The Regency Season

by Ann Lethbridge

  He nodded and looked perfectly content, as if he really did want this marriage. The man was an excellent actor, easily able to hide his true feelings. He wasn’t the only one. She kept her smile bright.

  The musicians struck up the opening bars of the next set and everyone’s attention drifted slowly away. A quick scan of those about her assured her no one really cared. Her gaze met that of the girl who had accidentally given her and Freddy away. Priscilla.

  Seeing that Minette had noticed her regard, the girl offered a tentative smile and mouthed, ‘I’m sorry.’

  Minette waved an airy hand of forgiveness. Not that she had anything to forgive. This was the outcome she’d wanted. Almost. Freddy’s agreement to her plan without all the scandal would have been a hundred times better than what had occurred. She’d seen Lord Sparshott’s face as she’d peered around Freddy. He’d definitely realised things had gone quite a bit further than a peck on the cheek or even a passionate kiss. He’d be quick to express shock when she cried off.

  A pretend engagement agreed to by both parties in private, as she’d suggested, would have been a much better idea.

  Tiens. It was far too late for remorse. What was done was done. But Freddy was wrong about one thing. The situation was not irretrievable.

  * * *

  Freddy left Gabe’s study reasonably satisfied with the settlement he had reached with his future wife’s outraged brother-in-law. At first, Gabe’s attitude had bordered on starchy, but once he realised Freddy had no intention of being anything but generous, and that he intended to observe all the courtesies with regard to his prospective bride, he’d mellowed. They’d even managed a cordial glass of brandy and a toast to the future. Indeed, Freddy had the very real hope he might one day regain the trust of his once best friend.

  One thing he had not done had been to relay his suspicions about Minette’s entrapment of him or her reasons. That concerned no one but the two of them.

  Good God, he was actually going to be married. To a little spitfire who heated his blood beyond reason. Heaven help him. The thought of having her in his bed almost made up for how she’d got him to the sticking point. And the thought of Liz’s anger when she heard the news of his engagement was almost worth the price. Not that he intended to do his nephews out of their inheritance. He didn’t want children any more than he had wanted a wife.

  And that was going to be a problem, based on what he’d learned in Gosport’s library. He found Minette’s boldness practically irresistible. Before coming to England, she’d not led the innocent, protected life of her peers. And if during that time she’d used her feminine wiles as a means of defence he would not blame her one bit. The fact that she also used them as a weapon, against him, gave him pause. And sent blood racing south.

  There were ways to prevent the arrival of children that did not require forgoing mutual pleasure. He certainly wasn’t going to let her cry off, as she had suggested.

  He would not permit another scandal in his family. Particularly one easily avoided.

  And now he would have yet another responsibility he had never wanted. A wife.

  No doubt this one would be troublesome. Demanding. Wily. Untrustworthy. Utterly, deliciously sensual. Hell, his mind was wandering again. Theirs was going to be a marriage of convenience. With added benefits. The coldness inside him prevented any deeper feelings. As long as children didn’t ensue, everything would be fine.

  He headed for the drawing room, where Gabe said Minette was waiting, knocked on the door and entered. She was standing at the window, looking down into the street, standing to one side so she would not be seen.

  As always, her feminine allure called to his baser urges.

  But it wasn’t that alone, it was her audacity, her passion, the energy she exuded. Dangerous attributes to a man in his line of work.

  Slowly, she turned to face him. ‘Is it done?’

  The calmness in her face troubled him. Their dealings had never been calm. No doubt she was trying to hide her triumph at the success of her little plot. He would do well to remember how she had tricked him.

  ‘The terms are agreed upon,’ he said.

  She nodded.

  For some reason, he wanted more than cool looks and calm acceptance. He crossed the room and took her hands in his. They were cold. As icy as her expression. Was she suffering qualms? Too bad. It was too late for second thoughts. He lifted first one hand to his lips and then the other. A formal acknowledgement of their future. ‘I will inform my mother of the good news and arrange for an engagement ball at my estate in Kent at the end of next week. That will be time enough to send out invitations. The wedding will take place in three months. After the banns are called.’

