Caroline looked appalled at the idea, so appalled she stopped where she was right in the middle of Hyde Park. Her maid and Charlotte’s footman, both trailing at a discreet distance and chatting in a familiar manner that Caroline did not entirely approve of, sat down on a nearby bench. “I couldn’t possibly!”
“Oh, pheasant feathers! You’re making such a fuss over nothing! Very well, call him McGregor.” Charlotte twirled her parasol in a determinedly unconcerned fashion and smiled at a pair of passing ladies. “Mrs. Hawkins is looking plump. Do you think she’s increasing again?”
“I doubt it. Mr. Hawkins has been in Belgium this last year. As I was saying, if your husband has already contacted his solicitors about the matter, there is no need for you to go running off on another one of your hen-witted plans.”
“There is every need, Caro,” Charlotte said, refusing to rise to the hen-witted bait. She dimpled out of habit as a small clutch of dandies on horseback looked their way. The weather had turned sunny again, making it very pleasant to take a stroll through the park, especially since they were in clear view of Rotten Row so they could see and be seen. Still, she had a job to do. Duty must come before pleasure. Extracting a small memorandum book from her reticule, she slipped her arm through Caroline’s and urged her in the direction she wished to go. “Solicitors are notoriously slow, and I haven’t the time to wait on their pleasure. Besides, I’m not sure I can trust them to find in Alasdair’s favor, as I will.”
“But—”
“Only you can help me—you are a veritable mountainhead of gossip, Caro!”
“Fountainhead.”
“You must be aware of the very precarious position Alasdair and I are in at the moment. One more scandal and even I will not be able to salvage our standing with the ton. Thus I turn to you, my dearest and closest friend and confidant, for aid.” Charlotte blinked quickly and dabbed her handkerchief at a nonexistent tear. “I have no one else I can turn to.”
“I know full well you’re not crying; you hate crying. Tears make your eyes turn red and swollen, and your nose becomes afflicted, and sometimes you get the hiccups as a result, so you’re not fooling me into thinking that you’d weep now over something so trivial.”
“Trivial!” Charlotte’s glare was untainted by tears. “My life is not trivial!”
“Your life is not at stake here, only your pride—”
“My pride! Oh, I like that! How would you feel if your dearest Algernon suddenly found himself stripped of his title, disgraced and demeaned before everyone?”
“That wouldn’t happen; dearest Algernon’s father was viscount before him, and he has no brothers—”
Charlotte came to a halt, her fists clenched, her teeth gritted. She would not scream in public, no matter how strong the provocation. “My point, which you seemed to have missed entirely, is that this matter is one of extreme importance. You will at least grant me that.”
“Yes,” Caroline said with much dignity, pulling her gaze from a heavily mustachioed gentleman in order to give her friend her full attention. “I agree that it is important, but I do not think it is a matter of life or death, and because it is not, I am unable to help with whatever plan you have organized. Dearest Algernon was not at all pleased when he found out I assisted you at Lady Jersey’s masquerade, and after the scene at the Duchess of Deal’s ball…well, I’m sorry, but I must consider his position, as well as my own. I cannot help you.”
Charlotte tugged Caroline’s reticule from her wrist, pulling from it a small diamond-encrusted gentleman’s watch that was a much cherished memento of Caroline’s father, turning a small knob on the top of the watch face.
“What on earth are you doing?” Caroline asked, her bewilderment plain.
“I have set your papa’s watch forward an hour. We will assume we have spent the past hour arguing over whether you will help me. It is now an hour later. You have been worn down by my brilliant arguments and charming wit and have agreed to help me.”
Caroline blinked at her in surprise. “I haven’t—”
“No, but you would if I continued. You know you would; you’ve never yet been able to withstand one of my pervasive arguments. So why don’t we dispense with the need to waste an hour debating the point and move on to the part where you agree to help me with my plans.”
Caroline looked as if she was going to argue the point. Then her shoulders slumped and she accepted the watch, tucking it away carefully in her bag before starting forward again. “The word is persuasive, and I’m not going to forget this, Charlotte, I’m truly not.”
