So he was bitterly disappointed when Dair told him bluntly that he could not supply the name, but that he could supply the person who could give him the name, but that there were conditions attached. When wasn’t there? Shrewsbury conceded.
The two men sipped fine port from crystal glasses; port brought back from Lisbon in crates by the Major, as Dair related all that he had been told by his contact, M’sieur Lucian. Shrewsbury was most surprised and intrigued to discover this M’sieur Lucian was in fact back from the dead, heir to the Stretham-Ely earldom, and the Duke of Roxton’s closest cousin. He was even more interested that the lost heir had himself been a spy, and wondered what information, if any, he could offer him about the court of the Empress Catherine. Of course he agreed to the man’s terms for his return to England, and told Dair he would have Watkins arrange for M’sieur Lucian’s immediate safe passage home.
Mention of William Watkins steered the conversation away from Lisbon and back to England. Out of politeness, Dair asked after the Weasel’s broken nose, to which Shrewsbury laughed heartily and said it was about time his secretary got knocked off his high horse and returned to where he belonged, the back room amongst a mountain of papers where he could do least harm. For a second Dair felt sorry for the secretary, but that evaporated remembering why he had punched him in the face in the first place. Shrewsbury was having the same thought, and surprised Dair into thinking he could read minds when he said bluntly,
“I’ll have you forget why you broke Mr. Watkins’ nose. Best if people believe it was two men falling out over a wager of some description—I don’t care what—as long as my granddaughter’s name is never mentioned.”
“It never will, sir.”
The old man continued to stare at Dair, as if he expected him to be more forthcoming about the incident, but Dair remained silent, and Shrewsbury said in a low voice,
“Grasby told me all about what happened at the Physic Garden. He also told me he must have been mistaken in thinking he saw you in close contact with my granddaughter. Of course we both agreed this was nonsense. Grasby said it must have been a trick of the sunshine in his eyes…” Shrewsbury looked Dair up and down and visibly huffed. “You might be a womanizing lothario with dancers, whores and other men’s wayward wives—and the best of luck to you—but one thing we both agreed you are not is a seducer of young—”
“Sir, I—”
“—innocent females of good birth—”
“Sir, I—”
“—particularly the sisters of your closest friends, whatever Watkins might try and convince us to the contrary. My secretary has always had you pegged for a brainless libidinous muckworm, and I would hate to think his estimation had any basis in fact. But you’ve never let me down in the past and I know you won’t now. You quite rightly forgot all about that incident at Romney’s studio and I know you’ll do the same now, about Watkins’ idiotic attempt to ask my granddaughter to marry him.” Shrewsbury shook his head. “The sheer idiocy of the man defies my intelligence. What did he think would happen? What did he think my granddaughter’s response would be? How did he ever convince himself he was worthy of her?”
These were obviously rhetorical questions not requiring a response, so Dair remained silent. When Lord Shrewsbury held up the decanter, Dair shook his head and watched him refill his glass and put the decanter back on the tray at his elbow. He reasoned it was best to let him have his say, in the hopes that once he had let off steam about Weasel’s pathetic behavior, he would be more conducive to Dair’s proposal of marriage. And after all, he and Weasel were chalk and cheese in every way, shape and form!
“It’s a damned shame I need his expertise in constructing and deconstructing ciphers, or I’d have got rid of him as soon as I learned of his reprehensible behavior,” Shrewsbury confided, still warm to his topic. “Grasby’s brother-in-law he may be, but that doesn’t give him the right to even think of my granddaughter in any way whatsoever! And even if I wanted a husband for my granddaughter, the last place I’d look is Billingsgate! His grandfather was a fishmonger, for God’s sake! Whereas hers—me—is an earl! If his sister hadn’t come with a fifty thousand pound dowry she’d still stink of fish, too! Speaking of my dear granddaughter-in-law, my grandson and his dear wife are due here tomorrow. I told them not to give Watkins a seat in their carriage; he deserves to be left out in the cold. Justifiable punishment for his gross presumption. Besides, if there is to be a celebration, it will be for family only.”
