Unmasking the Thief, page 21
“A lady known to all of us and whose scandalous connection to a gentleman other than her husband is only whispered in polite company.”
“Emma, Lady Carntree,” Viola said flatly. “I thought you were bringing matters into the light?”
Francisco inclined his head. “A fair point, and I suppose this is not the time for gentlemanly discretion. So you’ll understand why I looked into her connection with Sir Anthony Thorne.”
Mr. Halland, one of the most radical members of parliament, laughed. “Thorne is no radical! He’s more reactionary than Lord Sedgemoor!”
“Proud to be a reactionary,” growled Sedgemoor.
“The point is,” Francisco intervened, “everyone here may be justifiably proud of their opinions and their stances on principle within our political and legal system. Whichever side of the divide they fall.”
“Hear, hear,” Halland said. “But Thorne would not be seen dead at the kind of meeting you describe.”
“As a matter of fact, you’re wrong,” Francis said. “Though I agree he would not wish to be recognized. But he was seen. Largely because he possesses all the contempt of the south country gentleman for the industrial northerner. He was observed at just such a meeting in Manchester and recognized by a very dedicated and intelligent young man who was as baffled as you by his presence. He assumed Thorne was there to gather information. And he probably was, though not quite for the uses my friend imagined.”
“So Thorne is attending radical meetings?” Dearham said with considerable doubt.
“No, I think he’s organizing them,” Francisco said. “With the help of a few people like Emma Carntree and some devoted servants who maintain the distance between Thorne and the ground-level organizers such as my Manchester friend.”
“Seems a bit of a leap to me,” Calton said.
“It does,” Francisco agreed. “But I have been looking into him quite carefully. For one thing, he quickly ran through his first wife’s fortune getting elected to the House of Commons and getting noticed. He is now in debt, living off the expectations of his forthcoming marriage to another heiress—Miss Mather’s sister. That is background, and he needs money now in order to make more from a position of power.”
“He’s likely to advance quickly,” Halland allowed. “Unless we get into power at the next election.”
Sedgemoor snorted.
Francisco said, “That may be part of his hurry. The other is he cannot afford to wait for advancement until he is old. Being Prime Minster does not bring him wealth, of course, but someone like him would find ways to make such power work for him financially. So, he cannot wait. He means to force the pace. He needs to.”
“How?” Dearham demanded.
Francisco let out a breath. “By bringing people onto the street en masse in coordinated marches, creating unrest and fear of revolution. From which he will emerge as savior of the country.”
“It couldn’t happen,” Halland said impatiently. “Even if such marches were successful in changing the government, it wouldn’t be to put Thorne in charge!”
“Of course not,” Francisco said. “He doesn’t mean the marches to be successful. He wants them squashed by the army, at his command, after which, his army cronies will put him at the head of the country.”
This was greeted by stunned silence. Matty’s jaw was not the only one dropping.
“A military coup d’etat,” Ludovic Dunne said slowly. “Almost like Napoleon Bonaparte in France.”
“With a few obvious differences,” Francis said.
“The chief one being this is England,” Sedgemoor snapped.
“It is indeed. But as I’ve said, I have been studying Thorne, and he has drawn about him several important military allies here in London and the militias stationed throughout the whole country. And I include not only Scotland but Ireland. Holles, perhaps you will tell everyone what you have been asked to do?”
Holles swallowed. “Raise a band of radical-minded students, intellectuals, and young people ready for a fight. To march on Westminster on Thursday afternoon.”
“You see what this will do?” Francisco said with more urgency. “With Thorne prepared, he alone will not shilly-shally about, asking protesters to disperse and waiting to see if things will calm down. He will order the troops—already riled-up by him to fear revolution—to fire on the protesters. Among the inevitable dead are likely be all the leaders of popular opposition, including the young men of good family—like Holles here—who might have success in opposing him. He is wiping out the opposition in advance of taking power.”
