—before he realized that Garrow was with Dearham, telling some entertaining story. He must not forget about Garrow in the excitement of dealing with Barden, and his joy in Meg.
Barden bowed over Martha’s hand with practiced grace, saying all the right things with just the proper degree of smile. And then his gaze lifted, and for the merest instant, Barden froze.
Harry’s gaze followed his to the stairs, where the duke was laughing, and Garrow was just straightening as though from glancing over his shoulder.
Barden? Could Barden also be the man Aline was looking for? The man Garrow had come here to meet?
Considering the rest of his vileness, Harry could easily believe he was a traitor, too. But was that not too damned convenient? Too much coincidence?
He watched Barden like a hawk, forcing his hands to stillness as the regent’s snake took Meg’s fingers in his and smiled in an avuncular fashion, as though he had not deliberately ruined her and three other innocent young ladies for his own nefarious ends.
Meg’s smile was a little fixed, her posture too rigid, but if Barden guessed her revulsion, he would no doubt put it down to what Hazel had written in her letter. She certainly did not look afraid of him.
“Allow me to show you to your chamber,” Calvert said amiably. “I am going in that direction anyway. I hope your journey was not too horrible?”
Harry stood beside Meg and brushed her hand with his fingers. Her face lit up at once, as though she recognized his touch without looking, and his heart swelled with pride and love. Martha turned, her eyebrows raised.
“Time to warn the others to stay hidden,” she murmured.
“I’ll fetch Johnny in to keep an eye on His Grace,” Harry said low, then, “where is Aline Garrow?”
“In the maze with Basil, I think,” Martha replied, already hurrying off.
Meg was glancing up at him, a hint of concealed hurt in her eyes along with curiosity.
“I’ll tell you later,” he breathed and strode toward the front door.
In the garden, having dragged Johnny to one side, he imparted the news about Barden’s arrival, and Johnny obediently strolled inside to surprise the duke with his companionship. Harry walked around the house until he came to the maze. From inside it, he could hear Basil’s high-pitched laughter.
“But Mama, what if we never find our way out?” the child demanded.
“Then they will have to throw in many parcels of food and blankets,” Aline’s voice replied, “in the hope that we ever find one of them.”
Basil laughed again, and Harry sat on the bench next to the maze entrance. From the conversation, Master Basil’s patience with the maze was nearly exhausted. Sure enough, not five minutes more had passed before a great cheer heralded the appearance of Basil and Aline.
“Captain Harry, Captain Harry, we got lost in the maze!” Basil exclaimed, rushing up to him. “For ages and ages and ages! We nearly had to hunt for luncheon!”
Harry laughed. “What game did you see?”
“Nothing but two crows and a sparrow,” Basil admitted.
“Well, perhaps you should hunt your luncheon in the kitchen,” Aline suggested. “Nurse said that she would meet you there. But don’t get under their feet.”
“No, Mama!”
As the child raced off, his mother turned to Harry. “Well, my lord? You are big with news, I think.”
“Big with questions,” he said ruefully. “Aline, do you really not know who Garrow is here to meet? Could it be Lord Barden?”
She withstood his gaze, though her expression gave nothing away. “Why do you say that?”
“He has just arrived, and I would lay odds they know each other.”
“Would that be strange?”
“Yes. Garrow hasn’t previously moved in such circles. He has been out of the country for years and even felt the necessity of hiring a wife. He hasn’t known any of the other guests. So far as we can tell.”
“Lord Barden is well placed,” she observed. “As one of the prince regent’s gentlemen, I’m sure he has opportunity to look at many documents the rest of the world does not see.”
“And pass them on to the French?”
“Or on to Garrow, who passes them to the French. I’m sure when he was abroad, he had some means of communication. Yes, it could be Barden, but I really don’t know.”
“Then I think you had better attend our meeting to plan his lordship’s fall.”
Aline regarded him. “Will Lord Fishguard be there?”
Harry laughed. “You are incorrigible, and yes, he will!”
*
During the afternoon, Barden gave up on ever coming across the duke alone and approached him on the terrace, where he was in conversation with Lord Staunton and a couple of older gentlemen.
“I wonder if I might trouble Your Grace for a private word?” he said respectfully. “At Your Grace’s convenience, of course.”
Although the duke looked faintly surprised, he replied with perfect amiability. “Of course. Come, we’ll go to Calvert’s library. We shouldn’t be disturbed there.”
From his manner, it was clear that he knew nothing against Barden. If Lady Meg knew who was responsible for her ruin, she had obviously not passed on the news. Not that anyone would have known she was ruined, he thought resentfully. She moved among the other guests quite openly. No one shunned her or swept their debutante daughters out of her reach when she passed. Of course, she was their hostess’s sister and the Duke of Dearham’s daughter, but there should have been at least some reaction to the scandal that had sent everyone else into a panic.
