Amanda Forester

by A Wedding in Springtime

  Despite her love for long, solitary walks in the country, she understood that in Town, a lady never walked alone. She considered for a moment returning to the chocolate shop to produce the letter but thought better of it. The store might not be safe. She was certain she did not know all the intrigue surrounding this letter, but she was wary someone may not wish her to speak of it later. No, she must meet the Candyman in a more neutral place, and it certainly was not going to be at some public house of his choosing.

  A small shape caught her eye as it darted into a doorway near her.

  “Jem? Is that you?”

  The thin urchin emerged from the doorway, glancing around nervously.

  “Have you been following me?”

  Jem stepped closer to her and nodded. “What’s you doing out on the streets alone, milady?”

  Genie sighed. Chastised for lack of propriety by a street urchin. “I need to deliver a letter. You know the chocolate shop you recommended to me as having a moneylender?”

  The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded.

  “Could you deliver a message to the Candyman? Tell him I have what he was looking for and I will meet him at Hookham’s Lending Library. Do you understand?”

  Jem’s eyes remained wide, and he nodded but remained where he was.

  “Oh, of course,” said Genie rummaging through her reticule and pulling out one of her few farthings. “You would like a treat from the shop.” She held out the coin but the boy did not take it. “Is something the matter?”

  “Are you sure you want me to go to the chocolate shop?” asked the boy.

  “Yes. Is something wrong?”

  “I don’t like the Candyman,” said Jem in a low voice, head down.

  “I can always go myself—”

  “No! I’ll go.” Jem turned on his heel and raced down the street. The coin Genie had offered still rested in her hand.

  ***

  Genie waited impatiently in Hookham’s library. The Candyman had not come. She had thought for certain he would arrive, given how much he wanted the envelope in her reticule, but it had not come to pass. Genie began to wonder how long she should wait and how she was going to return home.

  The walk to Hookham’s had not been smooth. Her unchaperoned presence had drawn more attention than she wished to garner. She had drawn looks of censure from older matrons, whistles from common laborers, and rude comments from several dandies. One of these set had followed her into Hookham’s and was even now sitting in plain sight with a wolfish grin on his face. She did not relish stepping outside the relative protection of the library.

  The bell at the door rang softly and Genie turned her attention, hoping the Candyman would arrive to put this entire situation behind her. Genie gritted her teeth in recognition. It was Mr. Blakely.

  Genie turned away and pretended to read a book, but he walked over to her.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Talbot.” Mr. Blakely sat in a chair next to her.

  Genie did not look up or acknowledge him in any way, hoping by sheer neglect to make him somehow disappear.

  “I am glad I have seen you.” Blakely leaned forward, speaking softly. “I wish you to know how sorry I am for our disagreement.”

  Genie glanced over the top of the book at him. “Sorry enough to forgive my brother’s debt?”

  Blakely colored slightly. “No, I mean… it is not in my power.”

  “Good day, Mr. Blakely. I can have nothing more to say to you.”

  “Wait, you misunderstand me. I was contacted by the Candyman who indicated you had negotiated terms and he was going to pay off your brother’s debt. He asked me to meet you both here and bring a letter of forgiveness for the debt.”

  Mr. Blakely pulled a sealed letter from his breast coat pocket. Genie’s eyes followed the letter. It was everything she wanted.

  “Do you know when he will arrive?” she asked, her pulse starting to quicken. She was so close to saving her brother and being done with it.

  Mr. Blakely inspected his pocket watch. “He should have been here by now. I do not know what has kept him.”

  Genie sat primly on the edge of her seat. She wished the Candyman would arrive soon, so she could forget she ever met Mr. Blakely.

  “I suppose I could stop by the shop and see what has detained him.”

  “Hey, gent.” The ogling dandy strode up to Mr. Blakely. “I found this ladybird first. She’s coming home with me if she’s leaving with anyone.”

  Mr. Blakely rose slowly from his chair, staring down the dandy. “You have made a grave error in judgment. You will apologize immediately to the lady or I will meet you at dawn.”

  The smirk on the dandy’s face slid into gaping fear. “I-I am sorry. I do apologize. Thought you were someone else.” He retreated and left the library with due speed.

  “Thank you,” Genie breathed. Even though Blakely was more interested in money than her, it did appear he was still gentleman enough to have a care for her reputation.

  “Think nothing of it. I cannot imagine why he would target you to suffer his rudeness.”

  “I walked here without my maid,” admitted Genie.

  “Oh, my dear girl. I do hope you have not suffered any rough language.”

  “I shall survive.”

  “Let me take you home at once.” Blakely held out his arm and Genie stood and took it.

  “I would like to settle our business,” said Genie.

  “Yes, of course. If you have whatever it is you need to give to him, let us go at once.”

  Genie hesitated but nodded. It would be best to get the business completed and she did not wish to walk back home by herself. Blakely had every incentive to see her deliver the letter to the Candyman. All he wanted was the money, and she was his ticket to getting paid. She figured he would be happy to keep her safe at least until he got his money. If he decided to abandon her at the chocolate shop, she could always walk herself home. It would be only slightly longer than walking home from Hookham’s and at least the business would be resolved, even if she had to endure glares and the occasional lewd comment to do it.

