The Smithfield Bargain (24 page)

Hyde Park was nearly deserted in the twilight. Only a few people rode its paths at such an unfashionable hour, but that suited Romayne. The quiet of its trees and flower beds, which soon would be coming alive with the first colors of spring, offered the tranquillity she had lost in the mad rush to have Ellen prepared for the Season.

“Isn't this lovely?” she asked as she sat back against the cushioned seat of the brightly painted gig. Tipping her ruffled bonnet so that she could see James, she smiled.

He laughed. “Romayne, I appreciate your attempt to make me feel at ease, but this is not Scotland.” Drawing her hand into his arm, he kept one hand on the reins as he drove along the bridle path.

“Will you go back to Scotland when your work is done here?”

“I must go wherever my commanders send me.” His cheerful grin returned as he added, “But, for now, my life is with you, Romayne. For better or for worse.”

“Usually the latter.”

“You truly believe that this is the worse?”

Romayne was about to retort in the same light vein, but her words faded as his gaze drew her to him. When the carriage slowed, although she knew it was against the canons of propriety to allow him to kiss her along the open path, she leaned toward him.

“Well, this is indeed a surprise!”

At the voice, she pulled away from James. She looked over her shoulder and saw a well-built man on a horse. When she noted another, lankier man beside him, she grimaced.

The gaunt man galloped up to the carriage and grabbed her hand. The scent of his favorite gin threatened to smother her as he gushed, “My dear, dear Lady Romayne!”

James put out his arm to keep the man from kissing her hand. As he withdrew her fingers from Newman's, Romayne said quietly, “Colonel Newman, I do not believe that you have met my husband.” Looking past him, she smiled at the other man, who had been riding at a more decorous pace. “Mr. Boumphrey, this is a pleasure as always.”

He tipped his beaver toward her, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced at his companion, who could not hide his vexation. Dressed as always as in nobby fashion, Norman Boumphrey would be the source of extreme interest for many mothers with unmarried daughters during the upcoming Season.

“Philomena did not tell me that you had returned to Town,” he said with a smile.

“We are only just arrived.” Romayne added to James, “This is Norman Boumphrey, whose sister-in-law, Lady Philomena, lives next door to us on Grosvenor Square. Mr. Boumphrey, my husband James MacKinnon.”

Colonel Newman intruded to say, “So you are MacKinnon.” His lips pulled back in a sneer as he raised his chin so that it cleared the tips of his high collar. “I had heard mumbles about some contrived Scottish wedding the Duke of Westhampton had devised. It strikes me as odd that he could not do better than you.”

“Colonel Newman,” gasped Romayne, “there is no need for such words.”

“Montcrief might have been wise when he rid himself of you and took up with Lady Philomena.”

“Philomena?” She looked at Mr. Boumphrey, who was frowning at the colonel. Bradley had reiterated his unending devotion to her in each of his letters. The colonel, in his gin-soaked daze, must have been mistaken. Recalling the part she must play, she said, “Colonel, you should know that I, as a married woman, have no say in what my former betrothed does.”

He laughed again. “Betrothed? The duke would never have granted you permission to marry that miserable dandy.” His long nose wrinkled. “But, then again, he allowed you to wed this Scotsman.”

“As I recall, His Grace did not grant
you
permission to wed his granddaughter,” James answered.

“Didn't want to marry her when I found out that the old duke had invested all of his money in that ridiculous arrangement. I assume that is news to you, MacKinnon. She is worthless.”

“Odd, for I was just thinking how much a treasure Romayne is.”

The colonel started to reply, but whatever he might have said was swallowed by Norman Boumphrey urging him to continue along the road. When, grumbling, Colonel Newman rode away, Mr. Boumphrey said, “He has been eager to give every bottle a black eye since he heard you had married another, Lady Romayne. I suspect he will be a thorn in your side and yours, MacKinnon, until he finds another lady to inflict his attentions upon.”

“Thank you for your warning,” Romayne said with a relieved smile. She had met Mr. Boumphrey only once before, for he seldom had been at his sister-in-law's house when Romayne gave Philomena a look-in.

