And yet there had been something about the way the captain had looked at Lucien, after he had opened and glanced at Chloe’s letter, that had made Lucien’s insides go tight with apprehension. The captain had not looked excited that the woman he loved would soon be his. He had not seemed anxious to get started on the many preparations that would be necessary for an elopement.
In fact, he had not looked like a man who had just received good news. Instead, he had looked annoyed.
And for good reason, Lucien admitted. Chloe hadn’t seemed to realize that the captain would have to arrange with his superiors to be absent from his post for a week at the very least. He must also find, hire, and pay for a post-chaise. He must pack for himself, provide the necessities for his bride, and get himself to Weybridge Castle on the appointed night—whether the timing Chloe had chosen was convenient for him or not.
Yes, Lucien admitted, the captain could be pardoned if he felt a bit put out over his bride’s blithe assumption that all she had to do was snap her fingers to set an elopement in motion.
Still, Chloe had demonstrated immense faith and trust by placing her future in the hands of the captain. What if he didn’t live up to her expectations? What if he didn’t show up at Weybridge Castle on the night of the duke’s birthday ball with a post-chaise and four, ready to fee with her to Scotland?
Chloe’s voice was firm. “What—exactly—did he say?”
“He seemed surprised,” Lucien said carefully.
“Well, of course he was surprised. When he rejoined his regiment last winter, we had no idea that so drastic a step as elopement would be necessary.” She tipped her head to look up at him with a flash of defiance, as if she expected him to try to argue her out of the idea.
Lucien knew better. “You expect me to be scandalized that you’re planning an elopement? I’m not a fool, Chloe. What else could you possibly be up to?” Besides, I read your letter. No—much wiser not to admit that transgression. “Go on.”
“I was certain that in a year or two—by the time Captain Hopkins could sell his commission—if I made it clear I had found no one I liked better, my father would withdraw his objections to our marriage.”
“And then Chiswick came to call. When was that, by the way?”
“I believe there was no thought of matching me with the earl until the last few weeks. I have had no opportunity even to tell Captain Hopkins about the arrangement.”
“Because a gently bred young woman has no way to send off secret communications to a suitor her parents do not approve of. Yes, I quite understand why he was surprised today when I turned up with a letter. You believed your father would change his mind about your suitor? Didn’t it even occur to you that it might be necessary to elope?”
“Of course it did.”
Lucien knew he should have found it reassuring to find that only the timing, and not the elopement itself, had come as a shock to the captain. But something still didn’t feel right.
“Every girl whose suitor is not welcomed by her family speaks wildly of running away,” Chloe said airily.
Lucien gritted his teeth. “You were the one who talked of running away? What did the captain say? Did he urge you to act right then?”
“Of course he didn’t. He was certain that, given time, my father would drop his objections. But why should all that matter, now that the situation has changed?”
Lucien was damned if he knew. But the question nagged at him.
Chloe bounced up from her perch on the log. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Another one? No—no more favors. Look for someone else to be your messenger this time.”
Chloe laughed. “I don’t need a messenger.”
Her smile had been stunning enough, Lucien thought, but the gleeful peal of her laugh was enough to pull the free will right out of a man and leave him helpless. He looked into her face—that small triangular face with the catlike eyes was now alight with amusement—and heard himself say, “What is it?”
“You don’t have to go anywhere,” she assured him. “At least nowhere that’s out of your way. I only want you to take some things to the castle for me.”
The request seemed simple enough, but some last remnant of common sense made him say, “What sort of things?”
“Things that are precious to a young woman. Things I don’t want to lose when I leave my parents—home for the last time. Things I will need for a long trip and a wedding.”
The sadness in her voice tugged at his heartstrings. Trying not to show it, he cleared his throat. “Not big things, I hope, or you should have warned me to bring a wagon.”
