Too Dangerous For a Lady (35 page)

She fell out of sight as Mark slowly lowered the smoking pistol with a shaking hand. Right or wrong, he'd killed a woman, if not in cold blood, then with cool, clear calculation. And he'd do it again in the same situation.

Hawkinville returned. “The gas engineers will have the final say, but it looks like superficial damage. You fired a shot?”

“Solange Waite is dead.”

“Good work, but let's make sure.”

Mark went with him across the communal yard and back into the house. An officer was already coming downstairs. “One dead woman, sir. No one else.”

“He's dealt with,” Hawkinville said. “Satisfactory,” he said to Mark, “especially if she was the linchpin as you say. Now to find something to link Waite to this.”

“You won't. He dislikes violence and destruction.”

“Then he steers a damned odd course.”

“He longs for glory and deludes himself about how it can be achieved. By all means arrest him. Hold him and frighten him with the possible consequences. The lack of habeas corpus allows that. That, along with having to face what Solange planned, should break him. He'll help you destroy the Brotherhood and be grateful to be allowed a quiet, scholarly life. Without Durrant his writings will lack all fire.”

“I wish we could hang him, but you're probably right
about him going free. When people like him are found not guilty, it makes matters worse. What of Durrant and the others? Pity we can't tie them to this. We don't have much else that would hang them.”

“Tregoven will disappear. He has no true conviction. He'll find some other slimy way to try to glitter. Durrant will probably attach himself to another prominent speaker, so you might get him one day. There's Ezra Croke, but he's nothing more than a bookkeeper. You could squeeze him if you want to know any secret contributors to the cause, though as best I know, Waite funded most of it himself. Now, I go to prove to my bride-to-be that I've survived.”

“I assume I can't call on you again?”

Mark was tempted, but he said, “Only for the theoretical end of things.”

Mark traveled back to Belcraven House with Arden, who complained of his tame part of it. “Though Beth would have no patience with pointless heroics.”

“I hope Hermione agrees mine weren't pointless.”

Their ladies berated them, but with shining relief. Mark took Hermione to the drawing room and confessed what he'd done. “It was necessary, love, but I promise, only advisory roles in the future.”

“Truly?” she asked.

“Truly. I don't regret killing Solange, but it was different to killing people in the war. I don't want to be in that situation again short of the most dire need.”

She drew him down onto a sofa. “I'm glad. I don't want you in danger, but more than that, I don't want you scarred inside.”

He kissed her tenderly, at length. “How delightful to be betrothed,” he said, “and this permitted.”

“Being married will be even better. The license?” She was eager for it now.

“Somehow it slipped my mind. I'd better drag myself away and get it.”

“Then we could be married tomorrow.” But then she added, “I do worry that you'll grow bored.”

He laughed. “With a too-prosperous estate, a poorly cared-for house, and Rogues watching my every move as husband?”

“They have no right.”

“I'm glad of them. You have no other men to protect you.”

“I have you, and I need no protection from you. When I think on it, you have no protection from me.”

He chuckled. “I could probably summon some army friends if you turn overwhelmingly violent.”

“That smug look could tempt me, sir. There will doubtless be times when I want to hit you with a poker.”

“Which is where we began our adventures.” He kissed her soundly. “I'm off to get that license, you bold piece, so you'll soon be mine in all senses of the word.”

*   *   *

They married the next day, in a simple way Hermione found perfect, in Edgar's room, with the Ardens in attendance, along with Thayne's friend Beau Braydon, and Nolly and Peter standing by.

She'd discussed the Rogues with Thayne the evening before.

“They might like to attend. I feel perhaps I should invite the ones in Town for Roger's sake.”

He'd picked up on her reluctance. “But they do tend to take over. Arden will do, love.”

“I'd forgotten he's one. Perfect. Edgar's room's too small for more in any case.”

They were alone after having signed the rapidly drawn-up settlements. Thayne had made no objection to restrictions or demands and the Ardens had witnessed them. As the evening was mild, they'd strolled out in the garden, which was delightful even without the lamps. They'd
remembered the past and shared more of their lives during the five years they'd been apart.

There, Thayne had given her an unusual gift. “About the new Marquess of Carsheld,” he'd said.

“Porteous?”

“You felt he was cleverer than you to find coal on the estate, but I had someone look into it. Pure luck, love.”

“Luck?”

“More new developments. Apparently there was an obstacle to deep mining called the ninety-fathom dyke, but it's been recently overcome. Carsheld didn't do anything for his new wealth. Other landowners and their engineers approached him.”

