Actual marriage.
He could move Georgiana’s household to his, thus thwarting any plans Hathaway might have and enabling him to better protect her. The killer would be forced to act quickly or forfeit his game. Georgiana would be compelled to stay in London. With him. He would have free and unhindered access to her. It was madness. And yet...he would acquire a special license to marry. Whether he’d use it or not remained to be seen.
“So pensive, Hunter?” Richardson asked as he and Wycliffe sat.
“I have a lot on my mind. None of which has to do with the matter at hand.”
“And what is that?”
“Richardson, how quickly can you be to Cornwall and back?”
“Where in Cornwall? St. Ives?”
“Mousehole.”
“Why in God’s name—”
“That is where Lady Caroline finally located Georgiana after her parents’ deaths. I want you to find out anything that might have a bearing on this matter.”
Wycliffe narrowed his eyes. “What is it that you suspect?”
“Nothing. Everything. I am becoming more convinced that the answer to this problem lies neither in who Georgiana is, nor whom she married, but in her identity before Lady Caroline took her in. Lord Carlington gave me a possible link to her father—a Captain George Carson of the Royal Navy. Carlington said he’d look into it, but see what you can find out about him or his wife. And why Georgiana was abandoned in Mousehole. Find out, too, who cared for her during that time.”
“Mousehole,” Richardson repeated. “The end of the earth.”
“Well, England, at any rate,” Wycliffe contributed. “Appears as if someone wanted her lost.”
This echo of Charles’s thoughts confirmed his suspicions. It was looking more and more as if Georgiana Carson was not at all what she seemed. “How soon can you report back?” he asked Richardson.
The man glanced at the tall case clock standing in one corner of the parlor and still reading an indecently early hour. “How soon do you need the information?”
“Yesterday.”
“I can ride for Brighton within the hour and from there hire a smack to Mousehole. With favorable winds and ready tongues once I get there, three days, perhaps four.”
Charles nodded and Richardson got to his feet. “I’m going to need a few days to sleep when I get back.”
Wycliffe nodded. “You’ll get them.” He waited until Richardson disappeared and then turned back to Charles, a serious expression on his face. “And the rest of it?”
Damn. The man always knew when he was holding back. “Only a vague notion that all is not as it should be. But why Lady Caroline should be party to a lie, I cannot imagine.”
Wycliffe gave him a sage smile. “Can you not?”
“Nothing I’d care to share at the moment.”
“Do you think our assailant in this instance has turned his attention to Georgiana?”
“I do. She has had several close calls recently. One just last night in Vauxhall Gardens. A man encountered her along one of the paths and warned her that he had plans for her. That he’d rather ‘cut’ her than see her with me. Cut her, Wycliffe. I think that is a clear threat.”
“Did he say why? Did she even know him?”
Charles shook his head. “He was behind her and warned her not to turn around. She said she did not recognize his voice, but I wonder if she would tell me if she had.”
“I cannot believe anyone would wish her harm. She is such a pleasant woman. Who could she have given offense to?”
“I can think of at least half a dozen people who might want Georgiana dead, and most of them would profit by it.”
“Half a dozen?” Wycliffe scoffed. “Surely that is an exaggeration.”
“Not in the least. A conservative estimate, actually. Between the families of her deceased husbands, the newly found potential heirs to Caroline’s fortune and her own murky beginnings, there could be more.”
Wycliffe sat back in his chair and looked thoughtful. “Two cousins of Lady Caroline’s, a displaced cousin of her second husband, the parents of her first husband.” He stopped to look pointedly at Charles. “Not to mention various friends and Adam Booth’s parents. Yes. You might have something there.”
“I would wager my fortune that she had nothing to do with Booth’s death.”
“Never really thought she did.”
“Then why—”
“To get you to accept the assignment, Hunter. You can be deucedly stubborn when you have your ire up.”
“Possibly,” he mused. What did he actually know about Georgiana? That she’d been raised by Lady Caroline Betman and married twice. That she made love like an innocent and that she used lilac soap to wash her hair. That she had turned him around with barely a crook of her finger. What still lay hidden to be discovered?
“I heard you hired Finn. What prompted that?”
“Her butler has been behaving suspiciously. She dismissed him and he made threats. He and I...well, he knows he’d be a fool to try anything. But fools are born every day.”
Wycliffe leaned forward and lowered his voice, glancing right and left before speaking. “Hunter, hurry up. I’ve heard from the Under Secretary that pressure is increasing to solve these cases. And there appears to be some new development. Information that could implicate Mrs. Huffington in those murders and lead to her imminent arrest.”
“Imminent? How imminent?”
“Within a few days. A week at most.”
“Why?”
“The pressure was severe a week ago when I put you on this matter. With nothing to acquit her and new evidence to implicate her...it’s becoming a losing proposition, Hunter.”
“Damn it, what new evidence?”
“Laudanum.”
“What does that mean?”
“That was the word whispered to me this morning in my office. It isn’t official. Not yet. But, if you can, find out what Mrs. Huffington knows about laudanum.”
Charles nodded. He would be seeing Georgiana tonight. If the word meant anything to her, he’d know it.