Again, silence fell. And then everyone started talking at once.
It was Lord Wenning who raised a hand for silence, which he was given, reluctantly, since no one could be heard in any case.
Like everyone else, Matty was stunned. And yet, for Sir Anthony Thorne, so ambitious, so self-obsessed, it made a perverse kind of sense. Dread formed in the pit of her stomach.
“It’s a theory,” Wenning observed. “One we cannot prove but have to take seriously because if we don’t, it may be too late.”
“So, without this all-important proof,” Dunne said, “what the devil can we do about it?”
“Get the proof,” Francisco said. “And bring it into the light.”
Everyone regarded him with consternation.
“How?” Holles demanded. “If he has been this clever so far, he’s not going to risk giving himself away now.”
“Not if he knows he’s doing it,” Francisco agreed. “We need to trick him, and I was hoping that between us, we could all come up with a plan that would prove him either guilty or innocent. But we have to be quick, for there’s not much time left before Thursday afternoon’s march.”
“We could just arrest all the ringleaders we know of,” Sedgemoor suggested. “Surely it wouldn’t go ahead without them.”
“I hope you don’t include me,” Holles retorted.
“And in any case,” Dunne pointed out, “no one has yet broken the law. I suspect such arrests would inflame rather than calm the situation.”
“He’s a slippery customer,” Halland said. “I can’t see how we would get him to show his hand. Unless we somehow convince him that he needs to stiffen the backs of the protesters, and we’re all hiding in a basement, ready to burst in when he says the wrong thing.”
“It would have to be something like that,” Wenning said. “But we’d have to see his face as well as hear the words, and I don’t see quite how—”
“Masked,” Matty said suddenly.
Everyone turned to stare at her, and she flushed uncomfortably.
Francisco began to smile. “Somewhere he and we could be masked and not out of place, where people of all classes and backgrounds can gather unnoticed, with space enough to slope off and hold meetings.”
“Maida Gardens!” Lady Wenning cried, and the Duchess of Dearham began to laugh.
Chapter Twenty-One
While conversation burst out, Matty happened to be looking at Lady Wenning, mainly so that she didn’t gaze too adoringly at Francisco. For an instant, her ladyship stared at the laughing duchess, her eyes widening in something like shock. Her lips formed words which might have been, “So that is…” And then she closed her mouth, looking bemused.
Intriguing, but not of vital importance at the moment.
Without rising from his chair, Francisco bowed to Lady Wenning, and the talk around the room fell away to silence. Somehow, he held the attention of all these titled and powerful people without obvious effort.
“Maida is perfect. Saturday’s masked ball is our best chance. Holles, I will need you to communicate with your contacts as soon as possible. Suggest the necessity of a secret meeting of group leaders with the men at the top to keep everyone rallied together. Suggest courage might fail without a word of encouragement from your respected leader, or whatever nonsense you think will spread among your fellow radicals and ensure Thorne will turn up.”
“If it’s Thorne who turns up,” Sedgemoor muttered. “I don’t like the man. He’s a jumped-up nobody and far too confident for his own good. But damn, I can’t see him having the gall to attempt something like this!”
“Holles could just sew doubt among the radicals so that no one turns up for the march,” Lord Dominic said. “Then there is no problem.”
“Then we wouldn’t know who was behind it, and he would not be stopped,” Ludovic Dunne said quietly. “He could try the same thing later on and succeed.”
Francisco nodded. “Whoever he is, he must be exposed and punished.”
“This works for London,” Lord Wenning commented. “But what of the rest of the country, which you say is being likewise led to disaster?”
“Newspapers,” Francisco replied. “And pamphlets. Which is where Mr. Dornan comes in. Sketches of our man unmasked with news of the plot should keep everyone off the streets, both protesters and soldiers. Though it will be a close-run thing to print and distribute them as far as Scotland and Ireland between Saturday night and Thursday. I’ll have the pieces written so that they’re ready to go with only small changes as soon as we have Dornan’s sketches to go with them.”
