“You are looking for Mrs. Roberts?” The doctor followed Louisa down the stairs, his brows knit together.
“I have a letter for her,” said Penelope.
“I can take that,” said the doctor briskly.
“Is she here? I would like to deliver it myself.”
“No, no, she is…” Dr. Roberts glanced at the lad behind the counter, then at Louisa. “A cousin. She is a cousin of mine. She will arrive soon. I will see that she receives it.”
“Forgive me, but I have been given very particular instructions to hand this to no one but Mrs. Roberts herself.”
Louisa and the good doctor exchanged a glance, but neither said a word.
“Then I wish you luck in finding her,” said the good doctor. “Might I suggest you send it through the post? Perhaps you would have better luck in routing it to the right person.” He bowed to the ladies and caught Louisa’s eye once more.
“Good day, Dr. Roberts,” said Louisa.
“Good day, Lady Louisa,” he said gravely and disappeared back up the stairs.
“Lady Louisa, how remarkable that we meet here,” commented Pen.
“It is not terribly remarkable. My mother is a patient of Dr. Roberts. I come regularly to pick up her medication and get advice from the doctor.”
“I see.” Penelope was not sure she did see, but she was determined to find out. “How fortunate for me that you were here. I took a hack here, so if you would not mind, I should love to ride back to Marchford house on your way home. It is on the way, yes?”
Louisa shot her a glance that conveyed she would rather have hot pokers stabbed in her eyes than share a coach with Penelope Rose. Penelope merely smiled. She was accustomed to having that effect on people.
“Yes, please do join me.” Lady Louisa’s jaw was so clenched Penelope wondered that she could speak at all.
Penelope climbed into the Bremerton town coach, which was, naturally, quite nice and more than a little pretentious. Penelope took a seat across from Louisa, who averted her gaze in a feeble attempt to pretend Penelope was not there.
“Have you known Dr. Roberts long?” asked Penelope politely.
“He is our family physician,” Lady Louisa said in quelling accents. My, but the aristocracy did know how to give a set-down to the commoners. Unfortunately for Louisa, Penelope was not about to take a polite hint.
“I do hope Lady Bremerton is not terribly ill.”
“Nervous complaint,” said Louisa, still focusing her gaze outside the carriage.
“Did the doctor come recommended?”
“Indeed, from your mistress, the Duchess of Marchford. He has even served as a consultant to the queen, so yes, Miss Rose, he does come highly recommended.”
“Is that how you met him? Through the duchess?”
Louisa turned toward her, a spark of anger in her eye. “I met him because he was the personal physician to the sixth Duke of Marchford. Dr. Roberts did everything he could, brought Frederick back from death’s door more times than I care to remember, and yet it was not the will of Providence for Frederick to survive. There now, Miss Rose, have you any more questions for me?”
Penelope sat quietly for a few minutes. She could be obtuse, but she tried not to be rude. Louisa turned to stare out the window. How difficult it must be for her, Penelope suddenly realized. To be engaged to be married, only to watch her fiancé slowly die and thus find oneself obligated to marry the brother. Even though the current Duke of Marchford was not a poor-looking specimen, he clearly held no particular regard for Louisa.
Penelope knew conversation was not welcomed, yet an opportunity to speak to Louisa without others overhearing may not come again soon. She had questions and she was convinced Louisa had the answers.
“It is very strange that I could not find Mrs. Roberts. I was given clear instructions to make sure this letter was delivered directly to her hands and none else.” Penelope drew the letter out of her reticule and Louisa’s gaze snapped to it.
“In your visits to Dr. Roberts, have you met a Mrs. Roberts?” asked Penelope, watching carefully to gauge Louisa’s reply.
“On occasion I believe I may have. Would you like me to give this to her?” She leaned forward, eyes still on the letter.
“I have been tasked with finding this Mrs. Roberts. Can you help me?”
“She is… reclusive, but I can get it to her. You can trust me.”
