The Bloodied Cravat (12 page)

My gaze travelled briefly to where Lord Wrayburn handed Lady Penelope a glass of lemonade, then assisted her to a seat near one of the tall windows.

Lady Crecy snapped her fan shut in one fluid motion as if snapping closed the leg shackles of marriage around Lord Wrayburn’s ankles.

Keeping an eye on Freddie while listening politely to Lady Crecy’s chatter, I suddenly noticed a footman at the edge of the dance floor watching me and trying to catch my attention.

“Once my little Penelope is wed, perhaps I will try my skills at matchmaker somewhere else,” Lady Crecy said, nodding in the direction of Lady Ariana. “My Penelope says the gel is quite without prospects. The naughty marquess is too busy pursuing his own interests to secure a husband for his cousin. Lady Ariana is making eyes at Mr. Cranworth, but surely a titled lady can look higher.”

I listened to these plots and plans with every indication of attention, waiting for a chance to make my escape. Finally, the dance ended. After extricating myself from Lady Crecy, I crossed to where the footman stood. “Mr. Brummell, sir,” he said.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Robinson desires me to say,”—the footman cleared his throat and recited—”The bird has left its cage.”

“Er, thank you.”

Mentally, I smiled. This must be Robinson’s idea of the lingo of a spy.

As quickly as I could without attracting notice to myself, I left the gallery and slipped up the stairs. Counting backwards from my bedchamber, I located Lord Kendrick’s room. Before the cat could lick her ear—or in this case before the dog snoring in the corridor could raise his head—I entered the marquess’s room.

Not knowing how long Robinson could keep Thompson away, I made quick work of the contents of the wardrobe, the bedside table, his lordship’s portmanteau, the desk, and—with great distaste—the bed. Then I methodically looked in, around, and over every piece of furniture in the room, growing more anxious as the minutes passed. I even moved a chair in front of the wardrobe, and climbed up on it in order to see the flat surface of the top. After all, a letter in such a place would not be seen by the casual eye.

Lord Kendrick’s bedchamber did not contain a dressing room for his valet as mine did, merely a cot in the far corner. Thus, when I had completed my search, I had nowhere else to look. Standing in the middle of the chamber, I tried to think of any stone I might have left unturned.

I heaved a sigh. There was none. Damn and blast, Lord Kendrick must have the letter on his person for safekeeping. Hmmm. Would not that be more dangerous, though, than hiding it?

Just then, I heard Robinson’s voice, pitched louder than normal, in the hallway.

With a coolness I was far from feeling, I opened the door to the bedchamber and stepped briskly out into the hall.

A plump, white-haired man in a black coat walked in front of Robinson. When he saw me, he started, then gave me that universal stare of the intimidating butler or manservant.

Hah! He had picked the wrong victim for this manoeuver. I raised my quizzing glass in his direction for the merest of moments before addressing Robinson. “Mingling with
country
servants, Robinson? I cannot fathom you falling so low. Step along and fetch me another handkerchief. I have lent mine to a lady. All these blessed doors are the same on this hall and I mistook my chamber. Once I was inside, and saw the smallness of the room, I comprehended my error.”

This was said before the outraged Thompson could even voice a question as to why I was in his master’s room. Robinson and I were down the hall and through the door to my chamber before Lord Kendrick’s man could draw breath.

Robinson closed the door. “Did you find the letter, sir?”

“No.”

“I am sorry, sir.”

“So am I. You did your part, though. Now I must get back downstairs before my long absence is noted.”

“If there is anything more I can do—”

“I shall tell you at once,” I said, leaving the room.

Entering the drawing room while adjusting the sleeve of my coat, I looked to the sofa that Freddie had been seated on with Victor Tallarico. In her place, the Italian now flirted with Lady Ariana. Freddie was nowhere to be seen. Instead, I watched Lord Kendrick dance attendance on Lady Deidre.

“What a murderous expression you have on your face, Brummell,” crooned Sylvester Fairingdale at my side, about as welcome as the plague.

I did not reply.

“You don’t care for Kendrick, that’s a fact,” Fairingdale said in a more conversational tone. “You didn’t fool me this afternoon with that story about his coat needing adjustment, and you’re not fooling me now.”

