“My dear Thornhill,” said Rothgar softly, “she is to all intents and purposes one of the family. If you offend against her, I will be forced to take it personally . . .”
Even Fort appeared to be sobered by the concentrated malice in the marquess’ voice.
“She doesn’t deny that your brother ruined her,” Fort said. “I’ll have satisfaction of him.”
“That is between you and him. But it is your father who has ruined her. Whose side are you on?” The unwavering sword at his neck carried a lethal promise.
Fort ignored it and looked steadily at Chastity. She sent him a silent appeal. He sighed. “Hers.”
Rothgar lowered the sword. Chastity only then realized that Brand and Elf were in the room too.
“Then we are all on the same side,” said Rothgar smoothly, as if that violence had never been. “Let me tell you about your father . . .”
Time hung heavy at the Abbey as everyone waited for Rothgar’s plans to bring results. No one was entirely sure what wheels Rothgar had set in motion except the marquess himself, and the only clear sign he gave was to casually order preparations for a grand masqued ball in five days.
“Five days,” said Elf calmly. “And who is to attend?”
“Everyone I have invited,” he said enigmatically.
It became clear that Rothgar had invited all the local gentry and a good part of the aristocracy.
“Won’t they think it strange to be invited to a grand ball at such short notice?” Chastity asked.
“Oh, no,” said Elf. “He always does things this way. A whim takes him and he holds an event. They are accustomed.”
“Well, I suppose they are accustomed to a scrambling kind of affair then. It took weeks of planning for my father to hold a ball this spring.”
“Scrambling,” said Elf with Malloren hauteur. “Of course not.”
Chastity found herself swept up into a whirlwind of efficient organization. Large numbers of extra staff were summoned from London. Messages went to Rothgar’s other estates demanding provisions. Both staff and provisions, of course, all came by the fastest means, regardless of cost. A dozen crates of geese came by post chaise.
Fort stayed on at the Abbey. He appeared to accept the likelihood of his father’s guilt, but he was not particularly mellowed toward the Mallorens. He kept to himself as they awaited Cyn’s return. Cyn, who would bring the document that could ruin the whole Ware family. Cyn, who was his sister’s seducer.
Fort looked like a man who lusted for someone to kill.
“What a horrible brother,” said Elf as she directed the rearrangement of furniture. “He doesn’t seem to care for you at all.”
“Perhaps he cares too much,” said Chastity. “What would Rothgar do if he found you in bed with a man?”
Elf went wide-eyed at the thought, but said, “He wouldn’t turn against me.”
Chastity didn’t argue, but she thought Elf overoptimistic. She hoped her new friend’s illusions were never shattered.
In the evening of the next day, Bryght returned from Maidenhead with the letter. Chastity and Elf were with Rothgar when Bryght walked into the Tapestry Room and gave it to his brother. “The house was deserted, and Walgrave is no longer in Maidenhead.” Somewhat grimly, he added, “You didn’t tell me who the letter was from.”
“I didn’t tell you to read it, either,” remarked Rothgar with an unmistakable touch of humor. Rothgar’s humor was generally cause for concern.
Chastity saw an angry muscle twitch in Bryght’s jaw. He hadn’t shaved that day, and looked more sullen and angry than usual. “Was I to ride my arse raw to get the damn thing, and not stop to check it wasn’t a laundry list?”
Rothgar scanned the perfumed paper and his brows rose. “One glance would tell you it wasn’t that.”
“One glance told me who had written it. I recognized the writing, and the perfume.”
“Ah,” said Rothgar, with a smile that was positively beatific, yet the most chilling thing Chastity had ever seen.
Bryght’s jaw was working in an alarming way and his hands were fists. “You sent me deliberately.”
Rothgar didn’t deny it. “You have never believed the woman to be less than perfect.”
“I’m not sure what I believe now. Would she have come to this if she’d married me?”
Chastity realized with horror that Bryght’s lost love was Nerissa Trelyn.
“She chose Trelyn of her own free will,” Rothgar pointed out.
Bryght turned on his heel and slammed out of the room.