She'd stared at him. “I don't know whether to be pleased not to have been foolish or outraged at the injustice of it. If Father had lived another year . . . !”

He kissed her. “Don't we have good fortune enough, love? In all meanings of the word?” Which was completely, perfectly true.

For the wedding she'd chosen the pink evening gown. It wasn't suitable for day wear, even though she'd added a white silk shawl, pinned together at the front, for decency, but it was perfect. She'd fashioned a pin with white silk rosebuds and fixed the shawl in place with it at the front of the bodice. When she entered Edgar's room, she saw Thayne's eyes light.

She beamed back at him. His dark blue coat sported bright brass buttons.

She went to Edgar, who was sitting in a chair with a rug over his knees. He took her hand. “I've had a talk with him,” the old man said. “He'll do.”

“Of course he will.”

“If I'm giving you away, I'll know and approve. I'll be a father to you if you'll let me, Hermione.”

She kissed his cheek. “Of course I will, with thanks.”

“Then you'll take a father's gift.” He brought out a long red box from under the rug and gave it to her.

“I hope it's not sharp,” she teased as she took it. The cover was fine leather.

“Served you well enough, so don't complain. Open it.”

She did, expecting jewelry, but inside was a slender, pale carving.

“Jade,” he said. “It's supposed to give long life and happiness to the owner.”

“A precious gift,” she said, showing it to Thayne.

He said, “Amen,” then looked at Edgar. “I may have her, then?”

“And if I said no?”

“Despite your age and infirmity, I'd insist.”

“Good man. Get on with it.”

They joined hands and faced the clergyman and simply made their vows.

An hour later they set off for Hartwell, the Ardens' country retreat in Surrey, where they'd begin their honeymoon. Hermione had feared it would be too grand, but though luxurious, it was a small house set in rustic gardens and completely delightful.

She had to laugh, however, when she saw a nightgown and a nightshirt spread neatly before the fire to be warm. They hadn't brought attendants. He didn't yet have a valet, Nolly wasn't really a lady's maid, and they wanted to be alone, so she asked, “How?”

“Simple planning. But that doesn't mean we have to wear them.”

“We certainly do. I expect . . . Yes,” she said, opening an adjoining door. “Here's my dressing room, and you must have a matching one.” She grabbed the nightgown. “Off you go, husband, till we meet again.”

She needed help to undress, so she rang for a maid, but once gown and corset were off, she dismissed the woman.
She washed and put on the pristine nightgown, then sat to brush out her hair. She took her time, enjoying the delay. Enjoying the tingling anticipation building inside her.

Eventually she put down the brush. It was time. As she went to the door, however, she felt oddly nervous. The last time, the first time, it had been in white-hot passion fueled by her grief and relief. This. This was different.

She looked at her golden wedding ring, smiled, and went in. He was standing by the bed in his nightshirt. He'd extinguished the candles, so the room was lit only by firelight.

“Wife,” he said.

“Husband,” she replied. “How perfect this is.”

“From first to last and ever more.” He turned back the covers. “Will you, Lady Faringay?”

She climbed onto the bed, still decently covered. “With pleasure, Lord Faringay.” She grinned at him. “I wonder how other couples do this.”

“In all ways known and then some,” he said, joining her and pulling the covers over them. “But this is perfect for us.” He gathered her in against him, cloth thick and rumpled between them. “This is home and hearth and tranquil days. That's what I want for you, my love, and what I'll strive to give you.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning to kiss him. “But perhaps I should mention that I'm not completely averse to adventures in bed, sir.”

He laughed. “For some reason, you don't surprise me one bit.”

Faringay Hall, October

T
he blast of a horn from the gatehouse warned Hermione that guests were arriving. She went to her room for her warm cloak and then ran downstairs, pausing to send some servants off to the kitchen. They'd been scrubbing the join between the stair treads and risers, which hadn't been touched for an age. She'd found the whole house like that—superficially in order but with no deep cleaning ever done. Many of the hangings had been too moth-eaten for use.

The house was full of servants as she tried to correct years of neglect, and she was glad to be providing employment for so many, but she'd wanted to present a more normal appearance for their first guests.

Thayne was coming from the back of the house, where he'd doubtless been fighting the records and ledgers. He'd thrown out the old estate steward just as she'd dismissed the upper servants in the house, but that meant that their weeks here had been tumultuous and busy.