“No—well, not exactly big. I suppose I might hide a few things in my hatbox when we come to the garden party this afternoon. But if you will take my valise now, it would help me a great deal. I can hardly walk through the castle in my ball gown, carrying my case, without rousing suspicions.”
“I should think not. But you can’t seriously intend for me to ride back to Weybridge with your valise balanced on the saddle in front of me. What exactly would I say to anyone who saw me and wondered why I’ve taken to carrying luggage around?”
“No one needs to see you. If you take the back lanes, you’ll come into Weybridge at the far end of the garden. Just leave the valise under a bench in the garden folly—you know, the little folly that’s directly beside the lane—before you ride on to the stables.”
The folly at the base of the garden, where she had instructed Captain Hopkins to meet her. It wasn’t a bad plan, Lucien conceded. The back lane was secluded and far enough from the castle not to draw notice. She could wait out of sight in the garden folly, protected from the weather and from casual observers, until the captain appeared. The entire area would be dark and quiet, yet the lane was wide enough to bring a chaise and four through. And on a night when carriages were coming and going from far and wide at all hours, one more chaise and four would probably not be much noticed in the confusion around the castle, or even in the nearby villages.
“You’d be harder to trace, you know, if you didn’t head straight for Scotland,” he heard himself say.
“That’s why we’ll leave before the dancing is finished.”
“How are you going to manage to get away from the ballroom?”
“Oh, that should be easy. I can’t tell you how pleased I was that the duke has invited us to stay overnight at the castle rather than return home after the ball ends. I shall retire to my bedroom with a headache, and that will give me a head start of—oh, at least a few hours. If I’m fortunate, I won’t be missed until morning.”
Lucien thought she was optimistic to hope that Lady Fletcher wouldn’t look in on a supposedly ailing daughter, but it was hardly his place to argue the point. If it were me, I’d wait till dead of night—till Lady Fletcher is all tucked in. Of course, in the wee hours a chaise was more likely to be noticed and remembered by the few other people who were on the roads. Chloe might have it right after all.
Idly, he kicked at a pile of bright leaves that had gathered by the log seat. “Do you think your parents will refuse to receive you at Mallowan after this? You’re their only child. Surely—”
Chloe said dryly, “Oh, no, I’m certain they’ll be delighted. I will only have insulted the Earl of Chiswick by refusing to marry him and the Duke of Weybridge by using his birthday ball to run away with a penniless soldier. So I’m sure my parents will be happy to welcome me back and turn over my dowry to my husband.”
Lucien thought he knew now what had been nagging at him. “Captain Hopkins is penniless?”
“He was hoping for the American war to continue for a few more years so he could win advancement in the ranks. He might even have made his fortune there, but it was not to be.”
“Chloe, if he has no money, how in hell do you expect him to show up at the castle with a chaise and four?”
“Don’t swear at me, Lucien! My father considers Jason to be penniless, but he’s not. He has his army pay, of course, and a
hundred a year from his uncle.”
Lucien gaped. “A hundred a year? Chloe!” Suddenly his own allowance sounded huge. A hundred guineas a year wouldn’t pay Lucien’s tailor.
“In any case,” she said stubbornly, “he only has to get here. I have money enough for the trip and to last us for a while. And I have an income left me by my grandmother that my father cannot stop, no matter what. We’ll manage.”
Lucien was speechless. The girl was foolish, innocent, completely naive—and well on the road to ruining herself.
Still, Lucien couldn’t help but admire her determination. He was actually growing fond of this feisty, snappy young woman who refused to give up, who took her fate into her own hands, who was willing to scandalize society and alienate her own parents to escape an unpalatable marriage.
And who could blame her for that?
“You know,” Chloe said softly, “I thought you might not come this morning.”
“I gave my word,” he said a bit sharply. “The word of an Arden. Why wouldn’t I keep it?”