“If it churns your butter,” Charlotte said with a bright smile. “I heard Gillian say that. Isn’t it quaint? Now, as for my plans—”
“There’s more than one?” Caroline asked in a voice faint with horror.
“Yes, I had a brilliant thought on the way over here, and I believe I have a solution to our problem with the ton. As you well know, they will continue to chew over this latest scandal—the one involving the Pretender—until something more meaty catches their attention. Therefore, I propose to present them with a morsel so tempting, all thought of Dare and the Pretender will be wiped from their collective minds.”
“You’ve forgotten the original scandal, the one that came about when I inadvertently allowed Lady Brindley to know your husband hasn’t consummated your marriage. And I should add that it is my own role in that sad business that is the only reason I will help you now. I owe you recompense for the damage I did you.”
Charlotte let her dimples flash, a sweet blush of maidenly innocence that she always found particularly effective pinkening her cheeks as she spoke. “Sweet Caro, I knew you couldn’t refuse me, although truly I do not blame you for that situation—Lady Brindley is just the sort of a woman who would stand about in a maze eavesdropping on people. Regardless, that bit of scandal is no more since Dare…well, you must take my word that it is no more.”
Caroline’s eyes brightened as she looked around them quickly to make sure they were not overheard. “Did he…?”
Charlotte, with practiced ease, urged the blush to darken as she modestly cast her gaze down to her hands. She nodded. “He did.”
“And was it…?”
“Perfectly splendid, as I knew it would be.”
Caroline breathed a happy sigh. “I’m so pleased for you, but must admit I’m a bit confused as well. Are you suggesting that you will create another scandal to draw attention away from the one regarding Mr. Geoffrey McGregor?”
“Exactly. You might not be the sharpest apple in the barrel, but you do have your wicks lit when it matters.”
“I…sharpest?” Caroline shook her head. “Char, I don’t understand why you would think creating another scandal is the solution to your problem. People will still be talking about you—if not because of the Geoffrey McGregor situation, then because of whatever new scandal you cause.”
“Don’t be a goose, Caro, I’m not going to start a scandal about myself. It will concern someone else.”
“Oh.” Caroline continued to look confused. “How are you going to do that? I can’t imagine anyone would care to have a scandal started about them. I know I should protest—dear Lord, you’re not planning on using me?”
“Would I do that?” Charlotte asked, allowing herself a small moue expressive of wounded feelings.
“If you thought it would serve you, quite probably you would.”
“Caroline Augusta Gwendlyspere! I would never deliberately engineer a scandal around you, and I am hurt and insulted that you would think otherwise.”
“I seem to recall someone not a hundred miles from here who, when we were both at Miss Bengyman’s School for Gentlewomen, used me as a scapegoat when she was caught climbing into the library window after midnight in the company of Ted the groom.”
“Oh, pish, that was the merest coincidence.”
&nb
sp; “Coincidence? You told Miss Bengyman that I was spoony over Ted and that you were trying to stop me from eloping with him.”
Charlotte frowned. “Caro, sweet Caro, might I remind you of the serious problem at hand? I cannot possibly be expected to remember every little event in my life, so if we might return our attention to the present—”
“I had to read sermons to old Mrs. Bengyman for an entire month, and you remember how horrible she was. She smelled of camphor and would insist on clacking those false teeth of hers when I least expected it. It was louder than a cannon shot.”
“—I will be happy to tell you my plan.”
“I was a nervous wreck after a few days. I ended up with a tic over my right eye for three months after that.”
“Namely”—Charlotte drew a deep breath and refused to argue with her sole remaining friend—“one concerning Lady Brindley.”
That stopped Caroline in mid-squawk. “Lady Brindley? You plan on causing a scandal about Lady Brindley?”
