As Rich as a Rogue (27 page)

The first Mari realized that something momentous had happened was when her maid pulled the curtains and flooded her room with morning sunlight. She knew not to do that. Which meant something important had happened.

But given that Mari hadn't snuck back into the house until a couple of hours before dawn, she had trouble caring. Let the world go hang for a bit. She was sleepy and happy from everything she and Peter had done, and in so many wonderful ways. She couldn't wait to get married and be able to do that in their own bed whenever they wanted.

But then her maid tsked, and Mari was forced to roll over.

“What?” she said, not even bothering to hide her irritation.

“Begging your pardon, miss, but you 'ave a caller. An
early
caller.”

Mari frowned. “What time is it?”

“Nine twenty o' the clock, miss.”

Nine twenty? She shoved the hair out of her eyes. “Who is it?”

“It's Lady Eleanor. And she's mighty anxious—oh, milady!” Ginny made a hasty curtsy while Mari was still realizing that someone had burst through her bedroom door. Someone dressed to perfection, with a smooth brow, elegantly coiffed hair, and as much of a frown of worry on her face as Eleanor would allow herself.

“Still abed, you poor dear,” the lady said.

Sympathy from Eleanor? This couldn't be good. Cursing under her breath, Mari shoved herself into a semi-upright position as she looked at her maid. “Bring us tea, please. Strong.”

“An excellent notion,” Eleanor said with a serene smile. “And then together we'll make sure you're in your best looks for tonight.”

Tonight was hours away, and Eleanor had never taken a personal hand in her grooming before. Mari closed her eyes and steeled her spine.

“What happened?” Had the government fallen? Had rioters taken to the streets? Was London riddled with disease? She could think of nothing else that would bring such a dramatic morning visit.

“Of course you haven't heard,” Eleanor said as she settled herself pristinely on Mari's dresser chair. She started to speak, but then stopped herself, looking unusually awkward.

Mari began to feel real alarm. “Has someone died?” She couldn't even bring herself to say Peter's name aloud. It wasn't possible. God, no! Her hands were pressed to her mouth as she blinked tears away.

“Dead? No, not that. Though…” She shook her head. “I suppose some might prefer it. They definitely wish it so.”

“What? Make sense.”

Eleanor nodded then tilted her head at a precise angle so one curl draped enchantingly across her cheek. It was a practiced pose, one that conveyed consternation without wrinkling the face. “Please try to stay calm. It's about Lord Whitly. Rest assured that we will find you another husband. I have not lost faith yet.”

Oh no. “I don't want another husband. Eleanor, I—”

Her bedroom door burst open again, this time with her mother in her best day gown as she rushed forward to press kisses to Mari's cheeks. “Never mind about anything today, Mari. We shall go shopping for some new gowns. Ones like you want, with dots or lines on them. Perhaps even some embroidery on a ruffle. Wouldn't that be nice?”

“No, Mama, that would not be nice!” Well, of course it would, but that was not the point. She gripped her mother's arms and forcibly sat her down on the bed. “What has happened to Lord Whitly?”

“Um, nothing, my dear,” her mother said as she twitched her eyes to the maid who had followed her in with the tea tray. “Let's wait and discuss this after you've had something soothing.”

She knew better than to argue. She waited with ill-disguised impatience as a small table was set out to hold tea for three. Eleanor presided over it from the dressing-table chair. Meanwhile, Mari straightened up to a fully seated position.

Except that motion pulled at a few of her sore muscles, creating a sharp twinge followed by a dull ache. She knew how she'd gotten those pains. She wanted to be alone to fully savor the feelings, uncomfortable though they were. They were the result of a night spent in lovemaking, and she would not wish them away for anything. But she was not alone, and something had happened to Peter. So she waited, taking a moment to scrub her face with a cloth from the water basin.

“You should not be so vigorous in your ablutions,” chided Eleanor. “It's detrimental to your skin.”

So was getting slapped for choosing the wrong moment to pick at her, but Mari kept her tongue—and her hand—in check. Meanwhile, Mama began unplaiting Mari's hair to brush out the locks. The door finally closed behind the maid, Mari grabbed her mother's hand to still it, and spoke very clearly.

“Tell me immediately what has happened.”

Mama and Eleanor exchanged glances, and by some unspoken agreement, Eleanor was the one to explain.

“The Earl of Sommerfield has been taken.”

She blinked. “Taken? Where?”

“To gaol!” Mama said on a choked gasp. “An earl taken to gaol for thievery. Pulled right out of his bed and had the irons clapped on him like a common criminal.”

Mari nodded. “Well, he is a common criminal. He should be arrested.”

“Not an earl!” Mama cried.

“I know it's shocking,” she began, but Eleanor interrupted her.

“That's not the horrible part.”