  She lowered her lashes as if to hide her thoughts, but her gaze was clear when she finally looked at him. ‘Engagement ball? Is it really necessary?’

  ‘Gabe insists. And I agree. A ball will confirm our assertion that what Sparshott saw was a congratulatory kiss, as well as uphold your virtue and put paid to some of the gossip. An event attended by all the right people showing their approval will do the trick.’

  She looked far from happy. ‘What about our other plans? Won’t it interfere?’

  ‘I thought this was what you wanted. An engagement, so we can go about together without engendering comment.’

  ‘It was, but is it necessary to involve so many others?’

  Could it be that while she wanted the title, she was ashamed of the owner? Or had she been truthful all along and it had been nothing but a dreadful coincidence? None of it mattered. ‘We have no choice but to go through with it in proper style.’

  ‘You are right. We will deal with the engagement part later.’

  Deal with it? He eyed her narrowly as with quick, short steps she headed for a chair by the hearth and perched on its edge. She gestured for him to sit on the sofa. ‘We need to arrange our meeting with the person who can help us find Moreau.’

  The reason for this whole fiasco. ‘So it was not some Banbury tale?’

  A slight shake of her head, a puzzled frown. ‘Banbury? I do not understand.’

  ‘It means lies.’

  Her face cleared. ‘Mon cher Freddy, you misjudge me but then, you always have. There is a woman who lives in Southwark who can tell us what we need to know. For a consideration, as I mentioned.’

  ‘Us? I wouldn’t take a dog of mine to Southwark, let alone a young lady.’

  The determined chin came up. ‘If you go alone, she will tell you nothing. Women talk to other women. And she is French.’

  ‘There are other women I can use.’

  She shrugged. ‘But you do not know her name. Come tomorrow at nine in the morning. I will guide you to her door.’

  With a glare, he rose to his feet. ‘I will take you driving tomorrow. In Hyde Park. It is important that we be seen together. But we will not be going to Southwark, je vous assure.’

  ‘How prettily you speak French,’ she said with a catlike smile. ‘So perfect. So very English.’

  He cursed under his breath. God preserve him from stubborn women. As he saw it, he had two choices. Refuse her request and risk her going off half-cocked without him, or give in.

  ‘Nine tomorrow morning,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  Surely by then Barker could find this woman, now he knew where to look.

  * * *

  Minette tried to sit still while her maid finished dressing her hair. Anxiety gnawed at her belly. What if Madame Vitesse was lying about her knowledge of Moreau? What if it was a trap? Freddy would be so angry. He would certainly never give her a second chance. No. She had been so very careful. Things had to go according to plan. They must.

  ‘All done, mademoiselle,’ the maid said, eyeing the effect of her handiwork in the mirror. Curls framing her face. Her hair piled on her crown, ready to receive the straw bonnet whose plumes matched her form-fitting carriage dress of pale blue sarsenet.

  Minette rose from the rosewood dressing
table and took the bonnet from her maid’s hand, placing it on her head, just so. The maid tied the blue velvet ribbon under her left ear. ‘You look beautiful, mademoiselle. The Duke is sure to be pleased.’

  Unlikely, but that was no reason not to look the part.

  ‘Christine, you must promise not to breathe a word of our intention to visit Southwark today to anyone.’

  ‘Mais, non, mademoiselle. Your secrets are safe with me. Always.’

  Minette believed her. The maid, too, had lost innocent family in France’s grand experiment and had been embarrassingly grateful when offered this position. She would not lie to Minette about anything.

  Nicky breezed in looking very matronly in a pale green morning gown that clearly showed her expanding waistline. ‘Freddy’s phaeton is outside the house. He sent his tiger to the door, since he won’t leave the horses. Are you ready?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Ready for battle. She kissed her sister on the cheek and hurried down the stairs. If there was anything to put a man in a temper, she’d learned since coming out, it was keeping his horses fretting at their bits. And an irritated Freddy would only compound the difficulty of her task.

