The Madcap (21 page)

“Speaking of influence,” Alasdair began. Marianne
was instantly alert to the shift in the conversation.
“We have had a slight issue with a dubious character
who is seeking to besmirch Miss Addison’s reputation
by making too much of an unfortunate incident in
New York last year.”

The prince’s eyes narrowed. “Who might this character be?”

“Lord Brantley,” Alasdair said unflinchingly.

The prince looked severe. “He’s not the best sort,
from what I’ve heard. What has he accused Miss Addison of doing?”

Marianne let Alasdair repeat the tale, knowing that
it was better to let him persuade the prince. He made a
good telling of it, leaving nothing out. When Alasdair finished his explanation, the prince wiped his mouth
with a napkin and leaned back in his chair. “A Champagne Sunday, Miss Addison?” For a moment, Marianne thought she’d be scolded. They’d gambled on the
prince’s sympathies and lost. Then his face broke into a
grin and he gave a hearty chuckle. “It sounds to me like
the only scandal there was that they didn’t serve Heidsieck’s.”

The table burst into laughter. Marianne laughed with
relief. Brantley would have no hold on them now.
Across from her, Alasdair smiled and mouthed the
playful words “I told you so” And so he had. He’d told
her it would be all right and it was.

Did you hear what everyone is saying about Miss
Addison’s escapade in New York?” Brantley groused
to Lord Hamsford, his companion at a small tavern in
West Cowes.

“You’re going to lose the bet” His companion
couldn’t resist the obvious dig. “The regatta is tomorrow and that’s the deadline we set, I believe.”

Brantley shook his head in disbelief. Somewhere
along the way the bet had become a secondary motivation for him. He was beyond desperate for cash, and
his anger at Pennington had grown exponentially with
his accumulated debt. By now, he’d thoroughly convinced himself that his circumstances were entirely
Pennington’s fault. If the Addison chit had danced with him instead, as intended, she would be marrying
him now instead of the high-flying viscount.

Pennington had bested him at every turn. Pennington had stolen the heiress out from under him. Pennington had made the little madcap from America
respectable even when she waded in duck ponds and
made unpopular comments at grand teas. Now, Pennington had even contrived to steal his latest thunder
by blowing his blackmail strategy out of the water,
and Pennington had done it in great style sitting at the
prince’s table.

That was another axe he had to grind with Pennington. It galled Brantley to no end that Pennington was
about to escape the noose of poverty with his marriage, while he, Brantley, had to continue suffering in
curtailed financial straits. It seemed patently unfair.

“You have to admit, the comment was hilarious.
`The only scandal is that they didn’t serve Heidsieck’s,’” Brantley’s companion chortled, mimicking
the prince.

Brantley shot him a dark look. “Shut up” If he heard
the prince’s latest witticism repeated once more he’d
punch the next messenger in the nose. Thanks to the
prince, no one of account much cared that Marianne
Addison had attended a Champagne Sunday in the
company of less-reputable members of society. Brantley was astute enough to know that the only ones who
did care were the sulky Americans who didn’t like
the idea of a rejected member of their own society doing so well across the pond in admittedly moredeveloped social circles than their own. Englishmen
would hardly care what their American cousins thought,
since they, too, were only outsiders who would eventually go home.

Brantley’s last ploy had failed miserably. Instead of
ousting the heiress from Society, his actions had only
served to entrench her more firmly. Like the Countess
of Camberly, she was on her way to becoming accepted.

Sensing his rather-obvious black mood, Brantley’s
companion left the table so that he could grouse in
solitude.

Actually, he wasn’t grousing just yet; he was still
planning. There had to be a way to spoil Pennington’s
success and get back a little of his own. Perhaps he’d
gone about it the wrong way. He’d been too focused
on what supposedly “ruined” American reputations.
Brantley slapped his hand on the hard wood planking
of the table. He had it!

He would ruin Miss Addison in the most English of
ways possible, and he’d do it tomorrow at the regatta.
It would be the perfect cover, because when everyone
was looking, no one saw a thing.

Blue sky, peppered with the right amount of white
clouds to make a decent breeze on The Solent, greeted
the sailors and their yachts as they lined up to begin the
races. These were no ordinary sailors and deckhands.
Boat racing in all its forms, from sailboats to steamer yachts, was the latest rage to sweep Europe. Nobility
came from all variety of countries to race in the Cowes
regatta, their boats crewed by their noble friends who
also shared their passion.

On board the Addison yacht, moored to a spectator
pier for the day, Audrey and the Carringtons joined
Marianne’s family to watch Camberly and Alasdair
crew the prince’s sailing boat. Marianne and the others
held binoculars to their eyes to make out the specific
figures on board the boat at the starting line. The men
had removed their jackets and rolled up their sleeves,
preparing to heave sails into place. Camberly was barking orders and Alasdair called a laughing response back
to him.

The scene through her binoculars warmed Marianne’s heart. This time she’d found real friends and this
circle of wonderful friends would continue to stand by
her as she adjusted to life in England. Since their engagement had become official, Marianne had started
to realize all it would mean to stay in England. San
Francisco was a long way away. Her parents would return home, but she would not. She had not recognized
that as a possible consequence when she’d set out on
her journey. When she’d left the beautiful mansion in
San Francisco, the only home in which she’d ever
lived, she’d never imagined that she wouldn’t be coming back. But neither could she now imagine being
without Alasdair. He was her world now.

Marianne lowered the binoculars, taking a moment to ingest the depth of her realizations: a new world, new
friends. On either side of her sat two women who’d
made the same choices she had.

