The butler entered the room bearing a silver tray with a decanter of port and three long-stemmed glasses.
“Shall we drink to your success, Mr. Chancelor? Perhaps you would be wise to assume a pseudonym for your . . . er, ventures. Say, something with a bit more style, which will appeal to the lower orders. You might consider the title of Scarblade. It has a certain flair, don’t you think?”
Chapter Four
“My God, Tori. What got into you? We could have been killed! Your father’s right, you need to be horsewhipped!” Granger went on and on, seeming to enjoy the luxury of railing at her. It wasn’t often he could best Tori in argument, but since they had driven away from the highwayman she seemed not to be listening to anyone. Her indifference pricked him and leaning closer, willing to engage her in argument, he said again, “You should be whipped!”
“Clip? What kind of clip?” chirped Lady Lydia’s puzzled voice. “Clip? Victoria, I won’t hear another word about cutting your hair! Nelson, speak to the girl! Do something!” Lady Lydia cried in her soprano voice as her fingers plucked at her reticule nervously. Worry pinched her delicate, pretty features. “You must attend to her marriage, Nelson, she needs a strong hand. On the morrow you’ll attend to the matter, for I’ll not have another night’s sleep otherwise!” This last Lady Lydia said in a lowered voice meant for her husband’s ears alone.
Lord Rawlings patted her small hand comfortingly. “The matter will be attended to, my dear. Rest, Lydia, soon we will be home.” He cast a wary eye in the direction of his daughter, who was engrossed in a heated conversation with Granger on the merits of Scarblade. Once again, he let his hand travel to his waistcoat pocket to feel the slim purse. He heaved a weary sigh of relief now that the decision to wed his daughter was made.
“Granger, I swear I would have protected your life, truly, I would. You must learn to manage your allowance more carefully. Always keep a few farthings in your pocket. This way you won’t tempt a highwayman to slice your gullet. Dear Granger, what am I to do with you? I shan’t always be around to protect you.” Tori teased unmercifully, smiling with pleasure at the perspiration which bathed his face.
“Wha . . . what? Victoria,” Granger sputtered, “I envy the man that marries you.”
“You do? Why?”
“Because if he has just one small part of a working brain, he will whip you three times a day and four on the Sabbath. You, dear cousin, are headed for one mighty dreadful time.”
“Granger, in this day and age, there is not a man alive who would beat his wife,” Tori said loftily.
“Cousin, when the man that marries you gets to know you, he will regret his bargain immediately. He will return you to your parents posthaste, and demand to be rid of you!”
“Granger, dearheart, the man who marries me shall love me for all time. I shall make his life exciting and full of meaning. I shall bear him rosy-cheeked children.” As an afterthought, she added, “When I am ready, that is.”
“I can see it before my eyes,” Granger snorted. “You’ll have a ring through his nose in a day’s time.”
“You see, Granger, when you put your devious mind to work, you truly understand,” Tori said happily.
Granger ignored Tori’s words and looked deeply into her sparkling green eyes. Seeing Granger’s intent, she lowered her thick, dark lashes.
Too late, Tori, Granger thought. I know you too well. Something happened back there and you’re frightened. That’s why all this inane babble. It’s to draw my attention from the fear in your eyes. You’re not half as brave as you would have everyone think, dear cousin. But there was something else glittering in those catlike orbs. And I don’t think I miss my guess when I think it was something akin to . . . lust?
Tori heard Granger’s snicker and she shot him a staggering look. “Ah, I think we are home!” she announced, her discomfiture disguised by her forced gaiety.
“Yes, my dear, we’re home,” Lord Rawlings said, happy as Tori to have neared the familiar surroundings. He glanced lovingly at his daughter. Soon, all his worries would be over. She really was too trying for a man reaching sixty. As he thought this last, he brightened. Why, if she’s too much for me, and I am almost fifty-nine, she surely will be too much, much too much, for that old badger Fowler-Greene. I give him a year with her before he’s burned out. His smile broadened. My dear Tori will make a handsome widow, a handsome, rich widow. He beamed as he speculated on this saving thought.
