The Wicked Marquess Read online

  Launceston had been the ancient capital of Cornwall. It remained the chief town in the wide area lying between Dartmoor and Bodmin Moor.

  Picturesque buildings and cottages lined the hilly winding streets. Hints of bygone eras lingered in the ramparts of Launceston Castle, once the home of William the Conqueror’s half-brother Richard; and the relics of a twelfth century Augustan priory; and two bridges that dated from the sixteenth century. Each Prince of Wales visited Launceston once in his lifetime, to receive the feudal dues that were his right as Duke of Cornwall.

  If the present Prince of Wales was not currently visiting Launceston, this was only because the business of being royal kept him away. Like many of his subjects, Prinny enjoyed a good prizefight.

  Expectations ran high for the upcoming encounter between The Cornish Bruiser and The Black. Comparisons between the two fighters, analyses of their histories and backgrounds, were being discussed throughout the town.

  Mr. Atchison, Mr. Burton, and Mr. Dowlin were engrossed in other matters as they strolled along a narrow street that lay near the inn. Mr. Atchison’s companions were already aware, for he had told them, that St. Michael the Archangel was Cornwall’s patron saint; and that the national bird was the rare Cornish Clough, a member of the raven family with glossy jet-black feathers and red legs and a long sharp red bill. And that Piran, patron saint of the tin-miners – who had a taste for the bottle, and died at age 206 — had arrived in Cornwall floating on a millstone, after his original community, jealous of his miraculous healing powers, had tied the millstone round his neck and thrown him off a cliff. The name Cornwall came from cornovii, meaning hill dwellers, and waelans, meaning strangers. Cornish had started to evolve as a separate language around 2000 B.C. King Arthur had been a Cornishman, conceived at Tintagel and buried at Glastonbury, his last battle fought against his treacherous nephew Modred at Slaughterbridge.

  Two of the three gentlemen weren’t interested in King Arthur, or Cornish Cloughs, or even Cornwall itself. Due largely to Mr. Dowlin’s resourcefulness, they had tracked their quarry to his lair. However, they could not agree on what should be done next. Mr. Burton, drawing from the considerable experience gained during his adventures with Colonel Wellesley in India, had put forth numerous ideas involving scaling-ladders and rockets, which his companions wisely overlooked. They also overlooked his frequently stated opinion that Sinbad should have nails pounded in his skull.

  Mr. Burton was strongly urging that they storm the citadel, and Mr. Atchison was offering the information that John Macadam had used Cornish stone for his experimental roadwork, and Mr. Dowlin was striving mightily for patience, when a horseman rode into view. Horsemen were not uncommon in Launceston, even when when the town wasn’t bursting its rafters due to a prizefight scheduled to soon take place; but this horse was wild-eyed and nervous and fighting at its bit, and its rider grim.

  The horse was lathered, as if it had been ridden hard. The rider was as disheveled as if had been thrown. Mr. Burton regretted that the rider had not broke his neck. Astride the lathered nervous horse was none other than Lord Baird.

  Mr. Burton started forward. Mr. Atchison and Mr. Dowlin each caught an arm and dragged him back. “Not yet!” hissed Mr. Dowlin. “Wait and see what he’s about.”

  Though he continued to glower, Mr. Burton did not pursue Lord Baird. He had developed a grudging respect for Mr. Dowlin’s good sense. Mr. Atchison, he still held to be a cow-handed clunch.

  The gentlemen watched silently as Lord Baird rode into the inn’s courtyard, dismounted, handed his reins to an ostler with a few muttered words. He strode toward the inn’s massive front door, and disappeared inside.

  Mr. Burton wanted to follow. Mr. Dowlin insisted they should not. Mr. Atchison embarked upon a discussion of experiments conducted by William Murdock at his house in Redruth, which had to do with the illuminating properties of gases produced by distilling coal, wood and peat. “Shut your damned bone box!” snapped the sorely-tried Mr. Burton, and punched Mr. Atchison smack in the nose.

  * * * *

  Lord Baird sought out the inn’s owner, requested a private parlor and a bite of lunch, asked that Lady Cecilia be told he was there. The landlord recognized a gentleman of substance when he saw one, dirty and disgruntled though that gentleman might be. He hastened to comply.

