The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (32 page)

No, dash it all, she didn't want him. Perhaps hadn't even wanted him years ago.

"Tony, there you are. We wondered where you dashed off to."

Tony turned around to see Wedmont and Davies approaching him.

"Drugged anyone tonight?" Wedmont asked Algany.

"Christ," muttered Algany as he ground out his half-smoked cheroot under his heel. "Time for me to return inside."

The three men watched Algany go back in the house.

"So your wife is the one who marked him for life?"

"She has her own way of confronting problems." Davies folded his arms behind his back. "We came out in case you needed assistance with Algany."

"I told you we didn't need to," said Wedmont. "Never known Algany to present a problem to another man. Let alone that Sheridan could handle more than either of us could, being a soldier and all."

"Officer. We probably ought to go back inside before we cause Felicity to postpone dinner." Tony, of course, couldn't walk as fast as Algany had, so he started his slow limp toward the house, and the other two fell in step beside him.

"You were engaged to her once, weren't you?" asked Wedmont.

"There, and I was hoping to curtail the awkward questions." Tony knew better. He'd been to Eton with these two and he'd never known Wedmont to keep his mouth shut.

"So why'd she married someone else?"

Davies reached out and thumped the back of Wedmont's head. "Her boy is, what, almost six? You've been gone, what, six and half, not quite seven years, Tony?"

"Sir," Tony objected. Davies, he trusted, would keep his mouth shut, but Wedmont was a different story. Would everyone figure it out?

"Never fear, I'll shoot him again if he says anything."

"Again?" asked Tony weakly.

Wedmont shot Davies a dark look. "Yes, again. We fought a duel last year. Cursed pistols and all that."

"Well, I'm not entirely too sure who won if the curse is true," muttered Davies.

"You did, you ninny. You are mad about Sophie."

"And where is Mary Frances? Why didn't you bring her to London? Although Sophie says her letters have been getting odd."

"You are mad about Sophie, and my wife is just plain mad."

Suddenly the two changed from squabbling boys to consoling men when Davies put his arm about Wedmont's shoulder. "I always thought there was something brittle about Sophie's friend."

Wedmont shrugged off the maudlin moment. "Are George and Amelia on the outs again?"

"Not that I know of..." Davies hesitated. "Bloody hell, she didn't!"

"Are these secrets for my consumption?" asked Tony, wondering if the other two men had forgotten his presence.

The two men exchanged a look, and Tony stepped back, realizing how similar they looked. How had he spent eight years in school with them and never realized?

"I suppose if you get us drunk enough, we'll tell all," said Wedmont. "Or at least I will. He won't last long before he'll have to go home to Sophie."

Davies shoved Wedmont away. "What have you been doing since you've been back in town, Sheridan?"

"Investigating a murder. Are you two...brothers?" That wasn't possible. They must be cousins, but he couldn't recollect the link in their respective lineages.

"Oh, he's good," said Wedmont.

"Never say so, but yes."

"And we are quite wondering if Miss Fielding is part of our big, happy family."

"I just can't see your father having an affair with a Cit's daughter," said Davies.

"No, I think he had pretty much moved onto cheap whores by the time Miss Fielding would have come upon the world."

"Tell us about this murder," said Davies.

"Not if you're this loose-lipped."

"Only with each other," said Davies.

"And old school chums," said Wedmont. "We could always trust you, Sheridan."

"I'm glad someone feels that way," said Tony, opening the front door.

"You are living here, aren't you?" Davies said. "Sophie said so, but she's half-baked sometimes."

"Didn't hear it from me," said Tony, but he had erred in simply opening the door instead of knocking and waiting for a footman to do the honors.

Chapter Twenty

"Oh, Mr. Bedford, you have made me the happiest of women." Meg clapped her hands together. The sound, of course, was muffled by the gloves she would have to wear all the way through dinner. Lord, how was she to manage eating with gloves on?

"Yes, well, look, we shall discuss it later, during the dancing after dinner. I will need to know your full name and all so I might put it on the special license."

He suddenly looked nervous.

