Amanda Scott - [Dangerous 02]

by Dangerous Angels

  “I bought a dozen,” she said, untying the string again. “Letty?”

  “Yes, please. Sir Antony,” she added as she accepted the pastry, “how can you learn all you need to learn while you are at Tuscombe Park? Cousin Alfred and his family won’t be of much help to you, I’m thinking.”

  “On the contrary, they will be a dam—dashed nuisance,” he said. “I had hoped to chat with the gentry as Sir Antony and still be able to go about as Jean Matois to chat up the lower elements, but Alfred is so blasted suspicious of anything I do, that I fear he’ll watch every move I make. Furthermore, as I realized today, I can hardly ride Annabelle everywhere as both characters. And my other companion,” he added bitterly, gesturing toward the black and white dog trailing behind them, “is even more likely to give me away if I can’t think of a way to outwit him.”

  “Sebastian might indeed present a problem,” Charley said, “but as for Annabelle, you are welcome to ride any of my horses or Grandpapa’s whenever you like.” Catching a quizzical look from Letty, she added with a grin, “I’ll teach you a command that will allow you to mount them. Good mercy,” she added, “is that not Rockland riding toward us? You don’t suppose Alfred sent him in search of us, do you?”

  “We have been away rather longer than we led that impudent groom to believe we would,” Sir Antony pointed out.

  But Rockland had not come looking for them. “On my way to Truro,” he announced virtuously when they met. “Alfred received a letter with his morning post, apparently informing him that no more can be done about his claim to the estates until the lawyers receive certain documents from London. That put him out of temper at once, of course, so when he asked me if I really meant to arrange for our wedding—”

  “I was beginning to wonder about that myself,” Charley said.

  “She is so looking forward to wedded bliss, you know,” Sir Antony said gently.

  Rockland, scenting an ally, grinned and said, “I wish I might think so. One minute she’s demanding to know when I’ll fetch the license, and the next she’s giving me pepper for something else. She don’t know the first thing about me, but when I ask if she’s sure she wants to marry me, she says she does. Women! I ask you.”

  “‘Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,’” Sir Antony said, interrupting Charley as she bristled and opened her mouth to tell Rockland he ought not to speak so of her. When she shut it again, Sir Antony went on blandly, “‘And often is his gold complexion dimmed; and every fair from fair sometimes declines, by chance, or Nature’s changing course untrimmed.’”

  “Is that ‘Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer’s Day’?” Charley demanded.

  “It is.”

  She expected him to smile at her quick recognition of the sonnet, but he did not.

  Rockland, who had been eyeing her warily, said, “Shakespeare, eh? Never could understand that fellow. Had to learn reams of his stuff off by heart at school, and the only part I remember now is ‘Out, out damned spot!’ I ask you! Talking to a spot of blood. Dashed nonsense. What’s this ‘eye of heaven’ bilge you’re spouting?”

  “Never mind, Rockland,” Charley said. “Surely, you don’t mean to ride to Truro and back today? You ought to have started earlier. It’s well after noon now.”

  “I know what time it is,” he said irritably. “I’ll stay the night and come back tomorrow with the dashed license, and we’ll have the ceremony as soon as ever the bishop can spare time for it. Have you any other commands for me, madam?”

  About to reply in kind, she caught Sir Antony’s eye and said graciously instead, “Travel safely, my lord, and take care you don’t encounter footpads along the way. Would you like to take my pistol with you?”

  He glanced from her to Sir Antony, then grinned suddenly. “Got one of my own, thanks all the same, my pet. Dashed if I don’t think someone’s been teaching you a few manners.”

  “Have a pig, Rockland,” Charley said dryly, holding one out to him.

  That night, when the family had retired, Antony enlisted Hodson’s assistance, and slipped quietly to the stable. Saddling Annabelle himself, he led the mare from the yard without disturbing a soul. He was prepared to deal with questions if he had to, and had purposely retained the clothing he had worn to dinner, just in case, but he was grateful to encounter no one. Once away from the stables and house, he met with Hodson again, long enough to become Jean Matois. Then he rode alone to Fowey.

