The Wedding Chase (11 page)

“Miss Fleetwood?” The butler stifled an exclamation and ushered him into a small front salon to await his prey. “I shall bring her straightaway.”

As soon as he disappeared a high-pitched attempt at a whisper carried easily through the open door. “It’s him.”

“I know,” came the butler’s lower-pitched reply. “It’s the man who carried Master Fleetwood upstairs—how did you know?”

“No, not
that
him. Look at the earl’s crest on the coach. And he’s got a fresh shiner.” The woman lowered her tone. “It’s Miss Zel’s rake.”

Prince of darkness! Had Zel told her servants, and what had she told them? Soft footsteps echoed down the hall.

He walked to the window, scanning a tiny garden, a tangle of wild blossoms, strange greenery, and untrimmed flowering shrubs. He spotted what appeared to be herbs and vegetables tucked in among the other foliage. The garden was practical yet unusual and lovely, like Zel herself.

“She won’t see him.” The loud, shrill whisper resumed. “Says to tell him she’s not home.”

“Hmmpff.” The rotund butler appeared in the doorway. “My lord, Miss Fleetwood is not in.”

“Then I’ll wait until she is.” Wolfgang flashed his teeth.

“But my lord.” The little man backed up a step. “She is not in, to guests.”

“I repeat, I’ll wait until she is.” Settling onto a comfortable brocaded sofa, Wolfgang watched the butler’s florid face turn a deeper shade of red as he bustled out of the room.

“He plans to wait.” The butler’s deeper tones were still audible, although they didn’t carry as well as the maid’s.

“He can’t wait.” The high voice squeaked. “She won’t see him.”

“Go talk to her. I can’t throw him out!”

Wolfgang chuckled quietly at the thought of the little, fat butler tossing him down the front steps.

Footsteps clattered down the hall and within moments clattered back, stopping outside the door. “She says to make him go, she won’t see him.”

“How can I make him go? We haven’t even a footman.” The butler’s voice rose in pitch to match the maid’s. “Does she wish for me to take his arms and you his legs and carry him out?”

With his face a brilliant scarlet, the butler stepped back into the room. “My lord, Miss Fleetwood is not and will not be home tonight. She asks that you leave.”

“Then I’ll see Mrs. Stanfield. I’m sure she’ll receive me,” Wolfgang replied amiably.

“Oh no, my lord, Mrs. Stanfield is attending a committee meeting and dining with friends afterward. She will not be back until late.” A thin sheen of perspiration highlighted the red on the butler’s face.

“Then I’ll see Sir Edward Fleetwood.”

“My lord, he is not in town.”

“What about Mr. Fleetwood?”

The short, round man sighed. “I will see, my lord.” The door shut silently. “Now he wants the young master.”

“Master Robinson?” The high voice pealed. Footsteps trailed down the hall, paused, and returned. Wolfgang counted steps, fifteen total, seven there, eight back. “She thinks he went out hours ago. Heaven knows if or when he’ll be back.”

The butler poked his head in the door, huffing in a few breaths. “Mr. Fleetwood appears to be out for the evening.”

“I begin to see.” Wolfgang spoke patiently, as if to a child. “Mrs. Stanfield is out. Sir Edward is out. No one really knows whether Mr. Fleetwood is in or out. And Miss Fleetwood is in but out.”

“Yes, my lord. I am so pleased you understand.” The
little man begged, sweat circling his eyes, outlining his nose and upper lip. “I’ll show you to the door.”

Wolfgang followed him into the hall, pivoted, and moved in the direction of the earlier footsteps.

“My lord, you can’t …”

A light-filled doorway beckoned from the end of the short hall. Before Wolfgang could take the last strides to reach it, a large—no, gigantic—dog padded quietly from the room, facing him, teeth bared, hackles raised.

He put out a hand. “Nice doggie.”

The shaggy-coated dog growled, a low rumbling sound Wolfgang could feel vibrating through his own chest.

“Miss Fleetwood? Zel?” His voice lacked its usual assurance. Why didn’t she answer? He wasn’t about to be defeated by a dog, even if it was the size of a small horse.

