by Julia Donner
Peregrine seconded that with a disgusted mutter, “I should say not. Finally, a modicum of discretion.”
Harry bestowed a grin of profound sweetness on that remark. “Envious is what you are, Perry. And now, my lovely Lizzie, I shall call on you very soon to plot strategies for your assault on London. We must organize while my brother runs off somewhere, which means I will have you all to myself.”
“Perhaps you’ll come down to Marshfield?” she suggested in a coy manner Peregrine had never seen before. Was she flirting or playacting for the onlookers?
“Lud, must I? The place depresses me, but I will, for you. Anything you ask, it will be done. Even Brummell will envy me, and so shall all the world, now that I have you for my very own.”
Harry exhaled a tragic sigh. “I suppose I must forgive George and promise to find it in my heart to also forgive my loutish brother. Do look at him sulking over there. Zounds, but he’s a dreary specimen! I cannot think how such a boring creature managed to snatch you up! But we shall have such fun together, Lizzie.”
Peregrine had his fill of drivel. “Enough, Harry. You’ve done your bit. Go away.”
A smirk of naughty glee wreathed Harry’s lips. “You are such a loathsome swine, Perry dear. It’s what comes from denying your envy. I know with a twin’s intuition exactly how you feel, even when you try to cover it with surly manners.”
Resigned, Peregrine felt a corner of his mouth twitch with a half smile. How true. He had always envied his brilliant brother but would never admit it. “Harry, I would call you something disparaging in another language but my future wife speaks all of ‘em. Therefore, touché.”
The glint of a challenge accepted glowed in Harry’s eyes. Of all people, Peregrine knew he shouldn’t test the boundaries of his brother’s patience. Underneath the smooth charm, Harry controlled a volatile nature. When it came to reckless passions eager to burst free, they were twins at heart.
Harry stood. “And now, my lovely sister, I must take my leave. I shall be calling on you tomorrow after luncheon. We must make our plans for your wedding and your plunge into the societal cauldron. You must also tell me what you’ll wear for the ceremony. Have your dresser send a swatch. I will carry a bouquet in complimentary colors. Oh, the fun will shall have at the drapers and bazaars! And I must introduce you to the most enchanting milliner I met last week. She is a genius with ribbons!”
Unable to quell his disgust, Peregrine said, “Take yourself off, Harry. That’s all I can stomach of your syrupy act in one sitting.”
“Ever your obedient servant, Perry.”
Harry bowed over Elizabeth’s hand, flipped a negligent wave of farewell to his worshipful audience, and left Peregrine stewing in superficial peace. Superficial, a perfect description for Harry and his own pretended calm. Inside, he felt ready to explode.
But he’d known all along that Harry would steal all the attention and her affection. He could only pray the miscreant wouldn’t be in her head on their wedding night.
Chapter 22
Elizabeth sat through an entire act before speaking to Asterly, who glowered in silence. He continued to remain quiet during the first half of the tragedy, and Elizabeth began to wonder if he could be sulking, as Harry said. When she decided to peek his way, she encountered his contemplative gaze studying her…well…bosom. Cheeks burning, she abruptly looked back at the stage.
She concentrated on smoothing a wrinkle from her glove until she could no longer keep the protest inside. “My lord, must you be so…obvious?”
“Can’t seem to stop myself. Are you about to cry off, now you’ve met the better half?”
Put out that he could say such rubbish, she let the question hang in the air for a while. When his face started to tighten, she said, “Stop pouting, Asterly. He’s gorgeous, but he’s not you.”
That mollified him. The stiff set of his shoulders relaxed. His jealousy, concern—or whatever—made her ridiculous heart leap, and grateful that she hadn’t confessed that she also thought Harry a delicious rascal.
Hoping to convey understanding without injuring his pride, she said, “If you’d taken the time to ask, Asterly, I would have told you that I’m a bit too long in the tooth to swoon over a pretty face.”
After a long pause, he replied, “Perhaps. Forgive me, but I’m not accustomed to sitting this long. Would you like something to drink?”