“Can I?” Penelope let the question hang and Louisa turned away. “Lady Louisa, did you write me a letter to be directed to Madam X?”
Lady Louisa said nothing.
“I can confirm the handwriting with Miss Talbot if I need to. Is that why you sent the letter to me instead of to the dowager? She no doubt would recognize your handwriting.”
“What do you want? Money? Do you wish me to buy your silence, Miss Rose?”
Penelope recoiled back into the squabs as if she had been doused in cold water. “Open your letter, Mrs. Roberts.” Penelope held out the letter, which Louisa took.
Louisa opened the seals and caught the hundred-pound note before it fluttered to the floorboards. She scanned the letter quickly, then put both it and the money away in her reticule. “I misjudged you. I do apologize.”
“The dowager has begun plans for the wedding.”
“I know. My mother has been planning for years.”
“Have you tried telling your mother you do not wish to wed the Duke of Marchford?”
“How could I? Mother was forced to marry Lord Bremerton when her sister eloped. She did so to raise the future of her children. She has lived on the expectancy that I would marry a duke since I was in my cradle.”
“Yes, I can see your point. But if you are determined not to wed the duke, you must be willing to stand up to your mother.”
“Speaking my mind is one thing, but how do I garner her support?”
Support? Get Lady Bremerton to dissolve her daughter’s engagement to the duke? Never! “You may need to recognize your parents may not support you in this. But it is always your choice whether or not you wed. They may be angry, very angry, but they cannot force you to wed. Nor will they disown you and toss you from the house; they are too proud for that and you are their only child.”
“Yes, but how can I get them to support my marriage to another?”
Insight finally flashed. “Dr. Roberts? Are you in love with Dr. Roberts?” asked Penelope.
Louisa colored and evaded her eye. “I am sorry I was beastly to you. When you saw me with him, I was ready to sink.”
Penelope leaned back on the squabs and pondered Louisa’s predicament. This was a puzzle. Lady Louisa marry a gentleman physician instead of the duke? Penelope shook her head. It was impossible to imagine Lord and Lady Bremerton would accept that.
“We fell in love over time,” said Louisa so softly Pen could hardly hear over the squeaking and jostling of the carriage. “We were in each other’s company many times when Frederick was ill. I did love Frederick. I wished to marry him at his bedside, but he wanted to give me the wedding he felt I deserved. He wanted to stand next to me, not lie on some bed. So we waited for him to recover, but it was never to be.”
Louisa took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “Dr. Roberts was very compassionate. Afterward, he was kind, friendly. My mother took on nerves, so he was frequently at the house. He talked to me, made me laugh. The feelings came on so gradually, we never noticed them until it was too late.”
“Dr. Roberts I am sure is an excellent man, but he is far from your station.”
“I know he is now, but he is also the heir to a large estate and a baronet. When his uncle passes away, he will inherit a significant fortune. He is not wooing me for the money, of that I can assure you.”
“That does improve his eligibility, but a barony is rather less than a dukedom.”
Louisa nodded. “I know. And I know what my mother would say. But what else can I do? We were waiting until he inherited to go before my parents and pl
ead our case. With Marchford being gone so long, we hoped we could make a rationale for dissolving the contract.”
“But Marchford returned and ruined everything.”
“Yes. Quite.”
“You may have to live without their approval or your inheritance.”
“And flee London in disgrace? Barred from society? And what of Dr. Roberts? If the gossip spread that he had wed me against my parents’ will, none of his patients would ever speak to him again. His reputation, his practice would be ruined! Why his uncle might even be led to disinherit!”
“If you are determined to walk down this road, you will need allies, people who will support you.” Pen went straight for the heart of the problem. “A good solicitor will be important. And you need to find people who can encourage your parents to accept this match. I know you wish Marchford would just go away, but his being here may help you if you can get him to support you in dissolving the union.”
Louisa sighed. “I suppose I do need to talk to Marchford.”
