Damsel in Disguise (29 page)

“Our mother took you away from London to keep you safe from that weasel, and you gave him permission to follow?”

Penelope just shrugged. “It only seemed right, seeing as how he is practically my fiancé.”

“Like hell he is! I swear, Penelope, I never imagined you to be so want-witted. Good God, do you know what you’ve done?”

Now she actually smiled at him. “I believe I do, yes. Now, if you would just let me explain—”

“I don’t want an explanation. I want you to assure me you’ve not gotten yourself into such a condition that I’ll be obligated to force Fitzgelder into marrying you before I put a bullet through him.”

There. He’d said it. He’d given voice to his worst fear, and now there was nothing but to anticipate her answer. She didn’t keep him waiting long.

“Oh, honestly, Anthony,” she replied with disdain. “Of course I haven’t let
that
happen. Really now! As if I could ever be so stupid. A lady may flirt upon occasion, but she never gives up the merchandise without a bill of sale.”

With a meaningful huff she crossed her long arms and pouted extravagantly. All Rastmoor could do was wonder where on earth a sheltered miss like Penelope had gotten such a colorful expression. Not that he was arguing with the results, actually, if it had helped keep her safely from ruination at the hands of Fitzgelder, but he’d see snowflakes in Hades before he let his sister go around speaking that way.

“That’s hardly becoming of your station, Penelope,” he reminded her.

“Oh? Well, perhaps if you hadn’t always been so busy off chasing actresses and . . . and opera singers, you might have found a few spare moments to spend with us to help ensure I was provided with a proper understanding of what, exactly, is becoming of my station.”

“Now don’t try throwing this in my face, Penelope. You’ve been provided a most excellent education in all things maidenly and proper.”

“Yes, and demmed boring it’s been, too.”

“Don’t attempt to change the subject! We are discussing just what it is you and our bloody cousin have been getting up to together.”

“And I told you. He wants to marry me, so I gave him Papa’s old locket. Now, if you’d just let me explain . . .”

Dear God, they were going in circles here. It was making his head pound. He was just going to have to tell her, once again, that Fitzgelder was a bounder and a blackguard, and she was never to have anything to do with him again. His lecture, however, was interrupted before it began.

Dashford stepped into the dining room and cleared his throat. Hell, but if the man hadn’t been born with the bluest of blood in his veins, he’d have made a fair butler.

“Our guest is getting a bit impatient, I’m afraid,” he said, nodding his head back toward the direction of the study where Fitzgelder cooled his heels.

“Fine,” Rastmoor said, rising to his feet. “I might as well go talk to him then, for all the straight answers I’m getting here.”

“I’ll go with you,” Penelope offered, also rising to her feet.

“Like hell you will! No, you will go directly up to your bed.”

She simply glared at him, apparently unconcerned with whatever impression Dashford must be gathering of her as he watched from the doorway. “I think I should be there when you speak with our cousin.”

“And I think you should be safely locked away in a tower while I speak with our cousin. Go to bed, Penelope. I’ll deal with Fitzgelder.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she grumbled.

But apparently she was not entirely lacking in gray matter. She glanced from Rastmoor to Dashford and clearly decided it was not worth the argument. With an overly dramatic sigh, she shrugged her shoulders and flounced toward the door.

“Very well, I’ll retire,” she said, although she sounded less than agreeable. “But I’ll require an apology from you, Anthony, before I give any further explanation.”

“Fine. Wonderful. When I’m in need of any further explanation, I’ll sing or dance or whatever you require—should that day ever arrive. For now, just get up to your room and stay there.”

She was not amused. Chin raised in an obnoxious show of defiance, she marched from the room. Rastmoor followed to make sure she found the stairs. She did, but then she dawdled around, taking forever to ascend. Dash the girl! He stormed up to grab her by the elbow and led her forcibly the rest of the way to her room.

“You’re absolutely a tyrant,” she declared when he flung her bedroom door open and waited for her to enter.

“If you would act like you had half a brain, I wouldn’t have to be,” he replied.

She merely sniffed disdainfully and sauntered past. Just before he could shut the door behind her, she whipped around and glared at him. “If you had any idea what you’re dealing with, Anthony, you’d not be acting like this.”

