Patrick might deplore Modesty's tactics, but there was no denying that they worked. Standing in his arms, at Modesty's last words, Thea quivered as if struck by an arrow, and he knew she was remembering another duel, a duel fought over a decade ago in which her brother had died.
"Modesty is making the situation sound much worse than it is," he murmured, "but there is some truth to her words. It would be better for all concerned if Ellsworth were found elsewhere."
Thea nodded, all the fight having gone out of her at the idea of Patrick on the dueling field. Her fingers digging into his jacket, crumpling his once impeccably pressed lapel, she half asked, half demanded, "You will be careful?"
A twinkle in his gray eyes, he nodded. "Sweetheart, believe me, nothing will prevent me from marrying you tomorrow."
"I didn't mean that!" She paused, her gaze moving painfully over his. "That man, Ellsworth, tried to kill me tonight. I-I-I would not want harm to come to you."
"Nigel will be with me—and I can think of no one else I would prefer at my side in a dangerous situation. Nothing will happen to me, sweetheart." Conscious of Modesty's interested look, he kissed Thea sedately on the forehead instead of that tempting mouth of hers as he yearned to. "I want you to go back to bed and try to get some sleep—I know it will be difficult. But you should rest easier now that we know that Ellsworth had to have been the person who murdered Hirst and hid his body—and I'm certain that it was also Ellsworth we tangled with the night of the Hilliard ball." He shook her gently. "It's over, sweetheart. Our mystery is solved. We may never know what happened between Hirst and Ellsworth to cause them to fall out, but I am convinced that is what occurred. They must have argued once Hirst regained his senses—long after you had left the house. Ellsworth killed Hirst. It is that simple." He grimaced. "Of course, we still have the problem of being the only ones who know that Hirst is dead. And unfortunately, we can't tell what we know without incriminating ourselves—particularly since we are going to make Ellsworth's death look as if it were the work of a highwayman." When Thea looked as if she would protest, he laid a finger against her lips. "I realize that the fact that Hirst is dead must come out and soon—for your sister's sake, if nothing else—but hear me out. Just as soon as is decently possible after our marriage, we will strongly encourage her to start inquiring after her husband's whereabouts." He shot a look at Modesty. "In fact, Modesty can start doing just that right away. Once your sister starts trying to locate him, it should rapidly become apparent that he never left London—or at least, never left it alive. A search will be instituted, and I am confident that a discreet hint in Bow Street's ear will have them taking a close look at Hirst's relationship with Ellsworth. It's going to be dicey, but between Nigel and me, we should be able to, er, guide the investigation in the direction we want." At Thea's anxious expression, he could not help brushing a kiss against her mouth. "Put what happened out of your mind—tomorrow is our wedding day and I want no droopy-eyed bride! After Nigel and I have taken care of the body, we shall return to our homes and try to get some sleep ourselves."
From her expression it was obvious that Thea had reservations about the entire affair. Sighing, she muttered, "You are no doubt right. But I—" She made a face. "I don't like it, but since everyone else seems to be satisfied, I have no choice but to concur with your plans." She sent him a level glance. "I would ask you one thing though: Do you trust Nigel to hold his tongue? You cannot have forgotten that he is a notorious gossip."
"Only when it pleases him to be so," Patrick replied evenly. "It amuses him to court that particular reputation, but when necessary, he is quite capable of keeping his mouth shut." Patrick grinned at her. "Besides, he is deeply involved in our plans—for all his faults, he is not likely to want his part in tonight's adventures to become known."
"That may be, but I want to know; are you going to tell him everything?"
Patrick's amusement fled. His eyes searching hers, he said, "I will tell him only as much as you allow."
Thea bit her lip. "You are certain he can be trusted?" And at Patrick's nod, she said, "Then tell him what you think he needs to know—he deserves the truth for proving to be our friend and risking his own reputation to help us."
