Unmasking the Thief, page 23
“No, no, nothing like that,” Matty assured her. “I… I wanted to give you some news… You have been so kind to me, and I am so fond of all your children that I hate to let you down, but I’m afraid I really will be leaving when my notice is served or maybe even sooner. But I do know of a replacement who might suit.”
“Oh, no!” Mrs. Dove, in clear dismay, dropped her toast onto the plate without noticing. “You are not giving in and going to live with your sister, are you? Because I cannot advise you strongly enough against it! Not because of your sister, of course, she seems very pleasant, and she is your sister, though I did hear a rumor that the engagement is over—that may well be fustian, of course. But Sir Anthony… You must not tell her I said so because no one likes to hear ill of their husband, but he seems to me the kind of man who is so amiable and righteous in public while pinching the maids in private, which will be awful for your sister, of course, but at least she will be his wife. But for you to be in the power of such a man…”
“Mrs. Dove, I am not going to live with my sister,” Matty broke in as soon as Mrs. Dove paused for breath.
The lady closed her mouth and peered at Matty. “You’re not? Well, that is good news, at all events. I shall give you a glowing character, of course, but I wish you will tell me if your salary is insufficient because I’m sure I can find a way to increase—”
“Dear ma’am, it is not the salary,” Matty broke in desperately, unsure whether she was going to laugh or cry. “It is more than adequate, and I assure you I never hoped to have such contentment, such pleasure, in any post as I have had in your house. The truth is, ma’am, that I am about to be married.”
The cup of chocolate sagged in Mrs. Dove’s fingers, splashing rich, brown chocolate on the tray. Mrs. Dove set it down hastily.
“Married?” she exclaimed. “But to whom? Does your mama know? Oh, and Miss Matty, I hope you are not doing this just to escape Thorne and your sister, for that wouldn’t answer either, even if…!”
“To Mr. Francis, ma’am. And no, this has nothing to do with anyone but the two of us. My mother does not know, but I am on my way to tell her and also,” Matty pursued relentlessly as her employer’s mouth opened once more, “I wished to invite you and the children—yes, and even Pup!—to my mother’s rooms at Grillon’s where we shall be married at half-past two this afternoon. If you would like to come. Anyway, I’m sorry and happy and…” She flapped one hand and fled from the room before tears engulfed her. She still didn’t know if she was weeping or laughing.
*
A little after midday, Sir Anthony Thorne left his house and strolled around to Grillon’s Hotel.
Everything was in hand for his appearance at Maida this evening, and after that, all would be ready for the marches on Thursday. By Friday, he expected all power to be his. So, he had the time to spend petting Marion back into line.
He was sure that was all she would need, though he also had the time for more drastic measures, to begin his life in power he needed at least the appearance of money. Rumors of the rift between him and his intended had already reached the most nervous of his creditors, and he wanted such talk nipped in the bud, largely for the sake of appearances which, as he well knew, were so important.
Of course, Emma Carntree’s departure for the country did him no harm either. Like everyone else, Marion would no doubt have heard the rumors that Thorne had dismissed her to keep his betrothed happy. She was no schoolroom miss, after all.
And surely, by the time anyone noticed Matilda Mather after next Thursday, she would have given up her ridiculous post as governess. Everything was looking up. One simply had to attend to details.
However, it would not do to enter his wife-to-be’s rooms with too much of a swagger. Imposing a contrite, hopeful expression on his face, he knocked on the door and was admitted by the maid, who curtseyed as usual. “Sir Anthony. The ladies are in the sitting room.”
They were indeed, although he could not pretend their reaction to his arrival was unalloyed joy. In fact, they looked up from a hat they had been admiring with almost matching expressions of astonishment.
Marion blushed a fiery red while her mother rose from her chair with all the regality of a middle-aged woman whose thoroughly ordinary daughter had unexpectedly inherited a fortune. “Sir Anthony, we were not expecting you. To what do we owe the honor?”
