The Counterfeit Gentleman (27 page)

The address of his brother’s lodgings was not bad, but
the rooms were low-ceilinged and miserable. Directly
under the roof, they were unbearably hot for half the year and bitterly cold the rest of the time. They had obviously
been used as servants’ quarters when the building had been
a private house, and Gervase was puffing by the time he
had climbed the four flights of stairs.

His younger brother was before him and was already
banging on the door. “I cannot believe Wilbur is so pinch-
penny as to live in such squalor,” Inigo muttered. “I warned
him when he moved in that it would be his neck if any of
my friends discovered how low he has sunk. Not that it
matters now,” he concluded as the door was swung open.

“It’s about time you got here,” Wilbur said crossly.

Feeling wonderfully cheered up by his elder brother’s ill
humor, Gervase smiled and said mockingly, “I see you
have already read the Morning Post. If you want me to give
you a ride to Dover, I must tell you that the only time I’d
ever help you on your way is if you were crossing the River Styx.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Wilbur said. “I am not about to flee
to the Continent when all is not yet lost. Now then, the first
thing we must do is pool our resources and discover what
we can about this Rendel fellow.”

“Why on earth would we want to waste our blunt on a
fool’s errand like that?” Inigo said, leaning negligently
against the wall and surveying the crowded room with dis
taste.

“What for? Why, so we can have the marriage declared
invalid.”

“Don’t be daft,” Inigo said. “Even if you succeeded—
and there is no reason to think you will—no one but a par
cel of gullible tradesmen ever believed that one of us had
half a chance to marry our dear cousin.” He picked up a
half-empty bottle of Scotch and took a swig, then pushed
himself upright. “So if you’ve nothing else to say, I’ve unpleasant business of my own to handle.”

“You must help me,” Wilbur demanded, but Inigo ig
nored him and opened the door.

“Hold on,” Gervase said. “I begin to smell a rat.”

At his words Inigo turned back. Standing shoulder to
shoulder, the two of them stared at their older brother, who now seemed to have difficulty looking them in the eye.

“Do you know,” Gervase said, “Keppel told me a very
interesting story about how Cousin Bethia’s cinch broke when they were riding together. He said that if he hadn’t
been close enough to catch her, she would have been badly
injured
...
or even killed.”

“Accidents happen,” Wilbur said with a shrug.

Inigo picked up the bottle again, this time by the neck. “I
begin to see what you mean, Gervase. I also recall once
when my cinch broke—cut in two it was.”

“Cousin Bethia’s cinch was old and rotted through,”
Wilbur said, backing away and almost falling over a chair.

“Now how would you know that?” Gervase asked, his
temper rising. “Can it be that you arranged for the acci
dent? What do you think, Inigo? Why do you suppose our dear elder brother is acting so distraught?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised to discover he has been
trying to gain an inheritance by killing off our cousin,”
Inigo said with a smile that made other men hesitate to
challenge him to a duel.

“Stand back,” Wilbur said, raising his fists, “or I shall
thrash you the way I used to do.”

Gervase began to chuckle. “It seems you have forgotten that we are now as big as you are.”

“And that there are two of us,” Inigo said, taking a step
forward.

“And that there is no mother to run to with lies about
how we have been picking on you,” Gervase added.

The beating he and Inigo proceeded to administer to
Wilbur was not bound by any code of gentlemanly conduct,
and was far more savage than bare-knuckle boxing. By the
time they tired of the sport, Wilbur lay unconscious and
bleeding on the floor.

It was only a small return, however, for the many tor
ments they had suffered at their older brother’s hand when they had been too young to protect themselves. In conse
quence, even though his left hand was undoubtedly broken,
Gervase felt a warm glow of contentment when he and
Inigo descended the stairs and emerged into the fresh air.

Feeling more in charity with his younger brother than
ever before, Gervase clapped him on the back and said, “I
shall be happy to take you up in my curricle if you wish to
make the dash to the Continent, but I warn you, I intend to leave within the hour.”

“No, I fear I cannot tear myself away from all the lovely
ladies in London,” Inigo replied.

“You’re a fool if you think they will visit you in the
Fleet,” Gervase said.

“Not to worry. I have been anticipating this eventuality
ever since the old man died, and I have made adequate
preparation. It is not, of course, the best of all possible
fates, but I believe I can manage.”

“Now you have aroused my curiosity. Have you per
chance discovered another beautiful heiress?”

“Ugly as sin,” Inigo said quite cheerfully, “and has not
two thoughts to rub together in her noggin. Her father is a
mill owner in Manchester, and he is so desperate to provide
himself with an heir that he is willing not only to pay for my bloodlines, but also to allow me a comfortably long
leash. Even got it in writing—signed, sealed, and deliv
ered—that I can have as many mistresses as I want.”

“The devil you say!”

Inigo nodded. “Four thousand a year and I don’t even
have to live with the old girl, just bed her until she’s in a
family way. After that little chore is taken care of, I’m free as a bird until the brat’s two years old. The old man’s going
to pay me a bonus of five thousand for the first grandson
and two thousand more for each additional grandson. He would have paid seven if he could have found a willing
baronet or ten for a baron, but his daughter is getting so
long in the tooth that he was not loath to settle for the
grandson of an earl.”

