Tori pretended not to hear this last statement, so angry with herself was she for missing her chance to give Lord Fowler-Greene food for thought. I should have pretended to like it! she scolded herself. If what Granger says about the old fool is true, I just missed my chance, but I promise I’ll not miss another. I’ll have the old fool thinking I can hardly wait to jump into bed with him. Perhaps my eagerness will put him off me. Ugh! I must do something! His breath smells like a bucket of slops. As she entered the dining room, she stepped over to her seat and awaited the entrance of the others.
Granger entered, Lady Helen on his arm. Tori misinterpreted his pained look as one of sympathy for himself. Actually, Granger’s sympathies were totally with Tori.
Dinner was dismal. Granger appeared to be the only one enjoying the roast mutton. He, in fact, had his dish refilled twice. Lady Lydia kept glancing at Tori from beneath lowered lids, a frown on her still pretty face.
Lady Helen was engaged in expounding the merits of a new remedy for the dropsy which she had been using on her cook. Tori appeared to be interested for courtesy’s sake, but the whole while her head was pounding unmercifully.
Lord Fowler-Greene was speaking to Lord Rawlings and his voice began to get louder and louder. Even Lady Helen, used as she was to her brother’s volume, stopped speaking to listen.
“No, Nelson. You don’t see it the way I do and I don’t expect you ever will,” Lord Fowler-Greene was saying in his great voice.
“I don’t expect I ever could see it your way!” Lord Rawlings raised his voice a note above that of Lord Fowler-Greene. “I don’t do things under the cover as is your way. I thought the man should be given at least the consideration of a hearing and said so!”
Lord Fowler-Greene used the old statesman’s tactic and lowered his voice. Immediately, all attention was on him, waiting expectantly for his next words. “You see, old friend,” with a special emphasis on “friend,” “you must think of the whole situation logically. You must view it in its entirety. If you would help this Marcus Chancelor, you must not incense those who would be inclined to oppose him. This you have already done by your blatant support of the man.”
“Blatant?” Lord Rawlings shouted. “What am I, a crude pigkeeper, or a Member of Parliament? Sidney, you weren’t there when this all happened. Now you must hear the tale from my side.” Lord Fowler-Greene settled himself back in his chair and rested his eyes on Lord Rawlings, flattering his friend with his total attention.
Lord Rawlings started, in a much softer tone of voice. “We were at lunch, the other members and myself. From somewhere entered a tall, good-looking young fellow. He was well dressed, very much the gentleman. Then he began to speak. Imagine everyone’s shock when this apparent gentleman addressed us in that impossible slur that is spoken in the colonies. Then, what does he do, but after he has our shocked attention, he falls back into the purest-class English, like ours, Sidney, you know? One would think he was born and bred right here in London in sight of Whitehall. But I am drifting from the point. He addressed us and said his name was Marcus Chancelor, from Chancelor’s Valley in the Carolinas. He told us of the hardships his people have had to suffer because of our blockade and those renegade Indians. All they have left is a bit of seed with which to plant the next harvest. It seems that Chancelor’s Valley is inhabited by those who have spoken out against the government. Chancelor made it clear that they weren’t speaking out against the King. Indeed, the people are steadfast royalists. Instead they were speaking out against the corrupt governors there in the colonies who line their pockets by the sweat of the workingman’s brow. Since they are to be considered outcasts, the only possible means they have of supporting themselves is to deal in the black market which in the long run is a side enterprise of the very governors who condemn them. This Marcus Chancelor was not asking for any assistance other than to have the King lift the blockade which was suggested by these governors.”
“I’ve heard all that, Nelson,” Lord Fowler-Greene commiserated. “What I’d like to know is just exactly how you found yourself in your embarrassing predicament.”
“Found myself? Placed is more likely!” Lord Rawlings protested. “I took up the young man’s case with several of my colleagues. They seemed very interested. Then all of a sudden, temper seemed to change against me; indeed, the ill wind was blowing so strongly it was all I could do to remain standing on the floor of the House. I’ve strong suspicions that the governors this Chancelor was speaking of have friends who better their own interests by assuring those of the governors. Next I knew, I was named an offensive subject to the King, and my holdings had been stripped from me.”