“Why, my desire to apologize to my affianced bride and to crave the favor of an interview with her, even if it is to be our last.” That was a good speech. He had practiced it in front of the mirror, in between his rallying cries to arms for this evening’s audience.
And he seemed to have found just the right tone, for mother and daughter exchanged glances, and eventually Marion said, “Very well, sir. Would you permit us a moment, Mama?”
“Very well. I shall be in my bedchamber.” She stalked across the room into one beyond, not quite closing the door behind her.
Thorne came and sat beside his bride, twirling his hat between his fingers. “Dear Marion, I owe you so many apologies. I don’t know where to begin. For my unforgivable anger at our last meeting, most certainly. For my neglect of you since your arrival in London, also. I should have explained from the outset that my commitments would keep me from you far more than I would like. To be honest, this was why I was not in favor of you coming to London until after the wedding.”
“When your commitments would somehow be less?” she asked with polite disbelief.
He concealed his irritation, saying merely, “I certainly have the time to make them so. I want to ask your forgiveness, Marion. And I want you to understand that everything I am doing, everything that keeps me away from you, I do for you. For the life you and I deserve together.”
“I must ask you to stop, sir,” she said, a little shakily. “Although I thank you for your explanation, it comes too late. For I have come to realize I do not want the distant yet public marriage ours would be. I could not be your political hostess. We would not suit, Sir Anthony. I think you know that.”
Casting his hat aside, he took both her hands. He was glad to feel the trembling of her fingers. “Come, my dear, there is no need for such talk. We have already agreed we suit admirably. We have already agreed to marry.”
“I’m afraid I have changed my mind.” She tried to tug her hands free. “I no longer wish to marry you and must ask you to respect my word as final.”
He smiled into her nervous eyes. “But I don’t,” he said softly, much too softly for her mother to hear in the next room as more than an unthreatening hum. “You will marry me, for all the reasons we discussed before, but also because you have no choice.”
With one swift, hard movement, he pushed her onto her back and rammed his body over hers. Her hands scrabbled against his shoulders, her mouth open wide to scream before he was ready. It was a necessary part of his plan to have Mrs. Mather see them like this, but not until Marion’s bodice and skirts were a little more disordered.
He shut the little fool up by covering her open mouth with his and dragging at her skirts. He wondered how far he would get before they were discovered in flagrante. Damn, was that her already?
Something hard struck him across the shoulders, the sheer unexpectedness knocking him off Marion and the sofa and onto the carpet. He rolled, springing to his feet to face the fists or worse of whoever dared interfere—and saw Matilda seated on the sofa, smoothing out her sister’s skirts with one hand, while in the other, she grasped an umbrella.
Her face was ice cold, and in her fine eyes, the angry contempt that must have reduced her most arrogant pupils to abject apology.
“No need to get on your high horse, Matilda,” he mocked, dropping his fists to his sides. “Marion and I are betrothed, remember?”
“I remember she broke the engagement, and I suspect her patience with you has reached its limit?” She glanced at her sister for confirmation, and Marion nodded once, her eyes almost as furious as her sister’s.
Their mother chose that moment to appear at the door to her bedchamber. “Oh, Matilda, dear, I did not hear you come in!”
“Neither did we,” Thorne said, smiling as wolfishly as he had ever wished to. “I’m afraid Matilda found us in rather a compromising position.”
Marion’s whole face crumpled in shock and fear. Mrs. Mather strode across the room. Thorne almost laughed. Really, despite the pain in his shoulder, it was perfect, and he smiled mockingly at Matilda so that she would understand that, too.
But Matilda smiled back at him. “Nonsense, Sir Anthony. I was here the whole time.”
The blatant lie dropped his jaw. The other women turned their attention to her, too. They both knew she was lying. Well, damnation, it might be clever, but he would not have it.
“If that’s the way you want to play it, carry on,” he said with vicious amusement. “We’ll see how far that gets after a whisper in my favorite club. You will be begging for my protection. I might even give it.”
“A man who attacks and compromises an unwilling young lady is no gentleman,” Matilda pointed out. “Even before he starts his contemptible boasting. I wonder how long his reputation would stand that?”