“Granger,” Tori whispered, “come to my sitting room later. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”
“What is it, Tori? I’m sorely tired this evening.”
“We will discuss it later. Now don’t forget!”
“How could I forget? You will nag me unmercifully if I don’t do your bidding. But I warn you, Tori, I shall not help you in any more of your dastardly schemes.”
“Well, if you prefer to live the life of a pauper, so be it. I happen to be in a position to help you line your pockets—somewhat, that is.”
Granger’s eyes took on a curious gleam, as they always did at the mention of money. Tori, looking at him in the dim light of the coach, knew he would do her bidding.
“Come, Mother, I’ll help you. I know that you must be as weary as I this night. All that terrible excitement! What is this country coming to?” she said, her voice raised so Lady Lydia would hear. “Imagine being accosted this night!” She shook her head for her mother’s benefit.
“Your father is going to arrange a marriage for you, Tori, so that should put your mind at rest. Soon you will be someone else’s prob . . . worry,” she corrected.
“What do you mean, Mother?” Tori asked fearfully, a knot of panic clutching her stomach.
“Your marriage is to be arranged for only a fortnight from now. Is that not happy news?”
“Mother, I’m not ready for marriage,” Tori wailed. “I thought we had this all out at our summer home. I can’t believe you agree with Father in wanting to pack me off to Lord Fowler-Greene. I’m not ready!”
“My dear, there is nothing to it! Soon as you’ve become accustomed to the ways of the marriage bed, believe me, you shall be most happy. Your dear father assures me that you’ll be happy. It’s what you need, dear girl. If you’re happy, then your father and I will be happy. We’ll have a great feast. If I’m well enough tomorrow, I’ll undertake to arrange all of the details. We must have a suitable gown for you.”
“But, Mother . . .”
“Hush, child, let me think. I know that you’re overcome. Don’t try to thank me now, or your father; we’re only too glad to attend to the details.”
“But, Mother . . .”
“Not one more word! I’m sorely tired,” Lady Lydia sighed as she walked on shaky legs up the marble steps to her bedchamber.
“Ahhk!” Tori squawked indignantly to herself. “I’ll not marry unless I’m in love, and I certainly shall not marry some fat old man with hoards of money. It would be just my misfortune that he’ll snore and snort all night and in the morning he’ll belch and scratch. All I need is enough money to line Granger’s pockets. If I have to, I’ll join Scarblade’s men and secure my money the way highwaymen do!”
“Tori, I wish to discuss a matter of some importance with you after the evening meal,” Lord Rawlings commanded as he saw a familiar belligerent expression cross Tori’s face.
“Very well, Father. I shall oblige you as a good daughter should,” Tori said, suddenly meek.
Lord Rawlings did not miss the submissive tone. Suddenly his own stomach knotted in panic. He could feel in his bones that she was up to some form of trickery. Never in all of her twenty-two years had she agreed to anything, no matter how small, without some form of obstinacy. This time, though, he’d tie her and lock her in her bedchamber if she didn’t agree. With this resolved and the happy thought that his daughter could not best him this time, he followed his wife.
Tori cast a loving eye in Granger’s direction. He paled. Tori never lo
oked lovingly at anyone, only at her reflection in a mirror. She winked roguishly as she mounted the steps. “Don’t forget, Granger. Later, in my sitting room,” Tori whispered. A thrill of apprehension shot through him.
