A Baron in Her Bed (23 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Horatia stalked around the house until she earned a rebuke from her aunt. She had barely slept after the trip to Hampstead. Calling at Berkley Square, she and the duchess were told Lord Strathairn had not returned. They could do nothing but go home and wait. Horatia had never found waiting easy, and now it was a torment.

Fanny sent a note. She planned to call at two o’clock. Horatia groaned. “Oh not now. I can’t see her now!”

She hadn’t seen Fanny since she’d come to London. She guessed that Fanny’s season had been carefully orchestrated by her mother. She was to be presented at court and most likely had attended Almacks. Fanny would be bubbling over with news. Horatia only wished she was in a fit enough state to enjoy hearing about it.

As the clock struck two, Fanny swept in, dressed in a very smart half-dress of striped blue sarcenet, richly trimmed around the hem. She looked plumper and had developed quite a confident air. Pleased to see her looking so at home in her new surroundings, Horatia went forward to hug her as Lady Kemble followed her in, the color of her Turkey-red gown and puce turban clashing with Fanny’s.

“Almacks is quite the thing,” Fanny said, ignoring her mother’s frown as she selected another tart from the cake stand. “You need a voucher to attend the dances.” She giggled. “I danced with so many different partners I can’t remember their faces let alone their names.”

“No one was of particular interest to you?” Horatia commented as her aunt refilled Lady Kemble’s cup and added a dash of milk.

Lady Kemble took the flowery china cup and saucer with a nod in Aunt Emily’s direction. “I believe Viscount Rothwell was enamored of Fanny. As were several other men.”

Fanny wrinkled her nose. “Rothwell is too old.”

“Nonsense,” Lady Kemble said. “He’s a mere six and thirty and has a large estate in Dorset.”

“He seems old.” A mulish expression tugged Fanny’s mouth down at the corners. “I didn’t care for him.” She replaced her cup in its saucer. “I prefer Mr. Bonneville.”

“Bonneville is known to be in dun territory and is in the market for a rich wife. Your dowry will not please him, Fanny. He merely toys with you.”

“I’ve met Mr. Bonneville,” Horatia said. “He has big, sorrowful brown eyes like a puppy I once had.”

Fanny gave a trill of laughter. “That’s him precisely! Such a dear face.”

Lady Kemble turned her frown on Horatia. “You do look peaky, Miss Horatia. You must make sure you get your sleep. A young lady in search of a husband needs a good complexion.”

Horatia cringed.

“Horatia is a little tired. Her social life has been such a whirl.” Aunt Emily looked fondly at Horatia. “But, I’m glad to say, she is very fashionable.”

There was an uncomfortable silence, during which Horatia strained her ears for any activity in the street outside.

“Do you know if Lord Fortescue is in London, Horatia?” Fanny asked.

“I’m not sure where he is at present,” Horatia said, careful to modulate her tone. She rubbed her bare finger. It distressed her, but she had decided to remove her ring earlier. News of her betrothal had not reached Fanny, and Horatia didn’t think it prudent to mention it now. She fought to maintain her composure, but her hand shook and her cup rattled in its saucer.

“You’re very fidgety, Miss Horatia,” Lady Kemble said with a sharp-eyed stare. “I was surprised to learn your father allowed you to come to London.”

“Is it so very surprising?” Aunt Emily’s eyes glittered. “My brother loves his daughter and wants the best for her.”

“I’m sure he does.” Lady Kemble put down her cup and saucer. She rose from her seat. “We must go. We have many calls to make, and then Fanny needs to rest before the ball this evening.”

Fanny gave Horatia a sympathetic look as she hugged her. “I do hope you are enjoying your time in London. We must get together for a coze soon.”

Horatia returned the hug. “I’d like that, Fanny.”

After they left, Aunt Emily breathed a sigh of relief. “Mrs. Kemble is a spiteful woman.”

Horatia shrugged. “I don’t think she likes me.” It seemed unimportant now.

“That’s because you’re prettier and more intelligent than her daughter,” Aunt Emily said with a fond smile.

