by Kruger, Mary
At the corner he paused, and then hailed a hackney. No, of course he would not come to power, he thought, the madness passing. If he stayed in England, he would instead be arrested. Better to go on with his original plans and sail to Jamaica, where he owned a plantation under another name. Before he did so, however, he would finish his mission. That, at least, he could do for his country.
He was ruminating on his plans when the hackney stopped in Westminster. It was chancy, he knew, but he was confident that few would recognize him. It was a risk he had to take. He needed information, if he were to succeed. He knew about Liverpool’s daily routine. He also knew that the man would be watchful after the attempt on his life. Any moves Edgewater might make would only lead to his arrest, or worse, and that wouldn’t do. Failure was not a word he cared to use. Only absolute success would do.
Mulling it over, he walked into a tavern near Parliament and sat with his collar up, slowly sipping at a tankard of ale. Members of the Commons were known to come here before, and after, a session. If he were careful, he might hear something to his advantage. In the meantime, he would content himself with thoughts of revenge against those who had thwarted him. Cecily, now. His eyes grew distant and an evil smile played about his lips as he contemplated the revenge he would like to take. He knew, however, that he’d never be able to get close enough for that, unless he were to abduct her. That, however, would interfere with his main objective, and so he began to consider his other plan, a more indirect form of revenge. If it worked, the entire Marlow family would feel the scandal. As for St. Clair…
“Can’t blame him for wanting to get out of town, after what happened,” a voice nearby said, and Edgewater’s ears perked up. Looking out from under the brim of his hat, he saw two men, one young, one older, take a table across from him. What luck, he thought, congratulating himself on his wisdom in coming here today. The two men, though unknown to him personally, held seats in the Commons and wore the white toppers that had come to denote someone with a radical philosophy. With any luck, he might hear something of interest.
“Bad ‘cess to him,” the older man replied in a gruff voice, after calling for ale. “The things he’s done, makes you wish the shooter succeeded t’other night.”
“Keep your voice down!” the young man hissed, glancing quickly towards Edgewater. “You don’t know who’s listening.”
The older man shrugged massive shoulders. “People know how I feel. High time there’s a change in things. You going to tell me you don’t feel different?”
The young man leaned forward and said something in a low voice, which Edgewater didn’t catch. Then he sat back. “Still, I think it’s a good idea he’s leaving town.”
“Not so sure of that.” The older man took a deep draught of his ale. “Heard he’ll be meeting with Canning, anyway, and maybe Sidmouth. God knows what they’ll think up. More repression, more like.”
Edgewater was listening intently. He had already guessed that the two men were talking about Liverpool, who apparently was planning an informal meeting of his cabinet and other trusted advisors at some unspecified location. Where? he demanded, silently. Tell me where!
“Any event,” the older man went on, “be good to see the back of him for a while. Should have a peaceful week while he’s at Cranbourne. Another round?”
Edgewater sat back, as the two men went on to discuss other matters. Cranbourne Hill, in Hertfordshire. Of course. The estate of Lord Milford, a friend of Liverpool’s. Invite the Prime Minister for an informal house party, and allow him to do some business, away from London and possible conspiracies. Or so they thought. Edgewater knew Hertfordshire quite well. He had been born there. All he needed to know was when Liverpool would go, and that should be easy enough to learn.
No one took any notice of him as he rose from the corner table and, after tossing down a few coins, walked out. He wanted nothing more than to laugh aloud with sheer pleasure, but to call attention to himself at this stage of the game would be fatal. Here, at last, was his chance to complete his mission, and the best part of it was that he would be able to get his revenge on Cecily at the same time. He was going to win. There was no doubt in his mind. This time, he would win.