Shortly thereafter, Patrick and Nigel were bowling down the London streets in Nigel's fine carriage with the body of a dead man propped up on the seat across from them. There was much that could go wrong with their plan, and neither one was happy that it all depended upon so many people holding their tongues. If even one person hinted at the truth... Patrick blocked the thought from his mind. No one would talk. There was no reason for them to speak of the night's doings, but if they did, he admitted grimly, there would be hell to pay.
Almost as if he knew what Patrick was thinking, Nigel said abruptly, "My coachman's lips are sealed, and Thea's people are loyal—they ain't likely to talk. But if the worst were to happen and someone did talk, if we all stick together and deny everything, we'll come about. Devil take it! I'm a bloody earl! No one would dare accuse me of lying."
They rode through the passing countryside without further speech, both conscious of the lightening sky and the fact that daylight was fast coming. Reaching a secluded section of the road, they made short work of depositing Ellsworth's body near an overgrown copse of trees and within minutes were driving back to London.
"Anybody sees us arriving home," Nigel said, "they'll think we spent your last night as a bachelor carousing."
Patrick swallowed back a huge yawn. "Better that than what we have been doing."
Nigel glanced at him. "What did Thea say about, er, moving the body?"
"She was inclined to balk, but Modesty and I made her see that it was a sensible solution."
Nigel was quiet a moment longer, then rubbing his nose, he said, "Er, don't mean to pry, old fellow, but don't you think it is time that you told me what is going on?"
Patrick sighed. Thea was right, Nigel deserved some explanation, but he'd been hoping to avoid it. Yet, he could not deny that Nigel had come at a moment's notice and had asked no questions, not even when confronted with a dead man. Keeping back only his own reasons for being at the Curzon Street house on that fateful night, Patrick told him the tale.
When he finished speaking, Nigel regarded him in the shadowy confines in the coach for several minutes. "Rum tale," he pronounced. "Thing is, my friend, you never mentioned why you were there that night?"
Patrick groaned. "Nigel, my reasons for being there have nothing to do with what happened."
Nigel's gaze narrowed. "You're fair and far off there! Hirst and Ellsworth were a pair of queer coves up to no good—half a dozen people could confirm that fact. You want me to believe that you just happened to be there that night? It's all hum."
Patrick smiled. "It may be, but I'm not telling you anything else." He hesitated, before saying simply, "Nigel, it's not my tale to tell."
"Hmm, like that is it?"
"Yes."
The subject was dropped and the outskirts of London came swiftly. The sun was up when Patrick was let down in front of his house.
"Fine day for a wedding," Nigel remarked, as Patrick prepared to shut the door of the coach.
"Indeed." Patrick cocked a brow. "A memorable eve to mark my last night as an unmarried man."
Nigel gave a bark of laughter. "The devil of it is, we can never share it with anyone. Why, I could dine out a year on tonight's doings."
"But you won't, will you?" Patrick asked with a deceptively sleepy look in his gray eyes.
Nigel shook his head. "Now don't come the ugly with me! If you'd thought I'd babble, you wouldn't have sent for me in the first place. Good day, my friend."
The wedding was less than eight hours away, and Patrick was certain he would not be able to sleep even for a few hours, but to his surprise, his head had hardly hit the pillow before he was asleep.
Thea did not find sleep so easily; but after some restless tossing and turning, she, too, managed to fall asleep. Sh
e did not sleep as soundly as did Patrick, fragments of weird and terrible dreams flashing through her mind.
She woke to the clatter of crockery and sat up to stare bleary-eyed at Modesty entering the room, a tray in her hands.
"Good!" Modesty said, looking disgustingly bright and cheerful as she put the tray down on Thea's dressing table. "You are awake."
"How could I not be with you playing housemaid-—and not very well at that," Thea muttered, as she flung back the covers of the bed and stood up. She stretched and groaned as her sore muscles and many bruises made themselves felt.
Thea's cross mood did not bother Modesty. "Come along, chicken," she coaxed as she poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the tray, "drink some of this nice hot coffee—you'll feel much better."
Modesty was right, and, a few minutes later, Thea smiled across her cup at her friend. "Are you always right?"
Modesty pinched her chin. "Usually. Now come along, I've ordered a bath for you, and Mrs. De Land will be here within the hour for the last fitting of your gown. She said that she would do any final sewing and alterations here at the house."