“And the rest of us?” Dearham asked.
Francisco considered. “Perhaps, if you can do so discreetly, inform colleagues you trust and bring them to Maida, too. My superiors will ensure the military has observers, too. But we need all of you to lend an air of innocent fun to the whole thing. Thorne, or whoever our puppeteer is, must suspect nothing, or he will simply bolt. I’ll be in touch with all of you before Saturday, but Holles, your contribution is vital in the first stages, so we need to talk about your notes and conversations with your fellow organizers.”
“I’m free now,” Holles said, jumping to his feet. He looked quite incensed that he and his principles were being abused so cynically. And being Archie, he probably felt more for those poorer men with everything to lose.
Catherine, Matty thought, could do a lot worse than that young man.
“Feel free to use the library,” Lord Wenning said, rising to his feet. “I’ll show you the way.”
“More tea, anyone?” Lady Wenning offered brightly, and sudden laughter caught in Matty’s throat. There was an element of hysteria to it, for her heart already ached for Marion and for the damage Thorne’s exposure would do to her already precarious relationship with her sister.
“I suppose your task will be to keep an eye on Thorne’s activities through your sister,” the Duke of Dearham said as Francisco left the room without glancing at her.
“In so far as I can.”
“You are in a difficult position,” he observed.
She glanced at him in surprise, for his reputation was not one of great compassion and understanding. But then, reputation frequently lied. “It is not easy. But my sister’s position is worse.”
*
“I have no idea what is going on,” Mrs. Dove confided to Matty as the meeting slid back into a kind of extended tea party. “This reminds me only too much of another tea with the Gorses when they all set out to prove Dominic’s innocence. Then, my purpose was merely to bring Viola.”
“And today you brought Catherine,” Matty said vaguely, for she was fighting disappointment in having no chance to speak to Francisco.
Mrs. Dove cast her a look that was surprisingly shrewd. “I brought you.” She set down her cup. “We should think about going. I have to take Catherine to a musical evening. Perhaps you would be so good as to fetch the children? Not with the dog!” she added fervently as Matty rose at once to obey.
She found the children by the simple expedient of following the noise. In the dining room, under the anxious eyes of a nurse, they had clearly introduced the Wennings’ gleeful heir to Pup. The child was not much more than a year, and Arabella was holding him over Pup’s back as though he were riding him. The chortling child held handfuls of the dog’s fur while Adrian led him around the table by the collar.
Pup made occasional lunges toward the tabletop for food but otherwise was perfectly good-natured about his role.
“Look, Miss Matty, our new cousin!” Susan exclaimed. “And he likes Pup.”
“Fortunately, Pup seems to like him,” the nurse muttered.
“He is a ridiculously good-natured dog,” Matty assured her before turning to her charges. Catherine and Hope were gossiping at one end of the table, occasionally pausing to laugh at the antics of Pup and the baby. “Sadly, it’s time to restore his little lordship to his nurse, for your mama is ready to leave. You must go and thank Lady Wenning for her hospitality.”
“With Pup?” Adrian asked, a gleam in his eyes, while Arabella swung the child off the dog’s back to make him laugh rather than cry to be parted from his steed.
“Sadly, no,” Matty said firmly. “I shall take Pup downstairs.”
Fortunately, Pup seemed happy enough to stay with her as everyone filed out, and the nurse bore her charge back to his nursery for a well-earned nap. Even Pup had need of occasional quiet.
Matty ruffled his great head. “You are a good dog, sometimes,” she assured him and received a tail wag and a casual lick on her wrist. “Well done. Shall we go downstairs? Fortunately, you don’t seem to have the strength left to pull me off my feet.”
