A Wedding In Springtime

chapter Thirty-four





“If you would, could you inform my grandmother of the latest developments? I will be in my study,” said Marchford as he pulled the phaeton into the drive of his London estate.

“I can only assume you are in jest,” said Penelope.

“I do not jest.”

“You expect me to break the news that your intended has married the family physician instead?” Penelope and Marchford had convinced the illicit couple not to run but to give Marchford a chance to explain the situation to Louisa’s parents. They even agreed to come to the ball if the duke thought it would be helpful. Penelope was not sure how Marchford was going to manage getting Lord Bremerton to accept the marriage, but she was interested in seeing him try.

“She would take it better from you,” said Marchford jumping down from the phaeton.

“No, you would take it better if you were not there when she was informed.”

“As I said.”

“Your Grace,” ground out Penelope as she accepted Marchford’s assistance from the high phaeton.

“I need to be available should a message come.”

“You expect someone to contact you?” asked Penelope. They had been able to talk briefly in the phaeton and Marchford had explained that Genie, for reasons not yet ascertained, had stolen the seal to the paper Marchford had been guarding.

“I do. Once they discover the paper is blank, they will come back after me for it.”

Penelope paused before the front entrance. “What will they do to Miss Talbot?”

“Nothing until they get their hands on the letter.”

“And after that?” Penelope asked with some reluctance. She probably didn’t want to know.

“We will find her first.”

Penelope was right; she did not want to know. Considering the risks, she guessed it would be best for Marchford to focus on the many problems at hand. Of course, that left her telling the dowager about Louisa’s marriage.

“My grandson has gotten himself into some kind of mischief,” said the dowager when Penelope walked into the drawing room. She sat straight as a dagger, holding her cane before her like a weapon.

“How would you know?” asked Penelope.

“I know. It is in his nature. His mother was the same, nothing but mischief and intrigue, and of course you know where that got her.” The dowager’s eyes flashed in a manner that did not invite question.

“I wonder where Lady Bremerton has got to. She planned to come for tea to discuss the ball. Silly woman,” muttered the dowager. “I shall find her tedious when Marchford and Louisa are to be wed.”

“I should very much doubt they will wed,” said Penelope, shifting nervously in her seat. “I fear I have news you may not like.”

“What is it, gel? Speak up!”

“I fear Lady Louisa has been secretly wed to another.”

The dowager was still for a moment before exhaling a large sigh. “Oh thank heaven. I am relieved Marchford will not be saddled with that missish little thing.”

Penelope felt her jaw drop. “But I thought the union had your full support.”

“Lady Louisa was intended for Frederick. She would have made him a lovely bride had he lived. Unfortunately, the marriage contracts were drawn up such that with his passing, Louisa was bound to marry James. But they would never have suited. Could you not see that?”

“Well, of course, anyone could see that. They were most unsuited for each other. But why did you not speak out? Why not disband the union?”

“It was not in our power to do so, even James understood that. If the contract was to be broken, it could only be so from the side of the future bride. Marchford could in no way dissolve the union and keep his honor intact.”

“I wonder that Lady Louisa’s parents did not dissolve the union,” said Penelope.

“Louisa was engaged to a duke. I should wonder very much if they had broken that alliance!”

“Even if the parties involved would not make each other happy?”

“What has that got to do with anything? Honestly, Penelope, sometimes you can be so dreadfully bourgeoise. Whom did Louisa marry?” The dowager prepared the tea, speaking of the elopement as if it were commonplace.

Penelope took a breath to keep herself in check. “Your physician, Dr. Roberts.”

“Well, now, a common doctor. That will give Cora’s nose a tweak.”

“I believe he is an extraordinary doctor,” said Penelope. In her estimation, Dr. Roberts had earned more respect for his profession than society’s elite, who did nothing but gamble, drink, and feel superior.

“Now don’t get your hackles up, gel. I will own that I have the greatest respect for him. Though if Louisa married him behind everyone’s back, she has more pluck than I gave her credit for. We will need to find a way to gammon off the gossips.”