“Prettier than Fanny? Come now, Aunt.” Horatia kissed her cheek.

“You have had little chance to shine. When you are a baroness, you will, my dear. See if I’m not right.”

But I may never get that chance
, Horatia thought. If Guy was all right, she’d accept whatever happened.

Later that afternoon, a footman came to the door to deliver a letter. Horatia pounced on it. Seeing it was from Guy, heat flooded Horatia’s face.

The note was appallingly brief. He was at Rosecroft Hall and would call on her when he returned to London. Exasperation fought with relief as she hurried upstairs to tell her aunt.

The morning after Guy saw Vincent buried in the family crypt in the Digswell churchyard, he and John traveled to Whitechapel in Vincent’s curricle, with John’s horse tied behind.

At the Horse Guards, Lord Parnham, a man in his fifties with thinning grey hair, put a plan to Guy. “You could lead us to those we seek.”

“And just how could I do that?” Guy already had an inkling and dreaded the thought of what Parnham would suggest. Bruised and saddened, he just wanted to go home with Horatia at his side. Lord Parnham’s words broke into his thoughts.

“Your brother adopted your name while working to free Napoleon. You can continue where he left off. No one will suspect you.”

“But I don’t believe Vincent intended to join them. He wished only to take my place at Rosecroft Hall.”

“They are not to know that,” Parnham said. “But it confirms the view that he has not been in contact with them.”

“But I neither know any of these conspirators nor what they plot.” Guy held out his hands palms up. “This is madness! Vincent had a scar on his cheek. I would give myself away immediately.”

Lord Parnham leaned his arms on his desk. “Forney has seen you without a scar. It’s unlikely the rest of them have ever met Vincent. And you are so like him if they have they won’t immediately think of it. It will give us time. One of Lord Castlereagh’s lads got close enough to learn the secret code they go by.”

“Couldn’t he learn more?” Guy asked with frustration.

Parnham shook his head. “He got too confident and they grew suspicious. They slit his throat and threw him in the river. Never fear, this will work. If you call one wolf, you invite the pack. Once you have entered their midst, we will pounce.”

“But they’ll know you’re on to them.”

Parnham shook his head. “They haven’t been arrested, so they must think they’re safe.”

Guy eyed him. “I’m not trained in espionage.”

“We’ll help you with that.”

Guy’s eyebrows shot up. “
Qu’est-ce? Un cours intensif
?”

“Lord Strathairn will assist you with the finer details.”

Guy had had enough of the violence that men do to one another. He huffed out a breath. He was spent. “I must see my fiancée. Miss Cavendish will be concerned.”

Lord Parnham shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible until this is over.”

Guy leapt from his chair. “Then I won’t do it.”

“Sit, please, Baron.” Lord Parnham motioned him down again. “You can send word that you are ill.”

Guy shook his head as visions of Horatia banging on Strathairn’s door swam into his head. “That wouldn’t keep Miss Cavendish away.”

“I’m afraid my orders come from the Home Secretary, Viscount Sidmouth. I must insist,” Parnham said. “The future of England far outweighs the demands of Miss Cavendish.”

“This is preposterous. You can’t insist.” Guy swung around to look at John. He shifted in his seat and wouldn’t meet Guy’s eyes.

Parnham asked with a frown. “These saboteurs plan to strike here in London. Would you prefer to allow them to continue to work against England? Stirring the masses to riot and work against the Crown?”

“I would not,” Guy said with heat. His father’s love of England was instilled in him. “Are these men French? What do they hope to gain by this?”

“There are a few souls who still hold out hope that Napoleon will rise again,” Parnham said with a tight-lipped smile. “It must now be a very faint hope. But destabilizing England will aid them in their cause to free Napoleon. The present mood plays into their hands. There’s revolution in the air and some English gentlemen express the preference for England to revolt instead of – in their opinion – remaining enslaved. They hate Liverpool’s Tory government. They hate the regent and his reckless spending and intend to ferment trouble wherever they can. There are organized societies with the same aim.