“My pleasure, ma'am.” Again he tipped his hat to her, then said, “MacKinnon.”

Seeing how tightly James gripped the reins, she put her fingers over his. They loosened, and James rumbled a laugh under his breath as he drove the gig along the path edging the Serpentine.

“I can't believe that your grandfather entertained the idea of marrying you to that lushy cove,” he said. “Or mayhap he did not come to Westhampton Hall mauled by his time with the gin bottle.”

“He did.”

“Now I am beginning to understand why you considered Montcrief a gem beyond price.”

Her smile faded. “Don't talk of Bradley now.”

“When do you suggest we talk of him? Tonight when he is paying court on you before his guests?”

“You did not seem disturbed by the invitation when it arrived.”

“No, for it will give me a chance to scout out those who call themselves Montcrief's friends.”

Clenching her fists in her lap, she looked past the horse's nose. “You still believe Bradley is the traitor.”

“I don't think he is bobbish enough to devise such a plot himself, nor do I believe he has the contacts to obtain the information the traitor has stolen.”

“He knows many influential people in the government through his friends who are members of Brooks's.”

“Are you defending him or trying to clothe him in a turncoat's garb?”

“Neither, for I am stating a fact. Grandfather is a member as well as the colonel and Mr. Boumphrey. Will you accuse all of them of treason?”

Drawing back on the reins, he stopped the gig in the lengthening shadows. “Romayne, you defend Montcrief with such vigor, but you have told me you no longer love him.”

“I told you I was unsure.”

“So tonight you hope to discover the truth?”

“I hope to.” She gaze up at his face which was resculpted by the fading light. “Are you having second thoughts about going?”

He gently brushed her bonnet back from her face. “Don't you know that I have been having second and third and hundredth thoughts about you? You never are far from my mind.”

Closing her eyes, she whispered, “You mustn't say things like that.”

“Why? Can you push
this
from your mind?” The slight emphasis was her only warning before he crushed her lips beneath his.

She could fight the tides of longing no more than she could halt her hands from slipping beneath his coat to draw him to her. Awash in the exhilaration of his touch, she trembled as his fingers swept along her, brazen and tender at the same time. Only when he leaned her back against the cushions did she shake her head in dismay.

“James, I thought … You said …” She flushed and pulled her bonnet over her hair.

“That we must be only partners in this scheme to save England from Boney's clutches?” His laugh was as cold as a Scottish night.

“Yes.”

“But we are unique partners, dearie, for we are married.”

“Only pretending to be married.”

James looked down and tapped the ring hidden beneath her kid gloves. “Yes, only pretending. Now you see the danger.”

“Danger?”

“Of letting ourselves become enmeshed in a passion that we must not feel.”

“You ask me to negate emotions that …” Fear pulsed through her as she was compelled to own that the yearning was escalating beyond her ability to govern it. “I shall try, James.”

His smile was both warm and sorrowful. “I know you shall, dearie. You must never allow yourself to forget, as I shan't, the true reason we spoke our vows before the pastor. The cost of forgetting will be far more than your reputation. It could mean the loss of freedom for every Englishman and his family.”

Chapter Fourteen

“You will watch over her every minute?”

Romayne looked up, surprised. Although Dora had been thrilled to have her daughter join in the excitement of the Marriage Mart, her voice was whetted with worry.

Grange hurried to answer, “You have my assurance I will watch over Ellen as closely as I watched over Lady Romayne.”

“And you, Romayne? Will you keep your eye on Ellen, too?”

“Of course,” she said softly, wondering how Dora could fail to see how her question insulted Grange. Then, with a sigh, she knew Ellen's mother had every right to ask it. Grange
had
let Romayne slip away to elope.

Ellen burst into the room before Romayne had a chance to soothe her abigail's ruffled feathers. She twirled, and the flared hem of her dress belled around her. She giggled as the silk came to a stop with a whispered hush. The ribbons of her slippers flashed a silvery sparkle as she pretended to be curtsying to a dance partner.

Clapping her hands with glee, she cried, “Romayne, you look wondrous! Your dress could be one of the gowns in
Ackerman's Repository!
”

With a laugh, Romayne adjusted the ruffles along the scooped neckline of her blue crepe gown. The white sarcenet slip announced every motion she made with a rustle. Her chamois slippers peeked from beneath the rows of French work at the hem.