Pup wagged his tail again, and Matty led him to the door just as someone strode inside and closed it. There was barely time for the delighted lurch of her heart before she was seized in Francisco’s arms and soundly, thoroughly kissed. A tiny sob of relief and happiness escaped her, lost in his mouth. She clutched his shoulder, his nape in an effort to get closer to him.
Until she felt the hard nudge of Pup’s head between them. Clearly, he was scandalized. Francisco’s lips loosened enough to smile against hers.
“I have missed you,” he whispered.
“I was afraid you would not,” she said honestly.
His arms tightened. “Someone will pay for your lost confidence, along with everything else…” His lips slid around to her ear. “You are beautiful and fascinating, brave, kind, and clever…”
“And any man would die happy in my basilisk stare.”
He let out a breath of laughter. “He would. I would. I have set about acquiring a special license. Because it’s quicker than banns. But say if you don’t like the idea. After all, you have not known me for very long, and I am not a conventional sort of husband.”
“I love the idea.” She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin and all the sensual memories it inspired. “You are my sort of husband.”
“Good,” he said, kissing her again. This time, Pup nudged him with unmistakable warning, and he released her with a reluctant laugh. “Come, I’ll manage your brute.”
“Are you not supposed to be closeted with Mr. Holles?”
“He’s composing notes, which I’ll check over.”
His energy was almost frightening. And in amongst everything he’d taken on, he was applying to the archbishop for a special license to marry her.
They made it to the foot of the stairs before the sounds of approaching Doves excited Pup. So Francisco continued to hold him until Matty and the Doves had all donned their outerwear, after which he handed the lead to Adrian, bowed to the ladies, and ran back upstairs while the footman showed them out.
That amazing, brave man is my lover, Matty thought in a fresh burst of wonder and happiness. He is going to be my husband.
*
A couple of days later, a maid brought a note to the schoolroom for Matty, just as her pupils were finishing off the afternoon’s efforts in watercolors. Since they were busy, and she recognized the brisk, bold hand as Francisco’s, she unfolded the note at once with a fast-beating heart.
It was not a love letter, merely stating that he had obtained a special license and asking her to meet him in the usual place to discuss times and places for the ceremony. A rush of emotion paralyzed her. She was going to be married. To him. Soon. And before that, she was going to see him again, in just a couple of hours…
“Would this do, Miss Matty?” Susan asked doubtfully.
Hastily, Matty stuffed the note in the pocket of her serviceable dress and went to examine Susan’s work. She had no real aptitude for sketching or painting, but her colors were always a refreshing surprise. Matty complimented her on the latter, though added that the perspective needed work—the orange was the same size as the window beyond it—and turned to Arabella’s painting, which was more correct. In music, they were the opposite, with Arabella showing the flare but having to be reined in on technical matters.
Matty hoped fervently that her replacement would help them both flourish, bring them on without squashing their spirits and talents.
“I think we have finished for the day,” she said. “Clear up, and we’ll leave them to dry for now.”
“We’re having tea in the cellar,” Susan informed her. “You’re welcome, Miss Matty. Mama and Catherine are out.”
“Thank you,” Matty said, touched. The cellar had been their place of refuge since they had come to London. In fact, Viola had once hidden Lord Dominic there when he had escaped from prison. She was distracted from the memory by the unexpected sight of her sister walking into the schoolroom.
“Marion!” Matty went to greet her. “Is everything well? Where is Mama?”
“Laid upon her bed in exhaustion,” Marion replied with the ghost of a smile. “We have spent the last three evenings at ton parties, and she is not used to the hours.”
“Neither are you,” Matty pointed out, noting her sister’s wan pallor and the faint worry lines about her eyes. “Arabella, would you ask them to send tea up here for us?”
“Of course, though the cellar is more comfortable.”
Marion looked understandably startled by this confidence, though she smiled as the girls skipped off. “They are rather sweet children. I can see why you don’t want to leave them.”
That reduced Matty to silence. She hadn’t wanted to live in Thorne’s household rather more. And now she was going to leave the Dove household to marry Francisco.
