Chapter 15
Over his dead body?
Gloriana hurried upstairs, hugging to herself the hope that Philippe cared for her. Almost immediately, she admonished herself for such weakness. He didn’t really want her at the Spotted Dragon, interfering with his plans. He’d already saved her once from Hythwick, and his pride meant he had to continue to do so.
But he had asked her to drive out with him. Surely that meant something.
Maybe, but she didn’t know what.
By mid-afternoon, the puffiness around her eyes was largely gone, thanks to the application of cucumber slices and cold tea. She’d had Elspeth refuse all morning callers—a good thing, too, for those who dropped by were gossipmongers—and settled on the drawing room sofa with a book.
She was nodding over it when a frenzied knocking on the door startled her awake. “Miss Glow,” Elspeth said a few moments later, “it’s Lady Marianne Delfin without even her maid to accompany her. She seems upset and begs to speak with you.”
“Of course.” Gloriana stood and smoothed her gown. A few seconds later, Marianne hurried in, her bonnet askew, her hair windblown. Gloriana hurried forward, hands outstretched. “What’s wrong?”
“Everything!” Lady Marianne burst into tears.
Gloriana gathered her into her arms. “There, there,” she said, and to the hovering Elspeth, “Bring tea, hot and strong.”
Marianne stopped weeping to say, “No! I daren’t stay more than a minute.”
“No tea, then,” Gloriana said. “Prepare my bonnet and pelisse, Elspeth. I’ll ring when I’m ready.” She waited until the maid had shut the door and guided Marianne to the sofa, where she removed the girl’s bonnet and straightened it out. “Now tell me, why must you hurry away?”
“My aunt went to her bedchamber for a nap, so I sneaked out, but if my brother finds out, he’ll beat me!”
“For heaven’s sake, why?” She ran her fingers through Marianne’s hair, gently removing the knots.
“He will think I was meeting Freddy. He’ll send me to the country and lock me up until he finds a peer to marry me.” She blew her nose, stifling a sob, and gazed at Gloriana with wide, tear-drenched eyes. “And I’ll never see my darling Freddy again.”
“Surely it’s not that bad,” Gloriana said. “Your brother can’t force you to marry anyone. You’ll turn twenty-one soon, and you won’t need his permission anymore.”
“If some scheming hussy hasn’t snatched Freddy up by then,” Marianne said dolefully. “But that’s not why I came. It’s because of the gossip. Auntie says the latest on dit is that you are going to be my brother’s mistress, and that we shall then be obliged to shun you.” She sniffled. “Please don’t! Think how horrid it will be.”
With commendable calm, Gloriana said, “I have not agreed to be his mistress and never shall.”
“That’s what I thought, but people say you threw yourself at my brother last night. They say you are scandalous like the rest of your family, and that you are desperate to have him at whatever cost.”
“I expect that’s how it appeared, but I was only trying to distract him from you and Freddy. Philippe was furious at me for interfering in his plans, whatever they are.”
She hung her head. “They were my plans, and they were foolish ones. I thought if Freddy were seen to protect me from Philippe’s advances, my brother would regard him more favorably.”
Annoyed now, Gloriana said, “How could you use Philippe in such a way? He would never force himself on anyone.”
“He didn’t object. He was amused at the idea of playing a villain.” She sniffled again. “But it didn’t work. Philippe left the ball, and Alvin saw me talking to Freddy. He forbade me to speak to him ever again, and said he would send me away if I disobeyed.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “What am I to do?”
“It’s obvious,” Gloriana said. “You must elope.”
A tremulous smile lit up Marianne’s woebegone face. “Truly? That’s what Freddy says, and Philippe agrees, but think of the scandal!”
“There won’t be much scandal. It’s a perfectly eligible match. Most likely, your brother will do his best to hush up any gossip by saying he gave his permission because you were going into a decline, or some such.”
Marianne gave a tearful little giggle. “Yes, that would be just like him. He cannot stand being put in the wrong.” She bit her lip. “But will you be able to recover the Book of Hours if I run away? Not that I’ve been much help, I’m afraid. I crept into his private rooms, but I didn’t find it. I expect it’s in his strongbox, but Alvin always has the key on him.”
