A Scorching Dilemma

by Shereen Vedam

  Daniel probed a hole the kitten had left in his jacket collar.

  “You are late.” Sir Phillip’s gaze fixed on the new hole.

  Daniel dropped his arm to his side. Sometimes it did not pay to work in the household of a spy. The man noticed everything.

  “What delayed you?” Sir Phillip asked.

  “There was an issue about a stray kitten.”

  Sir Phillip pondered that statement for a moment. “Miss Wood is safe?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Clean up later. For now, come join me. Sit.”

  He started. Sir Phillip usually went to great pains to ensure Daniel remembered his place. So he distrusted this sudden friendliness. “I prefer to stand.”

  Sir Phillip stood and walked over to the mantel, then turned and faced him. “Lady Roselyn suggested I speak with you about a troubling matter.”

  Unease crept up Daniel’s spine.

  “I have a new assignment,” Sir Phillip said.

  “Congratulations, sir.” He tried to disguise his lack of interest in what occupied this Intelligence Officer’s time.

  Sir Phillip sent him an impatient glance. “It concerns a pair of jewel-encrusted shoe buckles, ordered by our ailing King George. Each has a flawless ruby surrounded by diamonds. They were a gift from the king to Wellington for his recent victory.”

  “Shoe buckles?” Daniel had heard the king was touched in the head and this news only confirmed that diagnosis.

  “A ceremonial gift,” Sir Phillip said. “He requested that the Prince Regent present the buckles to Wellington. You can imagine the regent’s dilemma when he discovered that the buckles were missing.”

  Daniel did not care for this conversation. So what if he had been good at the craft once? It did not mean he was still a thief. “I know of no jeweled buckles, sir.”

  “I was not accusing you, Trenton. I merely mention the matter because I know you have expertise in this field.”

  Daniel neither denied nor admitted to the veiled charge.

  “I thought . . . actually, Rose suggested that you could be of assistance with my case.”

  “Do you want me to ask around to discover if any such things have come up for, shall we say, a private sale?”

  “No. We have an idea of who might be responsible.”

  “Then you have the culprit in custody?”

  “No.” Sir Phillip swirled his goblet of brandy.

  Daniel grinned, understanding what went unsaid. “A rich cove has nicked ’em.”

  Sir Phillip took a sip and placed his glass on the mantle. “Not just any rich cove,” he said in a soft voice. “This could well have been the work of a duke.”

  Daniel whistled. No wonder they had brought Sir Phillip onto the case. It was delicate work, retrieving stolen items from a peer. Intrigued, he asked, “What do you want from me, sir?”

  “Let me tell you first how the matter evolved.” Sir Phillip again offered him a chair.

  This time, Daniel took it.

  Sir Phillip reclaimed his seat. “Last week, the regent had the Dukes of Burley and Morton and their families as his guests at Carleton House. The regent could not resist showing off the buckles. But when he looked for them after his guests had departed, the buckles were missing. The servants were questioned and their property searched. Unfortunately, the gift, worth twelve thousand guineas, was supposed to be presented to Wellington during a fête a month from now.”

  Daniel whistled, imagining that vast sum of gold coins piled high. All those yellowboys could feed London’s poor for twelve years or more. “What is your plan for recovery, sir?” Sir Phillip always had a plan.

  “During the day, Rose and I will visit the two dukes’ homes to gauge possible hiding places. At night, you and I will pay those mansions unannounced visits.”

  Daniel grinned. “So I am not completely useless?”

  Sir Phillip scowled. “I have never met anyone more inept as a butler.” He shrugged, showing his frustration, “Rose insists that you stay since we can hardly put out an advertisement in the Times for a servant. Not while our staff is constantly practicing their shifting.” He took a deep breath and puffed it out, like a dragon letting off steam. “If you are willing, we can arrive at an arrangement whereby you can gainfully earn your wages.”