“You are fool enough all by yourself.”

“Tsk tsk. What
can
this all be about? Do you want Lady Deidre for yourself? I wouldn’t put it past you to think you could become the son-in-law of a duke?”

“Why do you not fly away, Fairingdale? You look like a bee in that yellow and brown
costume
and are twice as annoying.”

Fairingdale leaned closer and narrowed his eyes. “Mayhaps you already have a lady. Society thinks you feel no ordinary woman is good enough for you. Are they correct? I think they are. I don’t think a
lady
, even a duke’s daughter, will do for you ... only a
princess
.”

I yawned behind my hand, strongly suppressing a desire to swat Fairingdale. “Pity I find your opinions about as worthy as that of the bee you so resemble. Now go take your stinger and place it—ah, Old Dawe, just the man. I am going above stairs for the night. Is there a spare bottle of port about?”

Leaving Fairingdale with a calculating look on his face, I quit the room and waited in the hall until Old Dawe returned with a decanter on a tray.

“Sir, I am sorry. I would have brought it up to you.”

“No need. Tell me, has the Royal Duchess retired for the evening?”

“I believe she has, sir. She seems especially fatigued tonight.”

“It has been a long day. Thank you for the port.”

Too irate at Lord Kendrick’s monstrous nerve in blackmailing Freddie and too exasperated by Freddie’s avoidance of me to be tired, I climbed the stairs to my bedchamber only to pace.

“Do you want me to help you get ready for bed, sir?” Robinson asked, sending a look of animosity toward the bed where Chakkri already slept.

“No.” I lifted the stopper on the decanter.

“We could work on your hair, then. With just a few snips of the scissors, I could restore it to—”

“No.” I put the port on the table between the chairs. There might not be anything more I could do about Lord Kendrick tonight, but I was damned if I were going to wait until morning to see Freddie. I would see her now, no matter what her Prussian behemoth of a maid said.

“Go to bed, Robinson,” I said curtly, then exited the room leaving the valet with his mouth hanging open. I advanced down the corridor to Freddie’s sitting room, my need to see her increasing with every step.

I gave only the briefest of knocks before entering. It was empty. I heard sounds coming from Freddie’s bedchamber.

Never in all my visits to Oatlands had I been in there.

Impulsively, I knocked, then opened the door and strode into the room. I had a brief impression of shades of blue, before several of the dogs draped on chairs and sprawled on the floor woofed and growled at me.

Ulga paused in the act of brushing her mistress’s hair. Her eyes grew wide, outrage at my intrusion in every feature.

Freddie sat at her dressing table, attired in a robe of exquisite white satin trimmed with tiny diamonds and fastened in front with a large diamond clasp. She hushed the dogs, then spoke to me. “What can have prompted this unprecedented action on your part?”

I stood tall and proud as if we were at Almack’s Assembly rooms, not like the uninvited guest in her bedchamber that I was. “I must speak with you. Privately.”

Freddie rose. “Privately? We are as private as we
can
be, George.”

Damn!

“Freddie, there are some things better spoken without an audience—”

She waved a hand. “Ulga is always with me, you know that. If you have come regarding Lord Kendrick and the letter, you may speak freely. Ulga already knows the situation. She was in the hall when I came indoors, and I had her attend me during my interview with the marquess. I trust her. Ulga is loyal to me.
She
does not keep letters that ought to be destroyed.”

Again, she used a tone of voice which made me feel like I had been slapped.

Still, I waited to speak until the maid retreated to the corner and pulled out her knitting. “Freddie, I know that keeping such a personal letter was wrong of me. But cannot you try to understand?”

She said nothing.

“My scrapbook is so treasured that I will not leave it at home. How was I to know it and your letter would be stolen? I ask for your forgiveness, Freddie. Pray believe me when I say that is only the great fondness I feel for you that prompted what I know was a selfish and stupidly careless action on my part.”

“Fondness?” she asked coldly. “You are responsible for making me the object of blackmail, and you call this fondness?”

I paused a moment. She had been the one to write the letter in the first place. How could she be so icy now? Where was her usual generous spirit? “I give you my vow that I shall retrieve the letter,” I said.

