The Book Of Scandal (39 page)

“I can’t sleep.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“I have a better idea,” she whispered, and kissed him as she climbed on top of him.

Nathan left Evelyn sleeping deeply as only she could do, tangled in the linens.

He had an early breakfast and then took a horse to Darlington’s.

His friend was breaking his fast as Nathan explained what he’d heard.

“The coterie,” Darlington repeated thoughtfully.

“Would the prince be involved in something as vile as murdering Princess Caroline?” Nathan asked.

Darlington instantly shook his head. “He is a profligate to be sure, but not a murderer. And he was the first to offer he knew nothing of the princess’s carriage accident when the plot was revealed.”

“Oh?”

“The princess had heard the accident was no accident—one can only guess how; enemies of the prince, I should think—but she has threatened to make it public. Even if the prince is innocent, he won’t be perceived so in the public’s eye, and well the monarchy knows it. The king was so incensed that he vowed to see those who had planned it hanged. Perhaps Dunhill was involved?”

“No,” Nathan said, shaking his head. “He was frightened when I saw him. My guess is that he knew of the plot, but did not participate.”

Darlington looked at him over the top of his teacup. “Did your wife know of it?”

“No.”

“It hardly matters if she did,” Darlington said. “Obviously a member of this coterie believes she did, and believes she is a danger to their own fool neck.” He glanced at Nathan. “You must be very careful.”

Nathan thought of the child Evelyn was carrying. “I will. But I will not stop. I’ll pay a call to Wilkes and see what he knows.”

“Good luck with it,” Darlington said, and stood with Nathan. “If there is anything I can do to help, you mustn’t hesitate.”

“Thank you,” Nathan said, realizing that Darlington was one of the few men he could trust.

On the drive at Darlington’s, as Nathan waited for his horse to be brought round, he withdrew the calling card Wilkes had left with Benton. On the back, Wilkes had written his location. He’d taken up residence in Donnelly’s London town home until Donnelly returned from Ireland in the spring.

Nathan idly turned the card over and looked at the engraving. Sir Oliver Wilkes, it said. He was about to put the card in his pocket, but something caught his eye. He held the card in his palm and looked at it again. There was an elaborate scroll at the top of the card, with vines that trailed around the edges. But in that scroll, tucked in and scattered between the leaves and vines, were tiny letters: T. P. C.

T, P, C…he mused. TPC. The…“The coterie,” he muttered, as that word was much on his mind, and then shook his head. Of course it wasn’t the coterie. What would P stand for? “The prince,” he smirked…

Nathan froze. The prince’s coterie. Wilkes, a friend who was in Nathan’s company as often as he was in the prince’s company. It was just as Ramsey had said. He blinked at the card. “No,” he muttered. “It couldn’t possibly be.” TPC. The prince’s coterie. But this was Wilkes! Wilkes would never be involved in a plot to kill the princess…or Evelyn, for God’s sake!

But as Nathan thought more of it, his heart sank like a rock. It was at Wilkes’s urging he’d taken that awful road from England to Eastchurch. Wilkes had been the only man besides himself to know he would take that road. At the time, Nathan had believed the attempted robbery of his coach a random occurrence, but it was possible that it had been the first attempt on Evelyn’s life. Given the rift between Nathan and Evelyn, it is possible Wilkes did not think he would ride with her.

Moreover, on the day the orangery burned, Nathan and Evelyn met Wilkes dressed in a cloak in the foyer of the house when everyone else was fighting the blaze. Was it possible he had needed time to circle around through the forest and into the house to make it appear he had been within?

Wilkes knew the forest quite well, too, didn’t he? He’d know the path of the streams. They’d certainly hunted that forest enough—

Hunted.

Dear God. Frances had said the man who had sent Evelyn to the river was “one of the hunters” and had “small brown eyes.” Both descriptions fit Wilkes.

Mother of God. Nathan stared blindly at Cedric when the boy handed him the reins, his heart and head reeling with his suspicions. He could not fathom how a man who had been like a brother to him could plot to kill his wife.

He felt suddenly anxious about Evelyn. He swung up on his mount and headed for his father’s house.

Benton told him she was in the marquis’s study with Mr. Nelson. He burst into that room, startling them both. “Mr. Nelson, please leave us,” he said.