“Don’t worry about that.” She daren’t tell Marianne how close they were to getting the book, for fear of endangering Mr. Turner. In the meantime, she must help Marianne—and if Philippe was angry at her for interfering, so be it. “Come, I’ll walk you home. You shouldn’t be out alone, and if your brother should happen to hear that you were with me, he won’t suspect an elopement.”
Soon they were hurrying along the street. “I shall get a message to Freddy, saying you want to leave as soon as possible,” Gloriana said.
“Yes, please. But how shall I know what he has arranged? I dare not correspond with him, nor attempt to speak to him, even at a ball.”
“Don’t worry,” Gloriana said. “Freddy will arrange everything, and I’ll find a way to let you know. I expect it will take a day or two. Will he attend the Wellforth rout, do you think?”
She sighed. “I expect so. I shall be there too, and Alvin as well, watching my every move. Will you be there? Please?”
They had reached Hythwick House. “Yes, I’ll be there. In you go, dearest. Be patient, and pretend to be meek and obedient. Freddy loves you. He will whisk you away in no time.”
“Thank you,” Marianne breathed. “You are such a good friend.”
Welcome words. Gloriana hurried away, pondering strategy, and instead of going home, she turned in the opposite direction to make a morning call on the one person in her milieu whom she thought of as a true friend.
But she couldn’t with propriety make a call on a gentleman, so she spent a half hour consoling old Mrs. Bridge on her son’s impending marriage. “She’s a pretty-behaved girl,” the elderly lady said. “I grant him that, but she’s not our sort.”
“I think perhaps we, as a society, should reassess who exactly are our sort. Perhaps, for example, those who are well-meaning and kindhearted should be one’s sort, rather than those who have money or position.”
“Yes, dear, that’s all very well as an ideal, but it’s not realistic. And what’s this I hear about you throwing yourself at Lord Hythwick? It’s most unwise. He has already made it clear he won’t marry you.”
“I didn’t throw myself at him,” Gloriana retorted.
“No? How I wish I had seen it! But I’m far too old to stay up half the night at balls.”
“There wasn’t much to see. I merely changed my mind about dancing with him, because I’m sick of society’s stupid rules about how many times one may dance with a man in any given evening.”
“But flouting such a reasonable rule for Hythwick is senseless. He’s not even a graceful dancer! I also heard that you slapped the Marquis de Bellechasse because he made improper advances.”
She huffed. “He did no such thing. Where do people get such notions? He’s known for not making improper advances toward anyone. He annoyed me—in fact, I became enraged at him—but that is nothing new.”
“I must admit, it did seem unlikely. If you were going to become someone’s mistress—not that I’m suggesting any such course of action, dear girl—surely you would choose the marquis over Hythwick.”
Gloriana laughed at that. “Definitely, but I doubt we should ever proceed past the stage of argument to more pleasurable activities.” She sipped her tea, wondering what it would be like to be in harmony with Philippe.
Absolutely wondrous, and also impossible.
“I shall do what I can to mitigate the effect of the gossip,” Mrs. Bridge said, “but you must learn to mend your temper, particularly in public.”
Gloriana nodded ruefully and said nothing—for the only person with whom she ever lost her temper, in public or in private, was Philippe de Bellechasse.
At last Mr. Bridge came into the drawing room. She gave him a speaking look, hoping he would read in it a desire for private speech. After a few minutes desultory conversation, she rose to go, and he escorted her from the room. “What is it, Miss Warren?”
“Last night, you said if I ever needed a favor . . .”
His eyes twinkled. “Am I about to regret those hasty words?”
“I hope not. It’s not exactly for me.” She glanced about, but no servants hovered nearby. “It’s for Lady Marianne Delfin,” she whispered. “Will you be at the Wellforth rout this evening?”
He raised his brows, and her heart sank.
“It’s nothing too dreadful. I merely need you to get a message from her to Freddy Barnham, and relay his response to her. You see, no one will suspect you of conniving at anything, merely because you happen to speak to both of them at the same party.”
