Authors: D.L. Carter

Ridiculous (48 page)

BOOK: Ridiculous

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“For a skinflint you have expensive tastes in afterlife furniture,” grumbled Shoffer, who was paying for the event.

“I want a good send off,” shot back Millicent. “What else is money good for at the end of your life?”

“Since you have bequeathed it all to your cousins, I should, as your executor, practice economy on their behalf.” Shoffer wrote another few words on his note. “Besides, it seems a lot to pay to bury some criminal from the East End.”

“We are all equal in the sight of God,” joked Millicent. “Besides, it is becoming something of a family tradition.”

“Mrs. Harvey was most efficient in finding a body,” continued Shoffer. “Should I inquire how you came to find Mrs. Harvey?”

“No.” Millicent snickered. “How you managed to have the magistrates accept the body of a stevedore who died in a knife fight as mine, I do not know.”

“I simply reminded them that rumor cannot be trusted. I am the only witness to the crime, since Attelweir is fled to the continent. So, if I declared that Attelweir stabbed instead of shot you, how could they prove otherwise? Lady Philomena will not speak to the subject without damaging her own and Beth’s reputation. They went away quite content. Since they never met you, my identification was considered enough.”

“Of course, I forgot the power of the ducal stare.” Millicent’s voice faded away and she glanced over toward the window. Despite the early hour, the blinds were shut tight. She had no idea if it was a fine day or foul.

On the fourth evening after the shooting, Shoffer posted a notice to all the most popular papers announcing the sad demise of Mr. North. While Millicent lay recovering from her wound, Shoffer recruited Mildred’s assistance in staffing Millicent’s rented house. There the servants were informed that their new employer was a lady dying of consumption.

After Mr. North’s death was announced, Millicent was transported to her own rented house where she was introduced to her staff as Mrs. Winthrop.

As Mildred supervised her sister’s recovery in person, the servants rarely were required to enter the sick room, so did not discover the true nature of Mrs. Winthrop’s illness.

Thus ended the life and career of Mr. Anthony North. Gentleman and fool.

* * *

“How many times must Mr. North be buried before he stays put?” inquired Millicent on the day of the funeral.

“This must be the last time,” said Shoffer, frowning. “Be content. There is a will that states that your sisters are to receive a considerable inheritance. Their future is settled.”

“Hardly legal, but that is nothing new.” Millicent paused and stared at the duke. “I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble.”

“You saved my sister from a life with that degenerate. I will be forever grateful.”

“I know. You are an honorable man.”

Shoffer stalked about the room in a state of some agitation. Millicent folded her hands on the comforter. It was getting harder and harder to hold back tears. She put most of her confusion and distress, hidden behind a wall of jokes and light-hearted banter, down to the pain of recovery. Given the circumstances, it was impossible to arrange for a physician to attend her so she had not been physicked and had to hope that her natural strength would pull her through.

The other part of her distress was the pain of losing Mr. North.

Her independent life was done. Now she was to return to the rules governing the behavior of women and to the places society assigned them. No longer Shoffer’s friend, she was his mistress. Should she survive she would live in that little house with two servants, be unable to appear in public with her sisters or mother, lest she damage their reputations, and see very, very little of Shoffer.

Despite his declaration at Vauxhall, there was no way he could marry her and very few men took their London mistresses with them into the country. It simply was not done. The years stretched before her empty and dull.

“I have procured a special license, my dear,” said Shoffer coming to stand before her. “Do you want your mother and sisters to be present for the ceremony?”

Millicent came upright in the bed, gasped and clutched at her wounded side. “You cannot be serious!”

“Oh? I thought you were fond of them,” said Shoffer, mildly.

“I love them dearly, but I cannot marry you. It is too ridiculous to consider.”

Shoffer raised an eyebrow at her. “Then you should be quite comfortable with the idea.”

“Shoffer, you cannot say so. It is impossible. What would you say to anyone? Marrying your mistress would be bad enough, but what happens when they question my antecedents? Who shall you say I am? I have none. The true Helene Winthrop died a widow at the age of sixty-three. Millicent Boarder has been dead and buried for a year. If you marry me with anything other than my true name, then any child I bear you will be illegitimate. Your sons could not inherit your title or lands!” Her heart was pounding, as was her head, as she sank down on the pillows and turned her head away. “It cannot happen. I would not do that to you. To them.”

Shoffer smirked at her. “Truly, when you are a woman you are given to the strangest fits and starts. Who shall question the legitimacy of the marriage? Who would bother to research your past?”

“Lady Philomena?”

“She is angry, I admit, but suspicion of this type is beyond her.”

“No. I cannot do this.”

“Do not be sillier than you must, North. Write illegibly in the marriage lines, no one will be the wiser.”

“And what name will the vicar use when he prays to God to bless our union?”

This Shoffer had to think about.

“If he uses all your names and addresses you as Helene Millicent Winthrop nee Boarder, who shall say that the late Millicent was not named in honor of her cousin, Helene? Come,” he said, when Millicent continued to twist her coverlet, “I shall not be put aside. Do you not love me?”

Millicent smiled, “You know I do. Enough to want what is best for you.”

“That would be marriage to you. I had not enjoyed my life until you came into it. I have no doubt that as a lady you would be as interesting and entertaining as you were a man, now that you are wealthy…”

“Your money,” muttered Millicent.

“Not so. Remember, you left your money equally shared between your ‘cousins.’ As executor of your will, I have directed that a quarter be given to Helene Winthrop. Ten thousand a year in rents, my dear. You are an heiress.”

“And will you permit me to supervise my estates?”

“I would not dare to do otherwise.”

“And may I accompany you when you go to visit yours?”

“Of course, else I would spend my time worrying that you would do something ridiculous in my absence.”

She smiled at him. “Spending a season dressed as a man, and marrying a duke under a false name is quite ridiculous enough for one lifetime. I shall probably come over all dull and proper now.”

Shoffer pulled her into his arms, careful of her wound, and kissed her.

“Oh, my dearest North. That I very much doubt.”

Millicent took his hand and pressed it to her cheek even as her eyes closed.

“Shall we ever tell our children how we met?”

“No one would ever believe us. It is too ridiculous.”

Bio

D.L. Carter was decanted from her incubation pod in the outback of Australia many decades ago. This terrifying event was closely followed by shrieks of "There, there it goes, under the chair. Hit it with a brick!"

These valiant attempts to correct the existence of D.L. were, unfortunately, unsuccessful and she now resides in New Jersey, U.S., in a box with her toys, two human beings, and three cats.

Acknowledgments

I would like to acknowledge the hard work done by the staff of Corvallis Press. Wow, three grammatical errors per paragraph and you're still talking to me.

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