The Counterfeit Gentleman (29 page)

After calling for help until his throat was raw, he tried
desperately to think of what he might be able to do to at
tract the attention of the tenants directly below him. He had
still not come up with any plan when he heard someone un
locking his door. His life, he realized with relief, was going
to be saved merely because he was in arrears with the rent.

“In here, Mrs. Fettes,” he cried out weakly. “Help me,
please, you must help me.”

“It’s six weeks you owe me for,” she said from the door
way. “I’ll be having what’s due me, or I’ll be turning you
out on the street.”

“Have mercy, my dear woman, for the love of God, have
mercy. I am desperately ill, and I have had nothing to eat
for days.”

She crossed her arms above her ample bosom and said, “Ill, is it? With those black eyes it looks to me more like you ran afoul of some debauched female’s cuckolded husband who gave you your just deserts.”

“My dear woman, if you refuse to bring me food, I shall die in these rooms and then you shall have to testify at the
inquest.”

He could see from the expressions flitting across her face that she was weighing the advantages versus the disadvan
tages.

“And then you would never be paid for the amount I am in arrears,” he added, hoping an appeal to her greed would tip the scales in his favor.

“Very well,” she said, “I’ll go to the market, but first
show me the color of your money.”

“My money?”

“You don’t think that I am going to charge your food on
my accounts, do you?” She let out a cackle and slapped her
leg in mirth.

“Take one of my shirts—they each cost five guineas, so I
am sure you can get enough by selling one to purchase a few days’ supply of food for me.” Actually, they had not cost him a farthing, because he had never settled up with
his tailor.

She came into the room and began to paw through his
shirts, which were folded neatly and stacked on the shelves
he was forced to use as a makeshift chest of drawers. Then
having apparently made up her mind, she scooped up two piles, one under each arm.

“Mrs. Fettes, I only want you to sell one shirt! All I need is some bread and cheese and a bottle or two of ale.”

“I’ll be having my rent first, my bully boy. And if these
shirts don’t bring enough, I’ll be back, you can count on
that. Once I have what’s due me, then I may think about
bringing you some food.”

He started to protest, but she looked back at him and
said, “That’s presuming, of course, that you can keep a
civil tongue in your head.”

In the end it cost him not only a dozen shirts but also two
embroidered waistcoats. He suspected she was cheating him, but at least she did not stint on the food or the ale
when she finally brought them to him.

Indeed, she was quite pleasant when she assured him that
she would also be willing to clean his rooms, which were disgustingly filthy, and do his laundry—all for a reasonable fee, of course.

* * * *

By the time they returned from the opera, Bethia had the
beginnings of a headache. She had never realized how ex
hausting it was to be on display—to smile and talk and
never give any indication that she noticed all the eyes star
ing at her, all the fingers pointing in her direction. It was in
deed a blessing that she had not been able to hear what the gossips were saying, for that she could not have borne.

But once she was safe in her own room, the tension slid
away. Soon she would be in her husband’s arms, and no
one could hurt her there.

“A package came for you while you were out,” Mrs.
Drake said as she began to help Bethia out of her dress. “I put it on the bed.”

“Thank you,” Bethia said, wondering what it might be.
She did not normally receive deliveries in the evening, and
she knew of no reason why someone should have sent her a
present.

But then she remembered the nightgowns she had or
dered, and her face grew warm. Would this be the night
when the argument about an annulment was settled once
and for all?

It seemed as if everything her dresser did took twice as
long as usual, but finally Mrs. Drake left the room.

Hurrying to the bed, Bethia picked up the parcel, which was much too lightweight to contain even a shawl.

Disappointed, she untied the string, unfolded the paper,
and discovered she had erred. The package contained not
one, but two gossamer creations. The first was palest ivory,
as creamy as a baby’s cheek, and the second was the yellow
of a sunbeam and just as ethereal.

They were both the most exquisite examples of stitchery
that Bethia had ever seen, as if fairies had done the embroi
dery. They were every bit as scandalously revealing as
Adeline had promised.

With a sinking heart, Bethia realized that she could not
wear any of these garments—not because they were too revealing, but because it would be nothing more nor less than
the most dishonorable sort of knavery.

Perhaps knavery was not the right word to describe femi
nine wiles, but in any event, she knew she could not deliberately make it more difficult for her husband to spend the night in her bed.

For a moment she wavered, aware that she possessed the
power to bind him to her forever, and yet knowing it was
wrong to trick him into consummating a marriage he did
not want.

On the other hand, there was no need to be precipitous
about sending these garments to Adeline. As frustrating as
her present situation was, things might change. There could
come a day when she would be able to wear these lovely gowns with a clear conscience.

Carefully folding the nightgowns, she consigned them to the very back of the bottom drawer of her chiffonier, where
neither her husband nor Mrs. Drake would be apt to dis
cover them.

With one last sigh for what could not be, she climbed
into bed and waited for Digory to join her.

* * * *

The following morning Digory rose early. Leaving a
note on his pillow so that his wife would not worry, he
went for a ride in Hyde Park, where Cavenaugh and Eding
ton had arranged to meet him.

