The Gamble (24 page)

* * *

Philip left the house immediately after our conversation and he did not return to Grosvenor Square until two in the morning. When he came into the bedroom I knew immediately that he had been drinking.

I pushed myself into a sitting position and stared at him. I could see his face in the light of the candle he was carrying, and his eyes looked heavy-lidded.

“Did Claven find anything out?” I asked.

“Oh, are you still awake, Georgie?” he asked in a too-carefully articulated voice.

I was definitely annoyed. Actually, I was more than annoyed. I was furious.

“Can’t you and Claven ever get together without drinking yourselves into a stupor?” I snapped.

He put the candlestick cautiously on the bedside table and got into bed beside me. “Claven managed to get ahold of the two men who kidnapped you, but all they knew was that they had been hired by a fellow who makes a business out of hiring out profeshional—profe
ss
ional—villains.”

“That must be Lamey,” I said.

He turned to look at me. His eyes were a much darker blue than they usually were. “How did you know his name?”

“I heard it mentioned. Can’t Claven find out from Lamey who the man who hired him was?”

“Lamey runs his own operation. He and Claven pretty well let each other alone.”

“How delightful. Does this mean that Claven can’t help us?”

He grunted. “Looks that way.”

“Well, you’re a great help, Philip,” I said sarcastically. “You go away and leave me so that you can inspect a stupid canal, then, when I’m almost raped and killed, you can’t even find out who kidnapped me! All you can do is go off with your disreputable friends and get drunk!”

He blew out the candle plunging us into darkness. “I’m not drunk,” he said.

“You are, too,” I hissed. “And I don’t believe that Claven challenged you to a drinking contest this time, either.”

“We had a few glasses of blue ruin while we were discusshing your problem,” he said.

“You had more than a few glasses,” I returned bitterly.

“I did not.”

“You did, too!”

He pulled up the coverlet. “I will talk to you in the morning, when you are more reasonable.”

“I think you are disgusting,” I said.

Silence. In a few minutes I heard the sound of a gentle snore.

Tears pricked my eyes. I had desperately wanted him to make love to me, and instead he had come home drunk. Our marriage, which had started so gloriously at Winterdale Park, had been going downhill ever since we returned to London.

I don’t know what upset me more, the fact that I was the target of a murderer or the unraveling of my marriage.

As I lay there thinking, it occurred to me that my second problem was inextricably linked to the first. If I could solve the mystery of who it was who was trying to kill me, then Philip would cease hanging about with Claven (who was obviously a bad influence) and perhaps he would come back to me. So far I had been rather passive about the situation that confronted me. I had been leaving it to Philip to handle.

From now on, I determined, I would take a hand.

I needed to put this would-be murderer into a position where he had to try to kill me himself. That was the only way to find out which of the four men I had so foolishly written to was responsible for all of my accidents.

For a moment I remembered my recent episode with Alf and Jem, and my heart quailed. Then I recited to myself the lines of poetry that had become my talisman:

He either fears his fate too much

Or his deserts are small,

That puts it not unto the touch

To win or lose it all.

The Marquis of Montrose had known what he was talking about when he wrote those lines, I thought.

I gave Philip a push to make him turn over and stop snoring, and began to plot.

CHAPTER
twenty-three

I
T WASN
’
T UNTIL THE FOLLOWING MORNING
,
WHEN
I was going through the invitations that had arrived during the week, that I hit upon the scheme that I needed. I was sitting at the breakfast table with Catherine and Lady Winterdale, sipping coffee and looking through the cards that were piled next to my plate, when I picked up one from the Marquess and Marchioness of Amberly.

It was an invitation to a garden party at their home on the River Thames, some miles above Hampton Court.

I tapped the card on the table thoughtfully and said to Lady Winterdale, “I see that Philip and I have received an invitation to a garden party at Thames House. What exactly is Thames House like, my lady? I’ve been told that it is situated directly on the river. Is that indeed so?”

Lady Winterdale’s whole face pinched up as if she were eating an extremely sour pickle. Finally she managed to articulate the words that were making her so miserable. “Since you are now my nephew’s wife, Georgiana, I think it would be proper for you to call me ‘Aunt Agatha.’”

I goggled at her.

She shot me a distinctly irritated look and snapped, “Do try not to look more of a fool than nature intended you to be, Georgiana.”

“Yes, my . . . ah, Aunt Agatha.”

Her face twitched as I spoke the dreaded words. Hastily, she answered my question, “Thames House is indeed situated on the Thames. It is, in fact, famous for its setting. Its gardens and woods are extensive and afford splendid views of the river in all of its majestic beauty.”

This guide-book-type description afforded me deep satisfaction, not because I was anxious to enjoy the undoubted beauty of Thames House, but because it sounded like Vauxhall—just the sort of place where a murderer would find it convenient to hide and then to strike.

“Is this garden party usually well attended?” I asked.

Lady Winterdale returned her delicate china teacup to its saucer. “It is always one of the biggest events of the Season,” she informed me. “As I believe I mentioned before, the gardens are extensive. The Amberlys invite the world.”

