An Unsuitable Bride (30 page)

Peregrine left the house on Stratton Street soon after Alexandra’s departure. He walked briskly to Piccadilly, where he hailed a hackney to take him to Crane Court in Fleet Street. He didn’t know if he would find Nevil Maskelyne at the Royal Society, but it was likely. The discreet house where the Society had its being was a general meeting place for its members, serving almost
as a gentlemen’s club, where, instead of cards or dice, the pastime was scholarly discussion, frequently with vigorous arguments on minute points of research. Perry, although not a member himself, was a frequent visitor, numbering many friends among the members.

The doorman acknowledged him with a bow when he opened the door to Perry’s knock. “Mr. Sullivan, sir. A pleasure to see you. We’re rather light on company this morning. May I ask whom you wish to see?”

“Is Reverend Maskelyne here?”

“Aye, sir, came in not half an hour ago. He’s in the library, I believe.”

“My thanks.” Perry took the stairs two at a time and went into the library on the first floor. It was the biggest room in the house and ran the entire width of the frontage, windows opening onto Fleet Street. Nevil Maskelyne was sitting at a table in the window surrounded by piles of leather-bound volumes of research papers.

He was so absorbed that he jumped when Peregrine appeared beside him. “Good God, Sullivan, where did you spring from?”

“I was hoping you would be here.” Peregrine perched on the arm of a chair. “Can you spare me a few minutes, if ’tis not a bad time?”

“Not at all, dear fellow.” But the Reverend Maskelyne didn’t sound too convinced, and his eyes kept drifting back to the page of calculations he’d been working on.

“I’ll be brief.” Peregrine came quickly to the point.
“Among your numerous correspondents, does the name Hathaway ring a bell?”

Maskelyne frowned, then shook his head. “Can’t say that it does. What’s the significance?”

“Nothing much, just a personal matter.” Peregrine hadn’t really expected the name to resonate with his friend. He was almost positive that Alexandra had snatched the alias from the ether, but it had been worth a try. “What of Combe Abbey?” he asked. “ ’Tis an estate in Dorset. Does it mean anything to you?”

The astronomer considered the question. “Douglas,” he said after a moment. “Isn’t that the family seat of Sir Arthur Douglas?”

“It was,” Peregrine responded. “He died last year. A distant relative inherited. Sir Stephen Douglas.”

Maskelyne shook his head. “No, I’ve never had dealings with the man. Sir Arthur wrote to me several times, though. And I met him once or twice. He had some fascinating ideas about Waring’s
Meditationes Algebraicae.
As I recall, he felt Waring’s algebraic notations needed improvement.”

“Did Sir Arthur have any family?”

The astronomer shrugged. “I wouldn’t know; we never discussed personal matters. He rarely came to town and, as far as I could gather, never for pleasure. He preferred to rusticate in Dorset.”

“Of course. Well, thank you. I’ll not take up any more of your time.” Peregrine bowed and departed, leaving Maskelyne to his calculations.

What was he to make of all that? Peregrine reflected as he regained the street. The only facts he had were that Alexandra’s father had corresponded with Maskelyne, and Maskelyne remembered corresponding with Sir Arthur Douglas. And Helene Simmons had reacted very oddly to the information that Alexandra was employed at Combe Abbey. How did those facts fit together with Alexandra’s extraordinary charade at Combe Abbey?

The obvious answer was that she was related in some way to Sir Arthur. But it was absurdly far-fetched to imagine such a connection. Why was she pretending to be someone else, if that was the case?

Of course, he could ask her directly. But he was afraid that to do so would destroy the fragile trust she had in him. He had promised that he wouldn’t betray her, and if she discovered that he was attempting to find the answer to her mystery on his own, she would think he had broken that promise.

He would wait, he decided. When he had the answer, then he would decide what to do with it. In the meantime, he needed to hire a horse. Or maybe borrow one. He signaled a pair of idling chairmen. “Upper Brook Street.”

The chairmen deposited their passenger outside the Blackwater mansion on Upper Brook Street. Peregrine paid them and went to the door. It opened just as he raised a hand to the knocker.