  That village, lying beyond the western point of St. Merryn’s Bay, where the river emptied into the Channel, was nearer than Lostwithiel. More to the purpose from Antony’s viewpoint, Fowey enjoyed the dubious distinction of housing a number of his compatriots from the past several weeks.

  As anticipated, he found several of them at a dimly lit tavern on the waterfront. Ordering a half-pint of ale from the tapster, he joined them, noting that they seemed only slightly less taciturn than when he had first insinuated himself into their midst. By deftly manipulating the conversation, he managed within the next hour to add one small detail to what he had learned from Wenna Breton. He was not certain yet how the knowledge would carry him forward, but he found it most interesting.

  More disturbing was a comment made by one of the men just before they bade one another good-night. “Been wondering,” he said, looking sharply at Antony, “if you knew a chap in France what called hisself a Fox Cub? Some heathenish thing it sounds in the way them Frenchies talk, but they say that’s what it means in good Christian English.”

  “Le Renardeau?” Antony hoped his reply sounded casual. His heart was suddenly thumping so hard that it seemed odd the others seated around the dirty little table couldn’t hear it.

  “Aye, that’ll be it. Know the chappie?”

  “I have heard the name spoken in whispers over the years, mon ami, but me, I do not know him. There are many Frenchmen in France, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Point is, Matois, this Frenchie ain’t in France. Word is, he’s right here in Cornwall. Happen he’s looking to cut hisself in on a few things, if you take my meaning. If you chance to hear aught of him, Michael will want to know, so see that you tell him.” The man grimaced menacingly. “If you don’t …”

  Nodding agreement, Antony wondered how Le Renardeau’s name had slipped into Cornwall. Since it had served only as the rumored source of certain mysterious events during the war (rumors begun by himself), the Frenchman whose name he had given Michael as a reference could not know that Jean Matois and the Fox Cub were one and the same. It was possible, of course, that someone else had usurped the appellation to serve a purpose of his own, even the one suggested.

  Antony hoped that was the answer. His dual identity was known only to Wellington, Harry Livingston, and certain other members of the Duke’s staff, none of whom, he devoutly hoped, would want to throw the Fox Cub to the wolves.

  Chapter Eleven

  TRUE TO HIS WORD, Rockland returned the following afternoon. Special license in hand, he strolled with Sir Antony into the dining room, where the others, except for Lady St. Merryn and Miss Davies, were enjoying a nuncheon. Grinning, he declared that Bishop Halsey had agreed to perform the wedding the following Saturday.

  “The devil of it is, I can’t be here then,” Rockland added with what looked to Charley like a guilty glint in his eyes. “Didn’t tell you before, but I put things off because I’d written straightaway to Lady Ophelia to tell her of our betrothal and beg her to come for the wedding. Sent it posthaste, and got her reply in yesterday’s post.”

  Charley stared at him in shock. “You wrote to Aunt Ophelia?”

  He looked sheepish. “Knew she would want to know. Wasn’t sure you’d tell her straightaway. Well,” he added hastily, cutting her off before she could reply, “stands to reason you might not. Didn’t tell your grandmama, did you? At all events, Lady Ophelia will reach Plymouth Friday evening.” Glibly, he added, “Promised to meet her myself, of course, and bring her the rest of the way.”

  Exasperated, Charley sai
d, “Good mercy, why Plymouth instead of Fowey?”

  “The old lady picked Plymouth. Hates packet boats. Said she’d as lief get off as soon as she could without having to stop overnight with the carriage.”

  “But why did you choose Saturday if you knew she would not be here yet?”

  Elizabeth said in her gentle way, “Really, Charlotte, I am persuaded that Lord Rockland must have had a very good reason for that, too.”

  “You would think so,” Charley retorted. “For my part, I think he just forgot. We must certainly wait for Aunt Ophelia. The wedding will simply have to be put off.”

  “Not if you want to have it before the end of June,” Rockland said. “The bishop has no time for us between now and the consecration except this coming Saturday.”

  “Then get someone else!”