  Benedict paced around the private parlor, which was a comfortable enough chamber with a long low ceiling supported by oak beams. His attention was not on his surroundings, nor his upcoming interview.

  The door opened. Lady Cecilia walked into the room, an expression of polite inquiry on her face. She had gambled the marquess would call on her once he learned of her presence in Launceston, and had spent the interval of waiting in front of her mirror. Every hair was in its proper place, her rouge and powder artfully applied, her bosom as artfully displayed.

  All concern for her appearance fled at sight of him. “Whatever has happened? Were you in an accident, Baird?”

  “Something like that.” Benedict paused as the landlord entered the room carrying a platter of delicacies that included stewed carp and a squab pie. “My horse took fright.”

  Ceci was astonished. The marquess was an excellent horseman. “Took fright at what?”

  “Damned if I know.” Benedict recalled his manners. “Ceci, you are in looks.”

  Of course she was in looks. Had she not spent all that time in front of her mirror? Ceci thought of the many things she had meant to say. She had intended to profess herself all innocence when Baird discovered that she was here. She had not realized – had she realized naturally she would not have come – but Percy had insisted that it would be good for her to leave London for a time. Percy had traveled with her, but Baird would think nothing of that, for they were cousins. Not that it wasn’t flattering if the marquess was a little bit jealous, particularly since he was on the verge of being a tenant-for-life; and as to that, she wished he might have told her, but no doubt in all the excitement it had slipped his mind.

  In the end, Ceci said none of those things. “Such stories are going around London!” she sighed. “You were right to hide away.”

  He had not hid well enough to avoid this conversation. Benedict surveyed his mistress. Ex-mistress, he corrected himself. Dark short curls and creamy skin and cherry lips, lush figure showed to advantage in her high-waisted golden gown—

  She was as desirable as ever, and Benedict didn’t desire her one bit. “I have behaved badly toward you, Ceci.”

  So he had. He had also given her an expensive sapphire necklace, among other things. “You are disturbed,” Ceci remarked.

  “Disturbed? I have gone quite mad. Are you aware Wexton came to the abbey? I take it you are again on terms.”

  “If you can call it that.” Ceci sank down on a hard bench. “I am fed up to the teeth with my entire family. Percy and my father are welcome to each other. How on earth did you come to let Percy walk in on you?”

  Benedict sat down beside her. “I hardly ‘let’ him, Ceci.”

  Annoyed as she might be with her companion, Lady Cecilia did not like to see him made unhappy. “Percy is a snake,” she said, and patted his knee.

  Though he might no longer be physically attracted to Lady Cecilia, Benedict still liked her very well. He placed his hand on top of hers. “Had you accompanied your relatives to the abbey, you would have heard Odette call him a twiddlepoop.”

  Ceci’s eyes widened. “She didn’t!”

  “She did. But that wasn’t half as entertaining as when Miranda told Wexton he was a pompous lobcock.”

  Ceci removed her hand from Lord Baird’s knee and pressed it to her breast. “Truly?” she breathed.

  “Truly,” Benedict said gravely. “He was making a cake of himself, so you must not hold it against Miranda, even though you and Wexton are reconciled.”

  “Why should I hold it against her?” inquired Ceci. “He is a pompous lobcock. Do you mean to have the girl?”

  “You should
ask instead if she means to have me.” Benedict stretched out his legs and contemplated one dusty boot. “She informs me she does not.”

  Ceci had expended so much time and energy on the marquess, only to lose him to a damsel who didn’t want him? “The little fool!” she said.

  There was some consolation to be derived from the championship of an ex-mistress. Benedict wished that he still desired her, so that he might have more consolation yet.

  He recalled Odette’s prediction that Miranda would be made miserable by his philandering. Benedict was being made miserable by Miranda, but apparently that didn’t count. “She doesn’t want to be betrothed to me. She does want me to ravish her.”

  Ceci was fascinated. “Do you not want to ravish her?”

  “Of course I want to ravish her!” retorted Benedict. “It must be obvious that I cannot. However, Miranda vows she won’t break off the betrothal until I have properly seduced her. She doesn’t care to die a virgin, you see.”