After a week at Hartwell they'd traveled north to visit Polly and her family. William had looked curious about the rapid marriage, and had perhaps seen a resemblance to the groom who'd returned her on the road to Tranmere, but he'd not asked questions. Polly had been so excited by
the visit, the marriage, and Edgar's gift of ten thousand pounds that she'd not probed. It would have come to that in time, but Hermione had used the excuse of a house needing much attention to keep the visit to just three days.

William and Thayne had rubbed along together well enough, especially as Thayne had asked William's advice on estate management. He had the knack of getting along with people.

She smiled simply to see him and he smiled back. All was in order there. Their love only deepened and their private times were perfect. She knew, however, that the ghosts lingered for him. Though it would draw on her capital, she intended to have the whole house repainted and some of the furniture changed. She would erase the memories.

What to do about the French Wing, she didn't know. She was tempted to tear it down, but she didn't think Thayne was ready for such a decision, especially when his mother had killed herself by throwing herself off the roof walk.

It had happened the winter before last when a great storm had split an elm near the house and men had set to clearing the dangerous branches. No one had thought about how Thayne's mother might react. She'd heard men and violent sounds and run up to the roof to see the danger. Presumably the roughly dressed men wielding axes and mattocks had triggered her deepest fears, for the wall around the walk was too high for an accidental fall.

Thayne hardly spoke of it, but she knew he felt guilt. The tree would have had to be dealt with, but if he'd been here instead of infiltrating the Three-Banded Brotherhood, he might have arranged the event better. Hermione couldn't argue that was untrue, so only time would heal it, but obliteration of the French Wing would help.

They went out together to greet the chaise and the curricle bowling down the well-tended drive. That had been her most recent achievement, and completed only in time.

Braydon was driving his showy curricle and Edgar and Peter were in the chaise. She watched with pleasure as Edgar climbed out with very little assistance and walked toward her with only his cane.

She went to meet him, noting the normal color of his skin. “I assume you've paid Grammaticus, then.”

“I have, but the man's a foolish wretch.”

She left Braydon to Thayne and walked with Edgar toward the house. “He's thrown it all away on cards or dice?”

“Not that. He's still refusing to tell anyone the details of his magical mushroom.”

“Why, now he's proved it works?” She gave him her arm to go up the six steps.

“As to that, the doctors are being doctors. Only one case. Can't be entirely certain. But I had a word with some East India Company men and they're interested in paying him well for the formula. Grammaticus gets greedier at every turn, however. He's now insisting on setting up a workshop to produce the cure and sell it as doses. Might work if he was willing to travel to India, but not as he is. And he's not a well man. He often seems on the edge of an apoplexy. When I think of the people who'll die for lack of his secret, I wish we could put him on a rack.”

They were in the hall by then. “Please be calm, Edgar, or I'll lose you to an apoplexy.”

He shook his head and looked around. “A tolerable house, I suppose.”

“The decades of neglect linger, don't they? But it improves every day and our latest treasure is an excellent cook. Are you able to manage the stairs without help?”

“Aye, though it'll be slow. I won't get stronger by letting people mollycoddle me.”

She accompanied him on his slow progress up the stairs, half listening to the conversation below. She didn't know Braydon well, so she was only trusting that he'd help brush away the dark. She knew he'd be bound to bring news from London, but she couldn't cosset Thayne from wider events, much though she'd like to.

She settled Edgar in his bedroom and went to be sure Braydon's was in order. His valet was there, looking rather sour. “Is something amiss?”

“No, my lady. We have everything we need.”

She remembered then that Thayne said Braydon's valet disliked rural living as much as his master. A few days would kill neither of them. She went down the back stairs to check on matters below. With so many new servants she kept a firm hand on everything. She was tempted to warn them about Braydon's valet, as she feared he'd be a discordant element, especially as she had no lady's maid of similar status. She'd tried to persuade Nolly to train into the position, but the maid had wanted to return home.

“It's been grand, milady, but home's home, isn't it? I have ambitions now, though.” Hermione had worried about that until Nolly added, “Reckon I could be a housekeeper one day if I put me mind to it. In a big house, even.”

Hermione thought she could indeed. The housekeeper who'd just started work here was a very down-to-earth woman.

She tracked the men's voices to the drawing room and found Thayne had provided them both with ale. She was suddenly glad the room was rather shabby, for they both looked at ease in their sagging chairs, legs stretched out, smiling at something.

They both rose, but she waved them back to their seats. “At ease, gentlemen.” Grasping the nettle, she asked, “How are matters in Town?”

“All calm,” Braydon said. “Perhaps in part because they keep delaying Parliament. It's put off now until mid-December.”