Chapter Five
Tori flung herself on the high bed and stared up at the sculptured ceiling. She had to come up with some kind of plan to thwart her father! She would not marry that odious Lord Sidney Fowler-Greene, monies or no. Father would just have to come up with another way to see himself through the difficulties she knew he was having. He hadn’t been as sly as he had thought when he would creep out of their summer home with some article of value beneath his frock coat. He had underestimated her perceptive eye. He can lower himself to the station of a scullion, as far as I care! Let him beg or, better, steal or, still better, crawl on his belly to curry favor with the Crown. He could not barter his own flesh and blood. She knew it was a lost argument. She also knew her father well. If necessary he would lock her in her chamber till the marriage vows were said. Granger was her only hope. He would have to help her. Granger would do anything for a price, as long as it didn’t involve putting his head in a noose. Soon her father would have to oust him. There would be no money to keep him to say nothing of his handsome allowance. She giggled at the thought of Granger at the mercy of the elements, not to mention the highwaymen. He would not last two days on his own. What could she offer to entice him to help her. Quickly, she climbed from the bed and opened her jewel box. She looked in dismay at the paltry baubles that rested in the velvet depths. The lot wasn’t worth ten sovereigns. Oh, why hadn’t she pleaded with her father like the other girls did to acquire jewels. She pounced on her reticule and counted out the small hoard of money. Perhaps Granger would be satisfied with the meager sum. She would have to beg, plead, cry, and if all else failed, threaten. She knew a few secrets about Granger that he would not want bandied about, especially to Lord Rawlings.
Dinner was a dismal affair. Everything was cold, the meat, the eggs, the bread. Tori had no appetite and Lady Lydia soon retired, pleading a headache. Lord Rawlings escorted Tori into the library.
A fire had been laid in the hearth to ward off the chill of the rooms unused throughout the summer. Lord Rawlings pointed to a high-backed leather chair by the low fire and requested Tori to seat herself.
“There is a matter we must discuss. Please, my dear, listen to me with an open mind. As you well know, I have lost favor with the Crown. What you do not know is that without the rentals from those properties which have been removed from my title, we are in grave financial straits. I have barely enough to see us through the next several months. After that,” he said, piteously eying Tori for a reaction, “it will be debtors’ prison for me. Now I know,” he said, raising a hand to forestall an objection Tori might be inclined to make, “that you do not want that to happen. Therefore, my dear, I had to arrange the marriage for you with Lord Fowler-Greene. You must put these romantic notions out of your mind. ’Tis a cruel world we live in and you are of an age when marriage is imperative. Why, in a few years we won’t have an opportunity to marry you off. You don’t want to see your dear mother languish and die for mourning me, locked away in Newgate, do you?”
At Tori’s meek denial, he continued. “The purse that Lord Fowler-Greene has offered for your hand will take care of all my debts and leave your mother comfortable till I regain favor with the Crown, if ever.” He added sorrowfully, “You will agree, won’t you, Tori?”
“But, Father, couldn’t we sell Mother’s jewels? Perhaps I could take a post as a governess somewhere?”
“My dear, much as it pains me to say this, I fear I must. However, not a word of this to your mother. The jewels have been gone these many months. What remains in their place are trinkets made to look like the real ones. All that remains is the wedding necklace I gave your dear mother. I had not the heart to sell it!”
“The ruby and diamond necklace that is to come to me on Mother’s death? Is that what you mean, Father?”
“Yes,” he nodded wearily. “Your mother prizes it highly. That is why she keeps it beside her bed at all times.”
“What you mean, Father, is that you could not get your hands on it,” Tori said spiritedly. “Otherwise, you would have sold it also. Is that not a fact?” she asked brazenly.
Lord Rawlings flinched at his daughter’s hard tone, or was it at the truth of the statement?
“Will you agree to the arrangement? Will you, Tori?”
Tori nodded affirmatively. She would agree to anything at that moment. She needed time to think and to plan. The whole night was before her.
“I want you to give me your word that there will be no trickery, Tori, else I will lock you in your bedchamber. Your word, Victoria,” he said imperiously, “your word as a Christian.”
“Father, let me remind you that I am not a child and do not wish to be treated as such. No, I will not give you my word. You will have to accept me as I am. You will arrange the marriage. I won’t stop you. Let us leave it at that. Now if you will excuse me, I wish to bid Mother goodnight.”
The little whelp, she’s up to something, Lord Rawlings thought. I’ll have the footman watch out for her. It is too late in the day for her to mix things. He poured himself a glass of port and sat back contemplating his soon-to-be-found wealth and the marriage of his daughter. All his worries would be over. Soon he would have grandchildren to bounce on his knee. Thinking of the age of Lord Sidney Fowler-Greene, he amended, “Well, children aren’t all there is to a marriage. Besides, if they were to be as troublesome as Tori, it might be best not to have any.”