  Ceci could hardly blame Miss Russell. No wonder Benedict was looking so grim. “Couldn’t you just—”

  “Seduce her a little bit? I was attempting to do just that when Percy interrupted. But now Odette has explained the business to Miranda, and half-way measures will no longer serve.”

  From Percy’s description of the encounter he had interrupted, measures had gone more than halfway. “Lady Darby explained the business?” Ceci echoed.

  “With the assistance of various explanatory manuals brought back by God-knows-who from God-knows-where,” said Benedict. “Considerable nonsense about weasels and elephants was also involved. Miranda is a very determined young woman. Today she interrupted me in my bath.”

  Ceci gave Miss Russell full marks for effort. “What did you do?”

  Fond as Benedict might be of Lady Cecilia, he wasn’t tempted to confide that he had displayed himself naked to his tormentor. The memory of his shocking behavior made him cringe.

  Deliberately, he changed the subject. “Odette is hosting a party in Miranda’s honor. In an attempt to put a good face on this business, I expect. It would be a kindness if you and your family would attend.”

  It would be a kindness? With Percy itching to make more mischief, and Wexton vowing to fight a duel? “If that is what you wish.”

  “What I wish is that this blasted imbroglio would just go away.”

  Imbroglios didn’t just go away, as Ceci knew, to her regret. “Miss Russell wouldn’t have done for my father. I don’t know why Symington decided she might. Wexton is so high in the instep that I am astonished he doesn’t trip over himself. Had I realized Percy was dragging him with us, I would never have come.”

  Percy was responsible for Wexton’s presence? The cur’s meddling knew no bounds. Benedict took Ceci’s hand in his. “Give me an accounting of your debts. I owe you a parting present, I believe.”

  Ceci regarded the marquess him mistily. What a generous offer. She would miss Sinbad.

  It would not have been a terrible thing, to be his wife. “Ah, Benedict, we did deal well together,” she murmured, and squeezed the hand that clasped hers.

  Benedict was grateful that Lady Cecilia was accepting his confidences in a sensible manner, and not cutting up stiff like he’d half-feared she would. “I trust we will continue to deal well together.” She looked astonished. He added, “Not in that manner, goose!”

  If Ceci had not been born a gambler, she had lived with one. She had learned when to cut her losses, and when to fold, and when to play the ace she kept tucked snugly up her sleeve. “You may keep your parting gift. My father has been persuaded to pay my bills. In return, I am to become a pattern-card of propriety.”

  The idea of Lady Cecilia posing as a model of the virtues caused Benedict to briefly forget his own troubles. He regarded her quizzically.

  “Just so,” she said. “I shall behave in an exemplary manner – or at least Wexton will assume I am behaving in an exemplary manner – until my debts are paid. My father said many unkind things when I married Harry. I have not forgot them yet.”

  “Ah,” said Benedict. “And then?”

  Ceci smiled. And then she would be freed of her debts and her responsibilities, all without having to consider a husband’s whims.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  An ornamental plaster ceiling soared over the great hall. Bright tapestries, intermixed with suits of armor and antique weaponry, hung upon the walls. Beneath them marched stately buffets and cabinets of walnut, rosewood, and silver-mounted ebony displaying china and fine bronzes and rare magnolia ware. Because this was no longer the era in which the great hall had been built, when chairs were reserved for royalty and statesmen while lesser folk perched on stools and chests, the hall was supplied with many square oak chairs. The wood floor had been polished until it gleamed like mirror glass.

  The hall’s heavy roof timbers, the panels under and around the windows, the chimney shelf molding, were intricately carved. An enormous fireplace, elevated upon a low platform, was furnished with huge iron firedogs. A musicians gallery perched halfway down one wall like a spider lurking in its web.

  Lady Darby stood in the musicians gallery, gazing down on the glittering throng below — a throng that if not so glittering as London might provide was impressive all the same, for everyone in the neighborhood was hoping to catch a glimpse of the young madwomen to whom Lord Baird had got himself betrothed. They were unanimously eager to see some new scandal erupt before the festivities ended. Considering how many people were at odds with one another, thought Lady Darby, scandal well might.