The old man’s eyes lit up and he gleefully rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t keep the excitement from his voice.
“Grasby has some news… News! He wouldn’t put it in ink. He says he must announce it to me in person. I can tell you, my boy, I pray to God it’s that his wife is breeding—finally! I’m not getting younger, and neither is my grandson’s wife! Three years married and nothing to show for it. Now, if you were to marry, my guess is you’d have your wife with child within the month, if not the week! You’ve already proven you can breed. But I don’t blame Grasby. I blame her. Flighty, nervy creature… If you’ll take my advice, marry a widow with children. A pretty little widow, but one with children, so you know she can breed. If I’d given it more thought, and not let that fishmonger’s ransom addle my brain, I’d have found a nice fertile widow for my grandson…”
When the Spymaster General paused to sip at his port, Dair gauged it was the right moment, and Shrewsbury in the right frame of mind, for him to broach the subject of his own marriage.
“As it so happens, sir, I have rather important news of my own to share with you.”
The old man sat up, all attention, and Dair found himself clearing his throat. Still, he managed to keep his deep voice steady and impassive.
“I’ve decided it is time to follow in Grasby’s footsteps and marry.”
Shrewsbury’s face split into a grin and he smacked his silken knee in delight.
“By Jove, but this is excellent news indeed, my boy! Excellent news!”
“Thank you, sir. Your support means the world to me—to us. I’ve written to Lord Strathsay, and to his man of business, giving them my news, and requesting the necessary arrangements be made for me to assume management of the family estates. And my mother has been advised of my intentions and the need for her to quit Fitzstuart Hall and take up residence in the dower house. Of course, not at once, but arrangements need to be made so my wife can take up her position as lady of the house.”
“So marriage is more than a new thought? You’ve been contemplating the notion for some time?”
“That is difficult to answer. Had you wagered me upon my return from the war that I’d marry within a twelvemonth, I’d not have risked coin on the possibility.” He shrugged and smiled self-consciously. “But life, thankfully, is not ruled by the betting book, is it, sir? Which leads me to request that I be released from my obligations to the Service. I am sure you agree I cannot, when I have a wife and family, and estates to manage, continue to act as a free agent.”
“No. That is entirely understandable. Marriage comes with a set of obligations and responsibilities, particularly for a man in your position, who will one day inherit his father’s title. It pleases me no end you are taking the institution seriously. There are some within our ranks who treat marriage with less than the dignity it deserves. Not that I’m advocating you take your vows literally. You don’t have to become a plaguey priest upon marriage; far from it. But I do advise you not to waste time or seed on your mistress until your bride is breeding. Once you’ve accomplished the deed, you can return to your mistress, or what filly takes your fancy, with a clear conscience in having done your duty. If your bride is a sensible, compliant creature—and I do not doubt you’ve chosen one who is—she’ll be relieved to be left alone. Who is the—”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I want to assure you I have every intention of taking my marriage vows seriously, for what is the p—”
The old man waved a hand in dismissal at
Dair’s assiduousness.
“Young men mean well, but let me tell you from experience, it rarely, if ever, happens that we remain faithful. It’s not in our natures to do so. Frankly put, why should we? Females bear the burden of growing our seed and so it is they who need to be damn well faithful to us! It’s the way God made Adam and Eve, and there’s an end to the argument.”
“Sir, that is not the sort of marriage I intend to have. The Duke of Roxton is a faithful husband, like his father before him. They are my yard stick for what constitutes a good husband, a good father, and a marriage worth having.”
Shrewsbury was dismissive.