“Yes, yes; I’m dealing with true love, fate, destiny, the Montagues and Capulets and all that rot. Sorry, Penelope. I’m the very last person to give a fig for any of that, especially if it involves Fitzgelder. Now lock yourself in there and at least pretend to regret what you’ve done.”

She huffed and slammed the door. Rastmoor slumped, staring at the polished oak and thinking how much pleasanter it appeared than his fuming sister. Dashford came up behind him, chuckling.

“It’s so nice to see a family getting along.” He smirked.

“She’s going to be the death of me.”

“She’s young. Eventually she’ll understand you’ve done her a favor by keeping that cockroach away.”

“I hope so.”

“She will. You’ll manage things,” Dashford said and seemed relatively certain of it.

Rastmoor wished he felt some of that assurance. He glanced across the hall toward the room that had been assigned to Julia. Her shock at the announcement of Fitzgelder’s arrival had been honest—he could be sure of that now. It was Penelope who brought Fitzgelder here, not Julia. But could he take that to mean Julia had been honest about all the rest? She never really had betrayed him with Fitzgelder? All along Fitzgelder had been married to an imposter, while Julia and her father remained in hiding? It was so very far-fetched, although he had to admit the evidence seemed heavily in Julia’s favor just now. He wished he could go to her now; find out if that look she was giving him at the dinner table really meant what he thought it did.

But he couldn’t. He had to face Fitzgelder.

“I suppose our guest is eagerly awaiting me,” Rastmoor grumbled.

“Getting more eager with every passing minute,” Dashford agreed.

Well, nothing to do but go down there and see what the bastard wanted. He’d find out just exactly what Fitzgelder planned to do with that locket—rather, with what was contained in that locket—and ask him point-blank what he’d done to Penelope. Then, if Rastmoor hadn’t already murdered him in a fit of rage, he’d throw the blackguard out into the street. It was only just now twilight. Perhaps Fitzgelder might find his way back to some local inn before cutthroats or wild animals waylaid him on the open road.

And Rastmoor could hardly take the blame for that, could he?

“You’ve not had any packs of feral dogs ripping into sheep or eating the occasional weary traveler about these parts, have you?” he asked his friend.

Dashford frowned. “No, not that I’ve heard of lately.”

“Damn.”

Dashford just shook his head. “Nor have we had any here inside my house. I say, Rastmoor, you’ve commandeered all my footmen.”

Dashford gestured toward the two hearty-looking men Rastmoor had put on guard in the hallway here outside the women’s chambers. Indeed, he’d set two more downstairs with Fitzgelder. Perhaps that was a bit overdone, but one could not be too careful where a snake like Fitzgelder was concerned.

“Might you spare one, at least?” Dashford asked. “I’d like to send a message out to those actors at Loveland before it gets too dark. Don’t want to disappoint our ladies, you know.”

“Yes, heaven forbid we don’t provide them ample entertainment. Very well, I suppose you may take possession of your footmen. I’ll go down and see to Fitzgelder myself. I doubt with two broken legs the man will be able to navigate his way up your grand staircase.”

“There you go—that’s the spirit, old man.”

Dashford laughed. Interesting. Apparently he thought Rastmoor was joking. Well, they would see what sort of treatment Fitzgelder merited once Rastmoor dragged the truth out of him. He started down the staircase.

Dashford summoned his footmen to follow and began giving instructions on carrying a message to Loveland. Bother. It appeared those damn actors would be invited, and Rastmoor would have to endure watching Julia reunited with whomever the hell that Giuseppe person turned out to be. Rastmoor hoped he would not have to commit two murders in the space of a few short hours. Such a thing was bound to be hard on one’s constitution.

They had barely made it to the ground floor when Fitzgelder appeared. It would seem he’d grown weary of cooling his heels in Dashford’s study. What nerve, to come wandering about as if he were some invited guest!

“Ah, there you are, Cousin,” he said when he spotted Rastmoor. He came toward them. Rastmoor held his ground, keeping his body firmly between Fitzgelder and the staircase.

“Have you finished his lordship’s brandy already?” Rastmoor asked.

Fitzgelder gave a benign smile and seemed to completely miss the implied insult. “I was afraid you’d forgotten me.”