“In the end, you may need to resign yourself to one of two unpleasant options. Either follow your heart and be lost to society, or follow your parents and let go of these feelings for Dr. Roberts.”
“You do not understand, Miss Rose. It is impossible for me to wed the Duke of Marchford. Simply impossible.”
Twenty-three
It had been two days and Genie had not seen Mr. Grant. Not that she expected to or wanted to or… who was she trying to fool? Of course she wanted to see him. What good it could possibly do her was a bit more vague.
Mr. Blakely, however, had been quite solicitous in his attentions. He had visited twice and a threatened thunderstorm had ruined plans to go to Hyde Park. This had brought up memories of another storm that had caught her in the arms of Mr. Grant. The thought left her restless.
“I hope the weather will clear soon,” Genie sighed, sitting with her aunt and cousin in the sitting room.
“Yes, the streets become ghastly. Why, I added an inch to my pattens just for Town wear,” commented Lady Bremerton.
The formal butler entered with a bow. “For you, Lady Bremerton,” intoned the butler, handing her a large envelope.
She broke the seal and gasped.
“Is something wrong?” asked Genie.
“No, no, it is most wonderful!” Lady Bremerton looked up with a glorious smile. “We have all been issued vouchers to attend Almack’s tomorrow night!”
Genie smiled radiantly in return. It must have been the workings of Mr. Grant.
***
“You do not look at death’s door. I was promised a man in ghastly health, but you look well enough.” Grant surveyed the duke with a critical eye. He and Thornton had decided to visit Marchford in his bedchamber since the rumor had circulated that the duke was ill. “Though that waistcoat was a mistake.”
“Wrong color or cut?” asked the duke.
“Yes,” replied Grant. “Brought it with you from the Continent, I can tell.”
“I did indeed. I thought it well enough.”
Grant shook his head sadly. “You have been gone too long, dear friend. I will give you the name of my tailor. He will set you to rights.”
“You never gave me the name of your tailor,” objected Thornton.
“I thought you had no concern for fashion my friend. I had always pictured your raiment as a protest against fashionable society in defense of your Scottish bloodlines.”
“’Tis just a coat, Grant.”
“‘Just a coat’? And you wonder why I would not subject my tailor to you.”
Thornton’s brows furrowed and he turned to Marchford. “Returning to the point of the visit, we were told ye were ill. Are ye well?”
“Yes, yes, I am well, but I must keep to my room.”
“If you reveal some contagion, I fear I shall run screaming from the room,” said Grant, pouring himself a whiskey. “Your story appears to be a long one. I fear I may need refreshment before you are through.”
“I would invite you to help yourself, but I see you have anticipated me.”
“Why must ye keep to yer room?” asked Thornton, ignoring Grant’s distractions.
“I am trying to catch a spy.”
Grant took a hearty swig. “I was right. A drink was needed.”
“I appreciate the modifications you made the other night to the study directly below. I have continued your good work. If someone tries to remove the letter in the safe, it will pull a cord and a bell will ring there.” Marchford pointed to a brass bell mounted on the wall with a cord running down the wall and disappearing under the floorboards.
“I thought this might be the direction ye were going,” said Thornton. “But how will ye get down in time to catch the thief?”
“See here,” Marchford opened a narrow panel in the wall which revealed a spiral staircase. “It leads to the study.”
“Very cloak-and-dagger,” said Grant with feeling. “When did you have this made?”
“My grandfather commissioned it when the house was built. I would like to say he had nefarious intent, but apparently he did not walk well in his later years and wished to have a shorter route from his study to his bedchamber. In any event, it is useful.”
“So you have been waiting to see if the letter is stolen?”
“Yes, and look here. Remember how I asked you to drill a hole in the ceiling?” Marchford motioned to a spyglass on a letter table. He slid a small panel and stepped back to let Thornton take a look.
Thornton pointed the spyglass down. “Why, I can see the whole room. Clever thought to put a spyglass here.”
