Unmasking the Hero, page 19
Which, it turned out, was a great deal.
*
It was teatime before they finally donned clothes and emerged as far as Grace’s sitting room for sustenance.
Her body was singing. She felt she would burst with happiness. And yet there was more pleasure in store, of the simple domestic kind—sitting in his company, pouring tea, talking about the ball, and costumes, and, eventually, reluctant to leave the bubble of wellbeing, what to do about Phineas.
“The trouble is,” Oliver said, “you and I have guessed what he’s about, but we have no evidence, no proof. And even if we confronted him with what we know, we could not trust him to stop.”
“If we did have evidence, what would we do with it? Give it to the magistrate, have Phineas tried and transported or hanged?”
“For putting you in danger—for putting us both through the past two year’s misery—I could cheerfully hang him myself. Don’t look so alarmed. I won’t. I won’t even challenge him, though the chances are my peers would acquit me if I killed him.”
“There would still be a terrible scandal,” Grace pointed out. “I doubt that would be good for your career in the Foreign Office.”
“Do I care?” he wondered.
“Yes, I think you do. And so do I. You have land and wealth. You don’t need another career, but it seems to me you do a great deal of good for the country, and will do more yet.”
“Would you come with me on my next posting, Grace? Whether a special mission to some wild part of the world, or to a formal embassy?”
“Yes,” she said at once. “If you wanted me there.”
His gaze met hers. “There were times I wanted you with me so much that I could imagine you sitting on the other side of the table from me, walking beside me, waiting for me in bed. I even talked to you sometimes, said all the things I should have said before, discussed the new dilemmas of the day…”
“We have wasted much time.”
“I have. But to the matter of Phineas. I shall probably have to pay him to go away, though it goes against the grain to reward him for betrayal.”
“It’s less reward than dying and letting him inherit.”
“Which makes me wonder if he would even accept it.” Oliver rubbed his chin. “Perhaps we need a stick as well as a carrot.”
“Take the lesser reward or languish in prison?” Grace guessed.
“Something like that. Though he might suspect I don’t want the scandal and simply call my bluff.”
Grace paused with her teacup halfway to her lips. “Then perhaps we need to introduce him to a scandal of his own, distant enough not to affect us, but public enough for him to know that even if he inherited the title, he would never be accepted into polite society again.”
Oliver finished his sandwich, a gleam growing in his eyes. “That would appall him. I think…I really do think that he would rather be toadied by some other society than ignored by the ton. I believe, my love, that we have the germ of a plan…”
Chapter Eighteen
It was an odd time to visit Maida Gardens. The gardens were empty, and since dusk was still hours away, the many lanterns lining the paths and dangling among the trees were not yet lit. The place was eerily quiet, without the magic of its nighttime brilliance, or even the sunny serenity of morning. And yet for Grace, walking up this familiar path on her husband’s arm carried its own enchantment.
He did not go up to the central pavilion but led her around to the right and through a gate to a private path that led to a white-washed cottage.
A young woman was sweeping the front steps. When she glanced up, Grace recognized her as the girl from whom she had bought a ticket on her first daytime visit.
The girl smiled with what seemed genuine pleasure. “Good day, sir! How wonderful to see you back,” she said cheerfully and curtseyed. “Ma’am.”
“This is Miss Kitty,” Oliver said. “She is the proprietor’s niece, and was kind enough to make my accommodation comfortable when I first came home.”
“Accommodation?” Grace repeated, gazing at the cottage. “This is where you stayed before you came home?”
“Oh, no, ma’am, he slept in the barn with Old Betsy,” the girl assured her.
Grace blinked.
Kitty let out a breath of laughter. “The pony,” she assured her. “She misses him terribly since he left us.”
“Miss Kitty,” Oliver said firmly without raising his voice, “this is my wife. Is there somewhere we might talk?
Without hesitation, Kitty led them inside the house and into a small, cozy parlor. “Can I bring you tea? Wine?”
“No, thank you,” Oliver said, sitting down beside Grace, while the girl hovered before them uncertainly. “We come to pick your brains and possibly ask a favor. When I stayed here, there was one afternoon I came upon a game of cards in the garden. I believe your uncle was playing.”
“You don’t want to play with my uncle,” Kitty said uneasily.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Oliver assured her. “I’m fairly sure I would lose badly—the cards being marked, as well as hidden in some unlikely places.”
Her eyes fell. “I know nothing about such matters.”
“That would be a pity,” Oliver observed. “Because I would be happy to pay for this favor. Perhaps it is your uncle or cousin I need to speak to.”
Kitty frowned. “You want someone to cheat you at cards?”
“Not exactly. Tell me, Miss Kitty, do you or your cousin have any skill at sleight-of-hand?”
*
Phineas was uneasy as well as frustrated. The duel between Boothe and Rollo Darblay had not gone according to plan, and Wenning, though he had eventually turned up, had crept far too close, unseen, for anything to be done. Phineas didn’t think any harm had been done, but he disliked his cousin’s luck as well as the further signs he had witnessed of rapprochement between the earl and countess.
