Saved by Scandal (25 page)

What the devil had Harry been thinking last night, Galen wondered, sneaking off to Vauxhall without an escort? She hadn’t been thinking at all, obviously. The chit had always had more hair than wits and, since she’d barbered her pretty brown curls, her pea-brain had diminished proportionately. Harry was fortunate a broken head was all she suffered after that foiled foray to the Gardens.

Lady Floria, however, must have known what she was about, the witch. She’d been to Vauxhall enough times to understand how rowdy the roving bands of young men could get, how those unlighted paths could lead to unleashed passions. More than once, Florrie had refused to go down them with him, her own fiancé.

A badly twisted ankle was far less than the woman deserved for leading Harry into such danger, and after Galen had ordered her from his house, too. He should have paid Florrie the wretched dowry, just to see the back of the she-demon, but her efforts at blackmail had rankled. Any decent woman would have left when she was not wanted, without resorting to extortion, but not Florrie. The bitch had gone straight from blackmailing Galen to blackening his sister’s chances.

Now she was an invalid, and not even Galen could toss her out. He could, however, keep a firm hold on his ban of laudanum in the house. If Florrie begged him sweetly, he might just plant her a facer, to relieve her pain.

Thank heaven for Jake Humber, Galen thought, else he’d be in even deeper waters, trying to explain to His Grace how Harry had come to be tripping down the Primrose Path. Too bad Ella’s husband could not keep an eye on Floria, Harriet, and Ansel all at once, but since Harry was seeing double, and Florrie couldn’t put her foot down without screaming, Galen thought he’d have some peace and quiet for a while. Ansel was in the studio, the stables, or at his sister’s side, so Humber should have no trouble keeping him safe, especially with Nanny on her way, and Ansel’s promise not to try any more handstands on a moving pony’s back. Was the whole world insane, Galen wondered, or just him, for wishing he had nothing more to think of than his wife’s soft skin and blue eyes?

He’d thought to have some time with her today, just the two of them. The viscount’s plans for quiet conversation and kisses, to start, after Vauxhall, had come to naught when they returned to find chaos in the house with Fenning brandishing a fireplace poker and three maids in hysterics. By the time the Watch left and the doctor came, and Galen had promoted Jake Humber from man-of-all-work to security guard, and Margot had checked on Ansel, she was yawning in exhaustion, eager for her bed. She was not as eager as Galen was, but he had to leave her at her door.

This morning Margot was at the linen drapers with two of his friends’ wives they’d met last evening, seeing about those blasted seatcovers. Galen wanted her to have friends, of course, but deuce take it, he wanted her by his side!

The whole house was at sixes and sevens, what with the overpriced doctor underfoot giving orders, and the servants not at the physician’s beck and call starting to get the house ready for the musicale. Galen had escaped to the library, declaring that room off limits to the squads of dusters, sweepers, and carpet-beaters, He’d thought to go over some correspondence until Margot returned, then take her driving in the park. With Ansel, of course. Or take her to visit the Grecian marbles on exhibit. With Ansel. Blast, when was he going to get his own wife to himself?

Not soon, not with Manfred Penrose waiting down the hall.

Before sending for the son-of-a-baron, Galen sent a message to Jake Humber, that he was to get Ansel out of the house by the back door and keep him away until dinner. Galen handed Fenning a purse for their use. They could go to see the new steam locomotive, or the horses at Tattersall’s. Galen did not care, as long as the boy was out of Manfred’s sight. Later, after the makebait left, Galen might even get to spend time alone with Margot. Who said you couldn’t kill two birds with one stone?

Galen wished he had another stone. He did not get up from behind his desk when Margot’s rodent-faced relative edged into the room, beady eyes darting from corner to corner of the library. Galen couldn’t tell if Manfred was looking for the boy or pricing the rare books. He wouldn’t find Ansel, and he wouldn’t have time to fondle the folios.

“I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a busy moment,” Galen told the older man without offering him a seat. “How may I be of service?”