  Blakely helped her into his coach and gave the direction to his driver. Genie hoped the journey would not be long. It was impossible to make conversation with the man who was the cause of so much distress, even if he was trying to be pleasant.

  “Come to think of it, there is no real need for you to come inside,” said Blakely mildly. “I can handle the details if you wish. You wait in the carriage.”

  “I should like to ensure everything is completed,” said Genie as the coach rolled to a stop in front of the chocolate shop.

  “I suggest we trade envelopes. You hold this, which declares your brother’s debts cleared and I will take in your envelope to the Candyman. If everything is fine, I will take you home.”

  Genie hesitated. If the Candyman opened the envelope, he would certainly discover all was not fine. Yet she could not see how standing before him would improve her situation.

  “Yes, all right.” She accepted the letter from him and placed it in her reticule, pulling out the letter with the red seal. When she removed it from her bag, her last farthing caught on the seal and fell to the floor of the coach.

  Blakely took the sealed letter with a wide grin and bent down to pick up the coin. “Here, allow me.” He tried to pick up the coin but finding it too difficult with gloves, he whisked off one of the gloves and picked up the coin holding it out to her.

  Genie held out her hand, but as he gave the coin to her, she noticed his hands, covered in red scars. She had seen those hands before. She stared at Blakely’s face; it couldn’t be, and yet, she could see it now.

  Blakely narrowed his eyes. “On second thought, you had better come in with me.”

  Genie shook her head.

  “Oh, but I insist.” Blakely pulled a small, dark handkerchief from his pocket.

  Genie dove for the door on the opposite side but was caught from behind and pulled back into the coach. Something
went over her mouth, her lungs burned, and everything went dark.

  ***

  “Wake up!”

  Genie awoke in a dark place with a damp chill to the air. She lifted her head slowly, only to find she was tied to a chair. Around her was blackness, a single lantern on a table the only light.

  “Where is it?” demanded Blakely. “Where is the code? I told you to bring me the letter with the red seal in the duke’s safe!”

  Genie tested her bounds, but she was tied securely. “You are the Candyman, the moneylender!”

  “And you are too smart for your own good.”

  “But why? Why wear a disguise and pretend to be a moneylender. What kind of a gentleman are you?”

  Blakely smiled. “I am no gentleman at all.”

  “What do you mean? I was assured Mr. Blakely owns a respectable estate in the country.”

  “He does, or shall I say did. But I am not Mr. Blakely.”

  Genie shuddered from the chill creeping through her. “But you… who are you?”

  “I have been known by many names. I would say I was at your service, but we both know it would be a lie. All you need to know is that I am devoted to seeing my homeland thrive under the rule of Napoleon and have no scruples when it comes to achieving my goal.” He smiled, but his eyes were cold.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No, of course not. But what you think is of little value and no importance.”

  “You are French?”

  “But of course.”

  French? How could she not know? “But your accent. You sound the English gentleman.”

  “I am the bastard son of the Duc de Vermette. He was well pleased with me, raised me to the pomp and privilege of the duke’s son, until he remarried and she gave him an heir. She wanted to secure the power and fortune for her own brat, so I was packed off to an English boarding school when I was eight years old.”

  “So you have lived in England?”

  A cruel glint flashed in his eyes. “I returned to my homeland in time to report my father to the tribunal. I was there when he, his wife, and their nasty son all met their fate courtesy of Madame Guillotine.”

  Genie’s pulse raced and she tried to wrench her hands free. He was a monster.

  “See how it all worked out for the good? It taught me to value what is truly important in life—money.”

  “What is it you want?” whispered Genie.

  “Simple. I want the code to find the spies—the letter with the red seal. Marchford has it. I want it. I have been offered a sum of money vast enough to turn the most loyal of hearts. Which, of course, mine never was.”

  Blakely pulled a knife from his boot and placed it on the table. “If I am willing to put my own father’s head in the guillotine, just think of what I might do to you. You will tell me what I want to know. Where is the letter with the red seal?”

  Genie swallowed hard. She feared she might get caught in her deception, but she had never imagined a scenario such as this. She needed to think fast. He thought her foolish so she could use that. “I went to the duke’s study and opened the safe, just as you told me to. There was only one letter with a red seal. Is this not the red seal you were looking for?”

  Blakely shoved the blank paper before her. “It is blank! How do you explain it?”

  “I… I did not open the seal.”

  “Dammit!” Blakely cursed as he paced back and forth. “I’ve been tricked. It was all a farce. The duke, it is his fault!”

  Genie sincerely prayed he would continue to direct his anger toward the duke and away from her.

  “I have done everything you asked of me. Please, let me go!” Genie’s voice sounded higher, louder than normal. Fear was making her bold, even as she began to succumb to panic.

  “You have seen too much.”

  “They will be looking for me.”

  “People saw you leave in a coach with Mr. Blakely. I will circulate a rumor that you and Mr. Blakely resolved their differences and eloped.”