“Only that yesterday it seemed the young ladies were quite willing to entertain you. I thought you might forget about me.” She smiled. “Now if you’ll take my valise, I must hurry back to the manor and get ready for the garden party, or my mother will be sending out grooms to look for me. Remember—put it under a bench in the folly.” She pulled a big case out from behind a tree.
Lucien pictured himself riding across the estate while balancing that in front of him, and sighed. Then he bent over her hand and raised it to his lips. She smelled of lavender and sunshine.
Chloe knew Captain Hopkins, he refected, while Lucien did not. It was possible that Lucien might have been entirely wrong about the soldier. Maybe Captain Hopkins’s silence after he read Chloe’s letter had not been irritation but only caution. Maybe he had been careful what he said only because he thought Lucien an ordinary messenger, not realizing that he was in on the secret. Maybe the captain had already turned his attention to planning how he could carry out Chloe’s wishes. Maybe he had every intention of waiting in the dark back lane with a chaise and four to sweep her away to live happily ever after.
If she truly loved her soldier, and if he loved her, then the loss of her parents and her reputation might be worth the price. Lucien hoped, for Chloe’s sake, that it would be enough.
“Do you have a particular bench in mind?” he said dryly. “Or will any one of them do?”
The castle’s normal early-morning noises rose from downstairs, sounding incredibly loud to Emily’s oversensitive ears. She swore she could hear the swish of a housemaid’s dress, the rattle of coal being dumped on a fire, the clang of a serving fork striking the marble surface of a sideboard. But the gallery was blessedly empty and absolutely quiet, except for the whisper of her steps and Benson’s on the wide wooden planks.
As they rounded the first corner, safely away from Gavin’s rooms, Emily began to relax. “It looks as though I did not require your assistance, Benson,” she said softly. “What a pity it is that you may not be able to claim double wages after all.”
He did not answer. Instead, he seized her arm and swung her around to face him.
“Mr. Benson!” she sputtered, furious that he had dared to touch her. But he had already gone immobile once more, hands straight at his sides, head bent in deference. She stared at him, puzzled.
Behind her, a calm, deep voice said, “Emily? What is the meaning of this?”
She gulped and looked over her shoulder, meeting the quizzical gaze of the Earl of Chiswick as he stood at the top of the staircase.
“Why are you wandering around the gallery in your nightclothes?”
I’m sleepwalking, Emily thought wildly. Wasn’t that the excuse Gavin had considered using? But her father would instantly see it as the faradiddle it was.
“Has Athstone’s man accosted you, Emily?”
Benson cleared his throat. “Beg pardon, my lady. My lord, if I might enlighten you—”
“Yes,” Chiswick said coolly. “Please explain yourself— Benson, is it?”
Explaining would be good, Benson. Especially since I haven’t the shadow of an idea what you’re going to say.
Benson bowed slightly. “My lord, Lady Emily heard a sound earlier—a sort of thud, as she has just described it to me. She thought it came from the duke’s rooms and was afraid it meant he might have fallen.”
“A thud,” Chiswick repeated evenly.
“Yes, my lord. A thud—as though some large object had struck the floor. She immediately came out of her room to inquire, but she naturally hesitated to disturb the duke or his man, in case the sound had not come from the duke’s rooms. Of course, her sensibilities are too delicate to permit her to go lightly into a sickroom.”
If Benson keeps going on about me like this, any minute now I’m going to have to faint dead away to prove just how delicate I am.
“When she saw me coming out of Lord Athstone’s rooms after delivering his morning tea, my lord, she asked that I go and check on the duke in case something has gone awry.”
Emily had to admire Benson’s glib delivery. At least the tale he was telling about why she was in the hall in her dressing gown was semiplausible, which was a great deal more than could have been said about any story she’d have created. She wondered if Benson had ever considered penning one of the three-volume romantic stories that were so popular in the lending libraries.
“I was just seeing her back to her room before doing as she requested, my lord. But it might be better if you were the one to inquire about the duke’s health.”
