Once inside, the duchess moved off to greet friends. Ignoring Winter, Lady Bridget moved quickly to Alistair’s side. Glancing toward Winter, Alistair raised an eyebrow, a smile of annoyance on his lips.
Bridget simpered, “I missed you so.”
“I had an important affair to attend to in the country.”
The woman pouted. “Here the season is in full swing, and you’ve missed too much of it.”
“Couldn’t be helped.” He disentangled himself from her grasp.
“Lady Bridget, I would like to present...”
“I have already been presented to your little ward.”
“Hmm. But I do not think you have been presented to my fiancée.” He winked at Winter.
Bridget’s eyes glittered with cold fury. Collecting herself, she swallowed with some difficulty before cooing, “Congratulations, my dear Justin.”
He frowned at her condescension. “I believe the duchess is finalizing plans for an announcement reception as well as the wedding.”
“I am sure I’ll have invitations then.” Bridget’s laughter had a decidedly hollow ring. “I’ll have to check when I get home. I get so many,” she said to Winter. “You know how it is.”
Winter murmured some response and was relieved when Bridget excused herself. They watched her stop and heard the murmur rippling through the guests.
“Our wedding is now the latest on-dit, my dear,” Alistair whispered. “I hope you’re ready.”
Soon the couple was surrounded by elegantly appointed lords and their ladies. Winter saw questions in the eyes of some and a stinging dart or two thrown out about the unexpected betrothal.
Lord Heywood raised his glass in a toast. “Not as big a shock as you might think, Alistair.”
Winter smiled until her lips stuck to her teeth. As glass after glass was drunk to their health, Winter shifted uncomfortably. Alistair sensed her discomfort. “I do believe the congratulations are getting a mite too hearty and our well-wishers a bit too in their cups,” he murmured for her ears alone.
A familiar figure found his way to Winter’s side.
“Hollingsworth!” Alistair exclaimed, frowning.
“Don’t get in a spin, Alistair.” He bowed to Winter. “So congratulations are in order. I am devastated at the news.”
His glare held malice. “Looks like you won this round, but don’t count me out.” He glanced toward her head as though he knew the band hid her wound. “A dream can end abruptly in the light of reality.”
Winter shivered. Alistair didn’t like the doubt that flickered in her eyes at the insinuation.
Alistair put his arm around her waist. “Leave her alone, Hollingsworth.”
In his bow, Hollingsworth whispered, “Remember what I said, Winter.”
* * *
The next morning, the duchess took Winter to the modiste for a final fitting on a gown she had ordered when she received word of the marriage.
“I went ahead without you, dear, since time matters,” she explained as the coachman drove them to Bond Street in the open landau.
“I understand, and it is perfectly fine.” Her voice was suddenly drowned out by a large pack of vicious mongrels darting into the street. Yipping and barking they nipped at the horses’ heels.
The coachman, muttering an oath, snapped his whip at one of the dogs. With a yip, it darted under the vehicle, scaring the horses. Neighing, the horses reared in their traces, threatening not only to bolt, but also to tangle themselves in the silver-studded harness.
A man in a worn topcoat darted into the rutted roadway. Bearing a branch, he waded into the pack and managed to break up the attack. Reaching for the horses’ bridles, he pulled them down. Murmuring to them, he calmed them enough for the coachman to regain control. The coachman nodded his thanks.
“My man,” called the duchess, motioning the man forward. She dropped a few coins into his hand. “Thank you for your able assistance.”
The man touched his battered hat. “’Twas nothin’, ma’am. Glad to do it for the lady.” He glanced toward Winter, his eyes widening.
Suddenly she recognized him. “You’re Lord Hollingsworth’s groom.”
“Was, m’lady.”
“He let you go?” Winter’s eyes flashed. “Why?”
“After you intervened, m’lady. He turned myself and my family into the streets.”
Furious, Winter explained the situation to the duchess. “Surely there is something we can do.”
The duchess asked, “What is your name?”
“Abraham Danly, your grace.”
Winter leaned toward him. “Where are you living now? Have you found work?”
“Been doin’ odd jobs, but my lord spread around I stole from him, and no one wants to take me on, permanent-like.”
The duchess asked, “Have you no place to live?”
Though reluctant to reveal the depth of his poverty, Winter and the duchess got him to answer their questions. Winter especially was horrified that the man, his wife and five children subsisted in the filthy backstreets of London. When she and the duchess returned to Alistair House, Winter sought out Alistair.
She found him bent over his desk. Quickly she summed up the situation for him. “Isn’t there something we can do for him? Getting rid of those awful dogs may have saved our lives.”
Alistair held her close. “I’m going to be afraid to let you out of my sight, dearest.” He paused. “Other women beg for jewels and fripperies. You think only of others. Listen,” he said and kissed her briefly, “the renters of the castle house recently lost the man who runs their stable, such as it is. How about if I offer your Abraham the job?”
Winter hugged him. “I knew you’d think of something.”
Not long thereafter Alistair sent someone to find Abraham and his family and set them up over the stable.
