by Cheryl Bolen
"No one's ever bested him," Daphne said.
Jack wished she would take off that ink-stained glove and stuff it into her mouth. "I wouldn't go so far as to say that," Jack said.
"Modest, eh?" Lord Sidworth said with a smile, slapping Jack on the back.
"Why don't you two just sit down and have a nice chat?" Daphne suggested. "Come here, my dear Jack," she said, patting the sofa beside her.
My dear Jack! Lady Daphne Chalmers, he decided, was possessed of a talent for prevarication. He came to sit beside her as her father sat in a nearby chair that faced them.
"So my girl tells me you two met at Hatchard's book shop."
Now it was Jack's turn to lay it on. "Indeed we did. I knew when I saw her there day after day, her eyes so strained from reading that she must wear spectacles, that she was the girl for me. Nothing like the love of learning to bring two people together." He took her hand in his and patted it. "In fact, it was our mutual passion for the Peloponnesian Wars that prompted me to ask for Lady Daphne's hand." He effected a suitably adoring gaze. "We shall call our first son Troy."
She kicked him, the movement concealed beneath her skirts. "Don't forget, my dear Mr. Rich, that we recite Plato's dialogues to one another as other lovers recite poetry."
Lord Sidworth screwed up his gaze. "Funny. You don't look like an intellectual, Mr. Rich."
"That, Papa, is because part of my dear Jack's scholarly study is on the human body. It's his belief that in order to keep the mind sharp one must be exposed to sunshine and to rigorous physical activity."
"You don't say?" Lord Sidworth said.
"We've had many stimulating conversations at Hatchard's," she added.
Jack lifted her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss across it. "I'm honored to finally be able see my dear Lady Daphne in a more intimate setting."
"Don't mean to disappoint you, Rich," Lord Sidworth said, "but Daffy and I have decided we won't publicize the nuptials just yet."
"I daresay, dearest," Daphne said to Jack, "you'll be under scrutiny enough without the actual notice being printed."
Jack's glance flicked to Lord Sidworth. "I completely understand your reluctance to allow your firstborn to rush off to South Africa with a virtual stranger." He smiled down at Daphne, whose glaring eyes flicked at him before she recovered and smiled at her father. What if Lord Sidworth should ask him questions about his so-called home? He was not even sure he could name a single city in the wretched country. No doubt the cities would have Dutch-sounding names.
"Daffy tells me you speak Hottentot."
Jack shrugged. "I get by."
"Pray, how does one say 'hello' in Hottentot?" Lord Sidworth asked.
Uh, oh. If he managed to bluff his way through this, he might very well kill his presumed intended. "Zulu."
"Is that so? Zulu, Mr. Rich," Lord Sidworth said with a chuckle.
"Zulu to you, my lord." Jack felt like a complete idiot.
"That's enough foolishness, Papa. Now that you've met my dearest Jack, you must leave us alone. We have much to discuss."
Lord Sidworth stood up. "Will Mr. Rich dine with us tonight? And then come to the theatre?"
Jack was not ready to enter society until he studied the list Lady Daphne was to give him tonight. Then when he did go to the theatre--or to a ball or some other social gathering--he could get straight to work meeting the "right" people. "I thank you, my lord, for the invitation, but I have a previous engagement," Jack said.
"Tomorrow, then?" Lord Sidworth asked.
"I shall be happy to."
* * *
Jack had spent the day delving into the strange relationship between the Prince Regent and his estranged wife. Everything Daphne had told him about Princess Caroline seemed to have been well founded in fact. He had been able to get his hands on a report of the Delicate Investigation of 1806. The investigation was launched in order to determine if the young boy Princess Caroline adopted was, in fact, her own illegitimate child. Jack had chuckled when he learned that one of the princess's footman had testified that, "The princess is very fond of fucking." Though the regent's estranged wife was likely guilty of offering sexual favors to many gentlemen, there was no evidence of her having given birth to any child other than the rightful heir to the throne, Princess Charlotte.