Emily gulped. That was going too far—a mere valet sending Chiswick to check on the duke, especially when he knew quite well there was nothing wrong. Had Benson run mad?
Nervously, she twisted her toes against the cold boards of the gallery floor and waited for Chiswick to lay into Benson with the sharp side of his tongue.
Instead, Chiswick seemed to dismiss the valet entirely, and his gaze came to rest on Emily’s feet. “You must indeed have been concerned about your uncle, to have come out without your slippers. Go to your room immediately, before you catch a chill.”
Ignoble though it might be to run, Emily beat a quick retreat. Once inside her own bedroom, she leaned against the door for a while, trying to get her breathing under control, and then dived under the covers of her cold bed.
She tossed and twisted for half an hour, but finally gave up the idea of sleep and rang for her maid. Better to face the music straightforwardly than to huddle in her room and worry about what her father might say. If he had seen through Benson’s ruse…
Besides, she was starving. Why had no one ever mentioned that taking a lover increased one’s appetite at least threefold?
Just as she crossed the entrance hall, Gavin caught up with her. “Good morning, Lady Emily,” he said formally, and bowed over her hand. His warm breath tickled her wrist, and the gentle brush of his fingertips brought back memories of the night and made her midsection go as gooey as cheese held over an open fame.
He might as well be holding her over an open fame. Worse, he knew exactly the effect he was having, for Gavin’s eyes danced with glee.
“You left your slippers behind,” he murmured. “Apparently you kicked them off in a hurry last night, and they slid under my bed.”
Her cheeks famed. “I’m certain you’ll think of some creative way to return them.”
“I plan to make souvenirs of them. I could tuck one under my pillow to dream on.”
“You wouldn’t! The chambermaid…she’ll find it when she straightens your bed.” Too late, she saw Gavin’s grin. She bit her lip, annoyed that she’d reacted exactly as he’d expected.
“She might think I have very small, delicate feet.”
“And that you like to wear pink slippers?” Emily’s gaze dropped to the toes of his top boots, polished to a gleam that was almost mirror-bright. The boots were beautifully made, but the feet inside them were anything
but small and delicate—as she was certain any female in the castle would have noticed.
“Well?” Gavin said, offering his arm. “I understand that you arrived safely and I must therefore double Benson’s wages.”
She said tartly, “You’d be wise to keep an eye on him. Any servant who can lie so glibly—and to my father, of all people—can’t be entirely trustworthy in other areas.”
“He’s never lied to me.”
“But he’s so very good at it—how would you possibly know?”
He smiled. “Don’t fret, my dear. Benson’s very clear about where his loyalties lie.”
Emily sniffed. If that was what Gavin wanted to believe, there was no point in trying to warn him. She’d done all she could. Loyalty! Benson had faced down a peer of the realm and lied through his teeth!
Only to protect me.
No, that wasn’t quite factual. Benson hadn’t been protecting Emily; he’d been protecting his employer. Gavin was correct about that much: Benson would do whatever was necessary to advance Gavin’s interests. To protect him.
The valet hadn’t stepped into the mess this morning to preserve Emily’s reputation, for Benson didn’t care a rap about her. He had been saving his master. Looking back, she could even see that he had taken his cues from Gavin. Benson wasn’t the one who had been most anxious to get her back where she belonged without consequences; Gavin had been far more edgy and worried than the valet was.
Your father would come down on us with the force of all Napoleon’s cannons, and you’d find yourself married before the day was out.
But if that had happened, it wasn’t only Emily who would have ended up married. Gavin would have been drawn into the coil as well. Both the master and the manservant had foreseen that complication and acted swiftly to avoid it.
And she was glad of it, Emily told herself fiercely. Very, very glad.
As the door closed behind her husband, Isabel sat bolt upright in bed and tugged furiously at the bellpull to summon her maid. Her delicious lassitude was gone, blown away by Maxwell’s parting comments.
The Birthday Scandal Page 22