Startled by the abrupt change in topic, it took a moment to reply, “Yes, I would, thank you.”
A footman stepped inside the box while Asterly went to fetch a glass of lemonade. He hadn’t been gone long, when a tap on the door sounded. Her heart began a rapid thumping that filled her head. Why hadn’t she gone with him? How long would he leave her alone to face the person or persons at the door?
The footman opened it a crack. Elizabeth’s racing heartbeat slowed when she heard a familiar voice. She gave permission to admit the caller.
When Mr. Brummell came through, a collective gasp and a flurry of whispers sped throughout the theater. While the famous Beau bowed over her hand, he whispered, “That popinjay, whose name I will not utter, came by and outright told me to get my carcass up here and make you in the ton or he’d have my liver.”
“Please, be seated, Mr. Brummell. Sir Harry said that? He would never be so rude to anyone.”
“Defending him, are you? I suppose I must allow him a modicum of merit for making himself your champion.”
“You do us too much credit, sir. Won’t you sit down?”
Brummell chuckled and scanned the crowd in the pit. “Flying up to the boughs, are we? Very well then, if you must insist on recognizing him.” After nodding at someone below, he sat. “Got to admit the puppy is undeniably an Adonis.”
Elizabeth smiled. “George, my dear friend, you have just bought yourself a Stubbs.”
He choked on a surprised laugh. “The mare and foal?”
“If you wish.”
He studied her through narrowed eyes. “What do I get if I say I liked his waistcoat?”
“A sermon and cold porridge for breakfast. Now, be quiet and let me enjoy watching the world watch you.”
Hiding her bemusement, Elizabeth peripherally watched Brummell control his audience by doing as little as possible. He merely let it be seen that he sat with the Widow Shelton for the duration of the interval, and more importantly, in the box of his sartorial enemy. By the time Asterly returned, the box was so crowded he claimed he’d have to evict some of the visitors to reclaim his seat. Brummell solved the problem by leaving and taking most of them with him.
Overwhelmed by so much attention, Elizabeth had forgotten to watch the play. By the time the commotion surrounding Brummell’s visit, the interval, and the stream of callers ebbed, Elizabeth noticed it was almost over.
When the last visitor departed, Asterly asked, “Elizabeth, do you want to stay for the farce?”
“If you don’t mind, I think we’ve accomplished what you hoped to achieve this evening.”
“Yes, I believe we have. Between my brother and George, you’ve publicly captured the approval of the most esteemed male arbiters. Now, you only have the females, which means your work is done. Harry will see to turning them up sweet.”
They left the box during the interval before the farce, both agreeing that they felt tired and ready to end the evening but were delayed on the steps and in the vestibule by enthusiastic well-wishers.
In the carriage, he said, “Elizabeth, thank you for enduring this evening. It was necessary, or I wouldn’t have asked you to do it.”
“Please, I agreed and fortunately, it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as I thought it might be.”
“And no matter how my brother and I squabble, I know he’ll protect you. He and my friends will keep you safe while I’m gone.”
She stopped herself from asking who would watch over him. Perhaps Crimm could suggest someone. Asterly would never allow it, but then, he didn’t have to know.
In the foyer at th
e open door, Elizabeth turned on the doorstep to offer her hand. “Thank you for a lovely evening. Would you care to come inside?”
“As much as I am tempted by your excellent cellar, I should be on my way.”
“Please, feel free to make use of the carriage.”
Asterly shook his head. “As ancient as this is going to make me sound, I must walk after sitting for so long. A war wound souvenir.”
Elizabeth felt disappointed but not hurt. Exhaustion from the evening’s emotional excitement had caught up with her. Asterly pressed a kiss on her temple and went down the steps.
Elizabeth started to ask the footman to send for Merrick but broke off when she heard shouting out on the street. She ordered the front doors reopened. The footman wisely hesitated.
Worried about Asterly walking alone in a city boiling with chaos and riots, her hand shook when she jerked it open herself.
