Amanda Forester

by A Wedding in Springtime

  Grant sat at the table of the dim room until he heard other customers enter the shop and figured the lad would be busy. He opened the door on the other side of the room. It could not be a coincidence that Genie had visited a chocolate shop that doubled as what appeared to be a moneylender. Did she need money? Was that why she pretended to take the letter?

  He sneaked out the door on the other side of the small room and found himself in a corridor. Down the hall were the sounds of the kitchens with people chatting through their work. He supposed making the chocolate and the sweets took considerable effort.

  He opened the door across from him and entered a small study. He searched the papers and found ledgers of sales, but nothing of particular interest. On a hidden shelf behind the desk, he found a ledger of monies loaned to men and women who had fallen on hard luck. He raised an eyebrow at some familiar names, but the name of Genie Talbot was not among them.

  He cautiously opened the door once more and edged down the corridor closer to the kitchens. On the left was another door and he quickly dashed to it. Opening the door, he found a staircase leading down to the cellar. He closed the door behind him and slowly crept down the stairs into the gloom.

  ***

  “I should thank you for interposing yourself today,” said Marchford. “Your knowledge of the location of Dr. Robert’s place of business is helpful.”

  “I would say you’re welcome, but I do not think it was a compliment,” said Penelope, sitting next to him on the phaeton.

  “I thought we had an agreement that you would tell me relevant information. You have clearly been here before. Did you not think my fiancée’s husband would be relevant to me?”

  “I did not know she was married,” Penelope defended herself. “I did know she was interested in Dr. Roberts, but I did not know the extent of the relationship. How do you feel about this turn of events?”

  “I wish she had told me before I announced a ball in her honor. Going to be dashed awkward.” Marchford steered deftly through the crowded London streets.

  “Here we are, on the left. What is your plan now?” asked Penelope.

  Marchford pulled up in front of the respectable house in a nicer part of Town. He left Penelope’s question hanging in the air, since he did not know the answer himself. Inside the residence, the young man in the apothecary attempted to tell them the doctor was unavailable, but Marchford ignored him. If there was a time to break social convention, this must be it.

  “I believe his living quarters are upstairs,” said Penelope.

  Marchford did not wait but bounded up the stairs with the shop clerk right behind, demanding he stop. Marchford burst through a door and got lucky. Dr. Roberts stood in the drawing room.

  “Your Grace,” said the good doctor. “It is quite all right,” said the good doctor to his shop clerk, who glared at the interlopers but left the room.

  Face to face with one of the doctors who had attempted to save his brother’s life, memories of sickbeds, treatments, and medicine flooded Marchford, rendering him speechless.

  “Dr. Roberts, I don’t think we have formally met,” said Penelope, noting the silence in the room and taking command. “I am Penelope Rose, the new companion to the Dowager Duchess of Marchford.”

  “A pleasure.” Dr. Roberts bowed.

  Penelope’s sensible tone snapped Marchford back to the present. “Dr. Roberts, I do thank you once again for doing all you could for my brother,” said Marchford, finding his voice. “But I am here on a different errand.” He cleared his throat, wondering how to begin. “I understand you may know the location of Lady Louisa.”

  “I am sorry I cannot help,” said the doctor. “I have not seen her since her last visit.”

  “Dr. Roberts, I think the time has passed for charade. I need to speak to Lady Louisa.” Marchford spoke with the authority of a duke.

  “I am sorry,” said Dr. Roberts firmly.

  “Dr. Roberts, I am not here to stop Louisa. I simply would like to talk to her.”

  “I am here,” said Louisa, emerging from a side door. She appeared calm but clutched her reticule with white knuckles.

  Marchford took a deep breath. “Is it true you are married to Dr. Roberts?”

  Dr. Roberts stood beside her and took her hand. The answer was clear.

  “I understand,” said Marchford. He should feel disappointed, but the only thing flooding his heart was relief.

