“Not to mention profitable,” the marquess put in. “I can engage in business much more easily. And I thank heaven we have no more daughters to bring out.” He rolled his eyes. “Though two to settle.”
“Andrew has a daughter,” Darius said.
After small pause, his mother smiled encouragingly at Andrew. “Do tell me about her.”
Damn, he’d used Andrew’s first name. Darius had never made such a shocking error before at home. Or anywhere else, come to that. Nobody noticed. That is, nobody appeared to notice. But he knew his mother, his father, and his sisters Drusilla and Livia had both spotted his error. Apart from that small pause, nobody changed their demeanor or glanced in Andrew’s direction, but they knew all right. Andrew seemed to be the only person who did not, and that was because of his lack of familiarity with his too-perceptive family.
Andrew was busy telling Darius’s mother about Elizabeth and the tribulations of caring for her.
“But does your wife not help?” she inquired sweetly.
Darius would have words with her later. There was no way his parents had not investigated the man who had helped their son escape the gallows.
“My wife sadly died in childbed. My little household consists of my daughter and myself. We have relatives in London, of course. Elizabeth has cousins.”
“That is good. A child should not grow up isolated from the world.” His mother smiled winningly at Andrew. The woman could bend dukes to her will. A barrister would stand no chance.
Carefully, she extracted what she wanted to know. Was Andrew self-sufficient, or was he a fortune hunter? Did he have respectable relatives, or were they beyond the pale? Just as if she were questioning a future member of the family. Of course, her questions were subtle and her manner interested and polite, as if this were a normal topic at table. The others spoke quietly to each other, masking the marchioness’s hunger.
At one point, Andrew flicked a glance at Darius, a slight frown marking his brows. If Darius’s mother was not careful, he’d spot what she was doing. So far she was acting the part of the interested hostess, but Andrew was used to extracting information, however artfully obtained. That was, after all, part of his job.
He answered the marchioness’s questions politely but guardedly, unless he was talking about Elizabeth, slowly leading the conversation away from personal matters. “My nieces are older than my daughter, but they play most willingly with her. They are good children, and they will make excellent citizens one day. We must bring our children up carefully, for they will care for us in our old age.”
Darius’s mother was startled into laughter. “Indeed they might, but if I survive my dearest Strenshall, I will retire gracefully to the dower house at Haxby.”
“Ha!” The marquess barked a laugh. “Whence you will continue to rule the family with a rod of iron—if you ever go there at all. Viola will be hard put to retain any of her dignity.” Viola was the wife of Darius’s older brother Marcus, the heir to the marquisate.
“I will do no such thing. Viola is the most level-headed female, and I’m proud to call her my daughter-in-law. If Marcus had chosen anyone else, a simpering miss, for instance, I might have considered struggling on. However she is the best woman for my son and for marchioness. Not that I intend her to inherit that title any time soon.”
Darius put down his cutlery and reached for his wine glass, taking a sip of claret. “Viola was the daughter of my father’s land steward. Marcus took his time, but he finally realized what the rest of us had known for years. He was always hopelessly in love with her.” Actually Viola was more than that, but to tell Andrew so would be to destroy the point Darius wanted to make.
The fact diverted Andrew. “You did not want him to marry a duke’s daughter or some such?”
The marchioness shrugged. “This family is in no need of a wealthy match. As far as we are concerned, they may marry where they please. As long as they do not disgrace us in doing so. I would not like to see Dru marry a common soldier, for instance. Following the drum would not suit her in the least, however in love she is.”
“I will endeavor not to displease you, Mama,” Drusilla said dryly. “I doubt a common soldier would find much in me to commend him. I’m far too bookish, and I fear my capacity for marching may not be what he expects.”
His mother beamed, her smile infectious. “But my children tend to take the most difficult path. So far two of my children have married for love. I wish the same fate on the others, or at least, contentment. However, Dru and Livia are well-brought-rotting sh up girls and they will not disappoint us, I am sure.”
Andrew must have had the message by now. The family wanted their children happy. While Darius feared his parents must be disappointed in him, he would find satisfaction in other ways. By taking care that Andrew didn’t want, for instance. “With one exception.”
His mother turned her soft gaze on to him. “Except for the marriage ceremony, I wish you the same.”
Darius hastily gulped down the rest of his wine. He had never thought he’d hear that from her. While she accepted he would never marry, his mother had previously preferred to ignore his preferences. He had imagined her telling her friends her third son was a “perpetual bachelor.” There were perpetual bachelors, and there were people like him. Enforced bachelors, perhaps.
But that simple sentence told him his mother had accepted him, what he was, and what would make him happy. That meant so much to him.
His throat tightened, and without thinking, he looked at Andrew. His eyes were full of sympathy and something else, something Darius dared not believe. Not yet.
Darius choked out his thanks and waited for the footman to refill his glass. Once he’d regained his composure, he could inform his parents of the errand tomorrow. “I was planning on leaving town tomorrow for a few days on an errand. However, I find I need to stay here, so Andrew has kindly offered to go in my stead.”
“Has something happened?” His mother’s voice rose in pitch and her eyes widened.