“Now were you wise, you could have helped Marcus Chancelor, for a price of course, for if his community could afford the outrageous prices foisted on them by the black market, surely they would have been relieved to pay you a trifling sum, just in gratitude, you understand. So, instead of working behind the scenes, you made an issue of it, found yourself opposed, and stuck with it anyway. Now you find yourself with nothing and also no way to help this Chancelor fellow whose cause you’ve championed.” Lord Fowler-Greene noted the interested and dismayed expressions as he glanced around the table. “Odds fish! Is this the first you all are hearing of my good friend’s problems?”
Chapter Seven
It was less than a week before the wedding. Lady Lydia sat chatting with Mrs. Carey as the seamstress fitted the dress. The long white satin of Tori’s wedding gown sparkled and shone in the few rays of the sun that filtered through the huge leaded windows of her bedchamber.
“As I feared, Lady Rawlings, the child gets thinner each time I come, and then I have to restitch the seams. I fear she’ll waste away to nothing. As one of experience, having fitted more brides than I can remember, either Miss Rawlings is overcome with excitement or she is unhappy with the match,” Mrs. Carey sputtered, her mouth full of pins.
Lady Lydia, herself, had the same thoughts. But she knew for certain which way Tori’s emotions lay. When Lady Lydia had tried speaking to her husband of the matter, he had said it was just one of Tori’s tricks. Still, she didn’t like the look in the girl’s eyes. Lady Lydia had never seen defeat in Tori; this was unlike her. A mother doesn’t know how to help her child at times like these, Lady Lydia complained to herself. What is a mother to do? If there was only something she could say to make the ordeal easier for her child. The lady sighed deeply as she leaned forward to feel the smooth satin fabric which hung on Tori’s too sparse frame.
Tori roused herself from a half-dream and glanced at her mother and the seamstress. Noticing the gleaming satin as though for the first time, a look of loathing came across her face. It was noticed by the two women. Dutifully, Tori stood complacently as the seamstress turned her this way and that, pinning here, altering there. Where the gown had once clung to her curved figure it now hung limp. Lady Lydia frowned at the appearance of her daughter. Mrs. Carey sighed audibly. The seams must be taken in again, she would be up all night sewing. And for what? They would have to carry the girl to the ceremony on a litter or she missed her guess. And then who would see the lovely gown that she had stitched for over a fortnight? “A waste,” Mrs. Carey muttered to herself. “A pure waste!”
All the while she measured and pinned, Tori stood, bemoaning the fates which had brought her to this crisis in her life. Tori willed her mind to dwell on happier moments. Her first ball, the morning rides through the countryside with the wind whipping her golden hair back from her eyes. The freedom she had felt and enjoyed. Sitting in the kitchen with Cook and the maids and mimicking their melodious cockney accent to their screams of laughter and approval at her adroitness. Granger and the sometimes vile tricks she played on him, only to take her turn and become the object of his practical jokes. Girlhood seemed to be rushing away from her, leaving behind only memories of those carefree days.
Lady Lydia became so disconcerted by Tori’s silence, she could bear it no longer and made a feeble excuse to esc
ape the maudlin atmosphere of the bedchamber. When she had left, Mrs. Carey too was feeling the heavy pall of silence and she strove to divert the girl’s attention.
“You look so familiar to me, Miss Rawlings. I believe I’ve mentioned it before. At the time I could not remember who you resemble. But I have thought and thought and at last, late last night while I was stitching the hem of this gown, I finally remembered. There’s a girl at the Owl’s Eye Inn. Oh, I don’t suppose you know of the place; believe me, were it not for a marvelous little shop nearby, I myself would never venture into that notorious district.”
Seeing the disinterested expression Tori offered her, Mrs. Carey curbed her verbal wanderings. “As I was saying, Miss Rawlings, I’ve thought and thought these past days and finally it came to me. The serving wench at the Owl’s Eye Inn is the dead image of you, Miss Rawlings. Don’t take offense where none is intended, but I dare say she could pass for you in a bright light.”
Tori squirmed as Mrs. Carey adjusted a pleat and again stood quietly listening with half an ear.