Meg bit her lip and then plunged in. "Diana Margaret Brown Fielding." Surely the marriage could never be put aside if her real name was on the license.

"Brown Fielding?" echoed Mr. Bedford weakly.

Meg nodded, pasting on her most innocent face.
Oh, please, don't let him pull up now
. She very nearly had him. And frankly, she could have done much worse. He had quite the loveliest eyes.

She knew that ten thousand pounds was a lot of money. She hoped that Felicity wouldn't withdraw her dowry, because she was marrying a man Felicity objected to, but that mattered less than getting Mr. Bedford's ring on her finger, and the marriage right, tight, and legal. One bridge at a time.

Why would Felicity withdraw the offer, anyway? The only real danger was if she discovered that her niece was really dead and Meg Brown, illegitimate daughter of an earl, sometime prostitute and soon-to-be wife of a member of the ton, was posing as her niece.

"Miss Fielding, I want to beg a favor of you."

"Anything."

"See that woman over there, Miss Lungren?"

"The one you have been dancing attendance on all evening?" Meg pulled back. The last thing she wanted was to sound shrewish before the wedding. "I didn't mean that as it sounded."

Mr. Bedford—she should call him William now, which would mean he'd call her Diana, never mind, she'd change that after the wedding—looked a little nonplussed.

"Please, William..." She dipped her eyes and looked through her lashes in what she hoped was a cross between demure and flirtatious. "How can I help Miss Lungren?"

"She is ill, and I want you to keep an eye on her and remove her from the company if she seems poorly."

"Should she be here? What if she carries some contagion?" Meg put her hand on his sleeve. "Not that I am worried for myself. I am never sick, but Felicity will be mortified if people fall ill after her dinner party."

It occurred to her, after she said that she never got sick, that she had just shot a giant hole in her pretense of being the sickly Diana. Blimey, she needed to get him to marry her fast. Then she should make sure they spent the first week of their marriage in bed, because nothing calmed a man better than that. Explaining away her skills between the sheets might be a little difficult, though.

She blinked rapidly, hardly listening as her future husband leaned close and whispered in her ear.

"She's not contagious. She's being poisoned."

"Poisoned!" blurted Meg.

William's wince would have more than expressed Meg's frustration with her own slip. She clapped a hand over her mouth, then lifted it to whisper, "I'm sorry. I just...poisoned?"

She looked over William's shoulder at the pale and pained woman. Only half the room was looking in their direction. The other half likely hadn't heard. Meg searched desperately for a cover for her outcry. "Robespierre didn't use poison, did he? I mean, I thought he practically invented the guillotine."

It was enough. Most of the faces turned away, bored with the talk of France and its criminals. Only the three Lungren sisters continued to stare in their direction.

Meg tried to rap William on the arm with her fan to imitate one of the society ladies, but the dratted thing came half open as she did it, and William stared at her as she tried to fold it back up.

"We'd better end this tête-à-tête, before someone summons your aunt."

Blimey, she'd broken the ivory spines of the dratted fan. Which only went to show that her female talents lay in a much more earthy realm. She yanked the cords free of her wrist as William turned away, and tossed the thing in the direction of the brass coal bucket.

* * *

Dinner went smoothly as course after course was served. Only the servants removing the dishes kept people from gorging on the food. Tony winked at Felicity. He could see how tense she was from his vantage at mid-table. But then, this was likely the first ton party she'd ever thrown without her husband.

He knew she was worried about her niece and the row between Lord Algany and Sophie Davies. That was an interesting pairing: the outspoken Sophie and the reserved Keene. He turned his attention to Miss Lungren.

She stirred her food in a desultorily way, but she had eaten some. It had perhaps been boorish of them to insist that she come with them. Then, of course, they would have to decide if it was safe for her to return home.

Felicity stood signaling the retreat of the ladies for tea, and the men were left to their port. Lord Algany left the table shortly after the ladies, in the midst of the gentlemen switching places and rearranging chairs. Tony wondered if he should follow him, and then decided he should do Felicity more service by making sure the gentlemen didn't linger too long over their port, so the dancing might commence before midnight.