“Shhh, do you want the whole of London to hear my plan? And who better to be the focus of a scandal? I couldn’t very well go about involving someone innocent—not that the ton is overly ripe with innocents, but still, I would never deliberately hasten a scandal about someone who did not deserve it, and you must agree that if anyone deserves a little of the grief she’s caused, it’s Lady Brindley.”
Caroline looked thoughtful for a moment. “I must admit I cannot fault your reasoning there. She certainly has gone out of her way to injure both you and Lord…Mr. McGregor. What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Well, do you remember telling me last week about the Marchioness of Welles’s ball next week?”
A small frown of concentration wrinkled Caroline’s forehead. “Yes, you said you detested Lady Welles, and you’d rather walk naked through Hyde Park than attend her ball.”
“I’ve changed my mind. Prinny is supposed to be there, yes?”
“You mustn’t call him that; it’s disrespectful. The Prince Regent is Hypatia’s godfather, and yes, he said he would attend her ball. Why?”
“The ball is sure to be a crush, for everyone who does not remember Hypatia as a spotty little girl inclined to tell tales will be there—in other words, it’s the perfect setting for a scandal guaranteed to so shock and titillate Society, that foolish business with the Pretender will be forgotten in a trice.”
“What scandal?” Caroline said with evident worry.
Charlotte smiled. Oh, it wasn’t a particularly nice smile, she knew that, it wasn’t the sort of a smile she would allow anyone but a dear, trusted friend to see, laden with smug satisfaction and just a hint of wickedness, but it was still a smile. She gave herself several points for the fact that faced as she was with the complete and utter destruction of her social life, she could still smile. “Lady Brindley is going to have an accident at the ball. Or rather, her gown is.”
Caroline’s eyes opened wide. “Her gown? You don’t mean the one she was having fitted when I saw her at the modiste’s?”
“Exactly that one. Or rather, a copy of it. That’s where your help comes in.”
“My help? My help with what?” Caroline’s voice rose at least an octave in her distress. Charlotte explained her plan in such detail as to make Caroline’s blood run cold.
When she was finished Caroline walked in stunned silence for a few minutes, blinking now and again at her friend. “You really have a very frightening mind. It worries me, Char, it really does. I cannot help but think of what havoc you could wreak were your mind to one day snap. As for your plan…”
Charlotte strolled on with her arm through Caroline’s, her mind at ease as the latter lectured her on the folly of her plan. With the matter of a distracting scandal taken care of, she could focus on the much more important matter of proving the Pretender’s claim false. No doubt Crouch could help her there. Crouch was very useful when it came to things of that sort, things such as kidnapping and investigating people who made claims against earls, and the like.
“Alasdair won’t like my consulting Crouch,” she mused, incidentally interrupting Caroline’s lecture, halting long enough to tear out the memorandum page of notes she’d written earlier for Caroline. “Certainly not after that silliness this morning when he tried to browbeat me—honestly, Caro, it was browbeating, pure and simple! There ought to be a law against husbands abusing their wives in such a manner—but then, as Mama was wont to say, what he does not know cannot hurt me.”
“Er…”
Charlotte handed her friend the slip of paper, tucking the memorandum book away in her reticule before waving to a woman near a large rhododendron. “There is Mrs. Whitney. She said she would be in the park today. For Alasdair’s sake I must say hello, even if she is the most tiresome of women. It’s been a lovely walk, Caro, and I take my leave of you secure in the knowledge that I have the dearest, sweetest friend in all England, a friend who I know will not let me down in my time of need. I shall spend a few minutes with Mrs. Whitney; then I must be on my way to set Crouch to investigating the Pretender. My best to your dear Algernon. Jackson, come along and stop flirting with Clothilde, I have a great number of things to do today.”
Caroline slumped onto a convenient bench as Charlotte waved cheerfully before hurrying toward a gray-haired older woman and her maid. There were times—such as when she went up against Char’s indomitable will—that she felt as effective as a soap bubble against a herd of Charlotte’s elephants…no matter what their color.