“So you are spending your time locked away in your room spying on your own study?” asked Grant. “How dull.”
“Yes, actually it is,” admitted Marchford. “I had anticipated the thief would make an attempt on the room soon, but so far I have been disappointed.”
“How long do ye intend to play the role of invalid?” asked Thornton.
“Yes, well, therein lies the rub. I cannot rightly stay here too much longer without society taking notice. Already my grandmother has insisted that a physician be called. I fear my acting ability may not be up to the task.”
“So get someone else to sit here and wait for the spy—really quite a simple solution. They must have people who do this sort of thing.” Grant waved his hand in a dismissive manner.
“Yes, indeed. But I suspect a spy has infiltrated deep into the Foreign Office. I do not wish to use anyone from official channels.”
Grant put down his drink. “I do not like where this is going.”
Marchford smiled at his friends. “I know you have been wondering what you could do to help win the war against Napoleon.”
Thornton raised an eyebrow and Grant reached for the decanter to refill his glass. “If you can say that with a straight face, you have nothing to fear from your acting abilities.”
“I fear the thief will not strike until I am out of the house. It is imperative we find the spy. You are the only ones I trust.”
Grant shook his head. “You go too far. I cannot fathom sitting here, doing nothing all day.”
“I understand.” Marchford nodded. “It is a dangerous assignment. I would not wish to put you in harm’s way.”
“What are you suggesting?” asked Grant.
“Nothing, nothing at all. It is perfectly natural, since you have been enjoying a life of ease that you would become…” Marchford looked up at the ceiling as if in thought.
“Soft? Fearful? Cowardly?” supplied Thornton. He shrugged at Grant’s glare. “Just trying to help our friend find the right word.”
“Let us simply say you are out of condition. I would not wish you to get hurt if you are not physically capable or do not have the mental fortitude—”
Grant put up his hand to stop Marchford. “Enough! Say no more or I shall be forced to retaliate in kind. Do you truly believe impugning my honor would entice me to sit in your bedroom, waiting for a thief?”
>
“Did it?” asked the duke.
Grant sighed and flopped on the couch in the sitting area of the master bedroom. “Suppose I should get comfortable. But how is the thief going to open the safe to ring the bell? I thought you had it locked.”
“I do, but one of my keys was stolen.”
“Stolen?” asked Thornton in alarm.
“By a sly little opera singer.”
“The one you went to see the other night?” asked Thornton.
Marchford nodded.
“That little minx.” Grant shook his head.
“Yes, she was—” began Marchford.
“Not her, you!” declared Grant. “You purposely allowed her to seduce you, so she could steal the key and give it to the thief!”
Marchford merely shrugged.
“All in the line of duty to King and Crown?” Thornton raised an eyebrow.
Marchford smiled. “Long live the King.”
***
“Thank you for seeing me.”
Lord Bremerton gestured for the young man to sit in one of the high-back, comfortable chairs in his study. “What can I do for you today, Mr. Blakely?”
“I have had several pleasant conversations with Miss Talbot. Am I correct that you are serving as her guardian here in London?” asked Mr. Blakely.
“That is correct.”
“I understand there is interest in seeing her engaged quickly.”
Lord Bremerton said nothing, neither confirming nor denying the statement but gazing at Mr. Blakely with a confident air of the aristocracy.
“Miss Talbot is a sweet girl and very pretty. I should be the happiest man alive if she would consent to be my wife. However, I have run into some financial embarrassments since coming to London.”
“Been betting deep and lost,” said Lord Bremerton without emotion.
“Yes. And to be honest, I haven’t the blunt to repay the debt.”
“And how is it you expect me to help you with this problem of yours?”
“It pains me greatly to ask you this, but the circumstances involved force me to present my case in a manner most vulgar. I fear I must ask, if a man was engaged to Miss Talbot, if her dowry might be available even before the wedding?”
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