“I’ve tried. It cannot be done.”

Fitzgelder laughed as if that, too, had been meant in jest. “Indeed, I’ve missed you, Cousin. But come, spare me a few moments of your time. I’m sure you agree we have much to discuss.”

Rastmoor wondered if the fury he felt toward this man radiated off him like smoke from smoldering rubbish. How could the bastard be so bold? What could he possibly hope to gain, arriving here like this? Any fool must realize civil discussion between them was hardly a possibility, given their history. And Fitzgelder was not a fool. He was a great many other things, but he was no fool.

Obviously he had reason to believe his goal—most likely that of attaching Penelope—was attainable. Rastmoor would have to find out why.

“Yes, I suppose we do,” he agreed.

“Please, make use of my study,” Dashford offered. “I’ll join you there presently. First, I need to see about an errand that needs tending.”

Rastmoor nodded, silently assuring his friend he would not need his assistance. Yet. It would be nice to have an extra pair of hands when it came time to drag the body out, but for right now, he was perfectly happy to keep his conversation with Fitzgelder a very private matter.

 

 

JULIA LISTENED AT HER DOOR. THE HALLWAY WAS quiet. Slowly and carefully, she cracked the door open just the tiniest bit. Yes, the footmen were gone. Vaguely she could hear the men’s voices at the bottom of the staircase.

So, Dashford was going to send footmen to deliver a message to Papa? How wonderful! She crept into the hall so she could hear their voices more clearly.

Fitzgelder! She recognized his voice from that harrowing performance in London. So, he was still here. Somehow she expected Rastmoor to insist he be thrown out immediately. He hadn’t, obviously. In fact, it sounded as though Rastmoor would actually be meeting with him to calmly discuss the situation with Penelope. Good Lord, what had the poor girl done?

Julia had heard the sharp voices in the hallway. It would seem Rastmoor was quite frustrated with his sister. Could that mean she’d fallen prey to Fitzgelder in the most horrible sense of the word? Perhaps Rastmoor would be forced to actually consider that marriage.

But didn’t he realize the danger that would put him in? As Penelope’s husband, Fitzgelder would be right in line to possess not only Penelope’s dowry, but her share of inheritance should Rastmoor unexpectedly expire. That unthinkable event might not be exactly unexpected as far as Fitzgelder was concerned. Did Rastmoor still not believe her about his cousin’s treachery? Even when he’d seen it firsthand?

She heard their distant footfalls as the men dispersed from the grand entry hall at the foot of the stairs. Rastmoor’s steps appeared to go with Fitzgelder off in one direction, while Dashford took his footmen in another. Julia wondered what she should do. The footmen were likely to wait on Dashford while he wrote a note to be carried to Papa. Perhaps if she followed closely, she could make her way there, too. She could follow them right to Papa!

But was Rastmoor safe here, left alone with Fitzgelder? She hardly thought so. Perhaps she ought to find where he had gone.

Although, if Fitzgelder was about to complete his betrothal to Penelope, he would certainly have no reason to do away with Rastmoor. Not yet, anyway. If things were progressing in his favor, surely he’d choose to bide his time, wouldn’t he? Of course he would. Fitzgelder was devious and supremely greedy. He’d play the game and make his schemes, up until he and Penelope were legally wed. Then he’d see about getting rid of his dear cousin turned brother-in-law.

That meant Rastmoor was safe for the time being. It also meant Fitzgelder might not be cast out of Hartwood as she’d expected. If the man was Penelope’s new fiancé, Rastmoor might feel obligated to let Dashford invite him to stay. That would mean when Papa accepted Dashford’s invitation and arrived here tomorrow, Fitzgelder was very likely to see him. If Fitzgelder saw Papa, Fitzgelder might recognize him, even if he arrived as Signor Giuseppe.

And that was bad. Very bad. The last thing poor Kitty ever did before her tragic end was to warn Julia. Fitzgelder had learned of the deception and was furious. Frighteningly so, from the tone of Kitty’s letter. She begged Julia to never, never let Fitzgelder learn where she and Papa were hiding. Julia took her seriously enough to ensure that she and Papa were safe in a new town with assumed names, but by the time Julia got around to considering how she could help her friend, it was too late.