“Emma, Lady Carntree,” Viola said flatly. “I thought you were bringing matters into the light?”
Francisco inclined his head. “A fair point, and I suppose this is not the time for gentlemanly discretion. So you’ll understand why I looked into her connection with Sir Anthony Thorne.”
Mr. Halland, one of the most radical members of parliament, laughed. “Thorne is no radical! He’s more reactionary than Lord Sedgemoor!”
“Proud to be a reactionary,” growled Sedgemoor.
“The point is,” Francisco intervened, “everyone here may be justifiably proud of their opinions and their stances on principle within our political and legal system. Whichever side of the divide they fall.”
“Hear, hear,” Halland said. “But Thorne would not be seen dead at the kind of meeting you describe.”
“As a matter of fact, you’re wrong,” Francis said. “Though I agree he would not wish to be recognized. But he was seen. Largely because he possesses all the contempt of the south country gentleman for the industrial northerner. He was observed at just such a meeting in Manchester and recognized by a very dedicated and intelligent young man who was as baffled as you by his presence. He assumed Thorne was there to gather information. And he probably was, though not quite for the uses my friend imagined.”
“So Thorne is attending radical meetings?” Dearham said with considerable doubt.
“No, I think he’s organizing them,” Francisco said. “With the help of a few people like Emma Carntree and some devoted servants who maintain the distance between Thorne and the ground-level organizers such as my Manchester friend.”
“Seems a bit of a leap to me,” Calton said.
“It does,” Francisco agreed. “But I have been looking into him quite carefully. For one thing, he quickly ran through his first wife’s fortune getting elected to the House of Commons and getting noticed. He is now in debt, living off the expectations of his forthcoming marriage to another heiress—Miss Mather’s sister. That is background, and he needs money now in order to make more from a position of power.”
“He’s likely to advance quickly,” Halland allowed. “Unless we get into power at the next election.”
Sedgemoor snorted.
Francisco said, “That may be part of his hurry. The other is he cannot afford to wait for advancement until he is old. Being Prime Minster does not bring him wealth, of course, but someone like him would find ways to make such power work for him financially. So, he cannot wait. He means to force the pace. He needs to.”
“How?” Dearham demanded.
Francisco let out a breath. “By bringing people onto the street en masse in coordinated marches, creating unrest and fear of revolution. From which he will emerge as savior of the country.”
“It couldn’t happen,” Halland said impatiently. “Even if such marches were successful in changing the government, it wouldn’t be to put Thorne in charge!”
“Of course not,” Francisco said. “He doesn’t mean the marches to be successful. He wants them squashed by the army, at his command, after which, his army cronies will put him at the head of the country.”
This was greeted by stunned silence. Matty’s jaw was not the only one dropping.
“A military coup d’etat,” Ludovic Dunne said slowly. “Almost like Napoleon Bonaparte in France.”
“With a few obvious differences,” Francis said.
“The chief one being this is England,” Sedgemoor snapped.
“It is indeed. But as I’ve said, I have been studying Thorne, and he has drawn about him several important military allies here in London and the militias stationed throughout the whole country. And I include not only Scotland but Ireland. Holles, perhaps you will tell everyone what you have been asked to do?”
Holles swallowed. “Raise a band of radical-minded students, intellectuals, and young people ready for a fight. To march on Westminster on Thursday afternoon.”
“You see what this will do?” Francisco said with more urgency. “With Thorne prepared, he alone will not shilly-shally about, asking protesters to disperse and waiting to see if things will calm down. He will order the troops—already riled-up by him to fear revolution—to fire on the protesters. Among the inevitable dead are likely be all the leaders of popular opposition, including the young men of good family—like Holles here—who might have success in opposing him. He is wiping out the opposition in advance of taking power.”
Again, silence fell. And then everyone started talking at once.