Chapter 15
That afternoon, Alistair saw a grateful Abraham and his family settled in at the castle house. “Thank Lady Renton, m’lord. God bless and keep you both.”
“I’ll tell her, Abraham. She’ll be relieved to know you are safe.”
“I wish there be somethin’ I could do for you.”
“There is,” Alistair said. “Start going to church and give the Lord thanks.”
“I’ll do that.” Abraham pulled at his earlobe. “Lady Renton be a right special lady, m’lord. I owe you, Lord Alistair.” Tugging at his other ear, he let out a deep breath as though considering if he should reveal what he knew. “Lord Hollingsworth hates you passionately. This morning yet I went around to beg my job back. I overheard his lordship talking with a foreign-lookin’ hawk-faced gent.”
Alistair’s face gave no hint of his excitement. “Go on, I’m listening.”
The groom took a deep breath. “He wants the lady, and he wants to bring you down.”
“Did he say how he planned on accomplishing this?”
“No, he saw me then and chased me away.”
Putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, Alistair told him, “You have done more good than you know with this warning. Thank you.”
In front of the little house, Alistair picked up the ribbons. He surveyed the house, recalling without rancor his hopes and dreams when he’d first purchased it for Amelia. It seemed ages ago now. The bitterness was gone. A laconic smile touched his lips. “Thank you, Amelia, for your perfidy in choosing deep pockets instead of love.”
Thinking of Winter, he drove away, unaware a blond gentleman saw him driving away and drew his own conclusion he was not loath to share over a bottle of port at Boodle’s. Before night fell, half of the beau monde was buzzing with this latest on-dit.
Alistair found Winter ensconced in the library, book in hand. She glanced up as he entered the room. “You did it, d
idn’t you? You rescued Abraham and his family. I’ve been praying for you.”
Accepting her hug, he drew her to him. “A small down payment on my reward,” he teased. “He was most grateful to you, my darling. As well he should be.” He looked sheepish. “I told him to start going to church and give thanks to God for his rescue.”
A tear escaped down Winter’s face. “Oh, Justin, you truly have changed!”
With his thumb, Alistair wiped the tear. “I love you.” His arm tightened around her protectively as he thought of the groom’s warning.
* * *
The next morning, Alistair surprised Winter by taking her away from all the wedding preparations. When she came downstairs in her habit, preparing for a ride on Jupiter, she found Alistair waiting impatiently, a secretive smile on his face. Once he had her settled on the restless Jupiter, he swung smoothly onto the roan, which was only slightly less restless than the gelding.
For some time, they rode in companionable silence. Winter kept a tight rein on Jupiter. Reaching Hyde Park, Alistair led the way to a secluded spot under the trees where a repast had been set out on a blanket.
“For you, my dear. A picnic.”
Dismounting, they surveyed the collation of delicate chicken sandwiches, fresh fruit, pies and pastries and cheese and lemonade. “You like it?”
“This is a wonderful surprise.” Leaning over, she kissed him.
“You are God’s wonderful surprise gift to me,” he said. Taking her hand he bowed. “Dear Lord, bless this food. And thank You for the gift of Your love. Amen.”
His sincerity made Winter again feel she was living some kind of unreal dream, a dream she did not deserve, a dream which could not last. She shook the thought away as they laughed and talked over the delicious meal.
Afterward, they walked among the trees while the retainers took up the remains of the meal. In the shade of a large tree, Alistair pulled Winter into his arms and covered her mouth with his.
* * *
A figure saw Alistair’s arms wrapped around someone, but could not make out whom the object of affection happened to be. Before discerning the truth of the matter, the person darted from sight with a malicious leer and a tale.
Rumors, growing wilder with each telling, circulated among the ton. More than one unattached female pounced on the on-dit with jealous relish.
* * *
On Sunday Winter and Alistair again attended services at the small church. This time Alistair’s eyes glistened as he took in the message. Watching him, peace stole into Winter’s heart.
Her peaceful interlude soon ended. When they got home they found Mary waiting for them in the library. “What’s wrong, Mary?” At her glance toward Winter, he said, “Go ahead. There is very little she does not already know.”
“Terrance has been following Count Abjour. Last night the count made contact with Lord Hollingsworth.”
Alistair exchanged a look with Mary. “I thought as much. It is further confirmation. Hollingsworth is our man. Do you think he suspects you?”
“Terrance thinks not. Says the count is frantic to get his hands on a specific piece of information and was pushing Hollingsworth pretty hard.”
“Did Hollingsworth indicate he could get the information or do you think the count might try to contact you, as well?”
“You may not like this, but Terrance felt he had to take a chance.” Mary bit her lip. “Terrance left word with the count in my name that I knew you had the information he needed. He also said that I feared my cover might be blown and did not think I should be the one to lift the information.”
Alistair paced. “What did he have in mind?”
“Thought if we could force Hollingsworth himself to go after the information, we might catch him. If there is another leak, he would know who it was.”
Alistair frowned. “I don’t like it. I don’t want that bounder anywhere near Winter.”