While Jack intended to continue inquiries about Princess Caroline, he was ready to broaden the scope of his investigation. With Daphne's list.
Once Lord Sidworth was gone, Jack asked, "You have the list?"
She reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded piece of vellum. "It's rather shorter than I would have thought," she said. "I decided to leave off flings and concentrate on liaisons that were of a more lasting nature."
"Is there a current mistress?"
She shook her head. "In fact, ever since he's become regent, Prinny's habits have taken a remarkable turn."
"In what way?"
"Though he's still sottish, he's less into debauchery."
No wonder the staid old king had gone mad. All of his sons were wastrels, and the heir, apparently, was the greatest wastrel of them all. "Then he doesn't seduce young maidens anymore?"
"I daresay he hasn't. In fact, Prinny rather fancies older women. Mrs. Fitzherbert must have been about six years older than he, and Lady Melbourne . . . well, we shall discuss all of this in a moment."
She unfolded the list and scooted closer to Jack so they could share it without her having to relinquish it. "I've written this in reverse chronological order, beginning most recently."
He saw that Lady Carlton headed the list. In fact, all the ladies on the list were married ladies since their husbands' titles followed the 'Lady.'
"Actually, Lady Carlton's not precisely the regent's mistress," Daphne explained. "Not that he did not wish her to be. He's excessively fond of her, and I've heard that he even cried when he begged for her affections."
"I should think her husband would be incensed."
She shrugged. "Her husband is rather disinterested in his wife's affairs. But her lover, Reginald St. Ryse, may be quite another matter."
He made a mental note to remember St. Ryse's name. "Her husband must be a spineless cuckold."
"How she managed to keep her secret pregnancies hidden from her husband is really quite baffling."
Jack's brows fused together. "And she's still accepted by the ton?"
"Of course."
"In my circle, adulteresses are shunned."
"You must, during our investigation, put aside your puritanical ways, Captain," she said like a reproaching governess, a vocation that would have beckoned Daphne Chalmers were she not an earl's daughter. She even looked like a governess.
"I will. During the investigation," he said.
Her gaze returned to the list. "I've put Lady Hertford here because many people believe she's intimate with the regent."
He looked at Daphne. "What do you believe?"
She shrugged. "Lord Hertford is also very close to Prinny, but the prince seems excessively dependent upon Lady Hertford. He's with her for hours every day, which has led to the speculation that they are lovers. But I have my doubts. I see no evidence of the regent eliciting any kind of passion in Lady Hertford."
What would a spinster like Daphne Chalmers know of passion?
Her finger ran down the list, stopping at Maria Fitzherbert. "Maria Fitzherbert held a place in the regent's heart for many years--even after he wed Princess Caroline he lived in Mrs. Fitzherbert's pocket."
"But they are no longer sleeping with one another?"
"Their estrangement can likely be attributed to the regent's strong attachment to Lady Hertford."
"Did you learn Mrs. Fitzherbert's uncle's name?"
Daphne nodded. "He's dead--as is her brother, who also witnessed the marriage."
Jack nodded, pursing his lips as he scanned the list. "Why do you have a star beside Lady Melbourne's name?"
"Oh, that's because it's said she bore the regen
t a son, George Lamb. Not that the regent's ever acknowledged it."
"And I suppose she was married to Melbourne when this occurred?"
Daphne laughed. "Her first son was fathered by Melbourne. All of the others by her lovers."
"When was this George Lamb born?"
Her face screwed up in thought. "Let me see. George is three or four years older than me." She looked up at him. "I daresay he's your age."
"Then the prince must have been in his early twenties when he sired this Lamb fellow. Would you say he's close to the son?"
"No. The prince does not acknowledge him. I'm not even sure if Mr. Lamb knows the truth of his parentage. But his resemblance to our dear prince is remarkable."
Jack needed to learn more about Lamb. His attention returned to the list. "I see Lady Jersey there. I met her the other night at Almack's."
Lady Daphne smiled. "Not that Lady Jersey. The former Lady Jersey--her Christian name was Frances--had a long liaison with the Regent which began nearly twenty years ago."