“Longer than hers,” Thorne snarled.
Matilda only smiled with such utter contempt that he wanted to hit her. “Goodbye, Sir Anthony.”
The damned maid was even there by the outer door. There was nothing for him to do but clap his hat on his head and walk out without so much as a bow.
I’ll fix this. Tomorrow, after Maida, I will fix this, too.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When the door closed behind Thorne, Marion collapsed against Matty. “Oh, thank God! I couldn’t get him off me, Matty!”
“I’m sure he was hoping Mama would catch you and insist on marriage,” Matty said bracingly, patting her sister’s shoulder.
“I’m not sure I shouldn’t,” Mama said, sinking onto the chair opposite them. “I was never so taken in by anyone in my life, but he could do a lot of damage to Marion, to both of you. In such situations, it is always the females who suffer.”
Marion looked so appalled that Matty said hastily, “I wouldn’t worry about that. He has other things on his mind, and after tonight, no one will believe a word he says. Marion, the world knows he was after your money, and I think you have much truer admirers now. Now, don’t cry because I particularly want you to smile this afternoon. There is to be a wedding here—unless you object, in which case, we shall just have to take it to another room. I’m sure Grillon—”
“Wedding?” her mother interrupted in astonishment. “Whose wedding?”
“Mine,” Matty said, coloring under her mother’s and sister’s stares. At least it was an effective distraction. “We have a special license, and in an hour—”
“Who?” It was Marion’s turn to interrupt. “Matty, who are you marrying?”
“Mr. Francis. At least, that is how he is generally known, but his real name is Francisco de Salgado y Goya. He was born in Spain.”
“You are not going to Spain!” Mama wailed.
“No, no, not to live at least.”
“But who is this man to you, Matty?” Marion demanded. “You cannot have known him long!”
“I believe you met him at Lady Wenning’s ball. He is a gentleman, Mama, so you—”
“A gentleman would not court my daughter behind my back!” Mama said.
“We met before you came to London, and I am of age, Mama. Now, are you happy to receive Francisco and the clergyman, Mr. and Mrs. Dunne, and the Dove family? Say now, if you please, for I will have to speak to the hotel—”
“Of course it must be here!” Mama exclaimed. “If anywhere. But Mathilda, why are you in such a hurry over this?” Her face darkened. “Has he behaved ill to you, because—”
Matty, who knew exactly what her mother meant, blushed from memory of her intimacy with Francisco, though she interrupted her mother briskly. “Don’t be silly, Mama. Had he behaved ill to me, there is no way I would even consider marrying him.”
“An hour?” Mama said, scowling as she recalled the previous part of the conversation. “Marion, don’t just sit there, take the hats away! Matty, plump the cushions and make the room respectable, at least! Oh, my dear, you are not planning to be married in that awful dress, are you?”
“Actually, I thought I would wear the evening gown Marion bought for me. It is not too ornate, and we are going out in the evening straight from here.”
“Wedding breakfast!” Marion shrieked, her arms full of hats Matty had not even noticed.
“I believe Mr. Dunne is arranging something private,” Matty soothed. “Mama, will you help me to change?”
It was the right thing to say, making her mother feel useful and distracting her from worry. Only once, as she fastened the tiny loops at the back of the gown, she said, “Are you sure about this, Matty? Quite sure?”
“Entirely sure, Mama.”
Her mother gave her a quick, hard hug from behind and then let her go. “Now, your hair—where is that dratted girl?”
While her hair was being dressed, Marion came into the room. “Your Mr. Francis is here with the clergyman and lots of fresh flowers. A hotel maid is putting them in water, and I must say they brighten up the room. Matty, you look lovely!”
Matty hung on to that in the nerve-wracking few minutes that followed. It was ridiculously hard to leave the bedchamber, to show herself to Francisco. He had been all over the world, known beautiful, fascinating women in every sense imaginable. The impossibility of dull, sharp-tongued governess Matty Mather ever living up to, let alone surpassing them, weighed her down in sudden panic.
