The Incomparable Miss Compton (18 page)

“That is the way it is, when one is courting,” he assured her, wanting to leave no other impression.

She frowned, though her gaze was still on his toes. “It is true, then? You intend to offer for her?”

“That, Miss Persephone,” he informed her, “is a matter between me and your cousin.”

She raised her head at last, violet eyes misty with tears, rosebud lips trembling. He was certain not one of her suitors would have been able to withstand such a look and thanked God yet again that he was not in their number.

“Is there nothing I can do,” she breathed, pausing to run her tongue along her perfect lips, “to convince you that this match will only bring unhappiness to you both?”

Malcolm shook his head. He knew he had a tendency to overestimate his abilities, but it didn’t take arrogance to tell him the girl was indeed set on attaching him for herself. “Somehow, I do not think it is your cousin’s happiness that concerns you.”

She misunderstood, but on purpose or not he could not tell. “You are right, my lord. It is and always has been your happiness that interests me. While I adore Sarah, it is clear to me that she will not make you the kind of wife you need.”

“I disagree,” he told her quietly. “Your cousin is intelligent, capable, and likable. She is imminently suited to my needs.”

“She is retiring, self-effacing, and plain,” Persephone countered. “She is also penniless. Besides, she would be completely unhappy being Lady Breckonridge. I tell you this for her sake as well as your own. I do not want to see her hurt.”

“And you think a sudden transference of my affections won’t hurt?” he demanded.

She had the good sense to color. “Certainly, in the short term. But in the long term, she will thank you for it.”

Malcolm shook his head again, as much at her ploys as his refusal to believe them. “Miss Persephone, I understand your position. I’m sure you find it well grounded. However, I find it totally without basis. If your cousin will have me, I mean to make her my wife. I suggest your time would be better spent preparing for her wedding than trying to prevent it. Good day.”

He moved past her as she cast her gaze demurely down again but not before he saw her eyes narrow in anger and humiliation. The emotion, however, did nothing more than register. His concern was for Sarah.

The only other surprise the first week was the arrival of Lord Wells. That Wells would follow him to Somerset was not surprising, particularly as they had more preparations to make to ensure the Widows and Orphans Act passed next session. That Lady Prestwick would refuse to allow him entrance to Prestwick Park, however, was a shock. And that Malcolm would not even have known of it if he hadn’t been passing the library was beyond anything he could have expected.

They had returned from church services in Wenwood, partaken of a light repast, and disbanded to change to their more casual country attire. On returning downstairs, he had heard music coming from the forward salon, which faced the drive, and, hoping to find Sarah, had gone to investigate. He was just passing the library at the foot of the grand stair when he had been stopped by Well’s unmistakable drawl.

“I simply thought to relay a message to Lord Breckonridge,” he was saying with his usual coolness. “I assure you, Lady Prestwick, it was not my intention to insinuate myself into your charming little house party.”

“I’m very glad to hear that, Lord Wells,” the lady of the house murmured. “Because you must understand that I would not have allowed you to do so. I will make myself clear, sir. I know what you are, and you are not welcome in my home.”

Malcolm frowned. He would not have thought it possible that the level-headed Lady Prestwick would be swayed by gossip. Wells deserved better than to be judged by his father’s actions. Malcolm squared his shoulders, prepared to ride to the rescue, and strode into the room.

“Lady Prestwick,” he began, watching with satisfaction as both the occupants of the room stiffened. The Prestwick butler, Rames, in fact, was the only one to look pleased to see him, his jowled face relaxing in obvious relief. “I beg your pardon. I thought to ask you about your plans for the evening and didn’t realize you were entertaining. Good to see you, Wells.”

Wells bowed. “Your servant, my lord.”

“Lord Wells has an urgent message for you,” Anne said, rising. “I trust you to see him to the door when you’re finished.”

“See him to the door?” Malcolm replied, keeping his tone light. “Surely you can spare us some time, Wells. I’m certain Lady Prestwick wouldn’t mind making room for a gentleman I consider a friend.”

He knew he was putting Anne in a difficult position but was certain her good sense would allow her to realize she may have misunderstood the fellow. Wells eyed her expectantly.