“As you see,” said Rothgar to Chastity, “I have a score of my own to settle with Nerissa Trelyn. But even so, I will not destroy her unless she insists on it.”
Chastity shared a horrified look with Elf, but that lady just shrugged as if such dramatics were an ordinary part of life. Lud, but living with the Mallorens was like living in a dragon’s lair, with Fort as an invading eagle.
When a second day passed without Cyn’s appearance, Chastity began to worry about his safety. Three times she was on the point of begging Rothgar to send out a search party, but Cyn would hate that if he were safe. Besides, Rothgar’s confidence was so overwhelming she feared he’d be mortally offended at the suggestion of a problem in his plans.
She buried her worries under the work of helping Elf organize the ball. Elf seemed to have all the details in hand but one.
“We need a theme,” she said. “A ball must have a theme.”
“Flowers?” said Chastity.
“Not in November,” said Elf with a grin. “Not even for a Malloren. Medieval?” she mused. “No, for people would wish to be in costume, and there is not time. Venetian? Terribly overdone . . . Ah,” she suddenly said. “Chinese!”
“Chinese?” queried Chastity, following her hostess as she headed toward the subterranean depths of the house.
“Why did I not think of it before?” Elf burbled happily. “Come along. You’ll see.”
What Chastity saw was a pile of bales wrapped in burlap. When a footman unwrapped them, they proved to be rolls of priceless, hand-painted red Chinese silk.
She touched one reverently, then turned to Elf in horror. “You can’t!”
“I’m going to hang it all around the ballroom.”
“Elf, you can’t!” Chastity wailed. “It’s far too precious!”
“Oh,” said Elf, “not for a Malloren.”
Then Chastity saw the way Elf’s lips were twitching. She looked again at the silk. It was undoubtedly very valuable. She gently unrolled some. It was a cleverly constructed dummy bale. Inside she found only a coarse glazed cotton printed with the same gilded pattern. “You wretch,” she declared. “Where did all this come from?”
“Rothgar acquired it in one of his more mysterious enterprises. I keep wondering what to do with the good silk, but it’s too exotic for a dress . . .” She looked at Chastity. “For me, maybe.”
“I’m not going to the ball in a gown that appears to be made from the hangings,” said Chastity firmly.
Elf laughed. “Of course not. But for later, perhaps. Meanwhile, we’ll have this unwrapped and hung.” She gave the orders and swept off. “It would be effective to paint the woodwork in the ballroom in black lacquer,” she mused.
“But somewhat permanent,” Chastity pointed out, wondering if that would matter to a Malloren. “You could always have mock panels constructed and placed around the room.” As soon as she’d said it, Chastity knew she was being infected with the Malloren outlook on life.
“Of course,” said Elf delightedly, and gave more orders. The amazing thing, thought Chastity, was that the enormous staff of servants never blinked at any order, no matter how outrageous. No wonder Cyn was as he was.
With a Malloren, all things were possible.
She had begun to think of Rothgar Abbey as a miniature Versailles.
She was directing the draping of the ‘silk’ when Cyn returned. He walked into the ballroom and halted. “ ’Stru
th. Is that really . . . ?”
Chastity whirled. “Cyn!” Without thinking, she hurled herself into his arms under the discreet but fascinated attention of twenty servants.
She recollected herself immediately and pulled away. He almost let her go, but then suddenly, desperately, stepped back with her out of the room and into the corridor. For a moment they stood there, drinking in the sight of each other, then their mouths met in desperate communion.
Chastity knew then that life was scarcely possible for her without Cyn’s presence—his touch, his voice, his love . . .
The kiss eased away but they still clung together.
“God, but I missed you,” he groaned against her cheek.
“I missed you too. I was so worried . . .”
He moved away a little. “We mustn’t do this. Your reputation . . .”
“I don’t care . . .”
“I do.” He sucked in a deep breath and separated them completely. “Stop tempting me, wench.”
“Ha!” she protested. “So I’m cast as Eve, am I?” But she smiled with the joy of his return. “Come and see the ballroom.”
He allowed her to pull him back into the room and gazed at the walls. “I saw. Even Rothgar wouldn’t . . .”
“It is remarkably convincing, isn’t it?”