  So, Lady Roselyn had not confided in her husband that Daniel refused to accept payment for his lamentable services. Daniel was grateful for that small mercy. The last thing he needed was for Sir Phillip to feel sorry for him. He stood.

  Sir Phillip, too, rose.

  “I will help you,” Daniel said. “Will that be all, sir?”

  Sir Phillip nodded. “Lady Roselyn and I visit the Duke of Burley’s residence on the morrow. Be ready to leave on our errand later that night.”

  Daniel bowed and left. Upon learning that Randal was cleaning the silver, Daniel raced upstairs to his room. But lying in bed staring at the ceiling did not appeal, so he fished in his pocket and pulled out the card the young lady with sparking emerald eyes and flaming hair had given him.

  There was no name, but beside a crest was an address. And he intended to pay the lady a visit. He had to warn her about the man in black who was definitely on her trail. He had also promised to relay how the kitten fared. He ignored the fact that he had put the kitten out of his mind the moment he stepped inside the kitchen.

  However, this time, he wanted to be better dressed. He found a clean shirt, jacket and breeches—all laundered and left neatly folded inside his cupboard. Bless you, Mrs. Pollard.

  He left the house and quickly blended in with the pedestrians, a figure unseen by those of high station, and ignored by those worse off.

  LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Faith waited with her parents in the drawing room as the dowager Duchess of Morton entered. Her dark gray gown covered a statuesque figure below a florid face. She stood as tall as Faith’s father. Behind her, the Duke of Morton was little more than a pale shadow, a slender young man with a stark-white face above his black jacket, cream and black striped waistcoat and dark breeches. He looked sweet and fearful.

  Excellent! Faith’s confidence rose. She had gained some experience in the art of gently persuading men to turn their attention to other pretty girls during her last two Seasons, and this was her chance to make good use of that new skill.

  The last person to enter was a well-built gentleman in his thirties. Seeing him, Faith’s mild optimism transformed into impending dread. She began to shiver.

  The butler made the announcements. “The Duke of Morton, the dowager Duchess of Morton, and Mr. Charles Granger.”

  How could Mr. Granger be the Duke of Morton’s half-brother? When she was introduced to him at Almack’s, there had been no mention of his connection to the duke. If she had known, she would have flatly refused the match the very moment her mother mentioned it, and to perdition with the consequences.

  “Do you like him?” Her mother whispered with a smile.

  “No!” Faith said in a breath that gushed out in horror.

  “Give him a chance, dear,” her mother replied, unperturbed.

  Afraid her face might betray her dislike of Mr. Granger, Faith stared at the floor.

  The young duke sat beside Faith on the Grecian sofa, his gaze fixed on his clasped hands, resting on knees held together. He seemed as uncomfortable as she was. He should not take her rejection to heart then. She would be gentle.

  Faith’s mother was seated on her other side while Morton’s mother, Mr. Granger, and Faith’s father took the three chairs facing them. Faith felt as if the long low table positioned between them, which held the tea service, was a battle line. How odd that Morton sat on her side, while her beloved father sat, ill at ease, on the opposite bank.

  The Duchess of Morton had placed herself direc
tly across from Faith. She looked close to fifty and had hair too black to be natural. Her locks were arranged in dangling curls about her long face. Faith blinked and between one breath and the next, the woman’s dark curls turned into writhing snakes.

  She took a calming breath to bring her wild imagination under control. Under the folds of their gowns, Faith took her mother’s hand. Her mother squeezed her cold trembling fingers in silent encouragement and said something to Morton about the weather being pleasant for this time of May.

  He nodded without replying.

  Mr. Granger sat back, crossed his legs, and appeared more at ease than anyone else in the room. The more relaxed he became, the more frightened Faith grew. She searched for a distraction and noticed that, while the various cups were half empty, Morton’s was drained completely. When had he moved enough to drink his tea? Wanting something to do, she refilled all the cups.