  “I would never!” cried Genie, forgetting for a moment her actual actions of last night were considerably worse. Had it only been last night? It seemed ages ago that she was held in the strong arms of Grant. The thought brought tears to her eyes.

  “Do not cry. I cannot stand blubbering, I warn you,” growled Blakely.

  Genie blinked back a retort that he had not been the cause of her tears. She would not waste her energy thinking of him. She scanned the room for some prospect of escape, but they were in a large, dark cellar. Along the walls, she could make out what appeared to be metal cages with piles of rags and debris. In the dim light of the lantern was a hint of movement. Staring back at her through the darkness were several pairs of eyes.

  Thirty-three

  “Louisa is married?”

  “Apparently,” said Marchford carelessly.

  Grant frowned. “And the groom?”

  “A Dr. Roberts.”

  Grant shook his head. “Are mornings always this exciting?”

  “Only when you are awake for them,” answered Marchford.

  “Then I am cured of ever attempting it again. What are you going to do?”

  “Miss Rose has suggested we go round to the good doctor’s residence and see if we can catch them before they flee. I own that I should most likely heed this advice.”

  Grant glanced at Miss Rose who was sitting primly on the seat of the phaeton. The two men walked a few steps away, out of earshot. “What of the letter and Miss Talbot?”

  Marchford patted his breast coat pocket. “The letter is safe for now. As for Miss Talbot, I fear I am at a loss. Did the servants know anything?”

  “The groom drove her to a chocolate shop yesterday, but otherwise, I do not know.”

  “Have you any other idea of where she would go? What she would do?” asked Marchford.

  Grant shook his head. “I cannot believe she would do anything like this at all. Although…” Grant’s voice trailed off. He would rather be drawn and quartered than reveal that Genie had come to him last night. But why had she come? He was irresistible of course, but he had been profoundly drunk last night. Why had she been there? Was she in some sort of trouble? Had she come to him for help?

  “What is it?” asked Marchford. “If you know something…”

  “She may have been in trouble,” said Grant slowly. “She spoke to me, but I forget. I regret I was deep in my cups at the time.”

  “Try to remember,” pressed Marchford.

  Grant pressed his hands to his temples until it hurt, hoping the pain would clear his head. “Promise me you will shoot me if a drop of liquor ever again passes through my lips.”

  Marchford’s eyebrows rose. “I can only surmise you are making a joke.”

  “No, my friend. My memory is hazy but I feel sure Genie would not be in this trouble today if I had not been so beset by drink. And now it has taken from me the only lady I ever truly cared about.” Tears sprung to his eyes, unbidden and unfamiliar. Gone was the cool mask of society’s upper crust. He was a broken man.

  Marchford put his hand on Grant’s shoulder. “Steady on. We will find her.”

  “Yes, yes of course.” Grant gave himself a mental shake. “Forgive me, this morning thing appears not to be to my liking.”

  “So if Miss Talbot was in trouble, perhaps she was being blackmailed or threatened in some way,” said Marchford in his direct way, getting back to the business at hand.

  “Yes, considering her actions of late, I would have to agree with you,” said Grant, a chill taking hold.

  “She could have been pressured to steal the letter.”

  “But she did not. She stole only the seal.”

  “Then she may be in danger once the people discover she has not given them what they want,” said Marchford bluntly.

  A tremor like ice water ran down Grant’s spine. “We need to find her,” he said, his voice quavering.

  Marchford studied him for a moment, as if noticing him
for the first time. “I fear, dear chap, you are in love.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I cannot find any other reasonable explanation. You have bought a special license, sworn off drinking, lost control of your emotions on a public street, and—most disturbing of all—done all this before noon. I would say the evidence leads me to no other conclusion.”

  “I suppose under the circumstances, it would be foolish to deny it. I love her madly, it’s true. I need you to be honest. If she has taken this letter somewhere, what will happen to her when they find it is a fake?”

  “They want the letter. They will probably hold on to her for leverage until they can get it.”

  “How can we find her?” asked Grant.

  “Doubt we have to. I wager they will come to find me. I need to find my errant bride, then I will return home to see if a message comes.”

  “I would like to inspect this chocolate shop,” said Grant. “It’s most likely nothing, but it’s our only lead.” He glanced at Penelope, sitting in his phaeton. “Take my horses. I’ll grab a hack.”

  A short while later, Grant walked into the chocolate shop, his senses bombarded by the rich aroma. It was a dark shop, so small he might have passed it many times before ever realizing it was there. A young lad stood at the back counter in a dirty apron. It hardly appeared to be a setting for intrigue.

  Still, what could be a better cover than a chocolate shop in Piccadilly?

  “May I help you, sir?” asked the lad as Grant approached.

  “I do hope so. Found myself in some trouble. Thought perhaps coming here would help,” said Grant vaguely, hoping the lad would reveal something.

  “Trouble with your vowels, sir?”

  “Find myself quite at a standstill. Heard this place might help,” fabricated Grant.

  “Candyman’s busy now. Come back later perhaps.”

  “Could I wait for him? Pockets to let.”

  The lad sized him up, then nodded and led him to a small, dark room behind a door in the paneling. “Wait here.”