"It looks to me as if there must be a small army of husbands wishing to do murder to the regent."
She shrugged. "I've never once heard of any of the husbands being out of charity with his Royal Highness. Though St. Ryse was. But, of course, owing to her love for St. Ryse, Lady Carlton never became intimate with the prince. And you can forget about Lord Jersey. He's dead."
There was one man's name on the list. As it happened, Jack knew of the man, Leigh Hunt, a distinguished journalist who had good reason to wish to murder the regent. "Refresh my memory about Leigh Hunt," Jack said. "The news one gets in the Peninsula is skimpy at best."
"Mr. Hunt is currently in prison because of his assault--in print--on the regent."
"I seem to recall something about a 'Fat Adonis.'"
"Not only did Mr. Hunt refer to our dear regent as a Fat Adonis, but he also wrote the most scathing things about him. He said that in a half a century the regent had accomplished nothing, that he consorted with gamblers and other lowly people, that he abhorred domestic ties, and that he was deeply in debt."
In short, the man had printed the truth. "I can see that the regent and Mr. Hunt have no love for one another. I certainly would hate the monarch if I'd been put in prison for writing what amounts to the truth."
Daphne sighed. "The thing of it is, Mr. Hunt would not have had to go to prison had he agreed to never again write offensive things about the regent."
"I take it, he refused."
She nodded. "And I really don't think Mr. Hunt is all that uncomfortable in prison. I'm told he has a lovely room with a piano and is able to continue with his poetry and host visitors. Jeremy Bentham even visited him there, but I daresay Mr. Bentham was disappointed."
His brows arched, Jack wondered why the reformer was disappointed.
"Mr. Bentham is keen on prison reform," Daphne said, "but I doubt he was able to muster much sympathy toward Mr. Hunt's confinement, given the luxury of his surroundings."
"I think we might be able to rule out Mr. Hunt. You must own, it's rather difficult to commit a crime when one is in prison."
"Yes, I suppose you're right."
A grave look crossed his face. "There's another thing I must tell you."
She gave him a questioning glance.
"We have less than six weeks to find the would-be assassin."
"How can you possibly put time constraints on such a thing?"
"His majesty did. He will stay shut up at Carlton House--but only until January seventh."
"Oh yes! How could I have forgotten the big fete planned for Princess Charlotte's eighteenth birthday? I daresay the regent will be obliged to attend." She handed him the list.
His face grave, he took it, squeezed it into a ball, and hurled it into the fire some fifteen feet away.
"Do you not need it?"
"I've already committed it to memory."
She gazed at him with admiration. "I suppose spies don't like to keep anything in writing."
"You're a fast learner, Lady Daphne. In fact, you seem to be in possession of a great many qualities that make for a good spy. You're remarkably adept at prevarication."
She laughed. "Normally, I'm not. I'm rather enjoying having the liberty to make things up."
"At my expense." He scowled. "Why in the blazes South Africa?"
She looked contrite. For about two seconds. "Because a great many men have made their fortunes there--and because Papa knows nothing of Africans, though I fear some in our circle may be more knowledgeable. I had the devil of a time persuading Papa not to put the announcement of our nuptials in the papers."
"I'm very glad you succeeded. There must be a great many men in London who would know there was no Mr. Moneybags--or should I say Mr. Rich?--in South Africa." He got to his feet and peered down at her. "And now, my lady, it seems I must learn a thing or two about South Africa before I dine with your family tomorrow."
She stood. Though she was tall, her eyes were level with his chin. "There's one thing more," she said. "I just learned of it this morning from a servant, who learned it from a servant of Princess Caroline's at Blackheath."
"Yes?"
"For amusement, the princess fashions wax figurines of her husband--then she strategically inserts pins into his vital organs."
"Very interesting."
Chapter 5
Daphne felt wretchedly guilty. Nothing--not even Cornelia's betrothal many years ago to a duke--had caused such a stir in the Sidworth household. Because of Daphne's sham engagement, all five of her sisters descended on Sidworth House the next day, all of them--and their mother--clamoring for information about Mr. Rich.