Light flooded out onto the steps and pavement, illuminating Asterly on the curb. He stood oddly still, surrounded by a swarming crowd. Three, rough-looking men stepped out of the mob streaming by. Up and down the street, glass cracked and shattered. Shouts rang out but Asterly faced his challengers. Witnesses on the threshold momentarily stopped the attack.
The scream lodged in Elizabeth’s throat cut off her voice when she tried to call out for help. She’d made it partway down the steps when Crimm pulled her back to the doorstep, where she watched and struggled for freedom.
Witnesses caused the attackers to hesitate. Asterly used the pause to take the offensive. His cane swept up and jabbed the assailant standing in the middle of the group. The knob rammed into the assailant’s face under his nose, creating a dull, cracking sound that made her cringe.
When the assailant fell, Asterly stepped into the fallen attacker’s place in the middle. His cane whacked a wrist raising a cudgel. He ducked to avoid the swing of a lead pipe. He tripped an attacker, while the man with the pipe stumbled from the unconnected follow-through. The cane’s metal head collided with a cap-covered skull. Man and lead pipe fell to the pavement. Asterly turned to finish the cudgel-wielding attacker, but the man backed away, holding an injured arm to his side.
The incident was over in moments. The surly crowd had stopped to watch a bit of fun at the aristocracy’s expense. They rapidly dispersed, running up the street to follow the marching mob.
Elizabeth regained the ability to breathe. She watched Asterly use the toe of an elegant pump to roughly turn over the two bodies lying in the street, both limp and unconscious. She shook off Crimm’s hold on her arm and flew down the steps.
Peregrine grunted from the impact when she landed against his chest. She searched his face. Her gloved hand touched his jaw then pressed along his cheek. She swiftly withdrew when Crimm joined them at the curb.
The butler said, “Well done, m’lord! I had thought to offer assistance, but it was immediately apparent that none was required.”
“Thank you, Crimm. Send someone for the watch. Elizabeth, you should be inside. I’m very sorry that you had to witness this sordid encounter. What has happened to our society that it could produce such villains? Three against one! A disgrace to all Englishmen.”
Elizabeth shivered, unable to stop the flooding energy of her outrage. “And women! I wish I could’ve helped you thrash them.”
Something flickered briefly over his face, there and gone, as mercurial as his brother. He glanced at Crimm, who’d gone up the steps to instruct a footman.
Leaning down, Peregrine murmured in a low, melodic voice, “Would you actually thrash them? How deliciously intriguing you are, Eliza. Are you always this intrepid when riled?”
Startled, Elizabeth blinked. What exactly had she said? The faint light from the open door reflected a wicked sparkle in his eyes. His face looked flushed, his mouth curved with an unholy smile.
“Asterly…you dreadful man! You weren’t in the least bit worried, were you? You actually enjoyed this infamous attack.”
He laughed and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm to escort her back to the house. “T’was nothing serious. They were out for a bit of fun. Nevertheless, I think I should be congratulated for securing an engagement of marriage to such a valiant lady. And here I thought you would wilt into a swoon.”
She hid the fear still pounding in her chest. “Oh, go home, you horrid beast! You are positively barbaric.”
Asterly grinned and saluted her by touching the head of his cane to his hat brim. The engraved metal knob had blood and some nasty bits of things still attached. He sauntered down the dark street, whistling a naughty tavern tune. She went up the steps, trying not to image the possibility of fools being given an introduction to his cane before he reached St. James.
The evidence of his ability to protect himself didn’t stop her worrying. She couldn’t sleep. Anxiety nagged, keeping rest at bay. Daily, she’d grown a little more frightened by what she had to do. There was the ton to convince Asterly was in town when he wasn’t. She would rather throw herself into the sort of fight she’d seen on her doorstep than enter the home of one of the patronesses. The knowledge that she would have Sir Harry’s help provided a small measure of relief. She refused to think of what she’d have to endure without him.
