Miss Westlake's Windfall (22 page)

“Where can I purchase tickets?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be in public. The gel’s a lady, after all. I heard they are doing it here.”

“You don’t say!”

* * * *

“I say no,” Lady Ashmead swore, when sweetly approached by her now
de trop
heiress, not even if the prattlebox had a starring role in the amateur theatrics.

She said no when the vicar, of all people, mentioned that the neighbors were anxious to view the play, an allegory of good and evil, he believed. She said no yet again when Ada offered to see to the arrangements.

“You could announce it tonight, for ten days’ hence, say, and not even have to send invitations.”

Lady Ashmead even denied her son’s request, knowing full well that he needed no permission, no payments, and no patronage of his mother’s to hold a bacchanal orgy in his house, if he so wished. He might forget what was owed his lady mother for a waltz or two, she hoped, but not for flinging open the doors to the Meadows to the raff and scaff. Not twice.

Ada went off for her promised dance with the riding officer, and Chas left to lead another of the house party beauties in the boulanger. Claiming the headache, Lady Esther declined her next partner, to sit by Sir Emery, who was sympathetic to her great disappointment. Why, on top of her lost lamb, such a blow might be too, too much for her tender sensibilities.

Emery turned beseeching eyes to Lady Ashmead, who only turned her back.

Having been pirated away by Jane, who insisted on having at least one dance with the most dashing man in the ballroom, Leo reluctantly took his place in the set.

Tess approached her hostess and bluntly said, “I suppose they all asked and you turned them down.”

“Hmph.” Lady Ashmead pretended to be watching the dancers.

To Lady Ashmead’s regret, Tess spread her trailing skirt panels over the adjacent chair and made herself comfortable. “You might as well give in, you know.”

“Why? Why should I permit my home to be used for such a shocking spectacle? Tell me that, missy.”

Tess waved her arm around, catching Lady Ashmead’s lorgnette in one of her fronds. “The place is big enough, for one.”

“Rot. The cow barn is big enough, too. Hold it there.”

“And everyone wants to come,” Tess went on as though the older woman had not spoken. “They are all talking about it, you know.”

Lady Ashmead did know, and it stuck in her craw. “Ladies,”—she repeated the word for emphasis—“ladies do not make a byword of themselves.”

“Now who is talking fustian? Every hostess in London would leap at the chance to hold such an entertainment.”

Lady Ashmead knew that, too, and was doubly irate.

“You could even make it a charitable act, asking for donations for the orphanage from those who attend.”

Triply troubled, reminded of the children her neglect had made suffer.

“We don’t intend to produce the whole thing, you know, just the bits and pieces an audience will most appreciate. I doubt we could successfully enact the fire-dragon scene here anyway.”

“Fire? I should hope not!”

“Mostly, though, you should give your permission for your son’s sake, so poor Chas does not have to choose between you and Ada.”

“That minx already made her own choice. And your sister has nothing to do with my decision whatsoever.”

“She should, ma’am. You see, if we stage Sebastian here, it will be talked about among the London producers. We might even be able to get one or two to attend, or perhaps a journalist reviewer. I do intend my play to get to London, make no doubt, to earn us a fortune. Well, mayhaps not a fortune,” Tess amended, “but enough to give my sister back her dowry. With her portion restored, her pride will be too. She would be good enough for any man, even a viscount.”

“Botheration, she could have had a viscount anytime these past three years.”

“Five, I believe. She does love him, you know.”

“Of course I know. Any fool can see that. Why do you think I filled my house with ninnyhammers, if not to make the simpleton see that for herself? Your sister is stupid, stubborn, soft in the head.”

“And Chas loves her.”

Lady Ashmead sighed.

“There is another benefit to putting on the play here, you know.” Tess pressed her advantage. “If the play is produced in London, Mr. Tobin and I are likely to move there. You won’t have to worry about acknowledging my husband.”

“Bosh. You get my son hitched to that addlepated Ada and I will be back in Bath before that scapegrace Sebastian puts on a shirt like a decent smuggler. Then I won’t care what the two of you gudgeons get up to.”