Any closeness between them was bad for him. If they compared notes, they could quite easily work out that he had not been strictly accurate in the reports he had passed to each during Wenning’s absence. And if they got too friendly, then the possibility of an heir reared its ugly head once more.
Nothing had ever gone exactly right with his schemes, even at the beginning. Grace’s erstwhile maid, whom he had paid extremely well, had been supposed to give the damned letter to Wenning and before the wedding night. But from what he had gathered since, she had simply taken Phineas’s money and bolted, leaving the discovery of the letter up to the fates. But at least it had been just one night, and Wenning had still made it to the ship and to China. Phineas had known he would seize that opportunity if his bride no longer commanded his loyalty. And fortunately, Grace had not conceived from their one night together.
But neither had Oliver had the consideration to drown or die at the hands of bandits or sickness. Instead, the entire embassy had returned triumphant, with Wenning the hero of the hour.
And now Phineas was running out of time. Once his perfidy was suspected, he would be unable to get near his cousin, and in any accident or attack, suspicion would inevitably fall first on him. He had to diffuse suspicion and act quickly.
But infuriatingly, neither the earl nor the countess were present at the parties which expected them on the evening of the abortive duel. Nor did he come upon them at church or in the park on Sunday. He had no idea if his cousin blamed him for the quarrel between Boothe and Darblay, and so he slept badly that night and rose unrefreshed but determined.
Accordingly, he dressed with exquisite care and took a hackney round to Mount Street. Here, he discovered the earl at breakfast and was relieved to be greeted with apparent delight.
“Ah, Phin! Just the man. Help yourself and sit down. Coffee?”
“Thank you, Ollie! Glad to see you in such fine fettle. I was quite worried not to meet you at White’s or at Lady Wheelan’s on Saturday night.”
“Oh, we just stayed home for once.”
Phineas’s stomach tightened, but he beamed with what he hoped looked like approval. “Both you and Grace? I’m sure it did you the world of good.”
“Up to a point,” Wenning said with a quick grin. “Trouble is, I now find myself committed to the morning—morning!—concert at the thrice damned Maida Gardens. I swear between us, we are in danger of making the place fashionable again. But Grace swears she has heard something wonderful about one of the singers and wonders if she might engage her for her next musical soiree. In a moment of weakness, I agreed to escort her, but frankly, Phin, it’s a long way to go for an inedible luncheon among the vulgar. Especially if the singer is as commonplace as I suspect.”
“Are you asking me to escort Grace instead?” It would certainly show trust and, hopefully, insert a fresh wedge of resentment between the couple.
Wenning cast him a sardonic glance. “Wouldn’t that be the height of insolence? No, I could hardly do that to you. But I am begging your company. I’ll ask another few choice spirits, and perhaps we can get up a game of cards while the ladies enjoy what my estimable brother-in-law refers to as the caterwauling.”
“Sounds an ideal solution,” Phineas allowed, while his brain hummed with possibilities, and he calmly drank his coffee.
“Excellent. The concert will be in the rose garden, apparently. I’ll have them set up a table at the back and serve us wine and luncheon among the warbling. I’ll bring the cards since I imagine anything at Maida is marked.”
“Good idea.” Phineas stood. “Then I’ll go now and take care of the day’s business before I join you at Maida.” He paused, raising one quizzical eyebrow. “Will there be female company for Grace? Or doesn’t she want anyone else to spot the next musical triumph?”
Oliver smiled benignly. “I imagine Lady Arpington will join us.”
Phineas bowed and departed. His next call was on Mrs. Fitzwalter, who had just returned from her morning ride in the park and seemed out of sorts. His offer of an escort to the morning concert at Maida was greeted with derision.
“My good sir, I have had more than my fill of that place. The novelty has decidedly worn off!”
“That is a pity.” Phineas regarded his fingernails. “My cousin Wenning will be there. And her ladyship will, no doubt, be much distracted by the music.”
She returned her gaze to his face and, fortunately, came up with the wrong answer to her unspoken question. “You covet the countess for yourself,” she said admiringly. “Now Wenning is back, you must feel your wings severely clipped.”
Phineas let it stand and kept smiling. It wasn’t that he had never considered such an idea, but he had seen early on that it would never answer. Such trivia no longer mattered to him. Maria Fitzwalter’s help in removing Oliver into a secluded part of the garden was all he needed of her.
Next, he walked to the hackney stand and took a carriage into the less salubrious environs of St. Giles, where he strolled into the Orange Tree.
At this time of day, there were no aristocrats to be found gracing the rough tables. Instead, it was more openly the den of thieves it had always been, and the few patrons glanced at him with suspicion and dislike. He sat down by a man he recognized slightly—hardly a gentleman, but he dressed well enough and betrayed the odd glimmering of intelligence. The man, whose name he could not remember, had been enjoying a solitary pint of ale over a closely written ledger, which he closed when Phineas sat down.
“Tell me,” Phineas said, once the pleasantries were out of the way. “A friend of mine needs an urgent favor, with no questions asked. My friend will pay well. Who should he speak to?”
*
Until the moment Henley left her tastefully dressed and coifed for the occasion of a daytime concert, Grace had found it difficult to concentrate on the task of besting Phineas. Instead, she could not help dwelling on the wonder of sleeping all night in her husband’s arms.