“She’s the same hair as yourself, or it would be if it were done up proper. But I don’t imagine the eyes are the likes of yours. I declare I’ve never seen eyes the likes of yours in all my born days!”
“Who is she?” Tori asked politely.
Mrs. Carey, so startled by Tori’s sudden interest, gagged on one of her pins. “Why, I just told you, she’s a serving wench at the inn. I don’t know anything about her.”
“And she works at which inn?” Tori asked, a brightness returning to her eyes.
“Why, like I told you, Miss Rawlings, the Owl’s Eye Inn, in Chelsea. And a beautiful girl she is. ’Tis a shame she’s not quality folk like yourself.”
Tori began to fidget. “Mrs. Carey, have you seen my cousin Granger?”
“Yes, miss. He was downstairs when I arrived, if I’m not mistaken. Hold still, miss. I’m almost finished. There, that does it, little lady. The gown will be finished in time for the wedding. Though dreading it I am that I’ll have to lose sleep again to alter the gown.”
Tori wiggled from the gown and hastily dressed herself. She almost stumbled, and Mrs. Carey had to come to her aid. God! She’d no idea she was so weak. She must have something to eat. She must regain her strength! There was no time to lose.
“Mrs. Carey, when you return downstairs, tell the cook to send me a heaping plateful of food. Any kind, it doesn’t matter. And please have someone send my cousin Granger to me, immediately!”
“Yes, miss,” Mrs. Carey managed to utter, so startled was she by the abrupt change in the girl. Still, the old woman remembered her own wedding to her Charlie. Hadn’t she acted much the same way, excited one minute and composed the next? Yes, Mrs. Carey thought to herself, everything would work out. Especially now, since she wouldn’t have to take in the seams on the bridal gown again. If Miss Rawlings continued to show this renewed spirit, surely she would put on the needed five pounds she required to fill out the gown.
Chapter Eight
“Aaaow, miss! That glad I am to see ye yer old self again.” The maid, Annie, smiled as she watched Tori tear the leg from a succulent squab.
“Mmm . . .” Tori mumbled as she chewed excitedly. Laying the fowl aside, she ripped at a chunk of cheese and washed it down with a huge mug of milk. “I forgot how good food could taste,” she said as she picked up the squab again. “You may leave now, Annie. You can return the tray to the kitchen in the morning. I won’t need you the rest of the night. I’m due for a good long night’s rest.”
“That you are, miss. ’Ave a good night. That ’appy am I to see ye more like yer old self. I’m sure yer intended will be overjoyed t’ ’ear about yer improved health.”
“Mmm . . . yes,” Tori said, her eyes bright. “I’m sure he will. Most happy. The lecherous old fool,” she added under her breath.
As Annie was leaving, Granger appeared outside the open door.
“Granger! Come in, come in.” As the door closed behind Annie, Tori cried excitedly, “I cannot believe my good fortune. I simply cannot believe it!”
“Tell me now. Has Lord Fowler-Greene met with an unfortunate accident?”
“Oh, hush!” Tori scolded, suddenly remembering her annoyance with Granger. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting the better part of an hour for you to come to me. Didn’t you receive my message?”
“Ah, Tori. I see by the return of your sweet nature that your health has returned. When I saw the maid carrying your tray, I thought there was an army quartered here. I see you have regained your appetite. To what do we all owe this remarkable recovery?”
Tori chose to ignore his sarcasm. “Granger, I cannot believe my good fortune. The gods are smiling in my favor. Listen to what I have to tell you. You will become as excited as I.” Quickly, Tori recited the tale Mrs. Carey had told her of the serving girl at the Owl’s Eye Inn. “Is it not fate, Granger? Aren’t you happy for me?”
“Oh, I’m happy,” Granger said, squirming in his chair. “Now that I know there are two of you in this world I fear I shall have to take up your father’s offer of wedding Lady Helen.”
“Dear Granger, he didn’t! Did he—to a sixty-year-old sheep dog!” Tori laughed mirthfully. “Is it to be a double wedding? How much is your purse? What are you worth on the marriage market? Surely not as much as me. Let me look at you,” Tori giggled as she eyed Granger’s virile, young body. “I fear,” she said sadly, “Lady Helen wouldn’t know what to do with you. Pray, Granger, do you not agree?” She laughed aloud at her cousin’s obvious discomfort.