Penrose placed a box of candies on the desk. “Oh, I won’t take more’n a minute, Woodbridge, and it’s me who’s come to do you a favor. I’ve come to see m’nephew, don’t you know.” He nodded toward the box of sweetmeats. “I brought his favorites, see? I found I missed the little bugger, and decided I ought to come fetch him on home. You must be wishing to see the last of him, so you can enjoy your honeymoon, eh? Asides, everyone knows city air ain’t healthy for a delicate mite like Ansel.”

“Quite right, Penrose. Margot and I had the exact same notion. That’s why we sent Ansel into the country.”

Eyes never meeting Galen’s, Manfred shifted his weight
from foot to foot and licked his thin lips. “My man didn’t—That is, I didn’t think Maggie would let the lad out of her sight.”

“It’s only for a short while. Too bad you came all this way for nothing, but he just left this morning; we’ll be following shortly. Margot was too busy gathering a trousseau and planning for a small gathering we are having to spend much time with the boy, at any rate. Ansel was bored.” Ansel was not idle for one minute since his arrival. Galen never knew a child to have such energy, or so much interest in everything around him. He looked as if he might never have been so ill, except for his thinness. Penrose was nodding, though, as if Ansel were a whining, restless sort of boy.

“Aye, you’d want him out from underfoot. A party, is it? To introduce Maggie to your set, I’d guess. Suppose you’ll want her kin there, to show the family supports the match.”

“Oh, Ansel is much too young for a musical evening.”

Manfred screwed his face up in what might have been a smile, if a stoat could smile. “Heh-heh, I meant the gel’s uncle, of course, not the tyke. I suppose I could stay in Town long enough to show m’face at your do. When did you say it was?”

Galen hadn’t said, and wouldn’t. “You won’t need to put yourself out, Penrose. My father and sister will be in attendance, perhaps my aunt and cousin. Their approval will be sufficient, I am sure. It seems to be enough for the Prince, at any rate.”

“Prinny, eh? It surely would make me proud to see little Maggie rubbing shoulders with royalty.”

Making the muckworm proud did not figure into Galen’s schedule. He did not extend an invitation, not to the party, not to dinner, not even to share a glass of wine. He did lift the lid on the box of candies, though, and offered them to Manfred, who took a step back, refusing. “Oh, I couldn’t. Brought them for the boy, don’t you know. Asides, they stick in m’teeth.”

Porridge would stick in those rabbity choppers. Galen
picked up a page of figures from the desk. “I really am quite busy, Penrose.”

Manfred pulled at his yellowed shirt collars. “Yes, yes, well, I’ll be toddling off, then. Ah, where did you say Ansel was visiting? I might stop by if it’s on my way, make certain the boy is well. You did say he was recovering, didn’t you?”

“Actually, you never asked. He is in fine health, for a lad who’s been overdosed with medications for a year. And Ansel is in Cheshire, with His Grace, my father.” He would be soon, at any rate, about the time that Penrose should be back in Town after traveling to Three Woods to discover the lie. “Since His Grace is to be Ansel’s guardian in the event of my demise, and Margot’s trustee also if she should be widowed, my father thought he’d like to get to know the boy. You wouldn’t have any arguments with that, would you?”

“Now that you mention it, I do. I looked after the little devil for years now, and see no reason why I shouldn’t stay on as his guardian. M’brother wanted it that way.”

“According to the records, your brother’s will was never found.” Galen used the penknife to sharpen his point. “I wonder why that was? At any rate, you petitioned the court for the trusteeship. Now I am petitioning to replace you. My solicitor advises that there should be no problem, but if you wish to challenge my request, feel free. Of course, I might be inclined, in that case, to see you charged with attempted murder.”

“Here now, you can’t prove a thing!”

Galen sat up straighter. “Enough of this roundaboutation, Penrose. You will never have the boy in your keep again. If anything untoward should befall him, an accident, say, or another mysterious illness, I will see you clapped in jail so fast you won’t have time to hire a barrister. That also includes my wife and myself, in case you were thinking of extending your range of villainy. Oh, and do not suppose you will profit by my demise or Margot’s, for every pound,
pence, and shilling is protected by the Woburton administrators. Is that clear?”