London’s most notorious rake had of late become even more notorious. In whispers the on-dits had spread through the ton. St. Clair, it was said, had taken a new mistress, that pretty blonde opera dancer at the Haymarket. No, others said, he had already discarded her and had taken up with Lady Wentworth, his past flirt. Or, it was even alleged, both at the same time. He had been seen in a decidedly bosky condition staggering home in the small hours of the morning, and he had punished an opponent at Gentleman Jackson’s boxing saloon so thoroughly that Jackson himself had had to step in and end the bout. And his spells of gambling at Crockford’s, Brooks’s, even Watier’s, were legendary. With great abandon he tossed down his markers, not seeming to care whether he won or lost. Most of the time he won, which was just as well. It could be quite expensive, as well as deliciously dangerous, having two mistresses on one string.
Alex sat slumped in one of the green leather chairs in the Duke of Bainbridge’s study, contemplating a misspent life. After only a few days of his former activities, he was heartily sick of them. Rumor hadn’t exaggerated his recent exploits. He had indeed gambled a great deal; he had also drunk more than his share of wine. His ravaged face had not dimmed the effect of his famous charm, nor had it repelled the females; if anything, it seemed to have stirred up protective instincts in the ample breast of the opera dancer, whom he was considering installing as his mistress. Already, however, her golden charms were palling on him. Her curves were too lush, her hair too brassy for a man accustomed to a slender girl with honey brown curls and huge, laughing amber eyes. Certainly he didn’t love her. He wasn’t even certain he liked her, which had never mattered before. Dimly he realized the course he was on was self-destructive. What he didn’t know was how to change it.
The door to the study opened and Bainbridge strode in. “Good morning, St. Clair,” he said, holding out his hand as Alex rose. “Good of you to come this morning.”
“Good morning, sir. Has there been word of Edgewater?”
“None, but with everyone in the country looking for him, we’ll get him.” Bainbridge sat. “Would you care for coffee?”
“No, thank you. No idea where Edgewater is?”
“No. He’s harmless now, without his accomplices.”
“I’m not so certain of that.” Alex’s face was sober. He wouldn’t rest easy until he knew for certain that Edgewater was behind bars. “Why have you called me here today? Not another assignment, I hope?”
“There is something—but we’ll discuss that later. There’s someone who wishes to meet you. We thought it more discreet for you to come here.”
“Who is that?”
“Lord Liverpool. He’s in the drawing room at the moment. If you’d care to come upstairs—”
A little while later Alex was ensconced in the same chair in the study, this time accepting the refreshment of brandy the duke offered. He had just spent an uncomfortable few moments with the Prime Minister, receiving his thanks, which made him feel uneasy. What, after all, had he done? Other people had arrested the conspirators; other people had taken greater risks than he had, the man who had impersonated Liverpool most of all. All he had managed was to allow Edgewater to escape, and to wound deeply the one woman he would ever love. It was not, he thought, taking a gulp of the brandy, one of his more successful enterprises.
“On the whole, it went well,” Bainbridge said. “The assassin is dead, revolution has been averted, and all without too much fuss. You are to be congratulated, St. Clair.”
“Thank you,” Alex muttered.
“In fact, we believe you could be valuable to the Home Office.”
Alex set his glass down hard. “No.”
“No?” Bainbridge raised an eyebrow.
“No. My spying days are done.” No more did he w
ant anything to do with that world, where no one could be trusted, no one could be loved. It was too late for him now to have the life he had so briefly envisioned, but damned if he would continue spying.
“Oh, sit down, St. Clair, I agree with you.”
Alex paused in the act of rising, feeling foolish. “You do?”
“Yes. Hear me out. Too many people are aware of what you’ve done for you to be of any value as a spy. However, we could use men like you in the Home Office. You have knowledge of what it actually entails to be a spy.”
“So I would direct others, instead of actually spying myself,” Alex said, slowly.
“If you wish. There’s much that needs to be done. I needn’t tell you that the country is not in good shape. Any information we can gather to avert revolution is necessary.”
“Mm.” Alex took a sip from his glass, to cover his thoughts. Oddly enough, he had come to agree with Edgewater. Changes needed to be made in England, changes that had nothing to do with the repression the government seemed intent on enforcing, but instead had to do with people’s lives. Changes such as Cecily was trying to make, at the orphanage where she taught; changes that would give a man work, and his family enough to eat. Changes that he could possibly help to effect.