“Nathan?” Evelyn said, rising to her feet as Mr. Nelson gathered his things and hurried out. Nathan looked at his beautiful wife. His pulse was pounding, thrumming in his throat, echoing through him. Wilkes had slept under the same roof as she. He deliberately took a breath. And another.

“Nathan!” Evelyn said again, clearly alarmed.

“It is Wilkes,” he said, his voice incredulous.

“Wilkes?”

“It is Wilkes who has tried to harm you, Evie.”

She gaped at him, as stunned and confused as he was. “Why?”

Nathan shook his head. “That, I cannot fathom.” He proceeded to tell her what he suspected, showing her the card. Evelyn’s eyes grew wider as she listened. When Nathan had finished, she hugged herself tightly and twirled away from him, staring at the window. “Oh my God.”

“I am going to him now,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to kill him. I’m—”

“Nathan!” Evelyn said, catching his arm. “No, Nathan, wait,” Evelyn said. “If you are certain the prince is unaware of who has done this in his name, then he must hear it.”

“That’s impossible. Wilkes might admit his involvement when I confront him, but he would never admit it to the prince. That would be admitting high treason, and he would be hanged for it.”

“Yet there is no proof,” she wisely reminded him. “You cannot present mere suspicions to the prince. In the absence of proof, you must arrange for the prince to hear it from Wilkes’s own lips.”

What she said made sense, but for the life of him, Nathan could not imagine how they might manage it. He shook his head again. “It is impossible.”

“No,” she said, her eyes shining with determination. “No, it is quite possible. Come with me,” she said, and reached for his hand. “I have an idea.”

A s Nathan expected he would, Wilkes accepted his invitation to dine with him and Evelyn a few days later.

“Benton!” Nathan called out as he entered the grand salon to survey it.

“Yes, my lord?” Benton asked, appearing suddenly from behind one of the Oriental screens.

“Lord God, you gave me a start,” Nathan said gruffly. “Everything is in order?”

“Yes, my lord,” Benton said calmly.

“You best hope that it is, Benton. I would hate to see you hawking chickens at Covent Garden.”

“Wine, my lord?” Benton asked, unfazed.

Nathan snorted. “Whiskey, please. A barrel of it if you have it.”

With his whiskey firmly in hand, Nathan paced restlessly until Benton reappeared to tell Nathan that Wilkes’s coach had just pulled into the drive.

Nathan drew a steadying breath. “Please see him in, and send someone to tell her ladyship our guest has arrived.”

With a nod, Benton went out to fetch their traitor.

Moments later, Wilkes strolled in behind Benton, a smile on his face. “Good evening, Lindsey,” he said congenially.

“Ah, Wilkes,” Nathan said, extending his hand. “Good evening. I know a look of thirst on a man—would you like a tot of Donnelly’s devil whiskey?”

Wilkes laughed. “You know me well, old friend.”

Nathan nodded to Benton, who walked to a sideboard at the far end of the formal salon and between the two Oriental screens to fetch the whiskey.

“There was quite a lot of traffic on the street,” Wilkes remarked.

“Ah, yes. Fawcett is hosting a gathering this evening,” Nathan said, and looked at Wilkes. “Perhaps after this interminable supper with my interminable wife, we might find a game there.”

“Splendid,” Wilkes said, his eyes lighting as he took the whiskey Benton offered him and a seat. “I’ve not seen you in an age, Lindsey. What have you been about? A fair young mistress, I hope, with silken hair and alabaster skin.”

“Unfortunately, no,” Nathan said, and hoped to high heaven he did not look as enraged as he felt as he sat directly across from Wilkes. “What of you, sir? How did you find your mother?”

“Exceedingly well. Have you word from Lambourne or Donnelly?”

“Not a word,” Nathan said.

“I should hope Lambourne is deep in Scotland by now,” Wilkes said with a grin. “The prince told me that it would be his pleasure to question him personally.” He laughed.

“Indeed?” Nathan drawled. “You seem to know quite a lot about the prince these days, sir.”

Wilkes shrugged and casually crossed his legs. “I only know what we all know of the prince—he likes his women and his drink. As a result, he’s been rendered inept. He’s in need of strong counsel, if you ask me.”

A sound from near the screens drew their attention; Nathan slowly turned his head.

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Benton said, bowing low at the sideboard.