To Malcolm’s surprise, she straightened, raising her chin so that their gazes might meet. He had never seen her look so implacable.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, my lord,” she replied. “I’m sure Lord Wells understands the wisdom of my position. Good day, sir.”

She swept from the room, leaving Malcolm to gaze after her, perplexed.

“What the devil was that all about?” he demanded.

Wells shrugged, but the bitterness in his voice belied his casual air. “What do you expect? No doubt she dislikes cowards and traitors.”

“As you are neither,” Malcolm informed him, “I do not see how that signifies. I will speak to her if you like.”

“No!” As Malcolm frowned at his vehemence, the young man colored. “That is, I have no need of your protection, my lord. I prefer to stand on my own merits.”

Malcolm nodded. “I understand. Let us speak no more about it. You said you had a message for me?”

“Yes,” he said, and Malcolm had the impression he was pleased to turn the conversation onto other topics. “Lord Liverpool asked me to relay a request. It seems he is unsure how Prestwick, Wenworth, and Brentfield plan to vote on several key issues next session. As you were in their vicinity, he wondered . . .”

“Whether I would sound them out,” Malcolm concluded. “Certainly, though I make no promises not to attempt to sway any Tory tendencies I detect. I trust you have the measures in question outlined?”

“I have,” Wells replied, pulling a piece of parchment from inside his coat. As his hand moved away, Malcolm caught sight of a brace of dainty pistols clamped to the young baron’s waist. Apparently Wells was serious about his duty in delivering the note, to the point of fending off highwaymen on his ride from London. On the other hand, the fellow was dressed in the dove gray morning coat and darker trousers as befitted a cultured gentleman on a London social call. He had hardly ridden from the capital that day, which made Malcolm wonder where he had spent the night.

“Will you return to London immediately, then?” Malcolm asked, raising his head from a perusal of the paper.

“Shortly,” Wells hedged. “I had some business in the area. No doubt that’s what prompted Lord Liverpool to trust me with the message.”

“Liverpool trusts you,” Malcolm assured him. “You’ve proven yourself able and shrewd.”

“I certainly hope so,” Wells replied, reaching for his top hat on the table near the chair. “If my business goes as planned, I may give them all cause to look at me differently. Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”

“Tell Liverpool I’ll do my best to help the cause,” Malcolm replied, walking him toward the door of the library. “And assure him I’ll see him in January for next session’s opening.”

Wells bowed. “Your servant, my lord. I hope your stay in Somerset is enlightening.”

“It already has been,” Malcolm assured him, leading him out of the room and across the rotunda toward the front door, where two strapping footman stood ready. “I believe I am close to achieving my objective.”

“Miss Compton has agreed to accept you then?” he asked pointedly.

 “Was there any doubt?” Malcolm joked. “You should know I don’t turn aside from my chosen path easily, Wells.”

“Indeed,” Wells drawled. “I simply assumed that as she has refused so many, even you might have trouble bringing her to heel.”

Malcolm stopped, frowning. “Refused so many? What have you heard?”

“It is common knowledge, my lord,” Wells replied, stopping as well and lowering his voice to keep the footman from hearing. “Miss Persephone Compton has sent a great number of gentlemen packing. Look at His Grace the Duke of Reddington.”

Malcolm grinned, relieved. He wasn’t certain he could have stood to hear that Sarah was a heartless temptress. “Don’t tell me you fell for the gossip as well? Yes, I know all about Miss Persephone’s escapades. It does not signify. I am courting Miss Sarah Compton.”

Wells blinked, paling. “Miss Sarah Compton? Are you sure?”

Malcolm chuckled at his shock. “Quite sure. Don’t look so chagrined. Even my valet had the temerity to wager against it. I will not deny that Miss Persephone is a beauty, but she cannot hold a candle to her cousin. Next time you see the two of them together, study them. You’ll see I picked the right lady for me.”

“Of course, my lord,” Wells murmured, although Malcolm thought he still looked shaken. “I quite see what you mean. Indeed, I cannot understand why I did not see it sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Malcolm assured him. “Just believe me when I say the issue will be resolved shortly. Safe journey, Wells.”