Some of the guests had been here for a fortnight, of course, and might not have heard all the whispers. But others had come from London much more recently, and the word should have spread.
However, very conscious of his past mistakes, Barden decided to adopt a sympathetic approach. There would be time later to begin the whispers again if necessary.
The library was indeed empty when they entered, but unfortunately, just as they settled, Lord Fishguard, the duke’s eldest son, sauntered in and nodded to them.
“What do you want, Fishguard?” the duke asked.
“Oh, just looking for a book,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t let me disturb you.”
If Barden found it odd that the dissolute young lord should be looking for reading material at this precise moment, his parent merely shrugged.
“Well, sir, what can I do for you?” the duke inquired, taking the most comfortable chair, as was his due.
Barden pulled a chair from the nearest desk and sat opposite him. “It is a delicate matter,” he confided.
“Ah, you are able to pay me back at last,” the duke said jovially. “I never doubted it, you know.”
Barden smiled. “In a manner of speaking. Though I would describe it more as an offer of marriage.”
“Word in your ear,” Lord Fishguard said humorously, “he’s married already.”
Dearham glared at his offspring. “I believe you claimed you would not disturb us. If you cannot keep to that, go away.”
“Oh, I’m mum,” his son assured him, throwing up his hands in apparent surrender and moving further along the bookshelves.
Barden said, “I mean, of course, for your daughter Lady Margaret.”
It was, perhaps, a good sign that his irascible grace did not jump down his throat, but he did look puzzled. “Well, well, you have surprised me,” Dearham acknowledged. “I was not even aware you were much acquainted with Meg. I know she will be honored by your intention, as of course, as am I, but I’m afraid you’ve rather missed the boat.”
“Missed the… I beg your pardon?”
“Meg is engaged to Lord Henry de Vere.”
Oh, for the love of… “De Vere?” Barden said aloud, trying not to sound too annoyed. “Staunton’s brother? But when did this occur?”
“Yesterday, officially. But to be frank, it’s been in the wind for years. Childhood friends, you know, only he’s been away on the Peninsula with Wellington.”
These women were infuriating. None of them had ever shown the slightest inclination toward marriage, apart from Juliet Lilbourne, and he’d gone to considerable trouble to see that came to an end. But even she had found some nobody to marry just as he made his offer. And now it seemed Meg was doing the same.
Barden decided to use subtlety. “I see,” he said sympathetically. “It is, I perceive, a reaction to protect her from the scandal.”
The duke narrowed his eyes. “What scandal?” he asked flatly.
Most men would have been intimidated. Even Barden felt a frisson of unease, for the Duke of Dearham was a powerful man. However, Barden was used to serving one even more powerful and considerably more petulant.
“Forgive my mentioning it,” he said smoothly. “I only do so out of the deep regard in which I have always held Your Grace and Your Grace’s family. Because of my position, I hear many things and am able, you might say, to control many things. Such as this scandal concerning several of the Princess of Wales’s ladies left behind in Connaught Place.”
“If you imagine you are in a better position than I—” Dearham began furiously.
“Hardly better,” Barden assured him. “Merely different. You must allow me to say that had I the honor of claiming Lady Margaret as my bride, no breath of scandal would attach to her or your family.”
Dearham looked him straight in the eyes. “There is no breath of scandal attached to my daughter or my family. Of course, I am aware of the incident to which you refer, but you must know that Meg was here at the time with her sister. Everyone knows that.”
Ah, so that was the way he had played it. It was clever—up to a point. “Forgive me,” Barden said apologetically. “I have no doubt that is what you have induced the household and guests to believe. Outwardly, at least. But these things have a habit of coming out in any case. I am not the only person who knows she was in that house on that night.”
“You can know no such thing,” the duke stated.
“Your Grace, I was there. I saw her arrive, and I saw her leave in the morning.”
The duke paled, though Barden suspected it was more with fury than fear. “If that were true, the fact that you left her there in such circumstances would not speak well for you or your chances of marrying into my family.”
“Ah, now there I am forced to disagree, sir. I know who else was there and how to silence them.”
No one had ever accused the Duke of Dearham of being slow-witted. His lip curled, “As you will if I give you my daughter with a sizeable dowry.”
Barden smiled. “What a pleasure to do business with a nobleman of understanding.”
“There is no business here,” the duke snapped. “I can manage my affairs perfectly well without your interference. I beg your pardon, your assistance.”
“Believe me, Your Grace, no one could admire your skill in managing your affairs more than I, and it is clear you have done a fine job here. So far. But Calvert Court, among family and friends, is not London or the rest of the world. You must trust me when I say that unless Lady Meg is married to me, those whispers would surge once more with a vengeance.”