Mari blinked. “It's not?”

“No. Lord Whitly was the one who had him arrested.”

Of course it was. Peter would not leave such a thing to anyone else. “When did this happen?” She'd only just left him a few hours before.

“An hour ago,” Mama said. “Lord Whitly sent a note to your papa, explaining matters.”

Mari glanced to Eleanor, who shrugged. “I learned of it through a footman who was there at the time.”

“At the earl's home?” How the devil was Eleanor connected to a servant at Sommerfield's establishment?

She nodded. “You showed marked interest in Lord Whitly. I felt it incumbent upon myself to gain insight into his particulars.” Her arch look added the words she would never say aloud:
That is what you paid me for
.

Mari had no words in response, especially as her mind was wholly consumed by thoughts of Peter. How awful he must feel. How terrible to have to stand and see your father clapped in irons. Even worse to be the instrument of his father's destruction.

“Help me dress, Mama,” she said as she scrambled out of bed. “I must go to him.”

“What?” her mother gasped.

“You must absolutely not!”

Those were the sharpest words she'd ever heard from Eleanor, and she and her mother turned in shock.

“Let me explain this to you,” Eleanor continued in a more moderated tone. “Lord Whitly has sent his own father to gaol. His father, an earl, has been incarcerated, and not by the hand of the King.”

Mari slowly exhaled, beginning to fully understand everyone's reaction. She had spent so much time thinking about the crime the earl had tried to lay at her father's door that she hadn't really thought about the consequences of ending the thieving ring. It was one thing to incarcerate a wealthy cit like her father. It was quite another to lock up an earl. But either way, that did not change her mind. She would see Peter, if only to stand beside him. They were not married, but it was a wife's place to stand beside—

“You cannot see Lord Whitly, because he is right now speaking with Prinny, who is not pleased. Not pleased at all.”

The Prince Regent was not a man to make angry. Still… “Naturally, I should think His Highness would be furious at the earl—”

“Not pleased that Lord Whitly would expose such a thing in so public a manner. Especially without informing him first.”

Well, he probably couldn't have. Peter ran in good circles, but not quite so exalted as to call Prinny a friend. “Nevertheless, the earl was at fault—” Mari began.

“Listen, Mari!” Eleanor snapped, her words coming out crisp and cold. “If the lower orders lose faith in the peerage, then we will have chaos. People will riot, and Madame Guillotine will appear in Hyde Park. Do you want that?”

“Of course not,” Mari returned with equal heat. “But if we allow the elite their corruptions—”

“No one said allow it. Simply end it, and do so quietly.”

Mari compressed her lips. She understood Eleanor's fears. She might not agree with them, but she understood the worry. The peerage was expected to act in a superior manner. Show them to be as fallible as anyone else, and the entire government might collapse as it had in France.

But Peter wasn't worried about that. His fears were that the elite would become as venally corrupt as in India. And to prevent that, he would expose his own father as a thief. He would show the world—including England's most powerful—that they were not above the law.

She adored him for that, even as she now saw why Eleanor and her mother had rushed to her side. They knew the powerful did not like one of their own being exposed. And far from turning on his father, they would attack the son instead.

“How bad is it?” she asked.

Eleanor took a sip of her tea. “It is too early to tell. Much will depend on Prinny's reaction.”

That made complete sense. Mari took a deep breath and thought about the gowns in her wardrobe. “What do I own that is appropriate for an early morning call on the prince?”

Eleanor's teacup clattered in the saucer. Another unexpected display from the usually serene woman. “You cannot be serious. Whyever would he see you?”

“He wouldn't, alone,” Mari allowed. “But he would see you, wouldn't he? You're the exquisite Lady Eleanor, daughter of a duke who had once been friendly with His Majesty, are you not?”

“My father—my family—” The woman sputtered so much she had to fold her hands together and compress her lips. After a deep breath, she spoke. “I've only met the man a few dozen times. He
is
the Prince Regent.”

“And you are Lady Eleanor, who opens closed doors. Who makes smooth that which has been ruffled.” Mari made her gaze hard enough to transmit the words she wouldn't utter aloud.
And this is what we paid you for.

They did not see the prince.

Mari laid the fault for that squarely at Eleanor's feet. First it had taken time to convince Eleanor that Mari intended to go with or without the woman. And that once at Carlton House, she would make liberal use of Eleanor's name.

It wasn't an idle threat, and Eleanor could see it. So she grudgingly agreed, but then had to leave to change into attire appropriate when visiting a prince. If it was a stall tactic, it worked, because that left Mari cooling her heels for another two hours. Fortunately, she put the time to good use and managed to persuade Eleanor's cousin, the sailor-turned-Duke of Bucklynde, to join their party.