There was no time for further conversation, and the next hours flew by, every tick of the clock bringing closer the actual moment she was to stand beside Patrick Blackburnc and become his wife. Thea tried to stamp down the thrill of panic that went through her whenever she thought of that moment, a part of her excited and eager, another part absolutely terrified. As the morning passed, she wondered if she were mad. Had she really agreed to marry a virtual stranger? The answer was painfully apparent in the bustle and frantic rush going on about her as Modesty, Maggie, Mrs. De Land, and various maidservants fussed over each detail of her dress, her hair, her face.
Her face gave them all pause. The black eye Modesty had predicted last night had come to pass, along with a darkening bruise on her cheek, but it was not quite as bad as feared. A judicious use of rice powder hid the worst of the marks and it was hoped that the circles under her eyes would be put down to bridal nerves.
Mrs. De Land raised a brow at the tale of a nightmare fright and a horrific fall to explain the various purple-and-green marks on Thea's body. The cuts made by the knife were ignored.
Proving herself to be as discreet as reputed, Mrs. De Land made no comment, but crossing the room, plucked up a swath of the same silky material as the underdress. She calmly ripped off the tiny puffed sleeves and, before their astonished gaze, magically fashioned a new pair of long, pleated sleeves for the gown that hid the bruises on Thea's arms—and the cut on her wrist. Putting in the last stitch, Mrs. De Land stepped back and surveyed her work. The long sleeves, she decided, were a touch of genius. They added so much more to the gown than the original puffed sleeves. But that neckline.... Lady Caldecott would be displeased if her son's bride walked down the aisle and all anyone noticed was the unmistakable knife slash on her neck and the mottled bruises that marred the soft white bosom. And Lady Caldecott would, no doubt, Mrs. De Land concluded, be willing to add a handsome gratuity to her already exorbitant bill when the circumstances were explained to her. Explained, very, very delicately, of course.
There was little time, and her eye on the gilt clock on the mantel, Mrs. De Land lifted off the bed a long scrap of Brussels lace. With practiced ease she added a few more rows of lace to those already adorning the square-cut bodice of the gown. By the time she was finished, the lace was halfway up Thea's chest, any obvious bruising having disappeared beneath the delicate lace.
Glancing at Modesty, Mrs. De Land murmured, "A modest gown is very important for a bride, don't you think?"
"Absolutely," Modesty replied, thinking that the changes did not detract from the original design of the gown in the least. In fact the changes were quite, quite fetching. She eyed the slash on Thea's neck. But it was all going to be for naught, she thought, if something wasn't done about that long, angry red laceration.
But Mrs. De Land rose to the occasion. One last piece of material was brought forth, and, with a twist of her clever fingers, Mrs. De Land fashioned a bow around Thea's neck from the rose-hued gauze of the overskirt.
When Thea was finally allowed to view herself in the cheval glass, she could hardly believe the stunning creature she saw reflected there. Her dark hair had been piled into a heap of careless curls on top of her head, a few wisps allowed to dangle near her ears. The long sleeves and higher neckline added an almost medieval look to the gown, and the dashing bow tied at the side of her neck, well the bow, she decided, saved the day. A faint smile on her lips, she touched the bow. It was possible that she would start a new fashion.
The carriage that would take them to the Caldecott home was waiting at the front of the house, and Thea was finally putting on the last touch to her wedding finery; a pair of pearl earrings. Mrs. De Land and the others, except for Modesty, had already left. Modesty, looking handsome in a new gown of gray-striped silk, was standing beside Thea.
A soft expression in her eyes, Modesty asked, "Are you happy, my dear? I know that yours has not been a conventional courtship, but somehow it seems fitting, doesn't it?"
Thea sighed, but her dark eyes were shining. "After w-w-what happened, I never thought to marry..." She glanced down at the gown, her fingers touching it almost with wonder. She looked at Modesty, her expression radiant. "Am I happy? Oh, yes!"