“Our father knows,” he said, recalling the servants present. “It is a sensitive matter, but nothing to worry about, I promise you.” His mother might assume it was something to do with his personal preferences, but he would trust her to winkle the truth out of his father later. The marquess would not sleep tonight until he’d told her.
Thankfully, she didn’t question him further but turned and spoke of the latest soprano to attack the London stage. And attack she had, to the extent of hurling her heavy iron crown at someone in the audience she claimed was talking too much. “Everybody talks in the theater,” Lady Strenshall said, at her haughtiest. “What right has she to do something of that nature? Why she is still there, ruling over her humble subjects at Covent Garden.”
“Time was,” Darius’s father said, “that players knew their place. However, the world is upside down these days.”
He had said that to provoke her to more protestations, and she took the bait. The family could enjoy their meal in relative peace, certain the marchioness would ask no more intrusive questions. She had the perception of an eagle when she wanted it. Fortunately, she was easily distracted, otherwise she would know everything about everyone.
When the ladies rose to go to the dining room, Darius’s mother had one parting shot. “If you are taking the traveling coach, Mr. Graham, why do you not stay the night?”
She glided out, followed by her daughters.
A strong urge to persuade Andrew to stay the night, even if they spent it in different rooms, took Darius with shocking urgency, but he quelled his desire. This was not the time or the place. He would lie awake in an agony of desire, but how sweet to know they were sharing the same roof!
He dared not allow it. Before he could speak, Andrew politely declined. “I have a few instructions for my staff, and I need to see my daughter before I leave.”
“It is so charming to see a man so devoted to his child!” Putting her hand to her heart, she let it flutter among t
he profuse lace of her bodice. “I will leave instructions to have a collation placed in the carriage.”
“I like the way our son assumes he can use the traveling coach,” the marquess said, one dark brow lifting.
“I will pay you for the privilege, if you wish.” Darius was not amused, particularly since his father knew exactly why he’d ordered the carriage made ready. “I have not ordered the large traveling coach but the smaller. And the crest will be covered.” They had a small panel they used to cover the crest when they didn’t want to be recognized. It would be foolish to take the carriage and announce their presence.
“I know.”
Andrew got to his feet. “I should go,” he said. “I will return tomorrow, early.”
What would he think if Darius came down to him in the morning in his nightshirt? He really had to stop thinking like this. He had work to do. In pursuance of that aim, he got to his feet, too. “I need to leave, but I’m for the town. I have particular inquiries to make.”
His father waved his hand, dismissing the last footman who had lingered to refill the decanters. When they were alone, finally he lost his superior air. “Do not, either of you, step into danger. I have been making inquiries of my own. I do not need to tell you these people are dangerous. Do not allow your sense of loyalty to your country lead you into a perilous situation. I will continue to make queries about the general and his son, but Darius, do not make your queries too pointed. Andrew, the footmen who accompany you are completely trustworthy. They will do as they are instructed, and they will take it upon themselves to ensure your safety. You may count on them.”
“Thank you, sir,” Andrew said. Suddenly, to everyone in the house, he was Andrew. Darius didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry about that. After all, Andrew had saved Darius’s brother from the gallows, but they had not called him by his first name then. Only now, when Darius had called him his dear friend and invited him to dinner.
At the door, Darius offered to walk with Andrew, but he refused.
“I know the streets better than I know the back of my hand,” he said.
Darius spoke quietly. “Take care. You mean far too much to me to throw yourself away on this task.” He bit his lip. He had been determined to say nothing. He shook Andrew’s hand, despair at his lack of control spearing him. “I’m sorry. I know what we decided. I will respect that.”
“I know you will. You take care too. We may both be walking into danger.”
For an instant Darius’s mood was reflected in Andrew’s eyes. It was not right that they should suffer like this, but what else could they do?
Andrew continued his narrative in a rush of words. “I care too, but it is not possible.” Turning abruptly, he strode away.
“For me,” Darius murmured. “Take care for my sake as much as yours.”
Chapter 12
Darius spent the evening talking and smiling for all he was worth. At least at this season he was mainly avoiding politicians and toadies, instead of the rabid matchmaking mamas of the spring season. At one point he reflected a woman with a pretty girl in tow would be more to his taste. At least he might have a chance of some bland, predictable conversation.
Bearing what his father and Andrew said, Darius used all the skills he could muster to make it appear he was merely out for entertainment. Bearing the mood of a bored, spoiled aristocrat, he flitted from one ball to the other one taking place that night. At least the pleasure gardens were closed for the season. Barreling along Vauxhall’s deliberately ill-lit lanes and grottoes did not appeal to him in the least.
At the second ball, he got the sniff of a suspicion. A colleague, a man who didn’t care what sex he took to bed as long as they were enthusiastic participants, nodded affably to him. “Have you heard they’re resurrecting Mother Fleming’s?”
“No, I hadn’t. At the same place?”