“Thus shortly after assembling,” Thayne said, “everyone will disperse for Christmas. No chance for the reformers to make their case.”

They hadn't yet spoken of Christmas. She was determined to celebrate it here, but not quite sure how when any local traditions had been broken for so long.

“I can't regret your not having to leave to take your seat yet,” she said.

“And I'm blessedly free of all such obligations,” Braydon said. “In addition, it seems the world holds its breath as it awaits the birth of Princess Charlotte's baby, all hoping it will be a son.”

“A daughter will do,” Hermione pointed out. “Charlotte herself will be queen in time, and before either of you say anything, remember the Elizabethan age was glorious.”

Thayne smiled and Braydon toasted her. She could feel improvement already.

In a while she took Edgar around part of the estate in her gig, talking of improvements in hand and those to come. “Much of this work is done with your money,” she said. “Soon the estate will be earning more, but for now we're plowing money back to redress the wrongs and neglect.”

“He should have taken more care.”

“He knows that now. He was driven by his purpose, and it was for the good. Without him that woman might have achieved a great disaster and might even have stirred the mob into revolutionary violence.”

“True enough. Now her lot are finished and insurrection is largely in the hands of that Arthur Thistlewood, who's a dangerous man but not nearly as cunning, so I doubt he'll achieve his end. There's Orator Hunt and his sort, who should stop stirring up the mob, but they don't intend revolution. Are you happy, my dear?”

It was no time for provisos. “Yes. And you? What will you do with the decades to come?”

“Enjoy London. I've joined the Curious Creatures for a start, and I'm looking into leasing a house. Reckon I might hold the meetings there. Be a bit of a center for adventurers and curious minds.”

“I'm sure Nicholas Delaney will be delighted.”

“Interesting man. I've agreed to house that chemist, too.”

“Isaac Inkman?” she asked, startled. “He'll blow you up.”

“He promises not to. Odd young man, but I've known some like him. Never be normal, but can be very clever. Delaney's of the opinion that he only does what he intends to do, so I'll keep his intentions on the right things. I like the idea of exploring greater use of gas. And steam. Steam engines for transportation. It's a grand world, Hermione, and I hope to live to see even more wonders.”

They turned back toward the house and he peered ahead. “What's that conical turret on the house?”

“That's the French Wing, built for Thayne's mother.”

“The place she threw herself off? Demolish it.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. I've little patience with this clinging to old stuff, but especially poisonous old stuff. Would you cling to a thicket of deadly nightshade because it was old?”

She gave a little laugh. “I like your way of looking at it.”

That night as she joined Thayne in bed, she shared the conversation.

To her surprise he agreed. “I hadn't quite reached that brutal point, but he's right. Better it goes before there are children.” He put a hand on her belly. “There's still hope?”

“And more with every day. A summer baby, perhaps. We'll have Faringay ready for him or her.”

He gathered her into his arms. “We will. You were right. Having guests here is clearing so many cobwebs.”

“Right?”

“Are you claiming not to have that plan?”

She chuckled. “You know me so well. The next step is a dinner for the local gentry.” It seemed the moment. “And then we must plan for Christmas. I've been told that when your father was young, it was held in grand style.”

He kissed her nose. “Which might be a local tale, hoping for largesse.”

“It might be, but I want it anyway.”

“Then you shall have it, and anything else you desire.”

“Which at the moment,” she said, shifting, “is only you.”

Later, on the edge of sleep, she murmured, “Is it folly to think that for this little while the world is perfect?”

“Probably,” he said, “but I share your belief. May it be so for everyone.”

But next morning the postbag brought a letter for Braydon. He apologized, saying, “I didn't direct that any post be sent on.” He opened it and read it. “From a lawyer insisting it's urgent. What impudence.” But as he read on, his expression changed and he muttered something that might not be suitable for a lady's ears.

“Sad news?” Hermione asked.

He looked up. “The worst. I've inherited a title. And an estate to go with it. Probably a decrepit estate. The wretched man's suggesting I make haste to take up my duties. It's taken months to find the heir. There are implications of chaos and,” he added direly, “dependents.”

Thayne's humor escaped in a laugh. “There are worse fates.”

“I'll be damned if there are. Johns will desert me.”

“Once settled in rural contentment, what need you of perfectly polished boots?”

Braydon raised a fist and Hermione, laughing, rose to stand between them. “Gentlemen!”

Thayne stood to put an arm around her and hold her close. “What you need, Braydon, is a wife. I assure you, she will much improve your life, no matter what challenges await.”