“Aberrations, both! And let me tell you, before he fell under the spell of that divine creature he married, old Roxton was a libidinous goat! There was a reason he was called the noble satyr, my boy, and I should know. He was mounting every pretty skirt that caught his eye since our Eton days.” He leaned forward in his wingchair, as if not wishing to be overheard, and chuckled knowingly. “From what I’ve heard of your bed sheet escapades, you easily fill old Roxton’s breeches. So unless you’ve found yourself a rare and magnificent beauty such as your Cousin Antonia to marry, which I very much doubt, I’d not lose sleep over a trifle of a thing as fidelity. Trust me, neither will your bride.” He sat up. “So who is the lucky creature? An heiress, I don’t doubt. One of the Spencer girls, or a Cavendish relative of Deborah Roxton? Or have you preempted my advice and gone and got yourself a fertile young widow. No need to prove yourself, is there? How many brats has that mistress of yours given you now? Four or is it five? All healthy sons, too. Knowing your luck, you’ll have the new wife pregnant before the sun rises on the night before!”
“I have one natural son, sir,” Dair said in a measured tone, tips of his fingers digging in to the upholstered arm of the wingchair to maintain calm. He was furious. “His mother has been faithfully married for almost nine years. Her four younger sons belong to her husband.”
“Yes. Yes. If you say so, my boy. I’m not one to quibble over bastard offspring. If it gives her husband comfort to think the brats are—”
“Sir! My lord! Mrs. Banks is no adulteress, and I am no liar!”
Dair had shot to his feet. It was only the esteem in which he held the Spymaster General that had kept his anger in check for this long. He had not wanted to offend him. Now, he could not care less.
“I did not come here to be lectured on the institution of marriage, or how I should conduct myself as a husband. I don’t need your advice, nor do I care greatly for your good opinion, because it seems you have no good opinion of my character as it is!
“I was an eyewitness to my parent’s hell on earth, so I am well versed in how not to conduct myself as a husband and a father. But I also know a loving union when I see it, and with the help of the woman I love, I intend to have the sort of marriage, be the sort of husband and father, that will make my wife and children proud. I love your granddaughter with my whole heart and I would never do or say anything to ruin her happiness, or our marriage. There is your assurance. I give it honestly. It is for Rory’s sake I seek your blessing to our union. I hope you will give it freely and make her happy. She is waiting outside in the hallway. Shall I fetch her in so you can tell her so yourself…?”
Lord Shrewsbury slowly rose out of his wingchair by the fire while Dair was in the midst of his earnest discourse, surprised by the young nobleman’s uncharacteristic fit of temper, but prepared to forgive him for the same reason; the boy had never before been so discourteous. But what he was not prepared for was to hear Rory’s name trip so familiarly off the Major’s tongue, and he fell back into his wingchair, in shock.
Not in a thousand years would he have suspected his granddaughter to be romantically linked to any man, least of all this man. Why had he not seen this coming? Why had he not been wary of the warning signs of a clandestine attachment? Why had none of his servants, his agents, her own brother, seen it too, and warned him? The only person who had hinted at Major Lord Fitzstuart’s interest in his granddaughter was William Watkins, and stupidly he had dismissed the man’s insinuations as ridiculous, and fueled by jealousy.
He was incredulous and disbelieving.
Why would a man of action, a decorated soldier and a spy, a man who risked his life as if it meant nothing to him—a man whose masculinity had the effect of causing some females to faint at the sight of him—why would such a man be interested in his granddaughter? His beloved Rory was a naïve cripple who had rarely strayed beyond her family’s garden gate. She was pretty in her own way, with her mother’s Norwegian fair hair and his deep blue eyes, but she was not so beautiful as to catch the roving eye of the hot-blooded Major Lord Fitzstuart. She was no Antonia Roxton Kinross, no voluptuous beauty who could heat a man’s blood with one look.
It just didn’t make any sense to him, and so he told Dair in as many words, though his speech was halting and garbled at times. Nonetheless his incredulity was blatant, as was his opposition to the couple’s betrothal. He forbade it. He would not give it his blessing. As far as he was concerned, Rory was not mentally or physically capable of marrying. The idea of this lusty lothario bedding his innocent granddaughter made him feel physically ill. As far as he was concerned, Rory would remain a virgin, spend the rest of his days as his companion, and would die an old maid.