“That will be a challenge indeed.” Penelope accepted the tea, feeling restored by the strong flavor.

“When does James want to cancel the ball?”

“He is in his study. I believe he is engaged with another matter at present.”

“Please inform him I need to speak to him about what to do tonight. You may be called upon to take ill. Something with spots and hideously contagious so we can quarantine the house.”

“Must it be spots?” sighed Penelope.

“Without a doubt. Spots.”

***

Grant woke up groggy and aching. He tried without success to open his eyes. As if coming back from a deep sleep, Grant struggled to regain consciousness.

“Grant? Grant!” said a familiar voice, followed by a persistent shake.

“Stop,” mumbled Grant, sitting up. “You’ll crumple my cravat.”

“Thank heaven you are alive,” breathed Genie.

“What happened?” Grant peered into the gloom, trying to get his bearings. He was cold and damp. The light from outside was mostly blocked by boards over a high window, but in the dim light, he discovered he was sitting on a pile of rags and damp refuse. Forgetting his company, he exclaimed something almost as ugly as his surroundings.

“Are you all right?” asked Genie.

“Sorry. Forgot. Yes, I’m well. Head hurts, but it’s been hurting all day so no matter. What happened?”

“Blakely is actually a French spy who is working for Napoleon.”

“Knew there was a reason I disliked the man,” muttered Grant.

“He wants some letter with a red seal that Marchford has. I thought if I gave him the seal he would be satisfied, but he discovered the paper was blank.”

“But why did you need to bring him anything?”

“Blakely is the one who holds George’s debt.”

Grant held his head with both hands, trying to make his world stop spinning. “Who’s George?”

“My brother. Don’t you remember? I told you about him when we, uh… talked last night.”

“Remember nothing. Horribly drunk.”

“Oh. Blakely tricked my brother into betting deep and George now owes him twelve thousand pounds. Is it still considered a debt of honor if you find the man you owe is a traitor?”

“Yes, but you have license to kill him.”

“I am ashamed to say the man has inspired me to contemplate violence,” confessed Genie.

“If I see him again, I’ll do more than contemplate.” Grant felt for Genie but ran into something hard and metal. Forcing his eyes to focus, he realized he was locked in a small cage. “Genie, you need to get out of here.”

“I can’t.”

“Are you tied to the chair?” Grant could hardly see her in the dark.

“I was, but I was able to cut free with your penknife, but the cellar is locked and I cannot get out.”

Grant struggled to stand and found he could not reach his full height in the cage, which was about five-feet square. “Who keeps cages in his cellar?”

“I think he keeps children in them,” replied Genie. “He forces them to work for him.”

“What a lovely chap. Too bad there aren’t more rats. Could have been a perfect setting for seduction in one of your books.”

Genie sighed. “I always wanted to have an adventure, but I fear now all I want is to go home.”

“Very sensible. Where’s Blakely?”

“You’ll not like it. Blakely sent an urchin to give Marchford a message to meet him in Hyde Park with the letter tonight. They plan to exchange us for the letter.”

Grant slammed the cage door trying to break free. There must be a way out. He was concerned for Marchford and for his own skin, but the thought of what unscrupulous people might do to Genie unleashed within him cold panic. “Genie, you must find a way out.”

“I’ve tried. There is none.”

“Try again!” he shouted in an uncharacteristic show of anger. He needed to get her to safety. He needed to know she would be well more than he needed his next breath. “I’m sorry, but I cannot live in this world without you.”

The cellar was silent for a moment. “Truly?” asked Genie in a small voice.

“Truly.”

“I did not expect to see you again. I thought you had taken me into dislike.”

“Dislike? No, how could I?” Grant pushed against the solid bars as if it were possible to squeeze though. “I called on your house early this morning, but you had gone.”

“Did you?” Genie reached out a cold hand through the bars of the cage and Grant took it and held tight. “You… you wished to speak with me?”

“Of course. This morning when I saw you, all I wanted was to put you back where you belonged. I was afraid at what I had done.”

“You didn’t do anything. I came to you to accept your offer and gain your support to pay my brother’s debt.”