“Still and all, can’t say that I envy you, but then I’ve al
ways had a queasy stomach,” Gervase said, offering his
hand. “Well, I suppose this is good-bye then. Send word to me through Kidby if you ever decide to come to the Conti
nent, and I’ll be happy to introduce you to the more interesting people.”

* * * *

“What do you mean, you couldn’t find her?” Digory
said, rising to his feet.

“Just that,” Big Davey replied, entering the study with
Little Davey right behind him. “We looked all over Hyde
Park, but she and Lady Edington were nowhere to be seen.”

“Nowhere? Did you check any of the other parks? Did
you check at Lord Edington’s house? Did you check all the
shops?”

“No, we didn’t. Nor did we think to check all of Dorset
or Somerset or Northumberland or the West Riding,” Little
Davey said sarcastically.

As much as Digory wanted to deny it, Little Davey was
right. Without having some general area to concentrate on,
it would be impossible to conduct an effective search.

And whatever happened to his wife, he was the one who
would be responsible. Why had he ever been so foolish as to have allowed Bethia go out alone? He should have fol
lowed the carriage himself, rather than wasting precious
minutes finding the two smugglers.

“There is no reason to worry,” Big Davey said. “She has only been gone an hour and a half.”

His words were no consolation, and from the expression on his face, he did not even believe them himself.

“We must work out a plan,” Digory said, but his mind
was in too much of a turmoil to concentrate. All he could
think about was that the villainous cousin might not yet
have read the letter from Kidby—that he might see Bethia
unprotected and injure her or kill her in the mistaken belief
that he could gain thereby. Or he might have read the letter and still want revenge.

Digory’s thoughts raced down dark paths, but before he could give voice to his fears, he heard the front door open
and close. Hoping and despairing at the same time, he
strode out into the hall.

Bethia stood there calmly removing her bonnet and
handing it to Uppleby, who had materialized silently from
the nether regions.

Quickly, Digory looked his wife over from top to bottom
, and he was relieved to see that she did not seem to
have suffered any injury. In fact, she was smiling at him.

His relief that she was safe was tempered by the feeling
that there was something not quite right about her smile. It
took him a moment to realize that she was looking quite
pleased with herself.

No, it was more than that. Hers was the smugly superior smile of a woman who has seen a man make a fool of him
self.

Surely she could not guess that he had been so worried
that he’d sent Big Davey and Little Davey after her?

He almost made his position even worse by asking her
where she had been, but he caught himself in time. “Did
you have a nice visit with Lady Edington?” was all he
asked.

“Oh, yes,” his wife replied, pulling off her gloves. “Ade
line and I got along famously. In fact, we have both de
cided to attend the Chesterfields’ ball this evening. It is
sure to be a sad crush, and we agreed that we would not
miss it for the world. Matthew is picking us up at nine, although if you have nothing to wear except your smuggler’s
smock, you have my permission to stay at home.” Her
smile became even more saccharine if that were possible.

“I have suitable evening wear,” Digory said, thankful
that he had listened to Lady Letitia the previous year when she had insisted that he purchase a town wardrobe.

Bethia looked at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to
try to dissuade her from going to the ball, but he merely
smiled back at her.

Married only a single day, and already he was beginning
to realize that there were more dangerous reefs and shoals
in marriage than he had ever suspected during his years as a
bachelor.

* * * *

The room was cold and shadowed when Wilbur regained
consciousness. He attempted to get up, but the effort only
triggered waves of excruciating pain that made him scream before he passed out again.

* * * *

There could be no doubt but that their marriage was a
nine-day wonder, Bethia realized once the four of them had
worked their way up the stairs and the butler had an
nounced them in stentorian tones. An expectant hush fell
over the ballroom, and then everyone who could possibly
claim the slightest acquaintance either with Bethia or the
Edingtons began as unobtrusively as possible to work their
way over to the door.

Despite their scarcely disguised eagerness to know more
about the mysterious bridegroom who had succeeded in
snaring for himself the most eligible heiress of the Season,
Lord Edington introduced Digory simply as Mr. Rendel
and added not a word of explanation.

The situation was becoming a little tense, and it was
soon obvious to Bethia that the other guests were prepared
to wait right where they were until their curiosity was satis
fied.

But then a young man shouldered his way through the crowd, clapped Digory on the back, and said, “Rendel, by
Jove, when did you get to London? And why did you not
let me know you were in town? M’mother is still mad as
hops that you did not visit us at Christmas as you promised
to do. Now that you are married, she will be even less will
ing to accept any excuse, no matter how reasonable. You
had best write her at once and say you will come in August,
or she will make my life miserable.”

The crowd began to whisper, but with three men to forge a path through the curious, Adeline and Bethia were soon
comfortably seated in chairs set a bit apart from the chaper
ones and their young charges.

“My dear,” Digory said, keeping his voice low, “permit
me to introduce Edward Townsley, whose mother has
doubtless never even heard my name mentioned.”