He went over and studied a panel, and blew out his breath in relief. “But it’s remarkable from a distance, and in candlelight . . . The Malloren reputation for doing the incredible is about to be bolstered.”
“Quite apart from whatever takes place at the ball.” Then the purpose of the ball hit her like a shower of cold rain. “Did you get the documents?”
“Yes,” he said, and rolled his eyes. “But only by luck. Mary gave the clothes to her maid, who passed them on to her mother. When I arrived at that lady’s house, she had just plunged them all into a vat of hot, soapy water.”
As if unable to resist, he took her hand.
“Oh, Lord. Did the ink survive?” That tenuous contact was shattering her mind.
He grinned. “She’d taken the document out of the pocket, thinking to return it to Mary, but put it on the table near a joint of meat. It became somewhat bloodstained.”
“Appropriate in a way,” Chastity commented, twining her fingers with his.
“Very true. Unfortunately it then seemed a tasty treat to the lady’s pet cur.”
Chastity closed her eyes. “I don’t want to know.”
“Only slightly chewed.”
She opened her eyes and smiled at him, as much in delight at his presence as at his news. “You gave the letter to Rothgar?”
“I gave it to Verity, since it is hers. I think she is taking it to Rothgar now.” He raised her hand and kissed it.
She gazed at him longingly, but said, “Come on, then. I’m quite desperate to know what is in it. And if it turns out to be some carefully-thought-out last words of advice, I shall have the vapors!”
Cyn allowed himself to be dragged along. “I live to see the day!”
She flashed him a scowl that turned into laughter, and towed him along. At the door to Rothgar’s study, however, he put up real resistance and captured her against the wall. “You seem happy,” he said almost wistfully.
Chastity realized with surprise that she was. That she had been for days. Happy to be a woman again, in a normal house, with a family of sorts. She’d wiped away the terrible months and was refusing to contemplate the bleak future. “Do you mind?”
He shook his head. “Why should I mind, love? This is what I want for you. What I insist on giving you. If the document turns out to be useless, we’ll find some other way.”
“Oh, Cyn,” said Chastity. “I pray you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. You have the Mallorens on your side.”
Chastity shook her head at him, but said, “I want to thank you for bringing me here, Cyn. And for recruiting Rothgar. I know it wasn’t easy for you.”
He hooted with laughter. “Recruited! Was that what I did? How bloody marvelous!”
And it was Cyn who pulled a bemused Chastity into the study.
They found Rothgar, Verity, and Nathaniel—a very sober Verity and Nathaniel. Rothgar passed the stained and slightly-chewed document over to Cyn and Chastity.
“Lud,” said Chastity as they read.
It was a very incriminating document, for all that it was signed only ‘Mr. Ware.’ The recipient, whoever that was, had clearly demanded proof of who he was dealing with. In response, a number of details had been given which pointed clearly, for those with any knowledge of the man, to Lord Walgrave. In one sentence, the words offspring, Fortitude, Chastity, Victor, and Verity had been combined.
Mr. Ware promised to use his influence with certain highly placed people—read the Prince and Princess of Wales—to induce the royal family to flee once the Jacobite army arrived within thirty miles of London.
He professed unswerving allegiance to James III, citing a meeting with the ‘king’ during his Grand Tour in 1717.
“Could that meeting have really taken place?” Chastity asked. “I can perhaps imagine that Father allowed his ambition to control him, and took this step, thinking that the Stuarts were about to triumph. But back in his youth, and so soon after the rebellion in 1715?”
Rothgar answered. “In fact, it is the least incriminating item. A young man can be misguided, or ill-advised. Back in those days, I understand, there was a certain fashionable bravado in making contact with the Stuarts during a Grand Tour. The rest, however, is enough to make your father’s position very dangerous indeed. It will certainly shatter forever his image as the Incorruptible.”
Verity looked at Rothgar. “Fort must be told. He must have a say in this.”
“Of course.” Rothgar sent for Lord Thornhill.
Fort entered the room suspiciously, withdrawn physically and mentally from these unwelcome allies. He sent a burning glare at Cyn. Rothgar handed him the letter.