“Had I been anything other than dreadfully cup-shot, I would have marched you home and still paid your brother’s debts.”

“Really?” It had never occurred to Genie that Grant would give away such a large amount without asking anything in return.

“Give you anything.” Drunk or sober, Grant meant every word.

Grant pushed his face as far as he could between the bars and Genie met him, her soft lips blending with his until nothing else existed but her sweet, clean scent and the promise of her kiss. Despite everything, he was ready for more, the kind of more iron bars rendered impossible.

“I underestimated you. I’ve ruined everything.” Genie pulled back.

“No, I have been the fool. Had I had my wits about me last night, things would have been different. But, Genie, you must get out of here.”

Genie sat down on the chair. “I think I should pray.”

“Pray?”

“Ever since my brother came to me, I’ve been desperate to solve this and save him. I’ve done everything I can think of except pray. Stupid really, since God knows what I should do, especially when I don’t.”

Genie sat on the chair and bowed her head. Grant watched and waited, a growing sense of panic overtaking him. He needed to get her out somehow. Lord, I’m not one for praying, as well you know, but please get her out of here.

A scratching sound got his attention. The dim light got darker. Someone was at the boarded-up window.

“Genie!” hissed Grant.

Genie was at his side at once.

“Hide the penknife under your glove,” Grant whispered. “When he attacks, stab him. Aim for the eyes and then run away as fast as you can.”

After a few grunts, a small figure squeezed through a small crack between the boards and landed softly on the ground. The child glanced around and approached Genie, who had sat back down to pretend she was still tied to the chair.

“Milady?”

“Jem!” said Genie, forgetting to pretend to be tied and standing up to give the lad an embrace.

“Don’t trust him!” yelled Grant. “He’s probably been working for Blakely—or whatever the blazes his name is—this whole time.” He prayed for help and got an urchin instead.

“Jem, is this true?”

“I’m sorry,” said Jem in a small voice. “I didn’t want to, but the Candyman would do horrible things. He’s a mean cove.”

“I understand,” said Genie, much kinder than Grant would have been. “But now you must help us. Where is the Candyman and the other lads?”

“Gone to Hyde. Plan to fleece the duke then hush him good.”

“I do not quite understand,” said Genie.

“They plan to steal the letter from Marchford and then kill him. Is that the plan?” asked Grant.

“Aye, you’re a cunning swell.”

“Jem, you must help us get out so we can warn him,” said Genie.

Jem proudly held up a key. “That’s what I come for. Nicked it straight from his pocket. He always said I was a leery cull when learn’n the knuckle.”

“Good boy, Jem!”

Jem unlocked the cage and Grant was never happier to hug a dirty urchin. “Did right by yourself, m’lad.” And perhaps praying wasn’t such a bad idea either.

Grant took Genie into his arms and kissed her right there in the cellar in front of Jem and the rats. “I love you, Eugenia Talbot.”

Genie beamed back at him. “I love you too, William Grant.”

“There is much I wish to say, but for now, let’s be gone,” said Grant.

This proved harder than expected. There were two doors to exit the cellar, but both the interior door up a rickety flight of stairs and the exterior hatch door were padlocked from the outside.

“Can’t you go out Pitt’s picture?” asked Jem.

“The window,” explained Grant to Genie. “So named for Pitt’s window tax. And no, there is no way for me to fit. Can’t see how anyone could.”

“I’m next to nothing,” said Jem.

Genie climbed up on a crate to better see the opening between the boards. “I am too big for that I fear.”

Grant helped her down, mentally reprimanding himself for enjoying putting his hands around her waist.

“Jem, can you squeeze out and go warn the Duke of Marchford not to go to Hyde Park and to come here to help us instead?”

Jem’s eyes widened. “They’ll have watchers on the house. They’ll know if I go in. ’Sides, why would the duke believe me?”

“Tell him I said…” Grant thought for a moment for something Marchford would recognize only Grant would know. Grant motioned to Jem and the lad came close. Grant whispered something in his ear.

“What’s that?” asked Jem.

“A very important name.”

“Is it secret?”

“Very!”