“Many’s the seed you’ve sown,” Tori continued teasing. “Perhaps it is time to settle down and grow old. ’Tis a shame? Lady Helen is well past the childbearing age. There will be no lusty sons for you, dear Granger.”
“Hah! And that old cuckold that you are to wed. What makes you think he’ll even be able to bed you?”
“I have no intention of marrying and bedding that rooster. I have a plan, Granger. And if you have half the brains you were born with you will leave with me. For a man as versatile as yourself, there must be many ways of making a suitable living, or if that fails, marrying a wealthy woman.”
Granger nodded morosely. He could not picture himself lying next to a shaggy sheep dog. Sheep dogs were fine creatures, in fact he actually liked them, but not in his bed! Now if Lady Helen was ripe and succulent like a fresh picked peach, he would have snatched at Lord Rawlings’ offer. Still, one could not have everything. But on the other hand, what did he have? Just the promise of a ruby necklace if he helped Tori in whatever scheme she could devise.
“Let’s get on with it, Tori. What exactly do you have in mind?”
“It is this, Granger. As soon as everyone is asleep, we will go to the Owl’s Eye Inn and see this girl who looks so much like me. I shall offer her the chance to change places with me.”
All of a sudden, Granger burst out into a roaring laugh. “Tori, do you realize what type of scoundrels custom the Owl’s Eye Inn? No, I think not. In all likelihood, this wench is a slattern, a doxy. Can you just imagine that pompous ass’s face when he discovers he has bedded a tavern wench? And after all these many years of boasts. Why he’ll not be able to show his face in London!”
“That is what makes this so ideal, Granger. Lord Fowler-Greene will not want any publicity concerning the trick played on him. He wouldn’t dare to openly accuse my father of participating in this sham, and in all likelihood he will be more than glad to forget the purse he will have paid for the honor of my hand. Don’t you see, Granger, it’s perfect. The most father has to lose is an old friend. Mind, I said an old friend, not a good one.”
“Speaking of your father, Tori, what do you think this will do to him? He does have his code of honor, you know.”
Tori snapped her fingers. “Why, dear cousin, it shall be as honorable for me to save myself from this impossible marriage as it was for Father to stretch out his hand and accept the purse. There is a word for what
he has attempted to do, you know. It is called slavery. And me! His own child! I’d rather die first than marry someone named Sidney!”
“You just may at that! When Lord Fowler-Greene discovers the ruse, what then? We have already agreed he would want no publicity, true. But surely you don’t think he will ignore the whole thing. No, I fear not, cousin.” Granger rubbed his hand gently across his lace-cravated neck. “And that long neck of yours is so beautiful, Tori. It will be a shame to see it broken. Our Sidney does have his ways and means, you know. And think of the sympathy that will accrue to him when London hears of the fatal accident suffered by his young wife. Surely the King will see fit to bestow another land grant on the grieving widower.”
Tori blanched slightly at Granger’s softly spoken words. “It is no more than he deserves. I have no compassion for him.”
“You have it wrong, cousin. It is you who will merit the pity. I hear you brought a healthy purse. That lecherous old fool, as you call him, willingly offered to double the purse, and your father accepted. That is how eager he is to bed you.”
Tori’s eyes glittered, showing more yellow than green, as they always did when she was incensed. “The man I bed will be something to behold, Granger, I promise you. No dirty old man for me! I’m young and healthy. I want a man who can set my pulses racing, not some fat, unwashed old fool who thinks the measure of a lady is her indignation at a hint of physical contact. I’ll have the full experience of love or I shall never marry!”
Chapter Nine
Granger rapped softly on Tori’s door a little past ten in the evening. The door swung open and his cousin stood there, excitement evident on her lovely face. “Come. Hurry. Aren’t you ready yet? My neck isn’t as long and pretty as yours, and I wouldn’t look well at the end of a rope. For surely that is what will happen if Uncle Nelson finds I’ve helped you.”
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