Fort read it and collapsed into a chair. “I never would have believed . . . He must have been mad!”
“Those were strange days,” said Rothgar. “You were in the nursery, and doubtless remember little. I was a young man, too young to be truly torn by it, but I remember that there were a few days when it seemed as if the impossible might become true. All was rumor and disorder. The Hanoverian royalty were packed and ready to run back to their little German electorate. Many believed that hidden Jacobite sympathizers were about to crawl out of the wainscoting . . . Your father lost his nerve.”
“But a Jacobite! I’d have sworn oaths he has never had Jacobite sympathies. Plague take it! In spiritual matters he’s more of a Puritan than a Papist. That’s why we ended up with these names.”
“But more ambitious than anything else. In 1745 he was in the prime of life, remember. He was the same age, I believe, as his friend Frederick, Prince of Wales, and so would have been thirty-eight. Two ambitious men waiting in the wings, impatient for power. The great Walpole had fallen a few years before, leaving no firm hand to steer England. Everything was ready, if only the king would die.” Rothgar smiled derisively. “Neither of them could have dreamed old King George II would live until 1760, and outlive his greedy son . . . The ironies of fate.
“But before that turn of the wheel came this other foul blow of destiny. With Walgrave poised to take control of England as soon as Frederick became king, was he going to let the Jacobites wrest it from him? He struggled against them, but when it seemed they might in truth prevail, he faltered, unable to see his dream turn to dross. Perhaps they approached him, tempted him . . . Frederick, you know, was not an inspiring figure upon which to build a great new order. He was a drunkard and a libertine . . .”
He suddenly shrugged. “Forgive my speculations. Perhaps the noble earl will enlighten us when he comes.”
“When he comes?” asked Fort numbly.
“Didn’t Chastity tell you? I have invited him to the ball.”
Fort stood,
the letter still in his hands. “I could throw this in the fire.”
“Perhaps,” said Rothgar.
“You have the whip hand at last, don’t you, Rothgar?” sneered Fort. “How you must be loving this. What are you going to do?”
“I?” said Rothgar mildly. “I am going to ensure that my brother can comfortably marry your sister. It is my sole interest in this matter. That letter plays a very small part, and only to twist your father’s arm a little. For anything more, I leave it up to you, but I would not let him know you have it without safeguards.”
The room was silent as Fort considered the fact that his father would kill him to gain the document. He thrust the letter back into Rothgar’s hands. “Keep it. I’ll let you know when I decide what to do.” He stalked out of the room.
Verity said something softly to Nathaniel and rose to her feet. She looked at Chastity. Chastity went with her sister in pursuit of their brother.
They tracked him down in his room where he was attacking a bottle of brandy. Moving in unison, they relieved him of it. “Not now, Fort,” said Verity.
“This is all your fault!” he snarled.
“Well, really!” declared Chastity. “If ever I’ve heard a piece of injustice, it is that! Verity and I have suffered terribly, and have brought none of it on ourselves.”
He turned on her. “If you hadn’t debauched yourself with a damned Malloren, bloody Rothgar wouldn’t have our family over a barrel!”
Chastity planted her fists on her hips and leaned forward. “If Father hadn’t committed treason, none of this would have happened! Or have you forgotten that?”
He groaned and sank his head into his hands. “If this comes out, we’ll all be destroyed.”
Chastity and Verity sat, one on either side of him. “Fort, you heard Rothgar. It won’t come out.”
He looked up. “You trust Rothgar?”
“Yes,” said Chastity. “Don’t you?”
“He hates the Wares.”
“Why is that, Fort?”
“It mainly hinges on a man named Russell, an adherent of the Pitts, whom Father detests. I see now—I think I see—that Father detests anyone and everyone who gets between him and power. Russell was Commissary General of the Army. He was tried and ruined for corruption, but Rothgar stood by his friend throughout. There was talk that he had shared in the spoils, of course. Father has boasted of having a part in bringing Russell to justice, of putting an end to the scandals that had our brave soldiers fighting in tawdry uniforms and using unreliable weapons . . .” He sank his head in his hands once more. “Now, I don’t know what to think.”
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