Marrying Asterly was another matter. It wouldn’t be like the typical marriage of convenience, but one that would help in the war with Napoleon, while rejuvenating Asterly’s estate with her funds. In his social strata, such marriages were commonplace, merely a business arrangement. Love had nothing to do with the event.
So what was she going to do about the love beginning to grow? Most definitely a fatal attraction. How did one go about hiding an ungovernable yearning for the dangerous, ardent man, who in four days, would become her husband? And how would she mend her shattered heart when he did what men of his station did and went off to his mistress? Sir Harry was rumored to have three.
She veered away from the imagery that invoked and recalled instead something easier to manage—the rift between the brothers. The tension in the theater box had been stifling, a crackling tension so strong it was palpable. What had gone wrong between them? She’d set Crimm’s network of servant spies to the task of finding out.
Chapter 23
Encouraged by her success at the theater, Elizabeth resolved to overcome her distaste and prejudice of fashionable society. It was only right that she make herself agreeable to Asterly’s friends and family. This resolution was tested the following morning when Sir Harry arrived on her doorstep with a small horde of young Bond Street Beaux in his wake.
His unexpected arrival with a crowd of popinjays almost half his age was partially explained when he announced, “Good morning, Sis. Now that we’re family, I no longer need stand on ceremony and can stop by at any hour. Allow me to introduce you to my friends.”
She stood on the stairs, having just come down from finishing her morning chocolate, and blinked at the smiling faces cluttering her foyer, none of them out of their teens.
Harry came forward to take her hand, saying under his breath, “During an early morning constitution, I became enamored with a whimsical notion—Elizabeth must reign over my followers. I have an ulterior reason, of course.”
As they followed Crimm back up the steps to the largest receiving room, Harry whispered, “Every one of these boys have the entrée to the finest drawing rooms in London. To befriend them means you’ll have an acquaintance or champion wherever you go.”
“Very clever of you, dearest Harry, but what about my breakfast?”
“What an excellent idea. I’m rather sharp set after walking all the way here.”
Peregrine stared at the scene when he arrived in the early afternoon. Instead of meeting as usual with Elizabeth in the bookroom, he’d been escorted to the Pavilion on the first floor. The long, corner receiving room was surrounded on one side by a terraced, small garden and the other by a conservatory. A bank of floor-to-ceiling windows on the garden side took advantage of the western exposure
. Excited chatter and laughter washed over him as he stood on the threshold and searched for Elizabeth.
A group of youngsters, made up of fledgling Tulips and simpering schoolgirls, had gathered around a pianoforte. They pretended to experiment with the instruments arranged in a corner cabinet, while practicing awkward attempts to flirt over the sheaves of music.
One side of the receiving hall had been swallowed up with a long table draped in lacy linen and decorated with sun-sparkled crystal bowls of flowers. A stately troupe of footmen arranged chairs throughout the rectangular chamber, suggesting a recent relocation of the guests to this room from somewhere else.
At the opposite end of the room, he saw his brother lounging against a fragile looking Louis IV cabinet. The handsome piece’s gold and scarlet lacquer glistened in the sunlight spilling through the windows. Leave it to his brother to pick the only piece of furnishing that would complement his waistcoat of crimson, stark white and metallic-gold flowers. His white inexpressible molded to his legs without a crease, and his black velvet coat looked so ruthlessly tight that the slightest movement might split the seams. He’d tied his neckcloth in the intricate mathematical and flaunted an abundance of seals, fobs, and gold chains. As if sensing his presence, Harry lifted a quizzing glass and studied Peregrine with a magnified eye. He recognized Peregrine with a tiny, pained smile.
Peregrine reciprocated by twisting up one side of his mouth in a mocking grin and continued to search the room. He felt a genuine smile lift his face when he spied Elizabeth. She excused herself from a group of older couples seated near the windows and came to greet him.
After a murmured welcome, she drew him out of the path of a long line of footmen carrying covered silver trays. Behind them came a row of servants, who took up positions behind the long tables. A bevy of maids followed Crimm to a table set to serve hot and cold liquid refreshments.