Nevertheless, it was a wasted endeavor. By the time they made it to the prince's residence, the man wasn't there. Neither was Peter, nor would anyone tell them where they'd gone or what was the result of their discussion.

Maddening!

Fortunately, the duke had an excellent idea. He promised to make a round of the gentlemen's clubs and find out what the general mood was. At that point, Mari was desperate for any sort of news, and she couldn't get the man moving fast enough.

Mari's next idea was to go directly to Peter's lodging, but Eleanor and her mother flatly refused and swore to lock her in chains if she attempted it. They were still set on her making a good marriage, and if the tide of favor had turned against Peter, they wanted her as far away from him as possible.

Mari ignored them and directed the carriage to her father's place of business. If anyone knew anything, it would be he. Except that when they got to his office, they discovered her father was doing exactly what the duke was doing: making the rounds to find out exactly which way the wind blew.

Damn and blast! Mari was nearly insane with worry. In the end, she had no thoughts other than to return home in hopes that someone had left a message. Which was when they received their first piece of real news, delivered, naturally, in condescending tones by Horrid Horace.

“Lady Illston awaits you in the parlor. She's had two pots of tea already.”

Mari didn't bother to acknowledge the man but breezed into the parlor, intent on this potential source of news.

“Lady Illston,” she said, taking the woman's hands in hers. “What brings you here this ill-favored afternoon?”

The woman rose and took her hands, her expression flustered. “Ill-favored?” she asked as she glanced out the window. The weather was bright and sunny. “Oh! I suppose you mean as regards Lord Whitly.”

Mari kept hold of the lady's hands as she sank into the nearest settee. “We are most desperate for news. Have you heard anything?”

“My, yes! Lord Whitly has been summoned to Carlton House!”

Mari's teeth clenched. “Yes, we've just returned from there.”

“You have? My goodness, what did Prinny say?”

“Nothing, I'm afraid. He'd already left.”

“So you know then that Lord Whitly had his own father arrested for thievery. Can you imagine?”

“Yes, I can. His father is a thief and deserves it.”

The woman paused a moment to gape, but then recovered quickly. “But I cannot credit it! He's an earl. My husband was most incensed. He stormed out of the house an hour after hearing the news. He knew Whitly, you see, in India.”

“Then he must know—”

“Lady Illston, how pleased I am to see you,” interrupted Lady Eleanor. She had just entered with Mama, and obviously meant to silence Mari's staunch support of Peter. They'd been counseling her all day to reserve her opinion of the matter until she saw which way the wind was blowing.

Mari had steadfastly ignored them.

Meanwhile, Lady Illston was straightening up off the settee again to greet the other women. Which was when Mari took the time to redirect her thoughts. She'd believed she needed to gather information, to find out what had happened between Peter and his father, Peter and the prince, Peter and God only knew who. But that information wasn't available to her now, and obviously Lady Illston would be of no help with it.

No, her job was to sway the tide of public opinion away from the earl and toward Peter. And that task began with taking control of the conversation. Which began with tea.

She ordered a new tea tray and made sure she was the one who served. It was a simple matter of grabbing the pot and interrupting anyone she wished to be silent with a simple question.

“Lady Eleanor, do you take cream?”

“Mama, I know you hate sugar, but do try one of these cakes.”

“Lady Illston, let the footman take that old cup away. I'll make you a fresh one.”

And when everyone was silenced with their drinks, Mari began the conversation as she wanted it to go.

“I'm so glad you came today, Lady Illston. I'm very excited about tonight's ball, you see, and wondered if you could give me a hint. Please tell me if you think Lord Whitly has managed to teach Greenie a new phrase. I am in such a state of anxiety to know if he has succeeded.”

Lady Illston blinked at her, and no wonder. With the momentous news of the earl's arrest on everyone's tongues, she could not quite grasp the fact that Mari's greatest concern was their ridiculous wager and how it would play out tonight.

But that was the whole of Mari's plan. If she could reassert the trivial as the most important news of the day, then everything would settle back to normal. Peter's part in his father's arrest would fade beneath the weight of the inconsequential question of whether he'd taught a phrase to a parakeet. And if that was the most pressing concern, then clearly England's peasants were not about to rebel, Madame Guillotine would not be established in Hyde Park, and everything would be exactly as it was yesterday. Except, of course, that a highborn thief would still be in gaol because—thank God—the English courts did not run on the tide of public opinion.

That was the plan. The question was: Would Lady Illston take the bait?

“Er…um, Miss Powel, you know I cannot disclose anything about what Greenie will or won't say.”

Nonsense. She'd been trading on this wager for weeks now. According to her, her ball would be the event of the Season. Everyone needed to know the outcome of Miss Powel's scandalous wager with Lord Whitly.