She had smiled to find him still with her when she woke. “I thought you might be gone.”
The words had been blurted. She had not meant to cause the flash of pain and shame in his eyes, and she had reached to comfort him at the same time as he had reached to comfort her. And somehow, comfort had been forgotten in something much more intense and pleasurable.
After which, he had risen to go to breakfast as normal. “If Phineas doesn’t drop in as he often does, I will go in search of him. I want to make him think you and I are growing toward an understanding without him worrying he is too late.”
He had kissed her forehead and departed, leaving her to delicious reminiscences, which had lingered until the door closed behind Henley, and they were ready to begin.
“If he thought he was too late to prevent our reconciliation—and even an heir—would he not just give up?” she said suddenly.
“He might,” Oliver allowed. He sat in the armchair close by, meeting her gaze in the glass.
“But you would never be safe, would you?” She stood abruptly. “Very well, let us go and ruin him.”
But once focused on the matter in hand, anxiety intruded, so that she kept firing questions at him in the carriage.
“What if he does not come?”
“Then we have lost no more than a few hours at an indifferent concert.”
She smiled, holding his hand in her lap. “And in each other’s company.”
“Exactly.”
She frowned. “What if he catches Kitty in the act?”
“Then we must protect her. Not that I imagine her uncle is incapable of protecting his own.”
“Will he not object to us using his niece in such a way?”
“Not if she is paid for it,” Oliver said cynically.
“But he is protective if he does not let her work after dark.”
“She is not working for us after dark.”
She swallowed and spoke the most important worry on her mind. “What if he uses this opportunity to try to kill you once more?”
“That is why we mustn’t let him out of our sight. And we have friends and allies.” His hand turned in hers, clasping her fingers. “Would you rather go home? I can plead you have a sudden headache.”
“Oh, no,” she said with sudden determination. “I will see him punished for what he did.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Do you know, I’m not sure I ever did actually trust him,” she said thoughtfully. “I clung to him because he was your family and less openly hostile than your sisters. And he often had news of you. Mostly made-up news, as I now know.”
“Then your instincts were better than mine. For years now, I have been flattering myself on my ability to read accurately people’s character and level of threat. I misjudged Phineas utterly until I came home. And I misjudged you.”
“Family and emotions get in the way of sensible judgment,” she replied. “That doesn’t mean we should give them up.”
He smiled and kissed her wrist.
Phineas was already in the rose garden when they arrived, holding a chair for Mrs. Fitzwalter to sit.
“Did you…?” Grace began.
“No,” Oliver muttered. “But he brought her for a reason. Don’t trust her.”
Maria Fitzwalter had never been high on Grace’s list of people to trust, for obvious reasons, but she rather liked the warning on Oliver’s lips.
The large table had been set up at the back of the garden, beneath a canopy. At the front was more of a platform than a stage. A few musicians already sat around it, unpacking their instruments and chatting with each other. Several other people strolled about the garden, as though undecided whether or not to stay.
Through the gate on the other side of the garden stepped Lord and Lady Arpington, with the Duke of Dearham lounging along behind.
Mrs. Fitzwalter laughed. “Good grief, has everyone but me brought their husband to the party?”
“No, I haven’t,” the duke drawled, taking the tray from Kitty, who was coming up behind Mrs. Fitzwalter, and plonking it onto the table before bowing. “Lady Wenning. Ma’am. Hat off to you, Wennings! Never been to a morning concert combined with cards before!”
Mrs. Fitzwalter laughed. “Your Grace is so droll.”
Kitty was hovering, serving tea and wine. No one paid her any attention, including Grace.
“The concert will begin in about ten minutes, ma’am,” she murmured to Grace. “Do you want luncheon served now or wait until after?”
“Oh, after, I think. It is still early!” Further movement at the garden gate caught her eye, and her jaw dropped. “Good grief, is that Rollo?”
“He likes a game of cards,” Oliver said blandly.
“Morning all,” Rollo said with his surprisingly graceful bow. “You know, I might have to give this place up, now all you respectable people have discovered it. You all know Effers, don’t you?”
As Rollo and Effers slouched into chairs, Grace was surprised to see her brother eschew the brandy in favor of tea. The orchestra began to tune-up.
“I suppose it’s a novelty, Wenning,” Rollo observed. “Never played cards to an orchestra before.”
“Or while drinking tea,” Effers added.
“The day is young,” Oliver remarked. “Who plays and who listens? For the first hand, at least.”
Grace’s chair had already been placed to face the stage while still allowing a view of the table. Bridget sat beside her, while Mrs. Fitzwalter joined all the gentlemen in a game of cards. People settled in a few of the smaller tables around the edges of the rose garden, while the rows of chairs in the middle filled sparsely. The orchestra played something pleasant that Grace did not recognize, and then a woman walked onto the stage to polite applause and began to sing.
Rollo clapped his hands over his ears. “For the love of…! Wenning, you might have warned us about the dashed caterwauling!”
Oliver smiled and took a card. “Don’t be such a barbarian. Grace has heard good things about both the singers.”