  The butler bowed her out of the door with a warm smile. At the kerb stood a shiny black vehicle with wheels picked out in navy and gold, drawn by a pair of matched black horses with white stars on their foreheads. The phaeton had attracted the rapt attention of the street sweeper, who had left his customary post on the corner to stand mouth agape.

  Helped up by the waiting footman, Minette bestowed a smile on Freddy. ‘Good morning, Your Grace.’

  The dark look he gave her did not augur a better mood than yesterday. Fa-la. No more than she’d expected.

  He gave the horses the off and the tiger jumped up behind.

  When they entered Hyde Park she glowered. ‘We were to go to Southwark.’

  He reined in the horses. ‘Jimmy,’ he threw over his shoulder, ‘go and find some violets for the lady.’

  ‘Wot, at this time of year, guv?’

  ‘Violets,’ Freddy said firmly. ‘Take them to Barker. He will arrange for their delivery upon my return.’

  The tiger muttered something under his breath and jumped down.

  ‘If you wanted us to be alone, you could have sent him home, instead of on a wild-goose chase,’ she said.

  ‘I could. But then I wouldn’t have had a reason why we were driving alone.’

  ‘Ah.’

  He set the horses in motion. ‘Now I’ll have the whole of it.’

  ‘I do not understand your meaning.’

  A brow shot up. His lips pressed together as if he was seeking to contain words he did not think he should say. After several long seconds he spoke. ‘Who is this woman in Southwark and how do you know of her?’

  She gave him a glance full of sympathy. ‘Your men didn’t find her, did they? When we get there you will learn all you need to know.’

  He muttered something under his breath. A curse, no doubt. ‘I hope you don’t live to regret this, Mademoiselle Rideau.’

  ‘Should we not be on a first-name basis now we are betrothed?’

  He glanced over at her, his lips eased very slightly, and was that a twinkle in his eyes? ‘Minette.’

  Yes, indeed, his voice had laughter at the edges.

  She smiled at him. ‘Come, it will not be so bad, Freddy. We will work together to put Moreau in the ground.’

  He gave a slight shake of his head. ‘I do not like this game you are playing and, believe me, I’ll not be giving you a free hand, my sweet.’

  My sweet. Her heart gave an odd little flutter. Too bad he did not mean it. She smiled coolly. ‘Naturally not. But there are some things I must insist upon at the outset.’

  ‘We’ll deal with those later. Right now I need to know where I am going.’

  ‘We cross the river at London Bridge.’

  His expression darkened. ‘So I am to follow your directions street by street. You do know Southwark is a hotbed of unsavoury types, do you not?’

  ‘Naturellement. But, then, I have you to protect me.’

  His jaw flexed, his expression became thoughtful. ‘So you do.’

  Chapter Four

  The drive to London Bridge remained starkly silent, with Freddy apparently too engrossed in managing his team in the press of traffic for conversation. Or too annoyed with her prevarication. Not that the streets were quiet. Indeed, they bustled with people and carriages, assaulting hearing, sight and each indrawn breath. The cacophony of colour, noise and smells became more intense as they drove east. A stench of manure, rotting vegetables and overcrowding battled with the noise of street vendors and vehicles of every kind.

  It took more than an hour to reach London Bridge and make their way to Southwark.

  ‘Now where?’ he asked, with his usual chilly reserve and an expression she was sure was designed to keep her at a distance. Her and the rest of the world.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask for the address?’

  ‘I have no doubt you will tell me when you are ready. I have no doubt that it will be located among the worst of the slums. You have a penchant for going where no lady should tread.’

  A jibe at her presence at his club. So there was to be no quarter given between them. Not that she had really expected it. Not when he still thought she had trapped him on purpose. She almost wished she had, then she wouldn’t feel quite so aggrieved, since she could not deny that this engagement suited her purpose admirably. But his anger and distrust gave her a miserable feeling. They had never been friends, but now they were going to have to spend a great deal of time in each other’s company, and it would be better if they could at least be cordial.