“Perry, what a pleasant surprise!” The titian-haired young woman standing in the doorway smiled warmly
at her brother-in-law. “Have you come to see Jasper? He’s in the library, muttering over his accounts.”

“I came to see if I could borrow your horse this afternoon, Clarissa. Unless, of course, you’re planning on riding yourself.”

“Oh, intriguing.” Lady Blackwater’s green eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Come in and tell me all about it.” She stepped back, gesturing in invitation.

He followed her into the hall. “Are you not going out?”

“Oh, it can wait. I was only visiting my dressmaker for a fitting. She won’t mind if I’m a little late.” Clarissa preceded Perry across the hall and opened a pair of double doors. “Jasper, see who’s come to see us with a most intriguing request.”

Jasper St. John Sullivan, the fifth Earl of Blackwater, looked up from his accounts. “Perry, I thought you still in the country. When did you get back to town?”

“Yesterday. Why the glum look?” Perry regarded his elder brother with a quizzical smile.

“Damned accounts,” Jasper said. “And now Aunt Augusta is demanding that the money for her daughter’s debut should come from the estate revenues. ‘So that she may make a good marriage in the interests of the family.’” His aquiline nose wrinkled with disgust.

“What, Cousin Sybil?” Peregrine exclaimed. “I don’t mean to be unkind, but she’s a positive antidote. She’d need a small fortune to find herself a husband.”

“Perry, that
is
unkind,” Clarissa scolded.

“Have you met Cousin Sybil?” Perry demanded.

“Well, yes, once,” Clarissa admitted. “She may not be handsome, but she has a good figure.”

“Skinny as a rake,” her husband amended. “Anyway, I do not wish the girl ill, but neither can the estate afford to fund her debut. Augusta will have to find the sum from some other source.”

“Well, I could—”

“No, you could not.” Jasper interrupted his wife’s hesitant beginning. “I will not permit you to use your fortune on
my family.”

“Since when, husband, did you assume the right to dictate how I choose to spend my own money?” Clarissa demanded, a martial light in the green eyes.

“Oh, Jasper . . . Jasper.” Perry shook his head in reproach, his own eyes alight with amusement. “When will you ever learn?”

Jasper grinned ruefully. “Having a wife of independent means is the very devil when one is scrambling for pennies oneself.”

“Jasper, you know my money is yours,” Clarissa exclaimed, looking horrified. “When have I ever—”

“Never, my sweet.” He rose and came around the desk, taking her face between his hands and silencing her speech with his mouth.

Peregrine discreetly averted his eyes and waited until he had their attention again. “So,” he said, as if the interruption had never occurred, “I was asking Clarissa if I might borrow her riding horse for a couple of hours this afternoon.”

“Well, you don’t need
my
permission, Perry.”

“Yes, of course you may,” Clarissa said. “But why do you wish to borrow her?”

“For a lady of my acquaintance. She rides well, so you may have no fears for Griselda’s mouth.”

“Oh-ho?” Clarissa’s eyes danced. “A lady. Who is this lady? Are we acquainted with her?”

“I doubt that very much. She is in town for a few days only and would like to ride in Richmond Park this afternoon.”

Jasper’s eyebrows lifted. “Does she have a name?”

“Mistress Player,” Perry responded promptly.

Jasper’s eyebrows lifted even higher. “Why does that sound like an alias?”

“Probably because it is.” Perry shook his head. “To tell the truth, I do not know what her name is. I know the various names she uses when it suits her, but unfortunately, it does not suit her to tell me her real identity.”

“Now, that
is
intriguing.” Clarissa sat on the arm of a sofa, swinging her foot. “Are we talking of a lady of the night?”

“No, most definitely not.”

“Are we talking of a prospective answer to Bradley’s will?” Jasper inquired, his black eyes now sharp and penetrating.

Perry shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “At the moment, I would say she doesn’t qualify in the least. She’s an intellectual, something of a scholar, and is at present employed as a librarian.”

“Good God.” Jasper looked astounded. “Where does she come from?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Perry, you’re in love with her,” Clarissa said. “Don’t deny it. Women can always tell these things.”