“Come and let us find you something to accent that dress,” she said as she opened the cherrywood box in front of her. Lifting out the top tray, she set the jewelry to one side. She fingered the gold and silver pieces that were stored under it, looking for exactly what she wanted.

Ellen gasped as Romayne held a sapphire and silver filigree necklace up to her throat. “For me to wear?” she whispered.

“And these.” She put the necklace and a pair of matching eardrops in Ellen's hand, which trembled with excitement. “They will be perfect with that dress.”

Running to stand in front of the cheval glass, Ellen latched the necklace in place and hooked the earrings on. She pressed her hands to her lips as if she could not contain her joy. It blossomed from her eyes as she whirled to ask, “You really don't mind that I borrow these lovely ornaments?”

Romayne smiled. “As I said, they look perfect with that gown. After all, what good do they do sitting in the jewel box?” She drew on her elbow-length white gloves and reached for her bonnet with its ruched silk lining. Glancing at the velvet-lined box that Grange had brought from the small vault in the dressing room, she hesitated. She had chosen no jewelry for herself.

Her fingers lingered over a gold chain that was decorated by a single pearl. With a shudder, she picked up the tray, put it back in the box, and closed the lid. The sight of the pearl brought back the moment when she had been forced to watch the highwayman rip her betrothal ring off her finger. Maybe sometime in the distant future, when the memory of that night had faded, she would be able to wear pearls again, but not this evening when she was about to reenter Society as a different woman than the one who had left it months before.

“Oh, Romayne, how shall I remember all that I am supposed to do and say?”

Forcing a smile on her stiff lips, she said, “You'll do fine, Ellen. Remember that you are not officially out until the party here next week, so you would be wise to keep your conversations light.”

“Do you mean that I shouldn't flirt shamelessly?” She laughed when her mother choked back her horror. Kissing Dora on the cheek, she pulled her borrowed shawl of blue silk over her shoulders. “Dear Romayne and Mama and Grange, I have no interest in dalliances. I promise not to act so forward. To own the truth, I can think only of not making a complete goosecap of myself.” Twisting the shawl so the long gold fringe wove a pattern across her skirt, she asked with sudden sobriety, “Do you think I can do that?”

Romayne put her arm around her. “I have no doubts of your grand success. You need only to smile, and I swear that a battalion of swains will throw themselves at your feet.”

“What a horrid thought! Who would wish a clutter of admirers underfoot?” Ellen teased.

Laughing, Romayne walked with Ellen along the upper corridor. “You shall astound them with your plain-spoken ways.”

“I shall try to be couthie—pleasant,” she corrected herself with the return of her smile.

Ellen continued to chatter as they, with Grange following closely, descended the staircase to where James would be waiting impatiently. Romayne paid little attention to Ellen's nothing-sayings. Although the pinks, who enjoyed the flirtations of the Season almost as much as their chance to parade their garish clothes, were sure to turn their eyes upon Ellen, she wondered what the men on the Marriage Mart would think of her. Ellen was pretty, but she had neither title nor wealth to make her an appealing prize.

If Bradley had invited most of his tie-mates, Romayne was certain she would have no trouble convincing someone to escort Ellen into dinner. Several of his friends clung to their bachelor fare, determined not to be leg-shackled until they were bored with the whirl of the Season, but they would be delighted to enjoy Ellen's wit at this intimate gathering.

“Jamie,” Ellen cried, as she ran down the stairs, “look at us! Aren't we bonnie tonight?”

Romayne started to laugh, but her breath caught in her throat when she looked down into the foyer, which was a miniature of Westhampton Hall. She had witnessed the transformation in Ellen and had thought herself prepared to see James in the smart costume of a London dandy. What she had not considered was how his raw virility could not be tamed by the ruffled front of his shirt or the sedate cut of his green coat. She gasped a second time when she realized that the clothes he wore were the very ones she had described the day before they left Struthcoille. He even wore the gold buttons and nankeen trousers to bring her fantasy to life.