Her posture remained frigid. “Ulga tells me the gossip in the servants’ hall is that you were in Lord Kendrick’s room tonight without his lordship’s permission. His man, Thompson, questioned the servants as to your identity. I do not see the letter in your hand, so I assume you failed to find it. Tell me how you intend to keep this vow you make me.”

I closed my eyes. I could not bear to see the condemnation in hers. I could not bear the wall she had put between us, one greater than the wall of her marriage. And mostly, I could not bear to see this unforgiving side of Freddie.

I opened my eyes and fixed my expression to one of determination. “He must have the letter on his person, or I expect there is a possibility that he took it, or had it taken, to his estate for safekeeping.” No need to tell her the marquess claimed he had a partner and cause her to worry more. “Freddie, I shall do whatever is necessary to get the letter back immediately. Even if I have to obtain a pistol, find the marquess and shoot him dead unless he gives me the letter. On my oath, I shall.”

“You will do no such thing,” Freddie stated unequivocally. “There would lay the road to certain scandal. And, George, make no mistake, I shall not have scandal brought down on my head, for to do so would bring scandal to the royal families of which I am a part. My brother is the King of Prussia. My husband, lest you have forgotten, is the son of King George the Third.”

Cut to the very core, I nodded stiffly. “It shall be as you say, your Royal Highness.”

“Yes, it shall indeed. Do not forget it.” She pressed her fingers to her temples then, the only sign of the weight of distress she was under.

Ever watchful, Ulga put her knitting aside to dip a cloth in water. She waited with it in hand by Freddie’s bed, worry written across her features.

“Good evening, George,” Freddie said.

I reached for her hand that I might place a kiss on it.

Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. She pressed them further into the folds of her robe.

“Good night, your Royal Highness,” I said with dignity before leaving her.

Robinson woke me at ten the next morning. We would need plenty of time to ready me for the excursion to the ruins at noon. Glancing into the mirror after bathing and dressing, I thought the company need look no further than my face if they wanted to view a ruin.

Yes, as you must have suspected, I consumed the entire contents of the bottle of port when I returned from my frosty interview with Freddie. Now the signs of my recent excesses began to catch up with me. My breeches could barely be fastened, my eyes were shot with red, and dark circles had formed under them. I must remember to drink less if I lived through this current ordeal.

Robinson seemed more dismayed than I was at my appearance. “Sir, if I might suggest a touch of a special tinted lotion I have procured. It would hide that darkness under your eyes—”

I raised my right eyebrow severely, silencing him. “Do not be absurd. Hand me my dog’s head walking stick, my hat and my gloves.”

“Yes, sir,” was the gloomy reply. Then, “While everyone is out, do you wish me to try to search Lord Kendrick’s room for your missing letter? Two sets of eyes can be better than one.”

I smoothed the sleeve of my Persian-blue coat. “True. If you feel you can do so without Thompson knowing, go ahead.”

“Sir,” Robinson said, his tone somber, “I know it is not my place to question you—”

“Has that stopped you before?”

“Perhaps not. But all this plotting and effort for one letter. Is it so very important, then?”

I looked into his eyes. The genuine concern I saw there caused me to be more forthcoming. “The letter was written by the Duchess of York to me. She would be... flustered ... having her private thoughts made public.”

Robinson nodded in comprehension. “Just so, sir. This makes all the difference in the world. I shall indeed do my best to help you recover her Royal Highness’s letter.”

“Thank you. Now, I think the marquess either has the letter on his person, or he may have sent it to his estate for safekeeping. My plan, unless I kill the blackguard first, is to search his house. I gather that after a few hours outdoors in this heat, the guests will be drooping. Everyone will return to Oatlands. It will not be remarked upon if I retire to my room to rest before dinner. Then I shall slip out and ride to Lord Kendrick’s estate.”

“Would you like me to come with you, sir? Surely the house will be large, and you will need help,” Robinson asked in a brisk tone I sensed he employed to lighten the serious tone of the conversation.

“No, the absence of both of us would be remarked. I need you here in case anyone should come to my door. You can tell them I am sleeping and must not be disturbed. In addition, someone must look after Chakkri. I do not wish a maid coming in here to clean and leaving the door open where the cat could slip out.”