  “We need to think strategy,” said Penelope. “Running away will not enhance the social credit of either one of you.”

  Marchford glanced at Penelope, amused by her direct manner. It was a relief to have someone willing to state the plain truth without preamble or apology.

  “Do you think there is any way my parents will accept my marriage to Dr. Roberts?” asked Louisa.

  “There must be,” declared Marchford. “And so we will find it.”

  ***

  Grant crept down the stairs. Ahead was a dim light in the cellar. He crept around the corner and found… nothing. A high, street-level window provided some light to inspect the room. It had cartons of flour and sugar and other ingredients, but otherwise there was nothing of interest.

  He walked back up the stairs, not exactly sure what he was hoping to find. He opened the door slowly to find the surprised form of Mr. Blakely.

  “Mr. Blakely? What are you doing here?”

  “Mr. Grant!” Blakely clenched his jaw. “I could ask you the same question.”

  “Cards got you all rolled up?” asked Grant. Mr. Blakely’s appearance was slightly less than his usual lack of polish. Had the man gambled himself out of the good sense to correctly tie a cravat?

  Blakely gave a nervous smile. “Don’t tell me you’re run off your legs.”

  “Nothing like that. Looking for Miss Talbot actually. Found she had come here. Know anything about it?”

  “Sorry, I don’t. If she was looking for a loan, she might have gone to another lender I know about. I told her about it once. Never thought she would acquaint herself with it.”

  “What interesting conversations you must have had. Can you tell me where this is?”

  “I’ll do one better and take you there,” said Blakely.

  Grant followed Blakely out of the chocolate shop, across the street, and down a side alley not even wide enough for two to walk abreast. Blakely stopped at a cellar door.

  “I’ve heard a moneylender operates in this cellar as well.” Blakely paused as if nervous to continue.

  “I’ll give it a go,” said Grant. He slowly opened the cellar door. “Hello!” he called but got no reply. He carefully crept in a few steps. “Hello!” he called again.

  “Grant?” came a female voice from the darkness.

  “Genie?” shouted Grant. He stumbled forward into the dark cellar. “Genie are you there?”

  “Yes, only do be careful!” cried Genie.

  Running forward, Grant could see her now, tied to a chair. “I have found you!” Relief to see her alive was mixed with a panic to help her escape immediately.

  “Careful, there are other people in the cellar!” cried Genie.

  Grant was grabbed by several pairs of hands. He prepared to strike but saw he was being attacked by children, dirty street urchins. He checked his swing and tried to push them away. He took out his penknife to cut Genie’s bonds but was attacked again and so he merely put the knife in her hand.

  “Let go!” he demanded. “Blakely, I’ve found Genie. Get help!”

  More dropped on him from above, one covered his mouth with a foul smelling cloth. He was able to free himself but not before spots of light flashed before his eyes.

  The room spun and he fought against the encroaching darkness. Mr. Blakely appeared before him, holding a club.

  “Don’t trust him!” called Genie.

  But it was too late. The club came down hard.

  Grant never felt the impact.

  Thirty-four

  “If you would, could you inform m
y grandmother of the latest developments? I will be in my study,” said Marchford as he pulled the phaeton into the drive of his London estate.

  “I can only assume you are in jest,” said Penelope.

  “I do not jest.”

  “You expect me to break the news that your intended has married the family physician instead?” Penelope and Marchford had convinced the illicit couple not to run but to give Marchford a chance to explain the situation to Louisa’s parents. They even agreed to come to the ball if the duke thought it would be helpful. Penelope was not sure how Marchford was going to manage getting Lord Bremerton to accept the marriage, but she was interested in seeing him try.

  “She would take it better from you,” said Marchford jumping down from the phaeton.

  “No, you would take it better if you were not there when she was informed.”

  “As I said.”

  “Your Grace,” ground out Penelope as she accepted Marchford’s assistance from the high phaeton.

  “I need to be available should a message come.”