Wells bowed again and left. Pausing, Malcolm no longer heard music from the forward salon. He turned to the stair, shaking his head. He had thought at first that Persephone’s beauty was blinding everyone to his motives. If even the young baron, who knew him fairly well, thought Persephone Compton was his bride of choice, perhaps it was his own behavior that was suspect.

It was obviously time to make it clear to one and all that his Incomparable Miss Compton was Sarah.

Chapter Sixteen

Rupert stalked out to his waiting horse and threw himself into the saddle. He ignored the groom who stood expecting a tip for his service and drove his heels into the beast’s flanks. He barely felt the jolt as the sorrel gelding broke into a gallop. All he could think was that he had failed.

Failed. The word echoed to him in the horse’s pounding hooves. He had let Persephone Compton’s attraction blind him to the truth. All his strategems, all his work, for nothing. He was as weak as his father after all.

No, no, never that. He reined in the gelding before they reached the bottom of the drive and urged the animal into the oak woods. No, he should not see this as failure. It was a singular defeat, to be sure, one that had cost him precious time and effort. How could he have put all his trust in that simpering tart? He grimaced as he thought of what she had driven him to. Because of her refusal to meet with him, he had had to concoct that Banbury tale about Liverpool to enter the house and see for himself what was happening. In truth, Liverpool had mentioned it was a shame Breckonridge wouldn’t be working while he was rusticating, so the risk was low that he would be displeased that the fellow brought back information.

If the fellow lived to bring back information.

Could he kill Breckonridge? Rupert’s spirits rose at the thought, only to crash again. It would not be easy. He had no excuse to enter Prestwick Park again. If only he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself. No, not complete, he told himself as he maneuvered the horse along a game trail. They still did not know what he was about. And he now knew he had chosen the wrong Miss Compton. Unfortunately, it was too late to seduce the spinster. Besides, she would never have believed his advances, and he wouldn’t have had the stomach for it anyway. Dewy young debutants were one thing. A woman past her last prayers was something else. No, he’d have to find another way.

He reached the gamekeeper’s cottage and drew his horse into the lean-to beside it. He had left his valet in London, but he seemed to be just as adept at picking up gossip. Only one night at the Barnsley tavern had gotten him a wealth of information. The locals knew of the house party at Prestwick Park. They knew how much food had been delivered, how many horses were needed for the daily rides and various trips, and how many pheasants had been flushed as Breckonridge and Prestwick went hunting. While many of the details did not matter to Rupert, one was key to any future plans.

The father of the Prestwick gamekeeper lived in Barnsley and had been ill for some time. It seemed as if the poor fellow was near death’s door. The gamekeeper had requested time off to take his family to visit his ailing father, and good old Lord Prestwick had been kind enough to oblige. The empty cottage was the perfect place to hide. With a spy glass he’d borrowed from a yachting-mad friend in London before the trip, Rupert was able to watch the woods. A little hill not far away allowed him a view of the front of the house as well. He knew when Breckonridge came and went. He could also follow Miss Compton’s movements. But what good did it do him if he had no plan?

There had to be some way he could finish the fellow. Nothing less than total ruin and humiliation would do. Yet death sounded like such a neat end to the entire affair. Fitting too, for hadn’t that been how he had lost his father? What a shame Breckonridge could not also be made to commit suicide.

The idea took hold, squirming in his fevered brain. His father had committed suicide to prevent disclosure of selling state secrets, a disclosure that would have spelled ruin for his family. Rupert did not believe that his father was guilty for a moment, even though it had been his mother who had tearfully related the story. No, he was certain it had been Breckonridge who had been the culprit. If his father would sacrifice himself to hide a sin, perhaps Breckonridge would do the same.

His ability to bring that about hinged on Miss Compton. She was the only leverage, the only thing Breckonridge cared about. Rupert had to get her alone. But so far when she left the house, she had usually been with someone, and as he had been watching for Persephone, he had not paid her much mind. Now, of course, he could put all his attentions on her. Sooner or later, the elder Miss Compton would go out alone.