Tess was not finished yet. She nodded to where Emery and Lady Esther had their heads together like bosom bows. “Your little house guest will likely throw a tantrum if she can’t be in the play, you know. I’ve lived with Jane Johnstone for years, and I can tell you a tantrum is not a pretty sight. Then too, the earl’s darling just might set her sights on something even more ineligible if she is denied, such as a hero in scarlet regimentals. She’s already lost a chance at Chas; losing her part just might be the last straw.”

“The chit has the sense of a camel, too. She might very well throw her cap over the windmill for a handsome face, if it’s not too late. Lud, how would I explain that to Ravenshaw? I near broke his heart once, when I accepted Ashmead instead. This could be worse.”

Tess laughed, loudly enough that heads turned in their direction. “Are we agreed, then?”

Lady Ashmead hesitated.

“I suppose I could go cry on Ashmead’s shoulder. He’s been like a brother to me all these years. It is his house, isn’t it?”

“Blackmail don’t become you, missy.”

“Oh, that’s not blackmail. Blackmail is if I threaten to perform the dance of the severed sea serpent’s head in your supper room. On the supper table. You were serving eels in aspic, weren’t you?”

* * * *

The announcement was made during the supper break. It was not the announcement Lady Ashmead had been hoping to make, not by half. It was not the announcement the guests had expected before seeing Lord Ashmead dance with Miss Ada Westlake, nor even the one they expected after that memorable waltz. The viscount’s invitation to another gathering in a fortnight, however, was greeted with loud cheers, due as much to the flowing champagne punch, perhaps, as the opportunity to view a new play at his lordship’s expense. The ladies wouldn’t mind a closer view of the pirate, either, nor the men another glance at that sea goddess.

“The musical drama will be written, produced, directed, and choreographed by our own resident bard, Miss Tess Westlake, and will be held to benefit the Lillington-Folkestone Foundling Home. Your generous donations will make the lives of those unfortunates brighter, as I am certain our efforts will enliven your evening. A toast. To Miss Westlake.”

Someone, likely Uncle Filbert who never missed an opportunity to lift his glass, then proposed a toast to their most generous host and gracious hostess. A toast to welcome the return of Lieutenant Westlake. A toast to the health of everyone present. A toast to good friends who were absent. The King. Wellington. Lady Arbuthnot’s birthday.

The toasts went on for so long the orchestra members were tuning their instruments for the next interval well before the last cream tart was consumed. Finally the guests returned to the ballroom or the card room or the parlor. Some of those who had to travel long distances called for their wraps and made their farewells, promising to return for the play.

Ada was yawning, not used to such late hours or lavish suppers. Besides, she had already had her second dance of the evening with Chas, and was not going to get another, not without setting the whole neighborhood on its collective ear. She would have gone home, citing Emery’s injury as reason enough, but Jane would not hear of it, not until the last unmarried gentleman with hair, teeth, and money had left. The hair and the teeth were mere options.

“What, leave before the unmasking?” She might have missed a potential parti under an ass’s head.

“But you are not wearing a mask,” Ada pointed out. “What can it matter?”

“A great deal. And what would you do?” Jane hissed, knowing Ada’s weak spots. “Drag your brother away from the best opportunity he is likely to have to meet young women of means? Look at him, top over tails for Lady Esther. Nothing can come of it, of course, but the peagoose helped cut his meat at supper. She’s also dismissed her other beaux, the fool, to sit out with him again.”

Emery did not look tired to Ada. In fact, he looked eager, excited, entranced. Egads, he’d stay as long as Jane. Meanwhile, Tess and Leo were strolling about the perimeters of the dance floor, answering questions about the drama. That is, Tess was answering the technical inquiries; Leo was looking piratical. If any of the gentlemen looked too closely at Tess’s fish scales, Leo’s hand reached for his sword. They were obviously not ready to leave, not while there was a potential backer in the ballroom.

Ada yawned behind her hand and looked around for Chas. He was standing beside his mother’s chair, saying good-bye to the departing guests, still the handsomest, most chivalrous of knights in her eyes. She thought she might go see if Lady Ashmead needed anything: a shawl, a glass of lemonade, a grandson. Ada thought she might have had one too many champagne toasts, too. She’d do better in a chair. Next to Chas.