"Papa says he's a remarkably fine looking man," Mama said with pride.
Daphne could not help but to picture the dashing captain. Yes, anyone who saw him would perceive that he was uncommonly handsome. "Though it was his mind that attracted me," Daphne lied, "I must admit that Cap--that Mr. Rich is indeed very fine looking." She glanced at Annabelle. "You've actually seen him. You danced with him at Almack's Wednesday night."
Annabelle appeared to give the matter careful consideration, then a wondrous look overcame the serious expression on her face, that expression quickly replaced by plunging brows. "But. . . the only man I danced with whom I was not acquainted was . . . well, he just couldn't have been Mr. Rich."
Because he was too handsome? Daphne had been well aware that the disparity in their appearances would be just as great as the disparity in their stations. "Why couldn't he be Mr. Rich?" Daphne asked with amusement.
"Because . . . the man I danced with didn't in any way resemble a man who would court you."
"And why would that be?" taunted Daphne, barely able to suppress a grin.
"Because . . . the man I'm thinking of looked like a man who would be a noted womanizer, and that, my dear sister, would in no way appeal to you."
Which was true. Daphne wouldn't like a man with habits of a tom cat. A smile touched her lips when she thought of Captain Dryden's stodgy respectability. "Tell me, Annabelle, what did that man look like?"
"He was exceedingly handsome. Tall, well built, rather darkish with dark hair and eyes, and skin."
"I believe you have just described my Mr. Rich."
Annabelle was not the only sister whose face registered shock. Daphne scanned the well-dressed assemblage. Her sisters all exchanged bewildered expressions.
Lady Sidworth, always Daphne's champion, smoothly chided her skeptical daughters. "Papa says Daphne's done very well for herself. Mr. Rich is everything he could have hoped for in her mate. In addition to his fine looks, Papa says Mr. Rich is a learned man, he's gifted at fencing, and he's terribly wealthy."
Her comments in no way suppressed her daughters' shocked countenances.
"Pray, Daf, how did you meet this paragon?" Cornelia asked.
"We met at Hatchard's. We're both most enamored of books."
"And they share a passion for the Peloponnesian Wars," Lady Sidw
orth added.
Virginia gave Daphne a puzzled look. "I didn't know Daphne was interested in Greek history."
Oh, dear, Daphne never had shown an iota of interest in Greek history. In fact, she thought Greek history dull and tedious. Whatever had possessed Captain Dryden to introduce such a topic? "It's hardly a subject I'd bring up in the company of ladies," Daphne said.
"Daphne's mind," added Doreen, the next to youngest sister, "you must admit, does not work like other ladies' minds but more like men's."
Cornelia's critical gaze flicked to Daphne's faded brown dress. "One has only to look upon her person to realize that," Cornelia said, disdain in her voice.
Lady Sidworth bestowed a sympathetic look at her firstborn. "You know, dear, now that you're betrothed, you might wish to consider giving more time to your toilette. You wouldn't want your Mr. Rich's eye to wander."
"Yes, Daf," Virginia added, "a man of wealth is apt to know that the way you dress is not at all the thing."
"You must allow me to take you to Mrs. Spence's," Cornelia offered. "She's unquestionably the best dressmaker in all of London."
Being fitted for gowns ranked with getting one's hair dressed, in Daphne's mind. A complete waste of time. Even if the captain had been her true betrothed, she would not have endeavored to keep his interest with artificial beauty. A man who cared for her would just have to accept Daphne Chalmers as she was: aesthetically drab. And she had no intentions of changing. But she need not admit as much to her appearance-minded sisters.
Many a time Daphne had wondered what long-ago ancestor she could have taken after. She was so totally different from her five sisters, and she had little in common with either parent, except for the height and skinniness she inherited from her father. If being shortchanged on beauty wasn't enough, she had the misfortune of being the only member of the family who was obliged to wear spectacles in order to see.