  “You expect someone to contact you?” asked Penelope. They had been able to talk briefly in the phaeton and Marchford had explained that Genie, for reasons not yet ascertained, had stolen the seal to the paper Marchford had been guarding.

  “I do. Once they discover the paper is blank, they will come back after me for it.”

  Penelope paused before the front entrance. “What will they do to Miss Talbot?”

  “Nothing until they get their hands on the letter.”

  “And after that?” Penelope asked with some reluctance. She probably didn’t want to know.

  “We will find her first.”

  Penelope was right; she did not want to know. Considering the risks, she guessed it would be best for Marchford to focus on the many problems at hand. Of course, that left her telling the dowager about Louisa’s marriage.

  “My grandson has gotten himself into some kind of mischief,” said the dowager when Penelope walked into the drawing room. She sat straight as a dagger, holding her cane before her like a weapon.

  “How would you know?” asked Penelope.

  “I know. It is in his nature. His mother was the same, nothing but mischief and intrigue, and of course you know where that got her.” The dowager’s eyes flashed in a manner that did not invite question.

  “I wonder where Lady Bremerton has got to. She planned to come for tea to discuss the ball. Silly woman,” muttered the dowager. “I shall find her tedious when Marchford and Louisa are to be wed.”

  “I should very much doubt they will wed,” said Penelope, shifting nervously in her seat. “I fear I have news you may not like.”

  “What is it, gel? Speak up!”

  “I fear Lady Louisa has been secretly wed to another.”

  The dowager was still for a moment before exhaling a large sigh. “Oh thank heaven. I am relieved Marchford will not be saddled with that missish little thing.”

  Penelope felt her jaw drop. “But I thought the union had your full support.”

  “Lady Louisa was intended for Frederick. She would have made him a lovely bride had he lived. Unfortunately, the marriage contracts were drawn up such that with his passing, Louisa was bound to marry James. But they would never have suited. Could you not see that?”

  “Well, of course, anyone could see that. They were most unsuited for each other. But why did you not speak out? Why not disband the union?”

  “It was not in our power to do so, even James understood that. If the contract was to be broken, it could only be so from the side of the future bride. Marchford could in no way dissolve the union and keep his honor intact.”

  “I wonder that Lady Louisa’s parents did not dissolve the union,” said Penelope.

  “Louisa was engaged to a duke. I should wonder very much if they had broken that alliance!”

  “Even if the parties involved would not make each other happy?”

  “What has that got to do with anything? Honestly, Penelope, sometimes you can be so dreadfully bourgeoise. Whom did Louisa marry?” The dowager prepared the tea, speaking of the elopement as if it were commonplace.

  Penelope took a breath to keep herself in check. “Your physician, Dr. Roberts.”

  “Well, now, a common doctor. That will give Cora’s nose a tweak.”

  “I believe he is an extraordinary doctor,” said Penelope. In her estimation, Dr. Roberts had earned more respect for his profession than society’s elite, who did nothing but gamble, drink, and feel superior.

  “Now don’t get your hackles up, gel. I will own that I have the greatest respect for him. Though if Louisa married him behind everyone’s back, she has more pluck than I gave her credit for. We will need to find a way to gammon off the gossips.”

  “That will be a challenge indeed.” Penelope accepted the tea, feeling restored by the strong flavor.

  “When does James want to cancel the ball?”

  “He is in his study. I believe he is engaged with another matter at present.”

  “Please inform him I need to speak to him about what to do tonight. You may be called upon to take ill. Something with spots and hideously contagious so we can quarantine the house.”

  “Must it be spots?” sighed Penelope.

  “Without a doubt. Spots.”

  ***

  Grant woke up groggy and aching. He tried without success to open his eyes. As if coming back from a deep sleep, Grant struggled to regain consciousness.

  “Grant? Grant!” said a familiar voice, followed by a persistent shake.

  “Stop,” mumbled Grant, sitting up. “You’ll crumple my cravat.”