Alex shrugged. “I may as well. On one condition.”
“Yes?”
“I want to be in charge of catching Edgewater.”
Bainbridge opened his mouth, looked at Alex’s grim face, and then nodded. “Done,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’ll be glad of your help.”
“Thank you.” Alex held up his glass to be refilled, as they toasted his future. It wasn’t much, but it was something to do. At least it would give meaning to a life that otherwise was empty and purposeless. A life that stretched endlessly ahead of him, without Cecily. He wondered how he would survive it.
“Thank you, Jem,” Cecily said, early that afternoon, smiling at the groom as she opened the side door of Marlow House. The groom bowed, and she slipped inside, pausing in the hallway to make certain no one was about. Good. Once again she had managed to go to, and return from, the orphanage, without being remarked, and that was a distinct relief. Life had been empty these last few days, purposeless, and the social round had lost all meaning. Teaching at the orphanage had come to mean a great deal to her. It wasn’t much, but it gave some purpose to her life.
“Good afternoon, Timms,” she said to the butler as she entered the front hall. “Are my mother and sister at home?”
The butler bowed. “The duke and duchess went out sometime ago, my lady, but I believe Lady Diana is abovestairs.”
“Thank you.” Cecily went upstairs, her serene face hiding her troubled thoughts. The problem was, everything she did now reminded her of Alex. At a ball or an assembly, she always glanced about the room, expecting to see him, only to be disappointed. He was no longer to be found in the park in the early morning when she rode, nor had she seen him today at the orphanage. Of course not. There was no longer any reason for him to keep watch over her. It hurt, still, that he had used her so; it probably always would. Hadn’t he cared about her, just a little?
Her room was empty when she entered it, which was a relief; she didn’t think she could bear her maid’s chatter just now. Pulling off her gloves, she crossed the room to her dressing table. She had just taken off her bonnet and was smoothing her hair when a reflection in the mirror caught her eye. An envelope, propped up on the pillows of her bed.
There was no way she could contain her curiosity. Throwing herself across the bed, she opened the envelope and pulled out the sheet of writing paper within. “Dear Cecily,” it began, in Diana’s hasty, cramped script. “Edward told me not to tell anyone of this, but I couldn’t leave without telling you, dear sister. We are to be married....”
Cecily drew in her breath, sharply, and scanned the rest of the note. “Oh, the little fool!” she exclaimed, dropping the note from fingers gone suddenly nerveless. Diana had eloped with Edgewater.
Chapter Nineteen
“Thank God you’re home, sir,” Parsons exclaimed as Alex came into his lodgings, a portfolio tucked under his arm.
“Taking the name of the Lord in vain, Parsons?” he said, mildly. He had just spent some hours at the Home Office, and already he could feel life returning. He would at least do something useful with his time. “Is something amiss?”
“Lady Cecily is in the sitting room, sir. I told her she couldn’t stay—”
“Cecily!”
“—but she insists she needs to talk with you.”
“Indeed. I’ll see her, Parsons. Thank you.” Joy filled him as he strode towards the sitting room. Cecily, here? That could only mean one thing. She had come back to him.
“Oh, Alex, thank God you’re here!” Cecily exclaimed, turning as he entered the room. “I thought you’d never come.”
“Did you, little one?” He caught her ungloved hands in his and smiled down at her. Her nails were bitten to the quick; evidently she had been no happier than he. “This isn’t circumspect of you, but—”
“I had to come.” Snatching her hands back, she fumbled in her reticule. “Here, read this.”
Alex frowned at the piece of paper Cecily thrust at him. “What’s this?”
“Read it! Oh, never mind, it will be quicker if I tell you. My sister Diana has eloped with Edgewater.”
The joy faded. So she had not come to mend the breach between them. Even the news that Edgewater had at last come out of hiding could not dispel his keen disappointment. “I see,” he said finally, dropping the note onto a table and pacing to a window. “And what am I to do about it?”