On her right sat Audrey St. ClairMaddox, who’d
left her home in New York and risked her career as a
pianist to become Camberly’s wife. On her left, Stella
Carrington had risked everything in the opposite direction. She’d been born the daughter of an earl, destined from an early age to make an important marriage
to another great house. Instead, she had given up her
right to a title when she’d married Lionel, a rich American without one. There were those who thought she’d
chosen poorly. But one could not doubt the rightness
of her choice when one saw the obvious affection she
and Lionel felt for one another. Those that supported
Stella’s marriage were quick to remind the opposition
that a daughter of an earl would always be a daughter
of an earl no matter whom she married, and that their
children would be the grandchildren of an earl regardless of their father’s antecedents.

Marianne knew it would not be easy for her as Alasdair’s countess. But the presence of Stella and Audrey
reminded her that it could be done and that it was
worth being done.

A starting gun went off and the boats on the line
leapt to life, sails jerking to catch the wind. This would
be the first of many races. The regatta lasted nearly a
week and all types of boats would race by class.

Marianne put her binoculars to her eyes again to catch a last glimpse of Alasdair before the boat was
lost to sight. The race was a long one and she didn’t expect to see the boat again until after lunch. Some of the
yachts had posted themselves out farther in the water
to trail the sailboats, but her group had opted to save
that for another day. Today there was a market set up in
town to take advantage of the presence of so many noble guests. They were going shopping. Marianne was
looking forward to strolling the colorful booths with
Audrey and Stella. Her parents and Lionel were staying behind.

Once the boats were lost to sight, the three women
gathered up their parasols and reticules. The market
was set up near the piers to catch the most foot traffic.
The women admired the booths, pausing to buy a few
small trinkets and souvenirs that commemorated the
event. Marianne bought a program that resembled a
playbill, listing all the boats, the races, and the dates
of sailing.

Stella stopped at one booth to look at some Frenchmilled soap. The crowd was especially thick here, and
Audrey and Marianne stood back a little way from the
booth to avoid the brunt of it. That was when it happened.

A knot of men crashed through the crowd quite suddenly, reeling as if drunk. Marianne saw Audrey step
out of the way, but one of them ran into her anyway,
causing her to stagger backward. Audrey might have
fallen if a passing gentleman hadn’t stopped to catch her. Marianne had been about to dart forward, toward
her friend, when she felt something hard jab into her
side.

That was when she realized that the reeling group
of men now effectively obscured Audrey from her
sight. If she couldn’t see Audrey, then Audrey couldn’t
see her.

“Come with me, Miss Addison, so that no harm is
done,” a low voice spoke roughly in her ear.

She twisted to look at the man but she did not recognize him. “No, you don’t know me. The boss wouldn’t
be that stupid, miss” The man jabbed the hard object
into her ribs again. “Come along”

Marianne drew a deep steadying breath. The hard
object felt like the barrel of a small gun. She knew a
moment’s panic as her mind tried to focus on the improbable: she was being marched out of the market, in
plain sight of hundreds, by a man with a covert gun.
She was being kidnapped and no one suspected a thing.

Her mind quickly ran over her options. Should she
try his mettle and scream? Would he really shoot her,
especially since he’d made it clear that he worked for
someone else? Probably he wouldn’t shoot her, but
she did worry that he might not hesitate to shoot
someone else who attempted to come to her aid.

Her captor roughly pushed her along the emptier
side streets. Marianne focused on remembering directions as they twisted away from the narrow High
Street that defined the main part of town.

“You can look all you like, miss,” the man said
gruffly. “The boss won’t be keeping you here long
enough for it to matter.”

Marianne’s spirits sank. That explained why there
hadn’t been an attempt to blindfold her once they’d
cleared the crowd. The good news was that at least no
one was planning on killing her, just moving her. She
should be thankful.

They reached a doorway in a decrepit-looking
building and he shoved her inside. The interior stank
of mildew, mold, and other smells Marianne didn’t
care to put a name to. Perhaps it was better for those
scents to go unrecognized.

“Come in, my dear.” A man stood at the shuttered
window where the only pieces of furniture in the room
were placed: a rickety table and two equally rickety
chairs.

The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Marianne let
her eyes adjust to the dim room. “Have a seat, Miss
Addison. The chair’s clean even if it looks a bit unstable. I promise it won’t collapse.”

Marianne stepped near the table simply to get a
closer look at the man. A frisson of fear shot through
her as she recognized his features. Lord Brantley. He
had never seemed particularly wholesome to her even
in the best of lights the few times she’d seen him, but today in the grim interior of this room, he appeared positively evil. A sneer marked his face as he swept her a
mockingly gallant bow, his eyes cold with calculation.

“No one saw you, I trust?” he asked his henchman.

The man gave a malevolent grin. “No, it worked
just like you said, boss”

“Very good. That means we have plenty of time to
discuss your situation, Miss Addison.”

Marianne said nothing as he sat down across from
her, spearing her with a gaze that made her skin crawl,
his intentions obvious and revolting.

“I hear congratulations are in order on your forthcoming nuptials. I am glad to say that those will proceed, but perhaps your groom will be … a bit changed.
Of course, that’s all up to you.

“I have a boat waiting for us in a quiet cove where
we won’t be detected by the racers. That boat will
convey us to Ryde, a small village down the coast
where we can be married later today. I have a special
license of course”

Marianne met his gaze steadily, steeling herself not
to flinch at his proposition. “Why would I marry you
when I have a perfectly good groom of my own picked
out?”

“I am assuming you would prefer Pennington to
live, or have I misjudged your affections?” Brantley
inquired with an air of feigned innocence. “It’s very
simple, my dear. I have men waiting for Pennington
when he returns to port. They have been instructed to
either see to his demise or to deliver the message that
you have chosen another. Which will it be?”