“I wasn’t going to deny it,” Perry responded. “But what I’m to do about it, I don’t know yet.”

Jasper sighed. “Well, if ’tis marriage you have in mind, you had best find a way to make this lady suitable for Bradley’s stipulation. You do understand that, don’t you?” There was a note of steel in his voice, one that Perry had heard before whenever this vexed subject came up.

“I am aware,” he said, his own voice rather cold. “If I may, Clarissa, I’ll take Griselda with me now. I’ll return her this evening.”

Jasper said calmly, “I’ll have her brought around. Help yourself to a glass of claret while you’re waiting.” He went to the door to find his butler.

Clarissa gave Perry a conspiratorial smile and murmured, “Don’t be offended, Perry. Jasper gets irritable when he’s fretting about money.”

“I know.” Peregrine poured himself a glass of wine. “But he ought to know I understand my obligations. I know what has to be done.”

“Of course you do,” Clarissa said soothingly.

“They’ll bring her around in five minutes.” Jasper came back into the room. “Good, you have wine.” He
nodded at his brother’s glass and went to pour himself one. “Clarissa?”

“No, I must go. I have an appointment.” Clarissa reached up and kissed her brother-in-law on the cheek. “Does the lady have a first name, at least?”

“Alexandra.” He smiled. “And I do believe, for what it’s worth, that that
is
her name.”

“Pretty.” Clarissa approved. She went to the door, saying over her shoulder, “Jasper, I will be back in about an hour. Are you going out?”

“No, I’ll be here wrestling with these damn books,” he responded. As the door closed on her, he turned to his brother. “Perry, forgive me for sounding harsh. ’Tis just that there are so many demands on the estate, and sometimes I despair of ever getting the family solvent again.”

“I know.” Peregrine put a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “I’ll find a way to satisfy Bradley’s conditions, I swear it. How is he, anyway? Have you visited him recently?”

“Last week. He’s still as irascible and malevolent as ever, tormenting that poor fellow, Cosgrove, with his obscene meanderings down memory lane.”

“So, he doesn’t seem to be any closer to the grave?”

“Not as far as I can tell. He’s still complaining and moaning when it suits him, but I don’t think he’s at death’s door yet.”

“Lady Blackwater’s horse is here, sir.” The butler spoke from the doorway. “Is Master Peregrine riding her, or should the groom lead her to Stratton Street?”

“No, I’ll ride her. She’s up to my weight.” Perry set down his glass. “Thank you for the wine, Jasper. And if there’s anything I can do to help . . .” He gestured to the account books on the desk.

“Just find yourself an unsuitable bride,” Jasper said, this time without the sting in his voice.

Perry laughed. “I’ll do my best.” He paused as he reached the door. “Does the name Douglas mean anything to you? Sir Arthur Douglas?”

Jasper frowned, then shook his head. “No. Does he live in town?”

“He’s deceased, but the family house is in Berkeley Square. ’Tis a good address. I was wondering if the family was known in Society circles.”

“Not to me,” his brother said.

“Ah, well, never mind.” Perry raised a hand in farewell and went out to the street, where Clarissa’s chestnut mare was waiting with Jasper’s groom.

Jasper knew everyone, and if he had not come across the Douglas family even by name, then it stood to reason that they did not move in the first circles of London Society, through either choice or inferior social position. Maskelyne had given his impression of Sir Arthur as a reclusive scholar who rarely visited town, so it rather looked as if Perry would be wasting his time making general inquiries about the family. But he’d already come close to that conclusion, anyway. If Alexandra was prepared to show her real face
in public, she must be confident that no one would know her.

So, now what?

Alexandra completed the last of her six letters and sanded the sheet before folding it and dropping hot wax to seal it. She sat back and stretched, shaking out her shoulders. The letters were all the same, a very simple statement that Sir Arthur Douglas’s library was for sale and an offer to show some samples of the rare volumes. The recipients were all bibliophiles with whom her father had corresponded. She had often written the letters for him at his dictation, before everything had fallen apart with her mother’s last disappearance.