* * *
As predicted, Finn looked quite peculiar sitting in a small wooden chair in the reception area of La Meilleure Robe. That he felt out of his element was obvious by the way he fidgeted and kept turning his hat around by the brim. Every member of the Wednesday League mentioned it when they arrived.
“Who is that great hulk in the foyer?” Lady Annica, the last to arrive, asked as she entered the dressing room and took a chair.
“Finn. My bodyguard.” Georgiana, standing in her chemise and corset, explained the circumstances for the fourth time before she could be asked again.
“As if you haven’t enough trouble,” Grace Hawthorne added. “Still, Finn is a good idea. I would certainly think twice before accosting you with him in the way.”
Sarah shook her head. “My brothers know the oddest people. I wonder where Charlie found him.”
Georgiana was spared a reply by Madame Marie’s entrance, a heap of pale violet silk in her arms. She stepped onto the low platform and dropped it over Georgiana’s head. “Come, chèri. This will be the last fitting, yes?”
Once the gown was settled around her, Madame knelt and began tugging the hem to pull the folds into place for pinning.
Grace folded her hands in her lap. “Now tell us, Georgiana, have you been able to uncover any information that might be useful?”
“I fear I only have more questions.” She hesitated, recalling the warning she’d been given, but surely that information would be safe here. “We went to Vauxhall Gardens last evening, and while I was alone on a path waiting for Charles to return, a man approached me from behind. He instructed me not to turn around, so I did not see his face. He seemed to know me, b
ut I would swear I have never met him. I am positive I would have recognized his voice. He warned me to stay away from Charles specifically and all the Hunter men generally. He said I should do as he said and that he had plans for me. He ran off when we heard Charles returning, but not before he said he would find me again.”
Sarah’s face had gone quite pale. “Dear heavens! Did you warn Charlie?”
“The moment we were alone. He seems to think this may be progress.”
“Progress?” the ladies said as one voice.
“That...that someone has come forward.”
The ladies shared a meaningful glance, then turned back to Georgiana. “No wonder he has hired Finn,” Sarah said.
Madame Marie stood and turned Georgiana toward the mirror. “Magnifique, n’est-ce pas?”
Speechless, she nodded. Yes, it was, though it exposed more of her than Aunt Caroline had ever allowed. But she was a widow now and no one would think twice about her gowns. She noted the smiles of the ladies behind her reflected in the mirror. They approved. Thank heavens she would not be criticized by the ton.
With a few deft moves, Madame Marie had her gown unfastened and over her head. She handed Georgiana a wrapper. “François will join you in a minute. I shall ’ave my girls sew the ’em immediately so that you can take it ’ome with you.”
True to her word, her husband was waiting. He entered through a side door and assumed his usual position in one corner, almost at ease with seeing a woman in a dressing gown. “Afternoon, ladies,” he greeted them. “We have a bit of news, at last.”
“Do tell,” Lady Annica said.
“I’ve just gotten back from Kent.” He removed a small notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped the cover back. “I fear the news is not all good. No one remembers your mother, Mrs. Huffington. The villagers only recall when Lady Caroline returned from Cornwall with you in tow. You must have been about two or three at the time. Quite a favorite in the village, by all accounts.”
Georgiana recalled her weekly trips to the village and smiled. The only friends she’d had growing up were the butcher, the greengrocer and the baker. Later, she’d gone to the tea shop and dressmaker, but all those friendships had lacked intimacy. They were just acquaintances, really.
“I also took the opportunity to meet your cousins, Walter and Robert Foxworthy. They raise horses as well as crops. Told them I was interested in buying a horse and got them to chatting about families. They mentioned you, but did not expand on the matter. Decent sorts, I thought—Robert more than Walter. There was something crafty in Walter’s manner. I thought he was simply trying to bargain the best price for his stock, but there could be more. I do not believe there is anything to worry about, but should you meet him, be careful.
“I asked if they’d been in London recently or if they had any plans to come. Robert says he’s never been. Walter does all the traveling, it seems. I could not pursue the subject as diligently as I’d have liked without raising their suspicions, but as near as I can tell, Walter makes monthly trips to town, as well as other destinations as business requires. Hard to determine if he was in the area of your husbands’ homes at the appropriate times.”
Georgiana let out a long-held breath. “That is more than I expected, Mr. Renquist. Thank you very much.”
“I’m not done yet, ladies. Walter Foxworthy will be coming to town soon, and I’ve asked him to look me up if he’d like to meet my price on the stallion I inspected.”
Grace clapped her hands. “Excellent.”
“I also caught up with some of the rookery lads upon my return. And this is the news that worries me.”
The ladies all sat forward in their chairs and Georgiana drew the wrapper a bit closer around her.
“There are whispers circulating that someone from the rookeries has a very singular interest in you, Mrs. Huffington. Just what that interest is remains a mystery, as yet.”
Georgiana frowned. “An interest? Is that all?”
“All? There are some very unpleasant men in the rookeries, Mrs. Huffington. It is not a place you would want your name mentioned, or where you’d want to provoke interest.”