“But you must give me a hint,” she pleaded. “Surely you see that I must prepare myself…” She let her voice trail off suggestively. After all, the wager was that she would have to kiss him if he succeeded with Greenie.

“Well, as to that, I can say that he has not spent a great deal of time with Greenie. Not at all what I expected.”

“Ah. Then I will be able to exact a punishment.” She didn't relish winning this wager nearly as much as she'd once thought.

“Er, possibly not,” Lady Illston hedged. “You see, I have lately come to learn that…er…well, my butler, it appears, has been working on Lord Whitly's behalf.”

Mari wasn't nearly as startled as she should have been. Of course Peter would find a way to succeed in their wager even if he didn't have the time to see to it himself. Clever man. “Oh dear,” she murmured with false dismay.

“Yes, well, you see, that's why I came to see you today. I could rule this as cheating, you see. He did bribe my butler.” She shook her head in dismay. “I lay the blame completely at my father's feet. He's the one who promoted the man, and naturally, I couldn't fire him. He's been working for us for generations.”

“Of course not,” Mari muttered. “When I become mistress of my own home, I will dispense with butlers altogether. To a man, they are an unreliable, difficult lot!” She made her pronouncement especially dramatic in order to encourage the conversation in that direction. Problems with servants were a common complaint among the upper crust. And as easy as that, Lady Illston swallowed the bait hook, line, and sinker.

“Oh, you cannot know how I suffer at that man's hands!” On she went for at least another ten minutes, detailing her butler's perfidy.

Perfect.

But eventually, she wandered back to the point of her visit. “So, do you wish to cry off my ball tonight? To use Lord Whitly's cheating as the excuse, as it were?”

And there it was, just as she'd prayed back at the beginning of the Season. She now had the perfect opportunity for her to punish Lord Whitly in full view of the
ton
. All she had to do was take this pretend insult and use it to turn her back on him. To declare to all the world that he was beneath her, though he was the son of an earl and she a wealthy cit. Everyone would know it was a condemnation of his actions against his father. Or she could choose something completely different.

She grabbed Lady Illston's hands, squeezing them tightly to gain the lady's full attention. And when she was sure she had it—along with her mother's, and Lady Eleanor's—she spoke Peter's doom.

“You must tell everyone that I
will
be there tonight. Indeed, send round a note to Lord Whitly that he must attend or risk complete ruin. He must be there, for I will see the matter between us resolved once and for all. Will you do that, my lady? For me?”

“Oh my, yes! Of course! If you think that will help.”

“It would indeed,” she said. Just as it would cap Lady Illston's ball as the event of the Season. Everyone would come to see Peter's set down—or not—at the hands of the Wayward Welsh.

“Oh dear,” Lady Illston said as she glanced at the mantel clock. “I have so much to do to prepare for tonight. I must be on my way.”

Mari stood. “I completely understand,” she said graciously. After all, she wanted the woman to spread the gossip as much as possible before tonight. Then, lest Mama and Lady Eleanor think she had forgotten them, Mari turned to them. Not surprisingly, Eleanor understood exactly what was happening.

“Please think about what you plan. Even in the best of circumstances, Lord Whitly will never regain the status he could have had. He will forever be tainted as the man who gaoled his own father.”

“Just as I will forever be the Wayward Welsh.” Mari couldn't help but grin. “I think that makes us two of a kind, don't you?”

“No,” Eleanor said repressively. “I think it makes you a fool. Your father hired me to find you an eligible husband appropriate to your rising status and massive dowry. A tainted future earl with no fortune does not qualify.”

Mari paused. So that had come out as well. That Peter did not have the fortune everyone once believed. “How well known is that fact?”

Mama folded her hands and looked askance. “I told her, Mari. She's helping you, so she needed to know.”

“I see,” Mari said slowly. “Well, Eleanor, now you have a choice. As I intend to marry Lord Whitly, you can either exert your considerable influence to sway opinion in his favor, or you can admit to my father and the world that you failed in your endeavor. I am set to marry a bounder whom you initially encouraged.”

She saw Eleanor's face pale. Her efforts on Mari's behalf were common knowledge. It was in her own interests to see Mari's situation resolved in the best manner possible. Which meant, of course, that she had to cede to Mari's wishes.

She did. And with typical Eleanor grace.

“Very well,” she said slowly. “I will smooth the way.” The woman departed, which left Mari to grab her mother's hand and head for the front door.

“Heavens, we've got no time and too much to do,” Mari said.

“But, darling—”

“Please, Mama, don't argue. Just help me.”

Her mother blinked in startled shock. “Of course! What do you think I've been doing since the moment you were born?”

Mari's step hitched just a moment before she settled back into a brisk pace. “Exactly that, Mama. Thank you. And pray hurry.”

“But where are we going?”

Mari grinned. “Shopping.”