Her mother and sister were gazing at her expectantly. Only pride allowed her to stride across the room, throw open the door, and emerge into the flower-filled sitting room.
And there was Francisco, darkly handsome in formal dress, his gaze seeking and finding her. He smiled, his eyes warm, admiring, delighted, even relieved, as if he had imagined she might yet back out. And suddenly, all her doubts fell away, like a winter cloak cast off before a fire.
She went to him, hands held out because they had chosen each other and nothing else in the past mattered. The bond had always been there, right from the first bizarre meeting in Maida Gardens. They were only formalizing it.
In a happy daze, she smiled her way through Francisco’s introduction to his friend, the Reverend Mr. John Warren, and returned the Dunnes’ greetings. She laughed as Pup, straining at the leash, yanked Adrian and the other Doves into the room, and almost cried when they were followed by Lord and Lady Dominic Gorse.
Only moments later, she got lost in Francisco’s amazing eyes as they made their vows. A gold ring, engraved with entwined leaves, was pushed onto her finger, fitting perfectly, and then they were pronounced man and wife.
Marion was smiling with trembling lips and swimming eyes. Mama looked stunned but prided herself on being the perfect hostess, never even batting an eyelid when a hotel servant led them to the apartment next door, where an impressive spread had been laid out.
Champagne was opened, and formality, such as it had been, was dropped altogether. Pup was tied to the massive central table leg and lay down on people’s feet.
The party broke up just before five o’clock, shortly after the arrival of a surprised Lord Danvers, who had come to take Marion for a drive in the park. On being informed of the event, he offered his congratulations and allowed himself to be persuaded to a glass of champagne and a toast to the bride and groom.
“Ladies and gentlemen, young people and canines,” Ludovic declaimed. “Join me in a toast to the health and happiness of our friends, the Count and Countess de Salgado y Goya de Valdecara!”
“Count?” Matty repeated, staring at him.
“That was my father’s title. I don’t use it,” Francisco said, though he sounded more amused than angry. “I think Ludo is puffing me up in case your family still has doubts.”
“Oh, dear. I shall be, my daughter, the countess!”
“Do you hate it? I can tell everyone Ludo is joking.”
She shook her head, smiling again. “It’s a small price to pay for their happiness. My own couldn’t be greater.”
His eyes changed, burning her with their heat. “I would like to challenge that,” he said softly, and desire flamed through her.
Helpfully, everyone seemed to be leaving. Marion went off with Lord Danvers. The Doves adopted Mama, sweeping her into her own sitting room for a cup of tea. Viola and Rebecca hugged Matty, and Viola promised to see her later.
And then, at last, the door was closed, and they were alone. Suddenly nervous, Matty paced about the room, examining ornaments, opening an inner door that led to an ornate bedchamber. Part of her wanted to slam the door shut again. But her heart beat too fast, and she turned slowly to face Francisco, who had come up behind her and stood so close she could smell his skin, his warmth.
Gently, he placed a finger under her chin and tipped up her face for a long, tender kiss.
“Forgive me,” he whispered against her lips. “I am asking myself if we have time for a quick, marital tumble before we go to Maida.”
“And have we?” she asked breathlessly.
“Oh yes. Trust me, it needn’t take long.” He pushed her against the wall to let her feel the proof against her abdomen, and she gasped. He traced kisses along her jaw to her ear. “I want more for you than that,” he whispered. “A long, unhurried wedding night when I can shower you with pleasure, not plunder like a pirate.”
“I rather like you as a pirate,” she managed.
He moved, catching her mouth with his once more. “Don’t tempt me, wife of my heart. Shall we go to Maida?”
She closed her eyes, hugged him harder, and then stood back. “Yes. Let us go to Maida.”
*
The sun was just beginning to set as Matty and Francisco walked arm-in-arm up the path to Maida Gardens. Francisco had bought tickets from the uninterested young man at the gates, but it was too early for there to be many people about.