“What concerns us most is a new threat to the regent’s life. We have prevented one attempt already. Despite the fact that he is unpopular, such an event would be disastrous for England.” Parnham held out his hands, palms up. “Your life has been badly affected by revolution, has it not? You do understand why England needs you to do your duty, Lord Fortescue?”

Guy nodded. “I’m quite prepared to do as you wish, but only if I can see Horatia and she is told the truth. I know she can be trusted.”

Lord Parnham’s clever brown eyes assessed him. “On reflection, it might seem odd if you failed to continue to see Miss Cavendish. You may tell her about your brother and continue on as you were, but she must not learn of your mission. Otherwise it might prove dangerous for her. Do I have your word?”

“
Oui…
yes.”

Lord Parnham rose, came around the desk, and shook Guy’s hand. “Then it is done. You are to infiltrate this group and learn of their plans. Best you don’t come here again. I expect to learn something from you in the coming days. We’ll keep in touch through Lord Strathairn.”

“And the scar?” Guy said, tracing a line down his cheek.

“We could give you a fake one, but the count has already seen you so that won’t serve.” Parnham tapped the desk with a quill. “We shall have to trust no one has met Vincent, as I said.”

Guy and John crossed Whitehall to the carriage. “Horatia and I shall marry as soon as my sister arrives in London to identify me,” Guy said. “Should I die, I want Horatia to inherit all my property not entailed.”

John frowned. “You French never look on the bright side, do you?”

Guy shrugged. “It would be foolish to do so now,
n’est-ce pas?
”

Horatia beat the maid to the door. She threw it open and all but fell into Guy’s arms, breathing in his manly scent. He looked so weary and sad she stilled. When she saw the bruise on his cheek and the cut to his lip, her words dried up.

He greeted her and her aunt in a sober voice then sank onto the sofa while tea was prepared.

Horatia sat beside him. “Where have you…”

Guy held up a hand. “I shall tell you.”

She swallowed, not knowing what to expect and fearful of what he might say. She was sure it wasn’t good.

Guy’s voice was strained as he related the happenings of the last week.

Horatia took a slow breath at the complete shock she felt. Never in her born days would she have guessed that Guy’s twin brother, a veritable monster, had tried to kill him to take over the barony.

“I had no idea Vincent survived the fire.” He sounded so bitter it made her yearn to try and soothe him. “I feel that fate has cheated me of a brother.”

After Guy’s voice faded away on the last of it, her aunt offered her heartfelt sympathy and excused herself.

Horatia moved closer to Guy on the sofa. She put a hand to his cheek. “My poor love.”

Guy gathered her into his arms and held her close. His shoulders shuddered, and her tears blinded her.

He cradled her face in his hands and wiped the tears from her cheeks with a thumb. “I’ve missed you,” he said softly, and kissed her.

Horatia stroked his hair and discovered a lump. She pulled away. “You’ve been hurt.”

Guy shrugged with a rueful smile. “I’m lucky to have a hard head and still have my wits.”

She leant her head against his shoulder. “It’s all over now.” She sighed with relief.

His arm tightened around her.

Horatia sat up. “Guy!”

His eyes widened. “
Quoi
?”

“Your sister Geneviève has arrived in London. We went together to Hampstead to look for you. She has taken a house in Portland Place.”

Guy smiled. “Geneviève is here?”

“As soon as I received your note, I sent a servant to tell her you were safe.”

“You traveled to Hampstead together?”

Horatia giggled, wishing to lighten the mood. “Yes, in an opulent turquoise carriage lined with fine parquetry, paisley silk curtains, velvet upholstery, and gold carriage lamps. I’ve never seen the like!”

Guy laughed. “Geneviève is never without her comforts.”

“She was determined to find you.”

“I must go to her.”

“Of course you must. I like her very much so please tell her I hope to see her very soon.”

“Tomorrow, I’d like to show you the Mayfair house I found before all this happened,” Guy said. “Then I’ll see the solicitor. We can be wed as soon as I have the special license and your father’s written consent. Reverend Dewhurst at St. Georges will advise us of a suitable date.”