It was Lord Wenning who raised a hand for silence, which he was given, reluctantly, since no one could be heard in any case.
Like everyone else, Matty was stunned. And yet, for Sir Anthony Thorne, so ambitious, so self-obsessed, it made a perverse kind of sense. Dread formed in the pit of her stomach.
“It’s a theory,” Wenning observed. “One we cannot prove but have to take seriously because if we don’t, it may be too late.”
“So, without this all-important proof,” Dunne said, “what the devil can we do about it?”
“Get the proof,” Francisco said. “And bring it into the light.”
Everyone regarded him with consternation.
“How?” Holles demanded. “If he has been this clever so far, he’s not going to risk giving himself away now.”
“Not if he knows he’s doing it,” Francisco agreed. “We need to trick him, and I was hoping that between us, we could all come up with a plan that would prove him either guilty or innocent. But we have to be quick, for there’s not much time left before Thursday afternoon’s march.”
“We could just arrest all the ringleaders we know of,” Sedgemoor suggested. “Surely it wouldn’t go ahead without them.”
“I hope you don’t include me,” Holles retorted.
“And in any case,” Dunne pointed out, “no one has yet broken the law. I suspect such arrests would inflame rather than calm the situation.”
“He’s a slippery customer,” Halland said. “I can’t see how we would get him to show his hand. Unless we somehow convince him that he needs to stiffen the backs of the protesters, and we’re all hiding in a basement, ready to burst in when he says the wrong thing.”
“It would have to be something like that,” Wenning said. “But we’d have to see his face as well as hear the words, and I don’t see quite how—”
“Masked,” Matty said suddenly.
Everyone turned to stare at her, and she flushed uncomfortably.
Francisco began to smile. “Somewhere he and we could be masked and not out of place, where people of all classes and backgrounds can gather unnoticed, with space enough to slope off and hold meetings.”
“Maida Gardens!” Lady Wenning cried, and the Duchess of Dearham began to laugh.
Chapter Twenty-One
While conversation burst out, Matty happened to be looking at Lady Wenning, mainly so that she didn’t gaze too adoringly at Francisco. For an instant, her ladyship stared at the laughing duchess, her eyes widening in something like shock. Her lips formed words which might have been, “So that is…” And then she closed her mouth, looking bemused.
Intriguing, but not of vital importance at the moment.
Without rising from his chair, Francisco bowed to Lady Wenning, and the talk around the room fell away to silence. Somehow, he held the attention of all these titled and powerful people without obvious effort.
“Maida is perfect. Saturday’s masked ball is our best chance. Holles, I will need you to communicate with your contacts as soon as possible. Suggest the necessity of a secret meeting of group leaders with the men at the top to keep everyone rallied together. Suggest courage might fail without a word of encouragement from your respected leader, or whatever nonsense you think will spread among your fellow radicals and ensure Thorne will turn up.”
“If it’s Thorne who turns up,” Sedgemoor muttered. “I don’t like the man. He’s a jumped-up nobody and far too confident for his own good. But damn, I can’t see him having the gall to attempt something like this!”
“Holles could just sew doubt among the radicals so that no one turns up for the march,” Lord Dominic said. “Then there is no problem.”
“Then we wouldn’t know who was behind it, and he would not be stopped,” Ludovic Dunne said quietly. “He could try the same thing later on and succeed.”
Francisco nodded. “Whoever he is, he must be exposed and punished.”
“This works for London,” Lord Wenning commented. “But what of the rest of the country, which you say is being likewise led to disaster?”
“Newspapers,” Francisco replied. “And pamphlets. Which is where Mr. Dornan comes in. Sketches of our man unmasked with news of the plot should keep everyone off the streets, both protesters and soldiers. Though it will be a close-run thing to print and distribute them as far as Scotland and Ireland between Saturday night and Thursday. I’ll have the pieces written so that they’re ready to go with only small changes as soon as we have Dornan’s sketches to go with them.”