  “‘Be not self-willed, for thou art much too fair,’” Sir Antony murmured.

  She turned on him angrily, but then, realizing she knew the rest of the couplet, she found herself suppressing a gurgle of laughter instead. Meeting an answering twinkle in his eyes, she said, “Do you think I shall be ‘Death’s conquest’ and ‘make worms thine heir,’ sir? How dare you?”

  “Taken on the whole,” he said thoughtfully, “it means you are too lovely to be the spoil of death and the prey of worms. The words sprang to my tongue only because they somehow seemed appropriate to the moment.”

  “Did they?” But her flash of irritation was gone, and when she turned back to Rockland, she was able to say calmly. “Very well, sir, I will acquit you of lunacy. I presume that you have already arranged either for someone else to fetch Great-Aunt Ophelia, or for someone else to marry us.”

  “Well, I haven’t,” he confessed. “Now don’t fly into the boughs again, for there’s not a dashed thing I can do about it. The old lady’s accustomed to me escorting her about, even to Scotland if need be, and she’s bound to take a pet if I send someone else. As for another parson, I don’t want one. Getting a special license from a bishop is complicated enough for one who ain’t a resident of Cornwall. It ain’t like going to Doctor’s Commons in London and plunking down blunt to get a chit signed by the Archbishop. This fellow Halsey wanted to know all about me before he’d agree. Said he had to decide if I was worthy. If he don’t perform the ceremony, I’ll have to convince some ordinary psalm-singer all over again. I found a better solution.”

  “And what might that be?” she asked.

  “The wedding will be on Saturday all right and tight. Only thing is, I’ll have a stand-in saying the groom’s bits for me, like when the King got married.”

  “You mean a marriage by proxy?”

  “That’s it. Couldn’t think what they called the thing.”

  “Good gracious,” Edythe exclaimed, “is that an acceptable way to marry?”

  “Acceptable enough for His Majesty,” Rockland pointed out. “That’s how he married that dashed peculiar wife he had. Daresay that’s how I came to think of it.”

  “But His Majesty wasn’t just away for a day,” Charley pointed out. “The Princess Caroline lived in Brunswick.”

  Rockland shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Nothing stopping him from going to fetch her, instead of sending Malmesbury. Might have worked out better if he had. He’d have seen for himself what a dashed squirrel he was catching, for one thing.”

  Sir Antony said, “Fetching her did not suit his notion of propriety, I’m afraid.”

  Alfred, who had been a silent listener so far, said indignantly, “I should say it didn’t! Nor would it have suited England’s dignity. It is not for the heir to England’s throne to go haring off to bring back a wife from foreign parts. Next you’ll be saying he ought to have been married in Brunswick.”

  “But, dash it,” Rockland exclaimed, “ain’t that just what I am saying? He was married in Brunswick. He just didn’t happen to be there at the time.”

  “I don’t suppose it matters, as long as the ceremony is properly performed,” Charley said. She wondered why, under the circumstances, she felt as if it mattered a great deal. “Whom will you ask to stand in for you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I’ve already asked Antony here to do it, and he agreed.”

  “Good mercy,” Charley exclaimed.

  “Well, who else would I ask?” Rockland demanded indignantly. “I expect your cousin Alfred here would oblige me, or Medrose, perhaps, or—”

  “Stop,” she begged, torn between tears and laughter. “Forgive me,” she said to Sir Antony, “but it all seems very strange. There must have been a more sensible way to do the thing, if only Rockland had thought of it before arranging this charade.”

  “Well, I didn’t think of one,” Rockland said, “and I’m dashed put out to find you don’t appreciate the trouble I went to, after pushing and poking at me to get it done.”

  Alfred said, “That’s what comes of letting a female rule the roast, sir. Your trouble stems from giving in to her in the first place. Had you simply put your foot down, you would be a happier man now, I venture to say.”

  Charley’s head began to ache. Much as she wished she could think of something to say to annihilate Alfred, she couldn’t seem to think at all. She was angry with Rockland, although his actions did not warrant the depth of anger she felt. She was angry with Alfred, too, but that went without saying, and she was furious with Sir Antony for no cause whatsoever. Feeling trapped one moment, surrounded by enemies or isolated the next, she began to think she had not a single friend in the world.