“God, no.” Lord Morgan spread a chicken skin fan and waved it in a desultory way. Even under the heat of a hundred candles, the evening was far from hot, so the gesture was merely for effect. He did it well, though. His ambiguousness had caused a great deal of scandal, covering his activities as a clever politician when he needed it to. He had made a fortune from his stint at the Admiralty. “That place has reverted to type. It’s a common tavern once more. But you can’t keep a good whore down. The lady—” He coughed behind his fan delicately. “The person has set up another establishment near the Cocoa-Tree.”
“An interesting development. Do you plan to go?”
“Only when the fuss has died down. Mother Fleming claimed benefit of clergy.” He rolled his eyes.
“Again?” Mother Fleming had pleaded benefit of clergy several times before. However, if he’d done it in front of John Fielding at Bow Street, he would not do it there again. And his new establishment was well within the magistrate’s purview. “I would like to see benefit of clergy done away with. It was intended to promote literacy, but using the same passage is crassly stupid.”
Benefit of clergy gave a person accused of most crimes a not guilty verdict. All the accused had to do was read a selected part of the Bible. That it was the same passage meant most of the criminal fraternity knew at least one paragraph of the book by heart.
“I would tear the whole passage up or open any book and select a paragraph at random,” Morgan said. “But no. Were you aware that there is a secret passage from the Cocoa-Tree to Piccadilly?”
“No,” Darius said, fascinated.
“So the damned Jacobites can escape if the Watch arrives. Mother Fleming should really have one of those.”
“There are plenty of underground passages in the city. Most created by rivers and the like.” Darius wrinkled his nose. “I’d have to be desperate to escape that way, though.” He touched the velvet of his sleeve. “And I would never do it in this coat. It’s by far my favorite. I thought the government was ignoring the Jacobites and their worthless plans?” He had reason to know that, having been involved in hunting a few down in his time.
His lordship shrugged. “It is, for the most part. Merely keeping a watch on them.”
It occurred to Darius that he knew someone who had recently become involved in tracking Jacobites. “Is General Court still involved?”
His friend sniggered. “In a way. We like to keep him busy. Looking in the other direction, for the most part. The man is a liability. He wouldn’t know subtlety if it walked up and introduced itself to him.”
The comment made Darius laugh aloud. A few people stared at him and tutted. He ignored them. “In what ways are you keeping him busy?”
“Pointing his nose in the wrong direction.” Morgan heaved a sigh. “Unfortunately, he insists on occasion. Even more occasionally, he is of signal use. He gave good service in the field, you know. Sadly, a man who can lead troops into battle is not always the right person to choose for diplomatic work.”
“Ah, yes.” Darius worked hard at not appearing too eager.
“He has been hard at work compiling lists that in my opinion should not be gathered in the same place. Recently, however, he has become a touch more discreet. Before, I swear, he would have them on his desk for anyone to read. Someone reprimanded him, I believe.” He brushed a speck of dust from his heavily embroidered sleeve. “I do believe that bee is staring at me.”
Darius had not noticed the bee, zipping from flower to flower, stilled forever on the sleeve of the cerulean blue coat. “It does appear a somewhat malevolent beast. You could have it removed. Or maybe altered a little.”
“The fabric is too delicate to rip out a bee.” His lordship sniffed. “But I will have its eyes put out.”
The casual comment made Darius wince. Despite his effete appearance, Lord Morgan was capable of the deepest ruthlessness. At one time, a younger Lord Darius Shaw idolized him. Subsequent discoveries had made him more wary, such as the way his lordship kept his wife immured in the country, permanently pregnant, it seemed. Nobody had seen her for years.
“General
Court had some dealings with my brother-in-law.”
Lord Morgan paused. “Ah, yes. Lord St. Just.”
Impressed, Darius nodded. He was one of six children, but after barely stopping to think, his lordship had recalled which of Darius’s three sisters was married and who was her husband. “The very same.”
“I recall something about him.” He glanced into Darius’s eyes, his own twinkling.
He knew very well, or at least he thought he did. But Dominic’s deepest secret was buried deep. It had better be, for the sake of everyone in this country. Dominic in particular.
“He spends all his time dragging Claudia out of another predicament.” Thinking of his wayward sister, Darius smiled. “He wouldn’t have it any differently.”
His lordship placed his hand over his heart and fluttered his eyelashes. “Ah, love! Spare me from that. It seems to disrupt a comfortable, ordered life.” He glanced up. “Speaking of love, that young man I saw you with. The one who acted as your brother’s counsel. The rumor is that you are being seen with him rather frequently.”
Perhaps Darius should not have rapped out “What rumor?” quite so sharply, but the words were out before he had thought them through. “Who is talking?”
“Most people.” Morgan raised a brow. “So it’s true. Love?”
Darius regained his composure and clicked his brain into working properly. The huge family portrait facing them seemed sinister, everyone staring at him, waiting for his answer. That painting was a miracle, people said, one of the wonders of London. At the moment Darius would have happily set fire to it. “Not at all.” He tried to keep his mood as cool as he needed. “Business. It is true, I’m meeting the man, but for more lucrative purposes.”
“I wondered.” Morgan glanced at the offending bee on his sleeve. “You are always so discreet, my lord, that to see something as blatant as that print came as a surprise, to say the least. Business, you say?”
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