“Ready to elope, is she?”
Thank heavens he had a quick mind. “She came to me today in great distress. Her brother is threatening to lock her up in the country to keep her away from Freddy.”
“We can’t have that. Barnham has become a dead bore on the subject of Lady Marianne. Tell you what—I’ll see if I can find Freddy at his club this afternoon. Gives him a little more time to plot and plan.”
“Excellent. But you’ll still be at the party to pass his response to Lady Marianne? And pass more messages later if necessary?”
“Of course. But will you not be there?”
“I’m afraid I must, because my role in assisting the elopement is to flirt with Lord Hythwick again.” At his incredulous glare, she added, “It’s a long story.”
“Then let us go for a stroll in the spring sunshine,” he said, “and you shall tell me all about it.”
~ ~ ~
“But why, Miss Glow?” Elspeth demanded, when Gloriana asked her to lay out an evening gown. “Your Philippe wants you to come to the Spotted Dragon tonight.”
“No, he doesn’t—not really.” Gloriana wished she wouldn’t call him hers—because most likely he wasn’t. Although in that note he’d written . . . She shook off such useless thoughts. “He’s being protective, but he’d rather I didn’t interfere with his plans.”
“Going to the rout sounds like interference to me,” she said. “He wants you to stay away from Lord Hythwick, and so do I.”
“The earl can’t ravish me at a party,” Gloriana said scornfully.
“He shouldn’t have been able to ravish you at the Dower House,” Elspeth said, “but he almost did.”
“I promised Lady Marianne I would be there. And Mr. Bridge too.” During their stroll that afternoon, she’d told Mr. Bridge the whole story—the attempted rape, the theft of the book, and their hopes of retrieving it—leaving out details he need not know, such as Philippe’s past as a thief. It had been such a relief to get it off her chest, and he’d been so outraged that she’d had to spend a half hour calming him down. But the result was a perfectly able protector for the evening. He would dance with her too, so she wouldn’t be alone by the wall, in the event the gossip was too damaging and people had already begun to turn a cold shoulder.
Now she found herself obliged to explain herself to her maid, as well. She told her about Marianne’s proposed elopement and Mr. Bridge’s promise of protection if Lord Hythwick should prove too odious. “I have three good reasons to go to the rout. First, because of Lady Marianne. Second, to assess and counteract the damage to my reputation. And third, to occupy Lord Hythwick just enough to keep him there as long as possible, so you and Mr. Turner and the marquis will have enough time to make your plans.”
“Maybe so, miss,” Elspeth said, “but I can tell you for sure, he won’t like it.”
~ ~ ~
Philippe’s only genuine rival for Gloriana’s hand was taking care of her tonight! He supposed he should be grateful, but instead jealousy and anxiety assailed him by turns. He should have forced his way into her house this morning and spoken to her directly. He should have apologized in person, not by way of a note. He should have swept her off her feet . . .
He huffed in self-disgust and eyed the group around the table—Cartway cheerfully drinking gin, Elspeth with her porter, and the valet with his sleeves rolled up and a jug of ale. He seemed a solid sort of fellow, with a serious gaze and a taciturn disposition.
“You must be a damned good valet,” Philippe said, “considering the material you have to work with.”
Mr. Turner’s lip curled slightly. “Yes, sir, I am.”
And confident, too. “A good valet is a rare find,” Philippe said. “I’m in need of one. Think on it, if you please.”
Mr. Turner nodded and thanked him, but he glanced sideways at Elspeth, who frowned.
Philippe said, “Judging by what Elspeth has just told us, we must take immediate advantage of Lady Marianne’s hysteria. Barnham will want to spirit her away as soon as possible, and with any luck, Hythwick will pursue them, forgetting the book in his haste. He may even take you with him, Turner, thereby keeping you free of suspicion.”
Mr. Turner grimaced. “Not so good for the other servants, though.”
“Bad enough when he’s in a good mood, eh?” Cartway snorted.
Mr. Turner grunted his assent. “He’s a right bastard.”