  She had never felt the need of bosom friends. Much of her childhood she had shared with her Aunt Daintry and her cousin Melissa, but Daintry had been more mentor than friend, and Melissa had always depended on Charley more than Charley had depended on Melissa. Rarely alone on the busy estate, Charley felt closer to her animals, and to certain characters in books she read, than to most of the people around her. She had rarely, if ever, felt lonely. Now, suddenly, she yearned for just one close friend who would understand her feelings and explain them to her, a friend sufficiently wise to help her understand and contain the rage steadily growing within her.

  Sir Antony’s calm voice startled her, and she realized that the others had fallen silent and were staring. Someone had spoken before Sir Antony, but she had been so lost in thought that she did not know which of them it had been or what had been said. She looked at Sir Antony. “I-I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  “I merely offered my humble opinion of Mrs. Alfred Tarrant’s suggestion that you be ordered to stop dithering, and to obey Rockland’s commands.”

  She felt herself stiffen. “And what did you reply to her?” Her gaze met his, and the others seemed to vanish, leaving her alone with him.

  His smile was reassuring. “I pointed out that although Rockland might somehow contrive to force your obedience, he could not force mine. If anyone tries to make you take part in this ceremony against your will, they will have to do so without my help.”

  “Thank you.” Feeling calmer, with her eyes still fixed on him, she said in a much firmer tone, “I am obliged to you, Sir Antony. I assure you, I am not generally given to distempered freaks, and I do intend to carry on with this wedding as long as Rockland is willing. The ceremony he arranged is not what I would have chosen, but he knows that. He knows me rather well, in fact, and despite that, he has been persistent in his attentions. Therefore, I owe him some extraordinary duty now. If you are willing to stand in for him, I shall not oppose his arrangement.” She heard someone’s breath catch, but she did not turn away from Sir Antony.

  He frowned, then said firmly, “You are marrying him for no other purpose than to escape a position that is excessively distasteful to you. Is that not the case?”

  Without looking away, she answered steadily, “It is. Is that so dreadful?”

  “Not at all. I am persuaded that any number of young women marry for the same reason. The ceremony will go forward then. Will you join me for a brief stroll in the gardens? That is,” he added, gla
ncing at Rockland, “if you have no objection.”

  “None in the world,” that gentleman replied promptly. “You’ve a better chance at turning her up sweet than I have, after all.”

  Without comment, Charley accepted Sir Antony’s arm. She wished she could read his thoughts, but he was a very self-contained man, whose expression rarely gave away what he was thinking. Neither spoke until they reached the lawn and began to follow the path toward the mirror-like lake, but at last, unable to stand the silence a moment longer, she said, “I suppose I have surprised you.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “One day I declare to the world that I’ll never wed. The next I practically coerce Rockland into marrying me. Then I quibble and question, and …” She bit her lip.

  “As I saw it,” he said, “those first two events took place in a single day.”

  She glanced up, expecting to see mockery in his eyes, but he was gazing out over the lake, his expression, as usual, unreadable. It occurred to her then that he surprised her more often than she seemed to surprise him.

  “What are you thinking about?” she demanded.

  He looked at her then and smiled. She was struck yet again by how charming his smile could be, revealing something of the boy he once had been. He did not sound boyish, however, when he said, “I’ve been pondering a question Letty asked me yesterday, about how I can learn what I must if I stay at Tuscombe Park. I had hoped to gain access to more people, but I find I must exercise more care instead, which hampers my actions considerably. The Duke will arrive in little more than three weeks, and I cannot yet guarantee his safety. The most I have been able to report is that I am fairly certain which men to watch closely, but even that is guesswork, I’m afraid.”

  “Have you made contact with the coastal gang since you arrived here?”

  “Briefly. I managed to slip out last night, because there was something I particularly wanted to know. For some time, I have tried to identify the man to whom I presented my character references, as one might say, soon after I arrived in Cornwall.”