“And the rest of us?” Dearham asked.
Francisco considered. “Perhaps, if you can do so discreetly, inform colleagues you trust and bring them to Maida, too. My superiors will ensure the military has observers, too. But we need all of you to lend an air of innocent fun to the whole thing. Thorne, or whoever our puppeteer is, must suspect nothing, or he will simply bolt. I’ll be in touch with all of you before Saturday, but Holles, your contribution is vital in the first stages, so we need to talk about your notes and conversations with your fellow organizers.”
“I’m free now,” Holles said, jumping to his feet. He looked quite incensed that he and his principles were being abused so cynically. And being Archie, he probably felt more for those poorer men with everything to lose.
Catherine, Matty thought, could do a lot worse than that young man.
“Feel free to use the library,” Lord Wenning said, rising to his feet. “I’ll show you the way.”
“More tea, anyone?” Lady Wenning offered brightly, and sudden laughter caught in Matty’s throat. There was an element of hysteria to it, for her heart already ached for Marion and for the damage Thorne’s exposure would do to her already precarious relationship with her sister.
“I suppose your task will be to keep an eye on Thorne’s activities through your sister,” the Duke of Dearham said as Francisco left the room without glancing at her.
“In so far as I can.”
“You are in a difficult position,” he observed.
She glanced at him in surprise, for his reputation was not one of great compassion and understanding. But then, reputation frequently lied. “It is not easy. But my sister’s position is worse.”
*
“I have no idea what is going on,” Mrs. Dove confided to Matty as the meeting slid back into a kind of extended tea party. “This reminds me only too much of another tea with the Gorses when they all set out to prove Dominic’s innocence. Then, my purpose was merely to bring Viola.”
“And today you brought Catherine,” Matty said vaguely, for she was fighting disappointment in having no chance to speak to Francisco.
Mrs. Dove cast her a look that was surprisingly shrewd. “I brought you.” She set down her cup. “We should think about going. I have to take Catherine to a musical evening. Perhaps you would be so good as to fetch the children? Not with the dog!” she added fervently as Matty rose at once to obey.
She found the children by the simple expedient of following the noise. In the dining room, under the anxious eyes of a nurse, they had clearly introduced the Wennings’ gleeful heir to Pup. The child was not much more than a year, and Arabella was holding him over Pup’s back as though he were riding him. The chortling child held handfuls of the dog’s fur while Adrian led him around the table by the collar.
Pup made occasional lunges toward the tabletop for food but otherwise was perfectly good-natured about his role.
“Look, Miss Matty, our new cousin!” Susan exclaimed. “And he likes Pup.”
“Fortunately, Pup seems to like him,” the nurse muttered.
“He is a ridiculously good-natured dog,” Matty assured her before turning to her charges. Catherine and Hope were gossiping at one end of the table, occasionally pausing to laugh at the antics of Pup and the baby. “Sadly, it’s time to restore his little lordship to his nurse, for your mama is ready to leave. You must go and thank Lady Wenning for her hospitality.”
“With Pup?” Adrian asked, a gleam in his eyes, while Arabella swung the child off the dog’s back to make him laugh rather than cry to be parted from his steed.
“Sadly, no,” Matty said firmly. “I shall take Pup downstairs.”
Fortunately, Pup seemed happy enough to stay with her as everyone filed out, and the nurse bore her charge back to his nursery for a well-earned nap. Even Pup had need of occasional quiet.
Matty ruffled his great head. “You are a good dog, sometimes,” she assured him and received a tail wag and a casual lick on her wrist. “Well done. Shall we go downstairs? Fortunately, you don’t seem to have the strength left to pull me off my feet.”
Pup wagged his tail again, and Matty led him to the door just as someone strode inside and closed it. There was barely time for the delighted lurch of her heart before she was seized in Francisco’s arms and soundly, thoroughly kissed. A tiny sob of relief and happiness escaped her, lost in his mouth. She clutched his shoulder, his nape in an effort to get closer to him.