“I’ll hire a couple of actors to serve as decoys,” Philippe went on, “which, if he pursues them, will keep him away from London for at least one night. Meanwhile, Barnham and Lady Marianne may take whichever alternate route they choose.”
“And if Lord Hythwick doesn’t follow them?” Elspeth asked, still frowning. Turner slid his hand under the table, presumably to take hers, and she softened immediately. If only Gloriana were so easy to calm.
“Then we’ll make another plan,” Philippe said. “What we do next, Turner, depends on whether Hythwick takes you and the book with him. If he’s not too hasty to take you, likely he’ll take the book as well.”
“I’ll let you know, sir. Miss Morrison and I have devised a method of passing messages unbeknownst to anyone.” He grinned fondly at Elspeth, and she dimpled back at him.
Philippe tried to imagine such an interchange between himself and Gloriana. Tried to imagine them in sufficient harmony not to dispute with one another. He remembered the brief few weeks five years ago when they’d fallen in love. Somehow, it must be possible to reignite that love, if they both wanted it badly enough. Surely it would be wrong to let all that passion go to waste.
“You’ll go on the High Toby instead?” Cartway’s words jolted Philippe from his thoughts.
“Too risky,” Philippe said.
“Riskier than burglary?” Elspeth asked.
Turner nodded his agreement. “My master travels well-armed.”
“That’s why I like burglary,” Cartway said. “No one’s expecting it.”
Philippe proceeded to give Turner instructions for two eventualities—either only the book left behind, or both Turner and the book. He glanced at his watch. Was there time to attend the rout? He wasn’t dressed for it . . .
“No need to worry, sir,” Elspeth said kindly. “Mr. Bridge will take good care of Miss Glow. He’s been a faithful friend to her for years.”
“I daresay,” he said grumpily. He thanked everyone, made a further assignation with Cartway, paid the serving wench, and left for Covent Garden in search of a decoy or two.
~ ~ ~
Elspeth and Mr. Turner strolled slowly home through the dark streets. She glanced up at him. Seemingly, matters weren’t quite as simple as she’d thought. “You wish to work for Monsooer Philippe?”
“Aye, he’s a good man. Shoots straight and treats me like a human being.” His voice brimmed with enthusiasm. “And he’ll be a pleasure to dress, as well-proportioned as he is, and with good taste, to which I hope to bring a touch of excellence.”
If that was what Mr. Turner wanted, then he should have it. But . . .
He frowned down at her. “You don’t like the notion? I told you right from the start, love, I’m not cut out to be an innkeeper or a tailor. I’ve never wanted to be anything but a valet.”
“Yes, but where does that leave me?” she blurted.
He stopped and pulled her into his arms. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Won’t you go on working for your Miss Glow, as you always have? For it’s plain as day that they’ll marry, the two of them.”
She sighed. “I surely hope so. They’ve been in love and at odds for years. But . . .”
“Then what is it?” He loosened his hold and eyed her. “You’ve had enough of being in service, have you? Understood. If you can’t stomach it anymore, you needn’t. Maybe we can use the money to set you up as a dressmaker. Or a milliner.”
She huffed, and he chuckled. “Doesn’t sound so appealing, does it? You like your work—and your mistress.”
“Yes, she’s very dear to me, but it’s not usual for a lady’s maid to be a married woman. She might not agree to it, and what about when we have children? I shan’t be able to care for them and for Miss Glow.”
“Not much different from running an inn when you’ve got little ones always at your feet. You and Miss Glow will work it out between you.”
How strange—he was giving her the sort of practical advice she commonly gave to Miss Glow. She enjoyed being on the receiving end for a change, rather than having to scold herself into good sense.
Now if only they could get the Book of Hours back, and Gloriana and Philippe safely married—all would be well.
~ ~ ~
Gloriana left the Wellforth party early, having danced a scandalous three times with Lord Hythwick and endured a gauntlet of stares and whispers every time she crossed the room. Alice Stowe complimented her on her courage whilst berating her for her folly. If the gossip hadn’t convinced everyone that she would soon be Hythwick’s mistress, his proprietary air had done so. She scolded him coyly, put him playfully at a distance, and prayed for the evening to end.