“It sounds perfect,” I said sincerely. “I shall write immediately to say that we shall come.”

Needless to say, the “we” was entirely spurious. I had no intention of letting Philip know that I planned to offer myself as bait to trap a murderer. He would have a fit if he learned that I planned to go to Thames House.

Catherine frowned at me from across the table. “I don’t think it is a good idea for you to go to a garden party, Georgie,” she said. “The grounds at Thames House will be too open, too unprotected.”

Those were exactly the reasons why I wanted to go, of course.

Even Aunt Agatha was regarding me with some dismay. “Really, Georgiana, these extraordinary things that have been happening to you of late are causing talk. I do not think it is wise for you to place yourself in a position where something else might befall you. It could cause a scandal.”

I was touched by her concern for my personal safety.

“Mama!” Catherine protested.

Aunt Agatha sniffed. “It is true, Catherine. People are talking. I do not like it. People have never before talked about the Winterdales.” She picked up her cup, took another sip of tea, and added with a distinct trace of bitterness, “Of course, when someone like Philip becomes the earl, I suppose one cannot count on any semblance of propriety.”

Icy-cold anger swept through me, chilling me to the bone. I said, “For someone who has accepted his hospitality, and allowed him to fund her daughter’s come out, I think that is an utterly vile thing to say.”

Aunt Agatha looked at me in surprise. Usually I allowed her barbs to slide off my back, but she was going to learn that I would not allow her to say anything against Philip.

“Say you’re sorry,” I demanded.

She straightened her already-straight back. “Philip’s disreputable career is well-known throughout the whole of Europe, Georgiana. I am not saying anything that has not already been said by dozens of other people.”

“Dozens of other people are not the person who refused to take him in when he was a motherless boy,” I said fiercely. I hid my hands in my lap so that she would not see that they were clenched into fists. I scowled at her. “Say you’re sorry.”

She stared at me and, surprisingly, was perceptive enough to realize that I was deadly serious. If she didn’t apologize, I was perfectly prepared to tell her to pack her bags and get out of my house.

“I beg your pardon, Georgiana,” she said acidly. “I did not mean to criticize your precious husband.” She stood up. “If you will excuse me, I have finished my breakfast.”

Catherine and I sat in thick silence as Lady Winterdale swept out of the room. When the door had closed behind her, I looked at Catherine.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but she made me furious.”

Catherine shook her head. “It’s all right, Georgie. I don’t blame you.” She frowned. “But do you really mean to go to the garden party at Thames House?”

“Yes.” I told her why I was going to do so.

Catherine’s first reaction was negative. “You could easily get yourself killed, Georgie, and that wouldn’t solve anything at all.” She gave me a very sober look. “Just think of the scandal Philip will have to face if his wife should turn up dead.”

Clever Catherine. She knew where I was vulnerable all right.

“I have no intention of turning up dead,” I assured her loftily. “Don’t you see, the whole point of this expedition is to protect Philip? People are blaming him for these accidents, and I can’t have that, Catherine. His reputation is already too vulnerable, and it’s very important to him to be respectable. He’s lived on the fringes of society for too long.”

Catherine still disagreed. “It’s too dangerous, Georgie.”

“Wouldn’t you feel the same way if it were Rotheram who were in the situation that Philip is in? Wouldn’t you put yourself in danger to protect him?”

Silence.

At last, “You are diabolical, Georgie,” Catherine said wryly.

I grinned and explained, “It isn’t as bad as it sounds. I am not planning to go into this situation completely unprotected. I am going to make certain that I have a bodyguard.”

“And who is this bodyguard going to be?” Catherine asked with resignation. “Frank?”

“No,” I replied. “If you will agree, it is going to be you.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, I asked Maria if she would like to live in a cottage on the Winterdale estate, and she accepted with alacrity.

“I didn’t like the country when I was younger, but that was before I knew what it was like to live in Lunnon,” she said sadly.

“His lordship’s steward will find you a nice cottage, and before you know it, I’ll wager you will find yourself inundated with offers of marriage,” I assured her.

Privately, I intended to make certain that Maria was so economically desirable that she would be beating men off with a stick.

She gave me a look of amazement. “Ain’t no one going to want to marry me, my lady. Not after what I’ve bin.”

I agreed that Maria’s past would probably prove an insuperable obstacle to her future happiness if she let it. Men were such hypocrites. They could make use of the women in brothels and still consider themselves worthy of marriage, but it certainly wasn’t the same case for the poor women whom they had used. And the women were the ones who didn’t have any choice!

Here was one more example of how unfair life was to the female sex, I thought.

“Don’t tell anyone about your life in London, Maria,” I recommended. “We will say that you came from my home village in Sussex, that your husband recently died, and that you wanted to get away from the area to recover from your grief.”

She looked at me in wonder. “Do you really think I could do that, my lady?”

“Yes, I do. Generally speaking, I am not in favor of lying, but your circumstances are extraordinary. You deserve some happiness in your life, Maria. Don’t be afraid to reach for it.”

She looked doubtful.