The duke stared at him. His fingers curled like talons around the arms of his chair. “Are you threatening me, sir? Do you have the utter gall to threaten my family?”
Somehow, Lord Fishguard was there again, a book in his hand, silent but looming over Barden, who had never noticed before how large and muscular he was. Barden, however, did not allow himself to look at anyone but the duke.
“I am offering to save your family, sir,” Barden said with the utmost respect. “Do I have your permission to address Lady Margaret?”
“Have her in here, sir,” Fishguard suggested. “Ask her whether she would rather marry this…man or Harry de Vere.”
“By all means,” Barden said at once. “I perfectly understand that Lady Meg can have no affection for me, but when she understands what is at stake, I’m sure she will see the advantages of union with me. I beg you will allow me to ask her.”
For once, the duke seemed to be speechless and looked in alarm at his son, as though for guidance. Barden wanted to laugh. Who the devil, even a father, would look to Fishguard for guidance in anything except the best gaming hells and the particular charms of favored courtesans? Dearham must be desperate, indeed.
Lord Fishguard, however, merely shrugged and sauntered across to the door. A moment later, he could be heard addressing the footman in the passage. “Ask Lady Meg to step into the library, would you?”
The silence in the room while they waited, spoke volumes. Barden did not mind their contempt, for he sensed a hint of fear within it. So long as they paid up, he could brush off their superior distaste, for he knew pride would prevent them from showing it in public. Yes, for the first time, he really seemed to have the upper hand, and he knew how to maintain it. They would not have summoned the girl if they did not mean him to have her. For that, for the dowry he would insist upon, he could happily allow them any amount of private contempt.
Lady Meg came in somewhat warily after only a few minutes. That guardedness told him that she, too, had heard from Hazel Curwen that he was responsible for her ruin. Well and good. She feared him and what he could do.
When she saw her father and brother present, she relaxed visibly and closed the door. She curtseyed and walked toward her father. She was, he realized, a comely young woman. Perhaps she lacked her sister’s fashion sense, the je ne sais quoi that confirmed Lady Calvert as an acknowledged beauty. But there was a certain sparkle in her eyes, a sunniness of spirit he had not noticed before.
Smiling, he bowed to her. He believed they could deal together very well.
“Lord Barden has just made you an offer of marriage,” the duke said abruptly. “I have told him you’re already promised to Harry de Vere, but he’s asked to address you anyway.”
Beyond a slight widening of the eyes, she gave little away. Of course, the duke’s daughter was impeccably brought up.
“Why?” she asked unexpectedly. “We barely know each other.”
“Be assured I have long been a silent admirer,” Barden said smoothly. “Only the knowledge that I had little to offer the Duke of Dearham’s daughter prevented my approaching you before.”
“Indeed? Then what has changed?”
He smiled. “Events at Connaught Place during the last night you spent there.”
“And what happened then? It was more than two months ago,” Lady Meg stated.
He sighed. “My lady, we both know differently. We saw each other there a little over a fortnight ago. And I’m sure Miss Curwen has written to you.”
Lady Meg did her best to look mystified.
“Very well,” Barden said indulgently. “Allow me the honor of ensuring the permanence of this myth. Which, as His Grace and I were discussing, will not work so well in the rest of the world as it does at Calvert Court. With my assistance, the whole matter will be buried.”
“If you marry him,” Lord Fishguard put in.
Barden frowned at him. “Thank you, my lord. I believe I may make my own proposal.”
“Well, don’t beat about the bush,” Fishguard recommended. “Tell her if she marries you and my father gives you a huge dowry, you’ll have the story recanted. And if she doesn’t, you’ll do your worst to see her ruined.”
“I would not put it quite like that,” Barden objected, pained. After all, he had opted for subtlety and conciliation on this final throw of his dice.
“How would you put it?” Lady Meg asked curiously.
“That it would be my honor to protect you and your family from this scandal.”
“Which you created,” Lady Meg pointed out.
He pretended not to hear. “I believe we could deal extremely well together. My birth, as you must know, is impeccable. My connections are unrivaled, and a union between our houses must surely benefit both. My offer comes with absolute loyalty to His Grace’s interests. A small increase in your dowry will see to our financial comfort. And as for any previous attachment, you will find me a complacent enough husband. After you have done your duty of providing me with an heir, of course.”
“Barden!” growled the duke.
“I believe her ladyship values plain speaking,” Barden said in defense.
“She does,” Lady Meg agreed. “So I will return the favor. My understanding is that although you would like an heir at some point, it is not I, but my—er… increased dowry you want. Allow me to suggest a different extortion. Ask my father for the money without me.”