  She slanted a look at Mr. Granger. Unlike Morton’s pale and sculpted features, he had his mother’s long face. He was broad-shouldered and well-muscled, with brown hair slightly tousled, in current fashion. On the surface, he seemed perfectly presentable, but something about him made Faith’s stomach clench in fear, as if he was the devil in disguise.

  While he spoke to Faith’s mother, his gaze swung to capture hers. With a wolfish smile on his full lips, he reached past his own plate, over the serving platter, and plucked up his brother’s pastry. He brought it to his mouth, and the pastry disappeared behind a snap of white teeth.

  Faith was ready to bolt then and there, for Mr. Granger’s behavior implied he had no qualms about helping himself to his brother’s possessions. It cemented her determination to fight this match. Her mother’s hold tightened, as if she sensed Faith’s unrest.

  The Duchess of Morton spoke of her charity work at local hospitals. “In my younger days, before my marriage to the duke, I acted as a nurse to the ill and injured on his estate. Now that I am in London, I bring food and herbal medicines for the ill and injured at the hospitals.”

  “Mama is considered to have a fair hand with healing herbs,” Mr. Granger said with a proud lift of his head.

  His mother’s gray gaze settled with warm affection on her elder son, her features softening until she looked almost attractive. Then her attention turned to Faith and her look changed from pretty to predatory. While her smile said, I approve of you, her eyes said, I will manage you.

  Faith suppressed a shiver and decided that her aunt who lived in Sheffield in South Yorkshire was long overdue a visit. She had a delightfully large pond on her farm that was almost as enjoyable to swim in as the lake behind Faith’s home here in Richmond. It was a grand place where she could rusticate for the remainder of the Season. She began to mentally pack her valise.

  “You have been very quiet, Lady Faith. What are your thoughts regarding the proposed match with my son? You are no doubt as thrilled as he is.” The Duchess’s wide complacent smile swept from Faith to Morton to Faith’s father.

  All Faith heard was one word. Proposed. The tight knot that had formed in her chest the moment Mr. Granger entered the room loosened. So, despite her father’s intimation to the contrary, this match had not yet been signed and sealed. Her father did have her best interest at heart. Thank you, Papa.

  “I am, of course, honored, your grace,” Faith said, and lifted her head, her confidence returning. “And a little surprised by this talk of marriage.”

  “It cannot be unexpected. You have had three or four Seasons?”

  “This is only her third,” her mother said. “And a triumph if this match is made.”

  The duchess’s bright smile dimmed a shade. “Indeed.”

  Faith gripped her mother’s hand in gratitude for that small opening and her feverish thoughts raced through her limited options. Her mother was wise to be cautious. Rejecting Morton’s offer out of hand would bring the hammer down on Faith’s head. She should take her mother’s lead and slowly ease herself out of this awkward situation. “I am moved by my parents’ wish to make such a grand match for me.”

  “I am pleased to hear that.” The duchess nodded her approval. “Morton is much enamored of you, Lady Faith.”

  Her younger son had indicated no such attachment, so Faith labeled that statement a blatant fib. “If it would be permissible,” she said. “I would like to take some time to consider the proposal before responding.”

  Into the silence that followed Faith’s words, her mother said, “I believe my daughter wishes to enjoy the success of this offer in private before sharing it with all of society. I am sure this matter will be finalized before long.”

  “How long?” the Duchess of Morton asked.

  “What does it matter if this is set now or later?” Morton asked.

  With varying degrees of shock, everyone’s attention swung toward him.

  “Why the delay, brother?” Mr. Granger leaned forward to finger a white rose on the center table, staring at Faith as he fondled the petal. “Do you not care for the fair lady?”

  Faith shuddered.

  “I find her presentable.” Morton sent her an apologetic glance before he resumed his study of his clasped hands.

  Faith’s heart softened. The duke reminded her of an abused stray puppy.

  “Then it is settled,” Faith’s mother said. “We will give these two a little time to adjust to this advantageous match.”

  “With Wellington scheduled to arrive shortly, many in society are delaying their departure,” the Duchess of Morton said in a conciliatory tone. “I suppose we could push the wedding to the end of August.”