Chapter Twenty-four

On her way toward the viscountess’s raised dais, Ada heard a commotion at the door. A latecomer had just arrived, but the butler was not at his post. Epps was in the wine cellar fetching more bottles of champagne, the toasts having depleted his prepared stock.

The under butler was stationed at the front door, making certain carriages were called and wraps were found for the early departures. The junior footman left at the entrance to the ballroom did not know what to make of this gentleman who rushed by him without giving his card, his name, or his current persona. Neither did the other guests.

“What’s he supposed to be?” one of the dowagers shouted to her nearly deaf companion.

“I can’t tell, what with all those cloths wrapped around him.”

“Is he part of the play?” the first one yelled.

“Lud, I hope so. Deuced attractive, this ‘un, and more our age than that half-naked pirate.”

“Hah! You haven’t seen this buck’s age in half a century either.”

Other guests were also wondering, as the man lurched past them. “Could the fellow be dressed as one of those mummy chaps?” A fop in a faun’s costume, complete with pan pipes, pulled out his quizzing glass.

His friend, a portly King Henry, answered, “If so, it’s in poor taste, I say. Frighten the ladies, what?”

The new arrival more than frightened the females, he created pandemonium when he took his hand away from the wrappings on his side and the cloth fell away, bloodstained. Ladies screamed and swooned, gentlemen felt their stomachs turn; half ran toward the man to see better, half ran away to safety.

Tess and Leo happened to be nearby when the man staggered. He would have fallen but for Leo’s strong arms under his shoulders. “Ashmead?” the man gasped.

“Close, but no.” Leo half carried the man toward the viscount, Tess supporting his other side. She handed Jane the gold trident, to get a better grip on the wounded stranger. Jane could not decide whether to be faint or to follow, but the man was good looking despite his pallor. She followed, the better to find out what was happening.

Ada quickly got up from her chair to make room, thinking, Lud, Algie had finally shot someone, but Chas and Leo laid the man on the floor, as gently as possible. Chas shouted for servants, the doctor, towels. Lady Esther was already unconscious, so Ada ripped off one of her many petticoats. Chas stuffed it under the man’s head.

“
Je suis
...
” the stranger tried to say. “
Je suis
...”

“Bloody hell. Prelieu.”

Leo had looked beneath the wrappings. “Too much blood to say, but it looks like an old wound, reopened, though. Bullet went straight through his side, so he should live if we can stop the bleeding.”

“He better,” Chas said, followed by words not meant for a lady’s ears.

Ada tore another petticoat from the shepherdess’s skirts and handed it to Leo. “Monsieur Prelieu? Isn’t he the one who was supposed to retrieve the money from the orchard?”

“Our money?” Jane asked, dropping the trident.

Prelieu groaned as Leo pressed the petticoat against his side. “I know nothing of this orchard,
n’est ce-pas
. I was to come to the Mermaid Tavern for the money, but I do not need your little douceur, Monsieur Vicomte. I brought my own,
non
?” He laughed, clutching his injured side. “
Oui
, I did. Napoleon tips well,
certainement
.”

Jane stepped closer.

“Why the deuce didn’t you show up at the Mermaid, then?” Chas demanded. “Or send a message?”

“But I did,
mon ami
. Only I made a
petit
error. After being so careful in leaving Paris, and so secretive about boarding a boat, I trusted one of your men to carry the message, Sim Fuller.”

“Not one of my men,” Leo said with a growl, helping the Frenchman sit up so he could drink the wine Chas held to his lips. “But I will take care of him.”

Prelieu shrugged, wincing. “That was my error. The fisherman was working for your traitor, one of those on my lists of Englishmen receiving moneys from Bonaparte for information on the ships around Dover.”

Chas and Leo both cursed.

“This
cochon
Fuller, he sent for his master. They shot me, and left me for dead in an old shack with the mice.”

“I suppose they took the list?” Chas finally recalled the ladies present and did not express himself as fully as he intended. He pounded his fist on the floor instead.

“But of course, monsieur.” Prelieu smiled and tapped his forehead. “But the list, it is all in here.” He reached down and tapped his high boots. “And the money, it is all in here.”

Chas breathed a sigh of relief. So did Jane. Then, “This trailer,” Chas said, “do you know him, other than by name? Would you recognize him again?”