“You must help me stop them! Alex—”
“I must?” He turned. “Why come to me, and not your father?”
“My parents are not at home. Alex, please, we dare not wait. If we don’t catch them soon—Alex, you know what Edgewater is capable of!”
“Where is he taking her?” he asked, his interest stirring in spite of himself.
“Gretna Green.”
“Gretna—” Scotland, via the Great North Road. Which led through Hertfordshire, which was where— A hideous thought burst into his mind. Cranbourne Hill, for which the Prime Minister planned to leave today, to spend the next week in discussion with various members of his cabinet, near the Hertforshire village of Stevenage. God’s teeth, Edgewater was still intent on his scheme. “Parsons!” he bellowed, and Parsons came running in through the passageway.
“Yes, sir?”
“Send down to have my curricle set to, and quickly! Edgewater’s tipped his hand at last.”
“Has he, sir! By God, that’s good news!”
“More swearing, Parsons?” Alex said, but he was grinning. He’d catch Edgewater at last. “Thank you for telling me of this.” He turned to Cecily, his face expressionless. “With any luck we should catch him before he does any damage. You’d best get home now.”
“Oh, no, you don’t, my lord.”
“Cecily, there isn’t time—”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No. My curricle won’t hold you, and there might be danger—”
“Which is why I brought this.” Cecily pulled a small, silver-handled pistol from the pocket in her pelisse.
Alex couldn’t help it; he smiled. “Cecily, that toy—”
“I assure you, I know how to use it. Damn it, Alex!” She stamped her foot. “He has my sister! Do you think I’ll stand tamely by—”
“I’m not taking you anywhere there might be danger. Rest assured I’ll bring your sister back safe.”
“And what of her reputation? Are you prepared to marry her, then?”
“That pretty widgeon? God’s teeth, no!”
“Then you’ll have to have a female along,” she said, calmly, drawing on her gloves. “I’m ready when you are, sir.”
“God’s teeth, Cecily—oh, very well. Parsons can drive and I’ll ride. But you’re to stay out of danger, little on
e.”
“Yes, Alex.” Cecily bent her face to hide her smile. She didn’t think he was even aware that the endearment had slipped out, and that lifted her spirits immeasurably. Could it be he did care, after all?
A look at his set face dispelled that idea. “Shall we go?” he said, holding the door, and Cecily glided through, her face serene. Of course she wanted to find Diana, but she had had other motives when, panicked, she had run to him for help. Foolish, she chided herself. After this, she would put him out of her life, once and for all. She would have to. But she knew, with a pain deeper than any she had ever experienced, that it wouldn’t be easy. It was going to be a very bad time.
Diana was enjoying herself as she rarely had. Oh, certainly she liked attending the assemblies and routs of the season, and she even enjoyed the more rustic life at Marlow, though she’d never admit it to her more tonnish friends. This, though, this was adventure, and so romantic, too. To be bowling along the Great North Road in a fashionable curricle—well, perhaps it wasn’t so very fashionable—with a handsome man was the height of romance. Whyever Cecily had broken off her engagement with this man, Diana didn’t know.
She stole another glance at Edgewater’s classic profile, and a little thrill went through her. Since leaving behind London’s traffic Edgewater had sprung his team, a mismatched pair of a bay and a chestnut, who were at least smooth goers. Diana still didn’t quite understand why they weren’t riding in his wonderful phaeton with its team of blacks, but she didn’t really mind, either. The whole escapade had such an element of mystery and secrecy, so much like her favorite novels, that her whole being thrilled to it.
The idea of elopement had startled her at first, but Edgewater had soon managed to persuade her to his way of thinking. Everyone in her family seemed opposed to him, unfairly so. And so, early this afternoon, when it was supposed she was in her room, she had engaged a hackney for the Lombard Street Post Office, where the mail coaches stared, and met her intended with his hired curricle and job horses. No one would ever expect the dashing Marquess of Edgewater to drive such a rig, and so their secrecy was protected. That there was, apparently, some sort of scandal concerning the marquess only made everything more mysterious and romantic.