Penrose pounded on the desk. “What’s clear is you mean to use your father’s influence to see an honest man choused out of what should be his by rights, his only kin stolen from his care.”

Galen tossed the penknife from hand to hand. “Is that all?”

“No, b’gad, it ain’t all. I’ll let you keep the boy, miserable mewling maggot that he is, but you can damn well keep your nose out of Penrose Hall. I won’t have you or that shrew you married snooping in my books again, do you hear? I brought them to Town like your man asked, and they are all right and tight, so you’ve no call to bother me anymore, confound you.”

What Galen heard reminded him to send a man to Sussex to look for another set of estate ledgers while Penrose was chasing around, looking for Ansel. Margot thought she remembered the vault combination, or else Galen could send Humber, who’d had more experience with safes than the viscount wished to think about right now. “No.”

“No? What do you mean no?”

“I mean that I intend to see Ansel’s patrimony preserved for him. I mean that if the accounts show a profit, I’ll still bring charges of mismanagement, if I have to drag every tenant farmer, every sheepherder, every milkmaid, to town to testify that you have run the property into the ground, lining your own pockets. I mean you are finished, Penrose. Now get out. I never want to see your ferret face again. And that goes double for your man Renshaw.”

“You’ll regret this, I swear!”

“I’ll regret spilling your claret on my Aubusson carpet if you don’t get out of here soon, Penrose.” He could hear barking, which meant Margot was home. Galen would be damned if he let this pond scum upset her, or take one minute of her time, time she could be spending with her husband. He stood and walked to the glass doors leading to the
side gardens. “In fact I’d go out this way if I were you. Margot’s dog has not had his dinner yet today, and I just might feed him your miserable hide.”

Too bad Galen needed the candies for analysis and evidence. Otherwise he’d feed them to the dog, too.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Whoever said that every cloud had a silver lining ought to provide a looking glass to find it. And an umbrella in the meantime.

Margot could not see one bit of benefit to the storm raging outside, nor one advantage to the deluge of disasters she was facing inside. To her thinking, things could not be much worse. Her sister-in-law was still dizzy, and dismayed at the gash on the back of her head and Galen’s doubly angry double image. Lady Floria was like a one-legged albatross hanging around their necks, and Ansel was irritated that he could not ride his pony in the rain. Mrs. Shircastle was in a swivet over cooking for the Prince, and Mrs. Hapgood was jealous over Fenning’s solicitousness to the dithery, disconcerted cook. The seatcovers would not be ready on time, since the fabric to match Galen’s paintings had to be specially ordered, and Ella was finding fault with all of the dressmaker’s gowns, so Margot still had nothing suitable to wear for the party. No one had refused the invitations, but Ruff had frightened away four servants delivering replies. Wedding gifts kept arriving, all silver candlesticks, it seemed. Worst of all, Margot’s uncle was in Town, and her husband appeared more anxious over hanging his paintings in the library than in protecting Ansel from Uncle Manfred.

“I told you, I sent a groom to follow your uncle,” Galen retold her the next, dreary afternoon after her uncle had come. He continued sorting through a stack of landscapes he’d brought down from his studio. “I’d wager Penrose is off to Cheshire to see if he can’t winkle Ansel away from
my father, as if His Grace would let that gallow’s bait get his hands on the lad. We should hear from my man any time now, and Ansel is not playing outside in the rain, anyway. He is safe as houses, listening to Nanny’s stories when he is not in the studio or the music room or curled up in here with a book, or being pampered by one servant or another. No one can hurt him, my dear. Now what do you think of this view of Three Woods?”

Nanny was a kindly, competent soul, and Ansel adored her tales of knights and dragons. His latest drawings were all of caparisoned destriers and chain-mailed heroes, and his pony, of course, who had been named Excalibur. Margot felt better, having Nanny to look after Ansel, and Ella’s husband to keep an eye on both of them, but Nanny’s eyesight was not what it used to be, and Jake’s language was not what it ought to be, and her uncle was not where he should be. Distracted, she said, “Very nice.”

Galen frowned. “You are looking at it upside down.”

“I am sorry, but I cannot help worrying.” She reached for a candy on his desk, but Galen pushed her hand away.