  “Thank heaven you are alive,” breathed Genie.

  “What happened?” Grant peered into the gloom, trying to get his bearings. He was cold and damp. The light from outside was mostly blocked by boards over a high window, but in the dim light, he discovered he was sitting on a pile of rags and damp refuse. Forgetting his company, he exclaimed something almost as ugly as his surroundings.

  “Are you all right?” asked Genie.

  “Sorry. Forgot. Yes, I’m well. Head hurts, but it’s been hurting all day so no matter. What happened?”

  “Blakely is actually a French spy who is working for Napoleon.”

  “Knew there was a reason I disliked the man,” muttered Grant.

  “He wants some letter with a red seal that Marchford has. I thought if I gave him the seal he would be satisfied, but he discovered the paper was blank.”

  “But why did you need to bring him anything?”

  “Blakely is the one who holds George’s debt.”

  Grant held his head with both hands, trying to make his world stop spinning. “Who’s George?”

  “My brother. Don’t you remember? I told you about him when we, uh… talked last night.”

  “Remember nothing. Horribly drunk.”

  “Oh. Blakely tricked my brother into betting deep and George now owes him twelve thousand pounds. Is it still considered a debt of honor if you find the man you owe is a traitor?”

  “Yes, but you have license to kill him.”

  “I am ashamed to say the man has inspired me to contemplate violence,” confessed Genie.

  “If I see him again, I’ll do more than contemplate.” Grant felt for Genie but ran into something hard and metal. Forcing his eyes to focus, he realized he was locked in a small cage. “Genie, you need to get out of here.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Are you tied to the chair?” Grant could hardly see her in the dark.

  “I was, but I was able to cut free with your penknife, but the cellar is locked and I cannot get out.”

  Grant struggled to stand and found he could not reach his full height in the cage, which was about five-feet square. “Who keeps cages in his cellar?”

  “I think he keeps children in them,” replied Genie. “He forces them to work for him.”

  “What a lovely chap. Too bad there aren’t more rats.
Could have been a perfect setting for seduction in one of your books.”

  Genie sighed. “I always wanted to have an adventure, but I fear now all I want is to go home.”

  “Very sensible. Where’s Blakely?”

  “You’ll not like it. Blakely sent an urchin to give Marchford a message to meet him in Hyde Park with the letter tonight. They plan to exchange us for the letter.”

  Grant slammed the cage door trying to break free. There must be a way out. He was concerned for Marchford and for his own skin, but the thought of what unscrupulous people might do to Genie unleashed within him cold panic. “Genie, you must find a way out.”

  “I’ve tried. There is none.”

  “Try again!” he shouted in an uncharacteristic show of anger. He needed to get her to safety. He needed to know she would be well more than he needed his next breath. “I’m sorry, but I cannot live in this world without you.”

  The cellar was silent for a moment. “Truly?” asked Genie in a small voice.

  “Truly.”

  “I did not expect to see you again. I thought you had taken me into dislike.”

  “Dislike? No, how could I?” Grant pushed against the solid bars as if it were possible to squeeze though. “I called on your house early this morning, but you had gone.”

  “Did you?” Genie reached out a cold hand through the bars of the cage and Grant took it and held tight. “You… you wished to speak with me?”

  “Of course. This morning when I saw you, all I wanted was to put you back where you belonged. I was afraid at what I had done.”

  “You didn’t do anything. I came to you to accept your offer and gain your support to pay my brother’s debt.”

  “Had I been anything other than dreadfully cup-shot, I would have marched you home and still paid your brother’s debts.”

  “Really?” It had never occurred to Genie that Grant would give away such a large amount without asking anything in return.

  “Give you anything.” Drunk or sober, Grant meant every word.

  Grant pushed his face as far as he could between the bars and Genie met him, her soft lips blending with his until nothing else existed but her sweet, clean scent and the promise of her kiss. Despite everything, he was ready for more, the kind of more iron bars rendered impossible.