“And don’t forget, there is Reggie to consider as well,” I continued. “You don’t want him to know the real circumstances of his birth, do you?”

At that, she shook her head vehemently.

“I will back up your story,” I promised. “We will say that we knew each other as children and that I am helping you because of our old friendship.”

Her thin face broke into a particularly sweet and lovely smile. “Thank you, my lady,” she said. “I’ll take yer advice.”

* * *

Philip wouldn’t let me leave the house, so I sent Catherine shopping with Maria to buy some of the things that the young mother would need in her new life. They came home laden with packages of clothes for Maria and for the baby, as well as household linens and some pretty pottery items. We had an enjoyable afternoon in Maria’s room looking over everything that she had purchased, and then Philip called me down to the library to talk to his steward, who had come from Winterdale Park at Philip’s summons to discuss a home for Maria.

The two of them had already decided on the cottage they were going to give her and the repairs that needed to be made to it. The house and grounds actually sounded more like a small farm than a cottage, which I thought was all to the good. The more land Maria had, the more desirable as a wife she would be.

The two men also informed me that Mr. Downs, Philip’s steward, would take Maria and Reggie down to Winterdale Park the following day, and I went back upstairs to relate the good news to Catherine and Maria with a spring in my step.

I dressed for dinner with especial care that evening, determined to catch Philip’s eye and (hopefully) stimulate his lust.

He did not make an appearance in the dining room.

I stared at his empty chair in a state of shock. He had said nothing to me about missing dinner while we were meeting in the library. I didn’t have even the vaguest idea where he might have gone.

Something was very wrong with him, and I didn’t think it was just the attacks on me. If it was simply that I was in danger, I should think that he would be spending as much time with me as he possibly could, trying to protect me. Instead, he was clearly avoiding me.

I wasn’t even angry with him anymore. I was merely very very worried.

Catherine and Lady Winterdale went out to a ball and I stayed home alone. The hours after dinner crawled by. I tried to read a book, but I couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of my eyes.

What the devil was going on in Philip’s mind? What could have caused him to withdraw from me like this?

Had I mistaken the passion we had shared at Winterdale Park for more than it really was?

I thought about it, and thought about it, and I didn’t think so. I remembered those afternoon trysts in our sunny bedroom. I remembered the time we had actually made love outdoors in a hidden lakeside glade.

Philip had never told me that he loved me in so many words, but I like to think that I am a sensitive person. I had felt his love. It was not just lust that had brought that warmth, that possessiveness to his eyes whenever he looked at me.

He did not look at me like that anymore.

Why?

I did not know.

I had to get him back, I thought. If I didn’t, my heart would surely break.

* * *

He never came home that night at all. In fact, he still was not home as I dressed to go to the garden party at Thames House.

One benefit of his absence was that he wasn’t able to put a stop to my plans, but I was getting more and more upset.

Where was he? Was he hanging around with Claven somewhere in the slums of London?

When I see him, I will kill him
, I thought grimly. Then,
Please God, let me see him again soon
.

The Amberlys had hired a whole fleet of boats to leave from Westminster and take their guests up the river to Thames House, and Catherine and I and Lady Winterdale shared a boat with Lord Henry Sloan; his mother, the Duchess of Faircastle; and her lover, Lord Margate.

It was a lovely spring afternoon, and the sun sparkled on the dark green water of the river. The dark color was due to the algae, which made the water almost opaque, and when I trailed my hand in it, it was still cold from the winter ice.

As one came upstream, Thames House was hidden from view around a bend in the river. Then, as the boat rounded the bend, and one saw the house soaring high on a chalk terrace over the river, it literally took one’s breath away it was so beautiful. The boatmen tied up at the dock, and the Amberlys had footmen stationed there to help their guests out of the boats and onto the steadiness of the wooden landing. We then proceeded up through the gardens to the grass terrace, where the Marquess and Marchioness were receiving their guests.

The house itself dated from the Restoration period, and Lady Winterdale had told me it was built by William Winde, but the real beauty of Thames House was the grounds. The terrace where we stood waiting to greet our hosts was made up of closely scythed grass on which beds of lavender fringed with box hedges and punctuated by clipped yews formed a geometrical parterre. There was a band, and people were dancing on the parterre. There were beautiful gardens, like the long shady yew walks which wound above the river to the west of the house, in which gentlemen and ladies might stroll. Scattered among the grounds were three garden buildings, which Lady Winterdale loftily informed me were built by the Venetian Giacomo Leoni, the same architect who had built Winterdale Park.

The grounds could not have been better for my purposes. There were literally dozens of places where someone could lie in wait for me and catch me alone.

Let me hasten to assure you that I was not quite as brave as I might sound about this clever plan of mine. The thought of confronting a murderer was far from pleasant. It was just that I did not know what else to do. And I was growing more and more convinced that if I did not do something, I was going to lose my husband.

I was not totally unprepared. I had had Betty sew another pocket into my dress, and once more I was carrying my trusty knife. Catherine was similarly armed. I had thought that she might be a bit squeamish about stabbing someone, but she had proved to be delightfully bloodthirsty.