Until she felt the hard nudge of Pup’s head between them. Clearly, he was scandalized. Francisco’s lips loosened enough to smile against hers.
“I have missed you,” he whispered.
“I was afraid you would not,” she said honestly.
His arms tightened. “Someone will pay for your lost confidence, along with everything else…” His lips slid around to her ear. “You are beautiful and fascinating, brave, kind, and clever…”
“And any man would die happy in my basilisk stare.”
He let out a breath of laughter. “He would. I would. I have set about acquiring a special license. Because it’s quicker than banns. But say if you don’t like the idea. After all, you have not known me for very long, and I am not a conventional sort of husband.”
“I love the idea.” She buried her face in his neck, breathing in the scent of his skin and all the sensual memories it inspired. “You are my sort of husband.”
“Good,” he said, kissing her again. This time, Pup nudged him with unmistakable warning, and he released her with a reluctant laugh. “Come, I’ll manage your brute.”
“Are you not supposed to be closeted with Mr. Holles?”
“He’s composing notes, which I’ll check over.”
His energy was almost frightening. And in amongst everything he’d taken on, he was applying to the archbishop for a special license to marry her.
They made it to the foot of the stairs before the sounds of approaching Doves excited Pup. So Francisco continued to hold him until Matty and the Doves had all donned their outerwear, after which he handed the lead to Adrian, bowed to the ladies, and ran back upstairs while the footman showed them out.
That amazing, brave man is my lover, Matty thought in a fresh burst of wonder and happiness. He is going to be my husband.
*
A couple of days later, a maid brought a note to the schoolroom for Matty, just as her pupils were finishing off the afternoon’s efforts in watercolors. Since they were busy, and she recognized the brisk, bold hand as Francisco’s, she unfolded the note at once with a fast-beating heart.
It was not a love letter, merely stating that he had obtained a special license and asking her to meet him in the usual place to discuss times and places for the ceremony. A rush of emotion paralyzed her. She was going to be married. To him. Soon. And before that, she was going to see him again, in just a couple of hours…
“Would this do, Miss Matty?” Susan asked doubtfully.
Hastily, Matty stuffed the note in the pocket of her serviceable dress and went to examine Susan’s work. She had no real aptitude for sketching or painting, but her colors were always a refreshing surprise. Matty complimented her on the latter, though added that the perspective needed work—the orange was the same size as the window beyond it—and turned to Arabella’s painting, which was more correct. In music, they were the opposite, with Arabella showing the flare but having to be reined in on technical matters.
Matty hoped fervently that her replacement would help them both flourish, bring them on without squashing their spirits and talents.
“I think we have finished for the day,” she said. “Clear up, and we’ll leave them to dry for now.”
“We’re having tea in the cellar,” Susan informed her. “You’re welcome, Miss Matty. Mama and Catherine are out.”
“Thank you,” Matty said, touched. The cellar had been their place of refuge since they had come to London. In fact, Viola had once hidden Lord Dominic there when he had escaped from prison. She was distracted from the memory by the unexpected sight of her sister walking into the schoolroom.
“Marion!” Matty went to greet her. “Is everything well? Where is Mama?”
“Laid upon her bed in exhaustion,” Marion replied with the ghost of a smile. “We have spent the last three evenings at ton parties, and she is not used to the hours.”
“Neither are you,” Matty pointed out, noting her sister’s wan pallor and the faint worry lines about her eyes. “Arabella, would you ask them to send tea up here for us?”
“Of course, though the cellar is more comfortable.”
Marion looked understandably startled by this confidence, though she smiled as the girls skipped off. “They are rather sweet children. I can see why you don’t want to leave them.”
That reduced Matty to silence. She hadn’t wanted to live in Thorne’s household rather more. And now she was going to leave the Dove household to marry Francisco.