  Faith’s heart dropped. They wanted her wed this Season? Even her father looked shocked by that trim timeline. Beside her, Morton went paler. The only one who seemed to be enjoying this exchange was Mr. Granger, who smiled like a Cheshire cat.

  With a pleading glance, Faith squeezed her mother’s hand.

  Her mother returned the gesture in silent comfort.

  “As it is,” the Duchess of Morton continued, “we will be rushed to post banns, send out invitations and take other necessary measures. But I can see you are overwhelmed, Lady Faith. Since your father has kindly invited us for supper two days hence, you may give us your answer then.”

  The duchess stood and addressed Faith’s father. “Burley, please accompany me to my carriage. I wish to speak with you in private.” She nodded to Faith and her mother. “Good day.”

  The duchess’s two sons stood and bowed their farewell, before following their mother to the door.

  Faith’s entire body was shaking and the moment the door shut, she jumped up. “Mama, I am going to Sheffield to visit Aunt Hester and I may never return.”

  Her mother, too, rose. “Faith, calm yourself. Nothing has been decided. In fact, if you look at this rationally, you will see that the Duchess of Morton has, in fact, listened to your concerns and given you time to consider your decision.”

  The door opened and her father returned, looking as upset as Faith felt. She ran and hugged him. “Oh Papa, you cannot mean to make me marry so soon.”

  He held her back and looked at her with a concerned frown. Her mother came over and gently pried her from her father’s hold. “Thank you, John, for your patience with our womanly worries. Please leave Faith in my care for a moment.”

  Like a rabbit seeking cover, he bolted from the room.

  “Faith, come and sit by me,” her mother said.

  She followed her to the sofa where her mother put her arm around Faith’s shoulder. It was a comforting gesture that she leaned into. “Do not make a premature decision about Morton. In time, you will come to like him, perhaps even love him.”

  “Mama, I do not wish to marry anyone yet, but most especially not someone from that family. There is something amiss about them. Since Aunt Hester has been begging me to visit her for
years, I believe now is a good time to go.”

  “Running away is not the way to deal with problems. While you may not believe this yet, you are ready for this next stage of your life. All baby birds must leave their nest, my dearest.”

  Faith flopped back on the sofa. “Morton’s mother frightens me, and there seems to be an unhealthy relationship between the brothers.”

  “That is men’s business. It does not concern us.”

  Shocked, Faith sat up. “How could it not concern me, Mama, if I am to marry Morton? I would wager that if he were outside of his mother’s influence, he would not even think of offering for me. Perhaps I should take Morton with me to Sheffield? Some fresh country air might instill a little starch into his backbone and help him stand up to his mother.”

  “Now you are being silly.” Her mother tucked a stray strand of hair behind Faith’s ear. “Do not worry about his family. Mr. Granger once showed your father kindness. And though the duchess did seem forceful, once you are wed, you will be the reigning duchess. Once Morton reaches his majority, you may rule your home as you wish. As for Morton, he seems well-mannered and you must like him well enough if you want to run away with him.”

  “I feel sorry for him. I have no notion if he is well-mannered or not, for he said few words.”

  “But what words they were, Faith.” Her mother’s smile was gentle. “He supported you, my dear, saying he would wait to make this match public. Trust me on this, Faith. His backing of you is an excellent portent for your future marital happiness.”

  At the idea of nuptial bliss, the man who came to her mind was a rogue with a kitten slouching on his shoulder, not Morton.

  “Now let us talk of your adventure today,” her mother said.

  Faith looked at her in alarm.

  “I do not need to know the details. I can surmise the gentleman you spoke with caught your eye. That is good.”

  “I do not understand, Mama.”

  Her mother gave her a fond smile. “Faith, you have finally succumbed to the lot of being a woman. If you desire a man’s attention, you are ready for the duties of marriage. These feelings can be harnessed and brought to the marriage bed.”