Digory was a bit early, and he found the park deserted
except for a few grooms exercising their master’s horses.
He had not long to wait, however, before Edington ap
peared with Cavenaugh beside him in his curricle.

They were laughing at something, and looked, in fact, as
if this were nothing more than a game—a trifling amuse
ment for whiling away a few idle hours.

“I was just telling Matthew here about my cousin’s hus
band, the pompous Sir Percival Palk,” Cavenaugh said
when they were close enough for conversation. “He ac
costed me during the second intermission and said in his
usually booming voice, ‘My dear Oliver, pray tell me who
this man Rendel is. Why, I have never even heard of him
before this week, and one would presume that any friend of
yours would be known to me.’ So I replied in an equal bellow, ‘Only if one were highly presumptuous.’ He was quite
put to the blush by the amusement of the crowd, and if I am
extremely lucky, he may feel constrained to retire to his
country estate for a long repairing lease.”

Digory did not even smile. “I have been thinking of
doing that myself.”

“No!” both his friends cried in unison.

“Absolutely not,” Edington said.

“The worst possible thing you could do,” Cavenaugh
said. “If you vanish from London as abruptly as you ap
peared, the ton will never stop talking about you.”

“If you think to persuade me to stay here until the end of the Season, then I must warn you that nothing you say will
change my mind. It is too hard on my wife to be the target of such gossip.”

“You will cease to be of interest just as soon as someone
else does something scandalous. In fact, you will slide
down into anonymity so quickly, you will be lucky if any
one even remembers your name. And do not attempt to convince me that everyone will be on their best behavior
for the rest of the Season, for that horse won’t run.”

“That is only half the problem,” Digory said. “The other
half, as you have so determinedly pointed out to me, is the
matter of the wicked cousin. Or have you already deter
mined his identity and neglected to inform me?”

“Actually Townsley, Nyesmith, and Fitzhugh have been
busy little spies while we have been cavorting around town
making merry,” Cavenaugh said. “They have discovered
that the youngest Harcourt brother—Inigo I believe his
name is—was seen on the road to Manchester, and the mid
dle brother was spotted in Dover.”

“And the oldest brother?” Digory asked.

“No one has seen hide nor hair of him since the day be
fore the wedding,” Edington said, “but he has doubtless
only been more successful at sneaking out of town than the
other two. He cannot have stayed, because the tipstaves
have been set on him by his creditors—he owes money to
half the tradesmen in London if rumors are to be believed.”

“Which means that as soon as some bored matron runs
off with her groom, your problems will all be over,” Cave
naugh said. “Perhaps you could persuade your wife to
oblige us, Matthew. If none of your grooms are adequate to
the task, I can loan you one of mine. He is a handsome
brute, and would be positively irresistible to the ladies if he
were decked out in evening wear.”

With a laugh Edington cuffed him on the shoulder and
threatened to make him walk home.

Digory did not laugh. Cavenaugh’s words had come too near to the truth. What difference was there, after all, be
tween a groom who aped his betters and a bastard ex-smuggler who passed himself off as a gentleman?

The answer was quite obvious: There was no difference.

* * * *

“You are a fool, Digory,” Lady Letitia said. They were
sitting together at Almack’s, watching Bethia, who was
dancing with Roger Nyesmith. “Your wife has more
courage than you give her credit for.”

“My wife is afraid to be alone at night,” Digory replied.
“Without me beside her in bed, she cannot sleep.”

“Did you hear what you just said?” Lady Letitia asked.
“You have just admitted that your wife needs you, and yet you still insist that the marriage must be annulled. I repeat,
you are a fool. And you are breaking her heart the same
way your father broke your mother’s heart.”

“The situations are not the same,” Digory said. “By her
birthday, if not before, I am sure that Bethia will have
found someone else to marry. Nyesmith, or perhaps Cavenaugh—she seems fond of them both. Even Townsley can
give her a better life than I ever could.”

“So you think her that fickle? That having given her
heart to you, she should simply take it back and bestow it
upon another man? There are women who can do that, but your wife is not one of them.”

“She may think she loves me, but it is merely gratitude.
She feels safe when she is with me; she has told me as
much. Beyond that, I suppose she finds it intriguing that I
am so different from the other men in her life.”

“Bah,” Lady Letitia said rudely. “I do not know why I bother with you. I had thought you had at least a modicum
of intelligence, but now I begin to think you are as close-minded and stubborn as my first husband.”

Before he could reply, he heard a commotion coming
from the doorway. A crowd was gathering around a new
comer, and with a sinking heart Digory realized that the
moment he had been dreading was at hand. The only thing
to do was remove Bethia before the crowd became ugly.

He started to get up, but Lady Letitia caught his arm.
“Stay right where you are,” she said sternly.

He could have shaken her off without difficulty, but he
did not find it easy to show disrespect for the old lady who
had given him true friendship. On the other hand, his wife
now had the right to his first loyalty.

“I am not going to sit here and allow Bethia to be pillo
ried for the crowd’s amusement,” he said. “The more she
hears the offensive remarks people are bound to say, the
harder it will be for her to forget.”