* * *
Tori mounted the steps slowly, her heart beating quickly. She entered Lady Lydia’s room and quietly walked over to the huge bed where her mother lay in a half-doze.
“Mother, may I have another peek at your wedding necklace?”
“Mmm. Yes,” the childlike voice answered sleepily.
Tori bent and picked up the small leather bag that held the diamond and ruby necklace. She held it near the flickering flame of the bedside light, removed the gems, and held them so their luster sparkled and gleamed.
“Mother, is it not your plan to present me this necklace at some future date?”
“Hmmm.”
“Then, perhaps you’ll not mind too much if I take possession of it now, to do with as I please. Can you hear me, Mother? I’m going to take the necklace. It’s all right, is it not? Somehow I feel it fitting that I should have the necklace since my own marriage is to be arranged.”
“Yes, yes,” came the sleepy reply.
“Oh, thank you,” Tori exclaimed as she placed a resounding kiss on Lady Lydia’s pale cheek. “You’ve saved my life!”
“That’s nice, dear.” Lady Lydia snuggled down further into the warm bed and turned her face deeper into the pillow.
Tori crept out of the room, feeling guilty for tricking her unsuspecting mother.
Back in her own suite of rooms, Tori sat on a small settee by the idle fireplace. The double glassed doors leading onto the balcony were open, allowing the gentle breezes of late September to waft into her room, bringing with them the fresh scent of fallen leaves rotting in the damp.
She placed the sparkling necklace on the delicate end table before her, putting her too few jewels beside it. With this as an added incentive, Granger was sure to help her. She never for a moment considered his refusal. Granger would do anything for money. So near poverty was he, Tori had no doubt of this. Poor Granger, ensconced in his mother’s sister’s household, dependent on Lord Rawlings’ goodwill and generosity.
When Granger was fifteen, he had lost both mother and father in a shipwreck off the coast of Spain. Sir Lapid, Granger’s father, had been a successful privateer and shipbuilder, dabbling in imports and exports. Pirates and heavy embargoes had put his livelihood in jeopardy, and Sir Lapid risked all he had on a venture in North Africa. Granger had stayed in England to complete his schooling and await his parents’ return.
Lady Sylvia, Granger’s mother, had begged her husband to allow her to accompany him on his newest ship. After much cajoling and pouting, Sir Lapid had finally agreed. Then an ill-fated storm off the coast of Gibraltar had robbed Granger of both mother and father and, not the least, his inheritance. All Sir Lapid owned was tied up in the venture, and when the estate was settled and the debts paid, Granger was left with a small yearly allowance, barely enough to keep body and soul together.
Since that time, Lord Rawlings had taken the responsibility of his wife’s nephew. If the truth were to be told, Lord Rawlings was fond of Granger. If only the boy were not so irresponsible and shiftless, Lord Rawlings had told himself and his wife countless times, he would not find Granger so irritating. And what did the boy think to gain by regaling his innocent cousin Tori with tales of misadventure? Lord Rawlings blamed most of Tori’s high-spirited ways on poor Granger.
Tori had just replaced the ruby necklace in its leather pouch and her own jewels in her pocket when a tentative rapping sounded on her door.
“Come in, Granger,” she called cheerfully.
Warily, Granger entered, his eyes raking the room for some hidden message.
“Pray, cousin, sit here by me.” Tori patted the cushion. “I’ll not bite you. Come, come, don’t be shy.” She measured his mood. “We’ve been cousins and known each other too long to stand on ceremony. Pray, sit, Granger.”
Still wary, Granger sat on the edge of the settee as if poised for flight. “Come on, cousin, let’s get this over with. I told you before that I’m sorely tired.”
“Dearest Granger, if that is to be the case, then I must tell you my little predicament immediately. I find myself in a very precarious predicament. I’m sure you know of my father’s plans for me to wed Lord Fowler-Greene.” Granger nodded. “Are you also aware that after his debts are paid there will be precious little left for my father and my mother?”
Fate & Fortune Page 4