The door to the room was thrown open and Edwina rushed in, her blond curls bouncing. Wearing a frothy creation of sky-blue silk and lace, she paused just inside the threshold.
There was a stunned expression in her blue eyes as she stared at Thea. "Oh, Thea," she breathed, a smile curving her rosebud mouth, "you look beautiful!"
Thea laughed and dipped a teasing curtsey. "Thank you, my dear."
"Are you riding with us?" Modesty asked. "I thought you planned to go to Caldecott House directly from your own house."
Crossing the room and placing her arm in Thea's, Edwina said, "Indeed, that is what I planned to do, but then I realized that I would much rather arrive with my sister. We are family."
Ushering the two women from the room and toward the staircase, Modesty commented, "Which you seem to remember only when it suits you."
A pout appeared on Edwina's pretty face. Shaking her head, Thea glanced from one woman to the other.
"Ladies," she said, "it is my wedding day. Please, for me? Be nice to each other. And be happy for me."
Ashamed of herself, Modesty hugged Thea, and not to be outdone, Edwina did the same, both of them promising to lay aside their differences.
With Edwina on one side of her and Modesty on the other, Thea descended the staircase, in the knowledge that when next she came to this house it would be as Mrs. Patrick Blackburne. The thought was both exhilarating and utterly terrifying.
Chapter 16
At Lady Caldecott's insistence the wedding was being held at Caldecott House in the grand ballroom. She bullied and badgered everyone she knew, and some she didn't, who possessed a greenhouse into supplying her with the choicest of blooms. Under her expert hand the ballroom had been turned into a garden of paradise.
Great swaths of greenery hung from the high ceiling, and garlands of lilies and roses were draped in graceful curves along the walls. Potted palms and small trees in gold and silver pots were scattered along the edges of the room. A gleaming silver arbor covered in pink and white lilies arched over a large dais. Patrick, resplendent in a coat and knee breeches of a midnight blue, stood under the arch; the gloriously hued bruises on his hard face gave him a decidedly menacing appearance. Nigel, in his role of best man, was at his side. A robed figure, his hands clasped loosely in front of him, waited on the dais.
The two rows of hastily erected pews were adorned with white-and-green-satin bows and were crowded with members of the ton garbed in their finest clothes, all waiting for the bride. Modesty, Edwina, and other members of Thea's family sat in one of the front pews; in the other, Patrick's family and friends. Lady Caldecott looked as proud as a queen in her p
uce and pearls, her silver-streaked hair sculpted and curled to perfection; Lord Caldecott sat beside her, in a jacket and breeches nearly the same shade as her gown. Soft music from the hired musicians filled the room. All was in place. It was time.
Thea had been unable to choose between her two uncles to escort her down the makeshift aisle and so when the huge double doors swung open and she began her march down the aisle, Lord Hazlett was on one side of her, Lord Garrett on the other. Each man wore the identical smile—affectionate and proud and pleased. Thea blinked at the sight of the ballroom. It was a fairyland of pink and white, silver and gold, and a ripple of delight went through her.
She hesitated a moment at the entrance, suddenly uncertain. Then her eyes fell upon Patrick, and he smiled at her. The world, her uncles on either side of her, the avid stares of the ton, everything but Patrick disappeared. On feet that hardly touched the polished floor, a smile on her lips that glowed with the power of a thousand candles, she floated down the aisle, the knowledge that somehow she had been lucky enough, blessed perhaps, to marry this tall, commanding man flooding through her.
Patrick's breath caught in his throat as he stared at her. He had known that she exercised an extraordinary fascination for him, but he had never realized how much until this very moment. In her wedding finery, her eyes shining like opals, her smile dazzling, she was lovely, breathtaking. But it was more than mere physical loveliness that touched him, more than her slender body and intelligent features that made his heart behave in an unrecognizable manner. It was simply Thea herself, something about her eager enthusiasm, her intrepid courage, as well as the endearing tilt at the corner of her mouth and the shimmering excitement in her eyes, that drew him, and he knew that he would never again doubt that love existed. He was consumed with it. For one particular woman. For Thea.
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