“But, Alistair,” said Winter, “we have to catch him. Other lives are at stake. Surely I shall be safe enough.”
“So you will, if,” he said as the idea took form, “we have Aunt Helen invite him to Winter’s engagement reception Tuesday evening. It should be quite the crush, being one of the big events of the season. Winter would be well protected in the crowd and the rest of us can keep an eye out for Hollingsworth.” He squeezed her hand. “Can you handle that, my dear?”
“Anything so Mary and her husband can be free of their charade.”
“That’s my tiger,” he murmured, and the look he sent her brought a delightful blush to her cheeks.
Addressing Mary, he said, “I’ll see the secretary first thing in the morning for some plausible substitute information.”
Monday, Winter tried to act as though all was fine, but Winter was anxious about her own reception and the plot to bring down the count and his operation. More was her growing anxiety about her reception in the face of the snatches of conversations quickly aborted when she passed.
“Lord Alistair is a complete hand,” she overheard.
“Foolish child.”
“Surely she didn’t think he would be faithful....”
“Well-endowed, you know.”
Doubt about her own worth and Alistair’s love for her seeded and grew, however much she tried to stop it. Sleep fled, and Winter buried herself in prayer and in reading the bible, but her prayers were a burden of agony and her reading a blur in the face of her growing suspicions.
Tuesday evening, Mary fastened the last button on Winter’s gown. “It is all set,” she said. “Terrance and I will be on the lookout for Hollingsworth, and there is nothing for you to worry about. Whatever you do, stay out of the library.”
Already jittery, Winter changed the subject. “Did you ever have a reception announcing your marriage?”
“No.” Mary sighed. “Terrance was already deep undercover and so was I.” She laughed. “Terrance caught me with government papers and dutifully brought me in. You can imagine his chagrin when he discovered the truth of the matter. Terrance was relieved that he and I were working for the same side. You see, we had come to love each other very much.”
Patting Winter’s hair, Mary carefully added a diamond-studded band made up especially to cover the small bandage still on her head. “We married quietly in the family chapel at Stuart Park, and then came here. Most of the servants are from London and did not know the truth of Terrance’s identity.”
Winter hugged the other girl. “When this is over, we’ll throw a huge party for you and Terrance.”
Mary only smiled. She admitted Alistair, whose eyes widened in admiration at Winter’s gown of white silk shot with blue and silver threads. She witnessed pride flash in his eyes as he escorted her down to dinner.
Seated at his right, Winter found herself almost too nervous to eat. Later, she had no idea what had been served at the many-course dinner. Laughter and conversation eddied around her. Winter forced herself to smile and speak to the balding peer on her left. Was it just her imagination that more than one glance in her direction held malice, and more than one comment held a double entendre?
Even Alistair’s smile seemed forced, and Winter told herself his mind was on Hollingsworth, who sat halfway down the table. She had the impression that Alistair was as relieved as she when the duchess got up, signaling the conclusion of the endless meal.
Winter steeled herself to enter the ballroom. This was all so different from what she had imagined. Though never comfortable with the London round, she had anticipated this reception with joy. Now it seemed more like a nightmare. What if Hollingsworth harmed Alistair or Mary or Terrance? Why did she sense such secret malicious amusement among the guests?
When she entered the ballroom, for a moment she forgot her worries as she breathed in the fragrance of fresh flowers twined around the tal
l columns with bright streamers and set in exquisite vases in the alcoves around the room.
After Alistair led her out for the first dance, other couples danced while some of the men drifted off to play cards in a nearby room. Older women sat together loudly exchanging the latest on-dits.
Alistair whispered, “Smile. It will be over soon.” As she circulated among the guests, Alistair was separated from her.
Though Winter tried to avoid Lord Hollingsworth, he caught up with her. Bowing, he asked, “This dance, Lady Renton.”
“I think not, m’lord.”
“Do you think you’re too good for me now? Let me tell you, your precious fiancé isn’t the doting lover you think he is.” With that Hollingsworth bowed mockingly.
“I think it is time the two of you to take the floor again,” said the duchess, coming up to her. “After all, this is for both of you.”
Winter agreed. “I’ll get him.”
Nearing the group of men laughing and talking to one side, Winter heard snatches of their conversation. Her smile froze, and she moved forward woodenly as all the pitying looks and snippets of conversations coalesced into understanding.
“Well, Lord Alistair, should have known it would not take you long to get back into circulation. You’re a virtual inspiration to the rest of us leg-shackled men. Then again, mayhap you and your fiancée might have an understanding.”
Alistair frowned. “What are you talking about?”
The dandy chuckled. “Come now, Alistair. You’ve been seen. Everyone knows you’ve got a bit o’muslin tucked away.”
Glancing up, Alistair met Winter’s stricken face. He tried to reach her, but several meandering couples cut them off. Heywood held him back. “She’ll get over it, Alistair. After all, you did ask for her hand.”
Alistair pulled away. “I don’t know who thought up this hen-witted jest, but it is untrue and hurtful.”
Heywood tried to soothe his friend. “Have done, Alistair. You were seen at the castle.”
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