Meanwhile, Marianne and Freddy planned and plotted by way of their go-between. At midnight, judging that by now Philippe and the others must have finished their meeting, she signaled to Mr. Bridge to send for her carriage.
He rode home with her, which, if anyone saw him enter the carriage, would give rise to even more speculation. It was extremely noble of him to ignore the gossips. There was no better or more reliable escort in the world, and for the thousandth time, she wished she could have fallen in love with him.
“Freddy intends to speak to Philippe de Bellechasse tomorrow,” he told her, “and they will elope as soon as arrangements can be made.”
She thanked him profusely. He deposited her on her doorstep, expressed his appreciation for the opportunity to assist in a runaway marriage, and recommended that she leave town for an extended period to let the scandal blow over. “Safer that way, my dear Miss Warren. You are a rational woman with a great deal of commonsense. Make use of it.”
Which was probably why she valued him only as a friend. She was far too wrought up to care about safety or commonsense. Philippe might rant at her about it, but he would also understand.
Gregory opened the door for her, and Mr. Bridge bowed over her hand and left. She found Elspeth waiting in her bedchamber, full of plans. She chattered while undressing her mistress, relaying all that had gone on at the Spotted Dragon. “It’s not a nice place, miss. I swear, half the men there were lawbreakers of one sort or another, and the women weren’t the respectable sort either. I was shocked to think that you’d gone there.”
Gloriana took off her emerald bracelet and earbobs. “They’re just people, after all is said and done.”
“As for that Cartway person, he’s a professional burglar! I couldn’t believe my ears—bold as brass, he was, planning and jesting with Monsooer de Bellechasse as if they were equals!”
“Because Philippe considers them such,” Gloriana said. “I thought you believed in equality.”
“I do, miss, but there’s equality and then there’s respect, and he showed none at all. And he was speaking in cant, which at times I scarcely understood. Well, really!” She paused for breath. “But it was ever so nice walking home with Mr. Turner. He likes your Philippe. He says he’s a fine gentleman and would do credit to a good valet.”
“Yes, he’s very handsome and well-proportioned,” Gloriana said dully.
Elspeth brushed Gloriana’s hair with long, vigorous strokes. “How was your ball, Miss Glow? You seem tired tonight.”
“It was dreadful. I flirted with Lord Hythwick and danced with him a scandalous three times.”
“I don’t like the thought of you anywhere near that dreadful man.”
“I don’t know how I would have managed if Mr. Bridge hadn’t rescued me from time to time, pretending to be Hythwick’s rival for my affections. As if there is any comparison between them! And as for the gossips . . .” She shuddered. “I know I was asking for it, but it’s frightfully uncomfortable being whispered about all the same.”
“I daresay it is, miss.” She set down the brush and braided Gloriana’s hair. “Off to bed with you now. A good sleep is what you need. In a day or two, it will all be over with.”
“And your Mr. Turner will have his reward,” Gloriana said.
“Yes, miss, and most grateful he’ll be.”
“And you’ll start planning your life together.”
“Yes, miss.” Their eyes met in the mirror, and Elspeth looked as if she had something to say, but she dropped her gaze and moved away to turn down the bed.
“Don’t bother with a warming-pan,” Gloriana said. Suddenly lonely, she dismissed the maid and put herself to bed.
~ ~ ~
For the second time in as many nights, Philippe climbed up the drainpipe to Gloriana’s bedchamber. The window had a sticky spot halfway up, which hadn’t mattered on his way into an empty room, nor after she’d fallen into exhausted sleep the night before. Perhaps she wouldn’t hear it this time either . . . Scrrritch. He put a leg over the sill.
“Elspeth, is that you?”
Still not asleep . . . but she didn’t sound as if she’d been weeping this time.
“Who’s there?” A drawer scraped, and the curtain rings rattled. “I have a gun. Show yourself, or I will shoot.”
Knowing Gloriana, this was no empty threat. “Shoot me if you must, but first, please allow me to apologize and to share with you the secrets of my heart.”
“Philippe?” Her voice flew an octave higher than usual. Reassured and filled with hope, he climbed into the room and lowered the sash.