The growl shook him again, and he found himself backing slowly down the hall, the dog matching him step for step, teeth still bared, hackles still raised.

“Miss Fleetwood?” Curse the woman! She was in that room, silently laughing at the big, bad earl, frightened off by a goddamn mangy beast from hell. Wolfgang took one step forward. The cur looked at him as if he were very stupid dog food and growled again.

“You win for now, my furry friend.” He crept to the front door, easing out and slamming the heavy wood behind him.

His military experience told him retreat was often the wisest course, but having met the cannons of Napoleon head on, Captain Wolfgang John Wesley Hardwicke felt like a fool backing down from a dog. Time to fall back and analyze his foe, and plan a new strategy to induce her surrender.

Melbourne peered around the brightly lit gaming room. Newton usually frequented the whist tables at Brooks’s but obviously not tonight. He finally ran the earl down playing
faro, of all things. He watched Newton win the next two hands and gather up his counters, then tapped the older man on the shoulder. “Let’th have a bit of thupper.”

Newton gave him a half smile, more a sneer, and stood. They moved to the dining area and summoned a waiter.

“Give us the beefsteak and whatever fowl and vegetables the cook had the urge to boil tonight, and keep the brandy coming,” Newton ordered, leaning his tall frame back into his chair.

“Playing faro?” Melbourne was truly puzzled, a too frequent occurrence in this friendship. “You alwayth win at whitht, why bother with faro?”

“The whist tables were slow tonight and I was feeling extraordinarily lucky. So I changed my game and won a tidy little sum.” Newton ran cold, dark eyes over Melbourne, that slim smile again twisting his lips. “But come, sir, you’re positively brimming over with something. Spit it out.”

“I wath arranging for one of my footmen to watch Northcliffe, like we planned, when another thervant told me he thaw him come out of a house down the thtreet, looking motht unhappy.” Melbourne paused for dramatic effect. “Mith Fleetwood livth there with her aunt.”

Newton’s icy chuckle was all the reward he desired. “Ah, Melbourne, you’ve done well. I’ll warrant she refused to receive him, and the arrogant cur couldn’t believe it.”

“I thought thomething like that too.” Melbourne’s pride could have burst right through his chest. Pleasing someone as clever as the earl of Newton … well, it didn’t happen every day.

“It warms my heart to see someone refuse him. The chit’s got spirit.” Newton scratched his mustache. “But she’s no match for him. I fear her capitulation is inevitable if he continues his attack. Shall we help her fortify her defenses or shall we sadly watch her defeat?”

“Man like him can get any gel he wanth.” Melbourne sat up eagerly. “Let’th help her.”

“We could help by spreading the word that she blacked his eye.” Newton pushed a lock of brown hair off his high forehead.

“Do you think it’th true?”

“Whether she did or not is beside the point.” Newton’s tone was sharply impatient. “The point is to make people believe she did, thereby taking Northcliffe down a notch or two.”

“But won’t that hurt her too?” Melbourne hedged warily.

“A little. We won’t say he got away with anything or that she was to blame in any way. Just that he tried and she defended her virtue.” Newton smiled reassuringly. “It might even enhance her standing, give her an air of adventure, mystery.”

“I gueth that won’t hurt her.”

“We can take it slow, just a few words here and there, an amusing anecdote whispered in the right ear.”

“Thupper’th here.” Melbourne inhaled hungrily as the plates, platters, and cutlery were laid.

“Such as it is.” Newton snorted. “Brooks’s isn’t known for its fancy fare. But that’s not why we come here.” He speared a bite of boiled potato. “I believe I’ll place a little wager in the betting books after we eat. I’d like to be the first.”

“The firtht?” Melbourne spoke through a mouthful of steak.

“To place a bet on our lovers.”

Dinner, brandy, a bit more gossip, a few hands of cards and a few shakes of the dice later, and Melbourne was ready to call an end to a satisfying evening. He stopped to check the betting books on his way out.

Frowning, he read Newton’s bold scrawl.

“Match all comers. Earl of N. will bed Miss F. before the season is out.” Signed, “WJWH.”

“I cannot go through with this.” Zel watched through the back window of the hired hackney as the house disappeared and they rattled their way toward the Mattinglys’ Richmond mansion.