Fourteen
“You, sir, are a liar. You lied to your wife. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Dare glared at the face before him, then threw his towel at the mirror and bent to splash water over his heated brow. Perhaps liar was too strong a word—he was behind schedule, and he did anticipate working around the clock on the engine so as to have it ready for trial by the week’s end. Those hadn’t been lies. Still, he could have easily carved a few hours out of his day to go riding with Charlotte in the park.
He glanced out the window. The sun was low in the sky, long shadows reaching across the street in an elongated parody of the house’s shape. It wasn’t too late; he could still take her to the opera. He had that box Patricia had pleaded with him to take for the Season…it would take little time to send a footman to the theater. A slow smile curled his lips as he thought about spending the evening in the company of his wife. True, he’d rather spend that time in a less public place, one conducive to the activities that had, the evening before, left him wrung out like a well-used rag, but a visit to the opera would please Charlotte. Spending a few hours listening to a bunch of singers screeching in Italian was a small price to pay for giving her pleasure.
He paused for a moment before the bureau drawer, a fresh neck cloth dangling from his fingers, his body quivering with the thought of giving his wife pleasure. Just imagining her response to him was enough to leave him hard and aching. With a leer that would have a harlot blushing, he quickly changed out of his oil-splattered work things and into garments more suited to a gentleman.
“Ah, Batsfoam,” he said when that worthy wandered in a few minutes later. “I hadn’t expected to see you abovestairs so early.”
Batsfoam retrieved Dare’s recently discarded boots, now coated with coal dust, oil, and assorted grime, and inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Regardless of my other responsibilities—many and varied as they are—I am still your valet, and as such, it is my duty, nay extreme pleasure, to be on hand when you undertake that most onerous of tasks: clothing yourself. Thus you see me here, practically frothing at the mouth with excitement at the thought of making myself useful to you.”
Dare smiled fondly at the man. Not even Batsfoam’s usual dour countenance could ruin the happy anticipation that filled him when he thought of spending the evening with Charlotte…particularly the last part of the evening, the part when they would be alone, naked,
his hands skimming all her lovely curves, making her eyes burn hot with that erotic mixture of love and passion that made him feel like a god among mere mortal men. This, he thought smugly to himself as he allowed Batsfoam to help him into a midnight-blue coat that fitted him as closely as a sausage casing, was what he’d wanted from a wife all along—not just the sharp bite of lust, but the soul-deep satisfying warmth of a companion, a friend, someone he wanted to be with simply because he delighted in her company.
Someone who loved him.
“Do you know the whereabouts of my wife, Batsfoam?” He tweaked the neck cloth slightly until the simple arrangement met with his satisfaction.
“Lady Charlotte has been gracious enough to gift me with that information, sir.”
Dare waited a moment, but when Batsfoam gathered up the boots and used linen in preparation to leaving the room, he cocked an inquiring brow. “Would you be so generous as to share that information with me, or is it some state secret that I’m not to be privy to?”
For the first time since Dare had met him, Batsfoam hesitated to speak. “Lady Charlotte is at Britton House, sir.”
Britton House? Weston’s house? Although Dare no longer held Noble accountable for his mistress’s death—indeed, his eyes had been sadly opened to the truth behind the late Lady Weston and her cruelties, not the least of which was using him to cast blame onto Noble—he had as little to do with Weston and his charming, if eccentric, wife as was possible. “Why is she at Weston’s house? What did she tell you she was doing there?”
Batsfoam didn’t flinch at the bellow, although he was willing to wager a sovereign that he’d be slightly deaf for a week because of it. “I was given to understand that Lady Charlotte sought recourse to the Earl of Weston’s staff for an unspecified undertaking, the staff here being, as the Lady Charlotte herself said, a bit overburdened.”
“Undertaking? What sort of an undertaking would she have for Weston’s servants?” Dare knew shouting at Batsfoam wasn’t justified, but the thought of Charlotte running to Weston—by means of his servants—when she wanted help made him see red. Dammit, he was her husband! If she wanted help, she could bloody well turn to him for it. Didn’t she understand how the husband-wife relationship worked?
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