Nathan gave the butler a quick once-over and casually returned to his conversation. “It is interesting you mention the prince in that regard,” Nathan said. “I’ve heard there is concern for the king’s condition again.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that as well.” Wilkes sighed. “George is inept, but he’d make a better king, I should think…with the right people around him, of course. That is our king’s failure, you know. He never had the right men,” Wilkes opined.

An interesting notion. Nathan looked at him appraisingly and chose his words carefully. “Perhaps that is true,” he agreed for the sake of argument. “He could use a good head such as yours, eh?”

Wilkes laughed. “I will not deny that I have much to gain if George ascends the throne. The same as you,” he said, with a subtle wink.

Nathan smiled and raised his tot in response.

“The building of nations is tedious work,” Wilkes added, settling back like some elder statesman about to impart his wisdom. “Perhaps too tedious for a prince who prefers laudanum to Parliament.”

Nathan smiled. “I suppose—”

The door suddenly banged open and Evelyn, in high dudgeon, stepped across the threshold, clutching a piece of vellum.

Nathan and Wilkes instantly clambered to their feet.

“Good evening, Sir Wilkes,” Evelyn said sweetly, then turned a murderous gaze to Nathan.

“Lady Lindsey, how well you look,” Wilkes said, bowing. “The air at Eastchurch agrees with you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said, and glided into the room.

“Wine, madam?” Benton asked.

“Oh, no thank you, Benton. I won’t be staying.”

“Pardon?” Nathan asked sharply. “We have a guest—”

“Because I found this, Nathan,” she said, holding up the vellum. “A lovely note from Lady Fawcett—or, as she writes to you, Beth. How could you?” she demanded.

“Evelyn, it is nothing,” Nathan said, glancing at Wilkes. “It is hardly cause for a scene.”

“It’s always nothing with you! Lady Fawcett, Lady Copperley—there is no end to them!”

“No end?” he shot back. “And what of you and Dunhill, my sweet? Is there any end to your perfidy?”

Evelyn gasped. “You are half the man he is!”

“My lady!” Wilkes exclaimed, alarmed. “Lindsey, perhaps we should sit—”

“Wilkes, help me,” Evelyn said desperately. “Help me convince Lindsey to divorce!”

Startled, Wilkes looked at Nathan. “I—”

“There is no other option open to me other than death!”

“Evelyn!” Nathan snapped.

“It’s true! I’d rather die than remain married to you!”

Nathan suddenly lunged and grabbed her arm. “Hush now, wife, or you may have your wish.”

“Keep your hands off me,” she hissed, and jerked her arm free of his grasp. She twirled about, marching from the salon as dramatically as she’d entered.

In the awkward silence that followed, Nathan ran a hand over the top of his head. “See after her, Benton,” he said softly, and waited for his butler to leave the room.

Benton quickly followed, leaving the door slightly ajar. Nathan smiled sheepishly at Wilkes. “I beg your pardon, Wilkes. I am sorry you had to witness that.”

“No apology necessary.”

“There are times I wish I’d never laid eyes on her,” Nathan added morosely. He picked up his tot and downed the contents. “She’s an impossible wife…I have more in common with George than you know.”

“Then perhaps you should consider divorce. Men cannot be so encumbered. Think of it, Lindsey—the woman has made you the laughingstock of London with her affairs. Rid yourself of her.”

Nathan bristled. “I don’t know if it is possible,” he said tightly.

“There are many who have come to the conclusion that George would be a better king were he to ascend to the throne without the weight of Princess Caroline burdening him.”

“A better king,” Nathan drawled, working to restrain his murderous rage.

“A happier king,” Wilkes clarified. “Perhaps even willing to reward those who helped remove the weight with a substantial boon.”

“But the king seems unwilling to allow a divorce,” Nathan reminded him.

“Perhaps—no one can judge his muddled mind, to be sure. Nevertheless, there are other options,” Wilkes said. “Granted, George is too caught up in the gossip and talk to think things through clearly,” Wilkes said, his distaste evident, “but that is why he needs good men around him, men who can look farther than the next meal or bout in the sack and think of what it is that Britain needs in a king. Men who can devise creative ways to reduce the prince’s burden when a path is not clearly evident.”

“And there are men who are thinking this way for him?”

“Throughout history, men have done as much for the Prince of Wales. It is a lord’s duty to the crown.”

“What lords?” Nathan asked.

Wilkes smiled. “Men who could help you as well, Lindsey.”