“Yes, you can.” Aunt Diana took Zel’s hands. “Yes, you can.”

“But I know he will be there.” She looked down, grateful for her aunt’s firm hold on her. “I cannot face him, but how can I avoid him if he seeks me out?”

“And he will.… He will surely seek you out.” Aunt Diana’s conclusion reassured much less than her warm hands on Zel’s. “He is persistent. There were orchids with no card, delivered this morning. And he called again this afternoon, did you know? Smythe said he did not even make it through the door this time before that hound of yours came after him.”

Zel’s first smile of the evening broke through. “I know. I saw his carriage drive up and I set Remus on him.”

“Goodness’ sakes, dear, I know you do not wish to see the man, but do you need to attack him with that … 
monster?” Aunt Diana’s scolding voice held a soft peal of laughter. “The poor soul must have been frightened near to death.”

“The dog or the earl?” Zel’s smile spread. “Nothing would frighten his lordship, but he has enough sense to be cautious.” She held on to her seat as the hack lurched forward into a break in traffic, her smile dimming. “Still I fear he may have a temper and I would not like it directed at me or Remus.”

“Well, tonight he will not get near you for all the hordes of suitors surrounding you.”

“Aunt, I do love you, but you need not flatter me.” Zel laughed softly. “I look a cut above my usual dowdy self but I am hardly a beauty.”

“Dear, you do not credit yourself enough. You are a lovely girl. Woman.” She corrected quickly, studying Zel thoroughly. “Your new little maid did wondrous work with your hair. The wisps around your face and the long upswept waves are most flattering, and not a single hated ringlet in sight.”

“Maggie is a treasure. So sweet and resourceful.” Her smile disappeared completely, her mouth suddenly tight. “Her bruises are healing, but the pain and fear inside …”

“Will her husband seek her, do you think?”

“Most men do not release their
possessions
easily.” Her voice crackled, brittle as paper clenched in a fist. “He will look for her. But London is large and I will not allow her to leave the house alone. He will not find her.”

“She is very, very grateful for your help, Zel, dear.”

“I should do more, society should do more.” Zel coughed to clear her voice. “Hundreds of years ago Eleanor of Aquitaine gave her support to a refuge for beaten wives. Today, royalty would not recognize the problem if it slapped them in the face with a leather glove.” She sighed, toying with the window curtains, scanning the carriages as they jostled for position on the narrow street. Not a single shiny
black equipage with an earl’s crest in sight. Unconsoled, she continued her tirade, aware that nothing she said came as new information to her aunt. “The nobility and the church are no better. If not for the Methodists and Quakers, these women would receive no help at all.”

“Your speeches and writings do much good. And your home has taken in its first women.”

“I suppose you are right, but the work is so slow. I fear I will never see any real changes.”

“Dear, you do all you can. Now we need to think of this evening … your search for a husband.” Aunt Diana took her chin in hand. “Your looks are not in the classic style, a little elfish, I suppose.” She smiled in response to Zel’s scowl. “But your face is very pretty and your figure superb, now we have it out from under those horrible gowns. Combine those with your clever mind, and you will have no difficulty bringing a suitor or two up to scratch. You need, however, to let your confidence and spirit show through. Throw your best pearls to the pigs, no, I think it is jewels to the swine. Oh well … you know.”

The hack pulled up to the Mattinglys’ gracious manse. Zel and her aunt stepped down, climbed the exterior staircase, and passed through the front doors. After mounting another flight of stairs, Zel paused to straighten her gown. Then, head held high, she entered the brilliantly lit gold-and-cream ballroom as the footman pronounced their names to the hostess.

Lady Mattingly pushed her husband toward another guest and drew Aunt Diana to her side. “Diana, I am most happy to receive you and your lovely niece. Why have you never brought her to my little gatherings before? Such a striking gown, most unusual.” Her stare bordered on rude. “It looks a bit like what we wore around the turn of the century, of course the colors were never so rich. But somehow it suits her.” Her little eyes narrowed, yet her smile held some warmth. “I will make certain you have all the appropriate
introductions. The crowd is so slim, but there are still several desirable men in attendance.”