The voice from last night rang in her head. We gots a secret, you an’ me. Was he the one with the singular interest?
It could not be Hathaway. He’d only just been dismissed. Whatever threats he’d made, he hadn’t had time to instigate them, let alone to have displayed and “interest.” Heavens! How many men wished her ill? She quickly told Mr. Renquist about the incident at Vauxhall and her dismissing of Hathaway.
A worried frown played at the corners of Mr. Renquist’s mouth. “The blighter at Vauxhall, Mrs. Huffington. That’s the one that worries me most. I shall put my men to uncovering that first. As for Hathaway, we cannot eliminate him. He has had access to your home and all your secrets the whole time. I shall see if I can find out more about him.”
“Yes, but I only dismissed him yesterday and Mr. Hunter removed him from my house last night. There has not been time for him to cause a stir in the rookeries.”
“If he whispered a prayer in the rookeries last night, it would be common knowledge by dawn, and if it were a juicy bit of gossip, sooner.” Renquist shook his head. “It is beyond me how guarded they are with outsiders, yet how ready they are to gossip among themselves. Well, I should have more information in a few days. Perhaps even the name of your...admirer at Vauxhall. I will send you a note when I have something to tell you.”
Pray it would be soon. Very soon.
Before that horrid man found her again.
Chapter Twelve
Charles strode from Doctor’s Commons, his head down and deep in thought. For the sum of five pounds, he’d just purchased the right to marry Georgiana at any place, any time, for the next three months. Two witnesses and a minister were all he’d need. Those were easy.
Georgiana’s consent would be more difficult.
He’d spent most of the day after his meeting with Wycliffe and Richardson at the Archbishop of Canterbury’s office, and now the shadows were deepening, the sun obscured by surrounding buildings. He crossed the commons to the stables, still deep in thought. He’d have to hurry if he was to make it home, wash, change for the evening and still fetch Georgiana on time.
When she had mentioned that she was at leisure this evening, he had asked her to join him at his brother Andrew’s home for a family dinner party—a very good place to introduce Georgiana to the rest of the family. Perhaps he would test the waters there.
He’d find some logical way to present the idea without mentioning the special license. She would, no doubt, be angry that he’d had the presumption to acquire one without consulting her. But, if they were to do it, it would be best to do it quickly. Surely she would see the sense in that.
He winced when he thought of what she would say. No would be the kindest thing. After all, she’d said it before. And rather emphatically, at that. He’d have to coax her, convince her that this was the most logical and expeditious course of action considering that her arrest might be imminent and she could be locked away in Newgate or Fleet Prison. Between his name and marriage he might be able to protect her or gain her better treatment. He’d even lie and tell her he’d consent to a divorce or annulment afterward. Seems he had very few scruples where Georgiana was concerned.
The shadow of a movement from behind drew him from his introspection and he turned just in time to see the flash of a blade slicing downward. Instinctively, he dodged to the side and rolled, coming up on his feet. Both slashes would have been killing blows if the attacker had made contact. A second later and he’d have been dead, a knife in his back.
Still a possibility.
His assailant lunged again and Charles bobbed to the side, then drove into the man’s midsection with his right shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Through th
e gloom, he could see that the man wore a black woolen hood with two ragged eyeholes cut out, much like an executioner’s mask. Why the precaution unless Charles would recognize him?
“Gibbons,” he snarled. “Finally decide to do your own dirty work?”
The man pulled off his mask and grinned, exposing two rows of rotten teeth. “Think yer clever? How clever will y’be when yer dead?”
Gibbons gained his feet and crouched, swaying from side to side in an invitation for Charles to lunge again.
Instead he fell back a step. “Big words, Dick. Back them up.”
Gibbons charged forward with his right leg, slashing the knife in a wide arc. Charles dodged to the side, the knife barely missing his midsection. He seized Gibbons’s arm, twisted and pulled, fully intending to break the infernal thing.
Gibbons howled in pain, his numbed fingers dropping the knife. Charles slipped his own knife from his boot and advanced. Kill the bastard, or take him in?
The gloom came alive with groomsmen, stable boys and drivers. “’Ere, now! What’s afoot, lads?” the stable master shouted, running up behind Charles.
Gibbons used the moment to spin and retreat toward the maze of narrow lanes and alleys outside the commons, his arm dangling uselessly from the shoulder socket. Dislocated, but not broken, damn it all. As Charles leaped to follow, the stable master seized him by the jacket.
“No trouble ’ere, lad. This be a peaceful place.”
Charles jerked free, but the delay had cost him the pursuit. He’d never find Gibbons with such a lead—that scum-dwelling assassin.
One of the stable boys, having recognized Charles, brought his horse. He slipped his knife back in his boot, tossed the lad a coin and mounted. As he turned toward home, the wry humor of the situation dawned on him.
He’d been meaning to provoke an attack. If Gibbons had been following him, this had been a perfect place and time to act. But he’d meant to incite Georgiana’s tormentor. Not his. Ah, well. All in a day’s work.
Harlequin Historical February 2013 - Bundle 1 of 2: Never Trust a RakeDicing With the Dangerous LordA Daring Liaison Page 62