  ‘The house we seek lies behind St George’s Church,’ she said.

  His mouth tightened but he continued along Borough High Street. As they proceeded, the buildings on either side of the street became meaner and the road muddy and ill maintained.

  ‘When we arrive, let me do the talking,’ she said.

  ‘So I am to remain silent and pay the bill.’ He sounded less than pleased.

  She turned in her seat the better to see his face. ‘This family has not been well treated since their arrival in England. They are bourgeoisie. They gave up much to follow the king and feel they have been abandoned.’ There were a goodly number of French families living in Southwark who were scratching out the most meagre of livings in the worst of circumstances. ‘They no longer trust the English to treat them right.’

  ‘And you think they will trust you?’

  She gripped her hands in her lap. ‘I don’t know. I do know they want their king back in France so they can return home. If they believe this will help, then perhaps, yes.’

  ‘Very well, I’ll remain silent. As long as you don’t promise them the moon.’

  It was a warning he would not let her make promises he could not keep. Fair enough.

  ‘Turn onto Mint Street.’

  ‘You may as well give me the address,’ he said, throwing her a glance of suppressed anger.

  He was right to be angry. She could not continue to treat him as if she didn’t trust him, even if good sense advised caution. She needed his help. ‘Well’s Court. They are expecting us.’

  ‘How do you know people living in Well’s Court?’

  She winced at his harsh tone. ‘Through my maid, who I found by talking to the parish priest. We émigrés help our own whenever possible.’

  He halted at the entrance to a small alley. He glanced up at the surrounding buildings and around at the loiterers in the street. He gestured at one of them who lounged over to them. ‘M’sieur?’

  He tossed the man a silver coin. ‘Mind the horses. There’s another for you when we return.’

  The man’s eyes brightened. He touched his forelock and went to the horses’ heads.

  ‘Will they be safe?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s a little late to be thinking of that.’

  * * *


  Freddy guided Minette through the narrow entrance to the court, surreptitiously checking the small pistol he had tucked into his waistband at the small of his back. He also had a dagger in his boot. Barker, who had been instructed to follow them, would be somewhere nearby. He doubted all these precautions would be needed—it was, after all, broad daylight—but it didn’t pay to take chances. Not if he wanted to survive. The contrast between the wealth of Mayfair and the poverty of this area was a stark reminder of the desperation of some of London’s people. He placed his hand in the small of her back, ensuring that anyone watching would know he took her safety seriously.

  A pang of guilt twisted in his gut. Minette thought she was in control. In the not-too-distant future she was going to discover he had no intention of involving her in the capture of Moreau. If Gabe knew he’d gone this far, bringing her to such a dangerous part of town, he’d be stringing Freddy up by his thumbs. No, after today, she would discover herself on the sidelines. He would not let her put herself in danger.

  A small, ragged boy sitting on a step in front of one of the tenements leapt to his feet the moment they set foot in the courtyard at the end of the alley. He approached warily.

  ‘You are here for Madame Vitesse?’ His English was carefully spoken. Not the accent of the local people, but that of a well-tutored boy.

  ‘We are,’ Minette replied.

  ‘Follow me, if you please.’ The boy led them into the building and up a set of rickety stairs to the third floor. On the landing he opened one of several doors. He reverted to his mother tongue as he spoke to the occupant. ‘Maman, they are here.’

  A woman of about thirty with hard eyes and a careworn face appeared in the doorway. The look she gave Freddy reminded him of an animal preparing to defend its young, then she turned her attention to Minette. ‘You are Christine’s mistress?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘This is your fiancé? The Duke?’

  ‘I am,’ Freddy said.

  ‘Come in. We will discuss the matter between us.’

  They sat down on a pair of rickety wooden chairs, while their hostess took a stool. She glanced up at the boy. ‘See we are not disturbed.’