Dair was just as incredulous by Shrewsbury’s violent opposition, not only to his granddaughter marrying him, but to the very idea of Rory wedded at all. It soon became apparent the old man had suffered such a severe shock that it was pointless arguing any further with him that night. But he expected Shrewsbury to put on a brave face and not disappoint his granddaughter. Regardless of what he thought of the betrothal, Dair was going to marry Rory, with or without his blessing.
“After all, she’s two-and-twenty and doesn’t need your consent,” Dair stated flatly. “We can marry without your blessing, but for the sake of her happiness, I would rather have it as not.”
Shrewsbury was not to be appeased. Shock gave way to anger and resentment. He thumped the arms of his wingchair and shot back up to his feet and stayed there this time.
“I’ll not give it! Now or ever. You can’t seriously expect me to believe you want to marry my granddaughter? Ha! This is some sort of joke! A damned awful one, but a joke nonetheless! How much money have you got riding on the outcome of seeing me bamboozled? Aye?” When Dair pulled a face of revulsion at the idea, Shrewsbury let out a harsh laugh. “That’s your best piece of acting yet, Fitzstuart! But I’m not fooled! I know all about your revolting wager to tup a cripple. Watkins told me—”
“I beg your pardon? I never—”
Dair stopped himself. He could not refute Shrewsbury’s outlandish claim because it was true. He had accepted such a wager, but he had been blind drunk and it was years ago. He tried to recall the exact circumstances under which he had accepted such a despicable dare. He was with a group of fellow officers at a Covent Garden bordello, or was it a Turkish Bath? Was he nineteen or twenty years old? No matter, all he remembered was they were so idiotically debauched he would have accepted any wager put to him, no matter how devilish and unlikely. All because he could not disappoint his army fellows. Somehow it had got written up in White’s betting book. He suspected William Watkins had something to do with that. But it was all so long ago…
“That has nothing to do with the here and now,” he blustered. “I deeply regret having agreed to such a preposterous wager, but if you knew the circumstances—”
“Don’t make a fig of difference. You bragged about it before witnesses and that’s all that matters. Whether you meant to carry it out is neither here nor there to me. I could care less, but it will mean a great deal to my granddaughter.”
Dair was too horrified to speak.
Shrewsbury looked supremely smug at his response.
“Call off this ridiculous betrothal and she’ll not hear about the wager from me…”
Dair made one last attempt t
o make Shrewsbury see reason.
“Sir, I love Rory with every fiber of my being. I want to marry her, take care of her, cherish her for the rest of my days…”
The old man was unconvinced. He did not understand couples marrying for love. His wife had been chosen for him by his father, and he had chosen who his grandson would marry. Parents knew what was best in a mate for their children. His son had foolishly married for love and that had been a disaster for everyone concerned. Rory was the most precious thing in the world to him and he would never subject her to the pain and heartache of a love match, nor would he give her up. And so he told Dair, unmoved by the young man’s open and honest declaration of his feelings.
Dair sighed his incomprehension and threw up a hand impatiently.
“One day I will be Earl of Strathsay, and she my countess. Surely, that must mean something to you, even if nothing else I’ve said does?”
“It does. That, too, works against you. She is not equipped to take the stage in Society as the wife of a nobleman. Enough heads turn as it is when she limps into a room, and not in a good way. Imagine her on your arm. What a spectacle! What a-a farce. She can’t even dance, for God’s sake! You’ll make her a laughing stock and I won’t have it. It would break my heart, and hers.”
Dair shook his head in disbelief.
“You have so little regard for her, and of what she is truly capable, that you fail to see beyond the obvious. She is not some flawed diamond to be kept in a velvet box for fear a tiny imperfection is all that will be noticed. She is a magnificent unique jewel whose true worth should be allowed to shine. Let her take her place at my side, and watch her sparkle. She deserves nothing less of life. And that life is with me.”
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