Not that Tony would be dancing, not with his leg.

Bedford took a chair to one side of him, and Randy grabbed the other.

"We can't let her go home and just be poisoned to death," said Bedford.

Randy rubbed his forehead. "Christ, what a coil. Don't know that we should allow any of them to go home."

"If I could just figure out what they grew in that garden besides vegetables," said Tony.

Bedford looked at him a minute, the churning thoughts in his brain box visible on his face. "Castor beans. My nurse used to make me take castor oil every day, until I started pouring it down the ashes chute." He shuddered. "Vile stuff. Didn't Mrs. Lungren say they replaced her asters with castor beans?"

"Peas, actually. But she did say they planted castor beans." Randy turned to Tony. "Are castor beans a poison?"

Tony looked down the table, keeping his voice low. "Yes, you can grind the beans into a poison that makes the blood congeal. I must look up to see if its effect is cumulative."

"That has to be it, then," said Randy. "What should we do now?"

"Bedford, you have the best luck with Miss Lungren. Find out what she's eaten lately, and who is preparing and serving her food. Randy, confirm with Miss Carolyn if they grew castor beans in the garden. I'm going to check my book, and then I'll see if I can't learn from Miss Jocelyn who might have access to the kitchens or their meals."

"Then what do we do?" asked Bedford.

"Let's meet in the green drawing room just before it is time to take the ladies home, so we might discuss what we've learned and make a decision."

"Hope we will know something—anything. This situation grows more troublesome day by day," said Randy.

"We simply cannot allow another murder to take place," said Bedford.

"Especially not if it is yours," said Tony. "Let's clear the dining room, so Felicity can get the dancing under way."

* * *

After dinner everything seemed to be progressing smoothly. Felicity heaved a sigh of relief. Other than the incident with Lord Algany in the green drawing room, everything had gone as planned. The musicians were playing in the far corner of the ballroom. Lord Algany hadn't been seen since dinner, but Felicity supposed he might have just taken his leave. Tony was missing too, but no doubt he would show up sooner or later.

The only thing that made her evening odd was that during a waltz, she had received a marriage proposal from a gentleman she barely knew.

She hadn't realized there were so many fortune hunters in the world. Or that they would have so little finesse. Which quite made her wonder how many gentlemen were biding their time and seeking her interest before proposing. She grew skittish anytime a man approached her.

She knew most of them would only ask for a dance, but she would get busy with her servants or fixing a decoration or grabbing Diana and thrusting her in front of her. One poor gentleman had nearly run off when she said, "Oh, you have come to ask my niece to dance. How lovely."

He hadn't. She knew he hadn't. What was worse, he knew she knew he hadn't.

Tony finally entered the ballroom, and she sent him a desperate glance.

He limped across the floor toward her, and she wanted to run and meet him halfway.

"Would you like to dance, Felicity?"

"Oh, yes, please." To dance with Tony again would be lovely. She remembered how much she had enjoyed dancing with him her first season, and how handsome he had looked in his scarlet uniform.

Lord Wedmont stood in front of her, extending his elbow, "Mrs. Merriwether..."

For a confused second she looked at him, then at Tony, and realized Tony had summoned someone to dance with her rather than dance with her himself.

She placed her fingertips on Lord Wedmont's arm, and he led her onto the floor. "You needn't worry, I shan't propose. I already have one rich wife. Shan't need another."

"Oh, did you see that?" she said, shocked into admitting that she had received a proposal.

"Amelia heard it. She was near you on the floor. Although I have to say, I wish I had waited a year."

Felicity blinked.

"I can pry Keene away from his wife to spare you a dance or two. I should imagine that between the lieutenant, Bedford, Keene, and me, we should be able to keep you well away from the fortune hunters and Algany. Although we might not allow you too much time in Bedford's company."

"I...he..."

"I know. As a former fortune hunter, he was ever underfoot last season."

Felicity decided she might as well let Lord Wedmont talk. "He was?"

"Now, what I want to know is, where did your niece spring from? Is she from your husband's side of the family?"