  She glittered tonight as well. Odette’s open robe of cream silk brocade featured groups of candy pink stripes and brocaded flora garlands in pinks, yellows and greens, trimmed overall with box-pleated rows of cream silk bobbin lace. This confection had a square neck, fitted elbow-length sleeves falling to points at the back, and panniers so wide that she had to turn sideways to pass through a doorway. Her powdered headdress was lavishly ornamented with blown glass butterflies, artificial flowers from Italy, and enormously tall feathers; her high-heeled shoes, fashioned from brocade. Over one arm, instead of a shawl, Lady Darby had draped her cat, who wore a collar of priceless diamonds around his neck. Lord Chalmondly was waiting by her side. Somewhat creakily, due to his stiff corsets, the duke offered his arm. Chimlin, who was not fond of social occasions, extended his claws. Phineas refrained from remarking that the feline made an odd fashion accessory. It was Odette’s oft-stated opinion that at her age she could do as she demned well pleased.

  Lady Darby and her escort made their way into the great hall. Lord Chalmondly did the civil. Odette ignored her guests, one and all.

  Abruptly, Phineas halted. “By Jove! Who’s the wench?”

  Odette halted also, because her hand was tucked through his sleeve. “That is Benedict’s peculiar. Or she was. Return your tongue to your mouth and I will introduce you.” Lady Cecilia was dressed à la sauvage in a near-transparent muslin gown with a plunging neckline. Phineas was not the only one gaping at her as if she was the world’s eighth wonder. What would be mildly startling in London was outrageous here.

  Wexton did not accompany his daughter. One could hope that he had gone off in an apoplexy at sight of her in that dress. The plaguesome Pettigrew was stuck like a leech to her side.

  Lady Darby and Lord Chalmondly moved through the crowd, which parted Red-Sea-like before them. This may have had something to do with the unfriendly feline draped over Lady Darby’s arm.

  Lady Cecilia appeared even more naked at closer viewing, result of a dampened petticoat. “‘Faith, ‘tis a brazen piece,” observed Odette.

  She performed introductions. Phineas immediately engaged Lady Cecilia in conversation. Odette hoped he would refrain from inquiring whether Ceci was or was not wearing flesh-colored tights.

  Percy Pettigrew raised his quizzing glass. Odette raised her own quizzing glass and returned his regard.

  Percy conceded the staring contest. He let h
is glass fall. “You have my sympathy, Lady Darby. I would not mention this appalling business, of course, were I not so intimately involved. Had I not been present at the inception of Baird’s mésalliance, as it were. If only I had been mere moments earlier, or later – but I was not, alas. “

  Alas, her arse. Odette reached up and grasped his earlobe. “I am prodigious close to being out of charity with you, Pettigrew. You will not make further mischief this evening. I trust I make my meaning clear.”

  Whatever his flaws of character, Percy Pettigrew did not lack for common sense. Lady Darby was an immensely influential shrew. Daunting as the prospect was, he said, he would try and behave himself.

  Odette released his ear. Politely, Percy bowed. This act brought him into close proximity with what he had taken to be a strange sort of fur piece.

  The fur piece bared sharp teeth. Percy leapt back. “Bad cat!” Odette scolded. “You must not bite the twiddlepoop. ‘Twould make you ill.”

  * * * *

  At one end of the long chamber rose a winding wooden stair, its treads and handrails and balusters fashioned from finely carved woods. Slowly, Miss Russell set one foot in front of the other and descended the stair.

  Miranda was discouraged. No sooner had she found herself in a perfect position to be ravished than she had indulged in a temper tantrum and stormed away. Had she stood her ground, her desires might have prevailed. But she had not, and they had not, and it probably made no difference whether she had or hadn’t stayed because Benedict had looked like he wished her to Hades, but she would never know for certain now.

  Along with everyone else in his household, Miranda was aware that the marquess had gone into the village. Instead of trying to provoke his lust she should be trying to decrease it, if that lust was going to be directed toward someone else.

  The guests nudged one another, whispered behind gloved hands and fans. Miranda pasted a pleasant expression on her face. She was surprised to see Mr. Atchison, Mr. Burton, and Mr. Dowlin among the crowd. Had they followed her to Cornwall, as Lady Cecilia had followed Benedict?