Wilful Impropriety (33 page)

I examined the bouquet with interest. There were irises, of course, which meant a message. Given my sister’s name that was the obvious thing to send. When it came to the language of flowers, Mr. Smith was nothing if not obvious. There was a single red tulip, far out of season, as an expression of love. Red roses surrounded the tulip, symbolizing undying and passionate love. A bit of ivy wrapped the roses, hinting at marriage. So far, nothing out of the ordinary. I looked more closely, and my heart lurched.

Nestled beneath the roses and all but concealed by them, a bunch of pennyroyal leaned against the tulip’s stem. Pennyroyal meant “flee away.” Within the pennyroyal was tucked a single egret plume, white as snow. What could a feather mean but “fly with me?”

I inspected the bouquet in silence. If I showed the flowers and feather to Mama and Papa, I would destroy any chance that Iris would find happiness with Mr. Smith. If I was right to suspect Mr. Smith was no prince at all, it was surely my duty to raise the alarm. Even if Mr. Smith was by some chance a true prince, he would never stoop to marry a commoner like my sister.

Anna had noticed my interest in the bouquet. “Mr. Hugo brought it upstairs himself.”

My voice sounded strange even to me. “Has Iris seen it?”

“No, not yet. Mrs. Malvern has the headache, so she is having a lie down, and your sister is reading to her. Shall I go tell her it’s come?”

“Yes, do.” When Anna had gone, I seized my chance. I plucked out the pennyroyal and the egret feather. The bouquet looked oddly sparse without them, so I took some carnations from another offering and tucked them into the empty spot. I started to hide the pennyroyal and feather in my bodice, but paused when I noticed a bit of green paper was wrapped around the shaft of the feather. My hands shook as I unwrapped it.

Meet me in Eden at two o’clock
, it read.
Be ready
.

I could see it all, how it would be at two in the morning. The quiet house, the empty street, the lover’s carriage drawn up, waiting. That carriage would leave without its intended passenger, for Iris must never know the rendezvous had been set.

I crumpled the note and turned to toss it in the fire. Caution halted me. Proof of Mr. Smith’s scheme might be important. I put the pennyroyal, the feather, and the note into my bodice. It was scratchy, and I probably smelled distinctly of pennyroyal, but it was safe for the moment.

That night seemed to last a hundred years.

As I had guessed, Iris turned up her shapely nose at the blue violets sent by Lord Camborough. She added the tulip to the bouquet of forget-me-nots that went with her ballgown, a hideous dollop of scarlet against the gentle blue, and tucked a bit of the ivy in besides. The ball lasted for hours, but Iris was home again, complaining of the headache, by one o’clock. I sat with her while Anna gave her a cup of cambric tea and put her to bed. Then I pretended to go to bed myself.

The house was dark and silent by two o’clock. Like all expert hostesses, Lady Worbury had chosen a night with a full moon to make travel by night easier and safer. From my perch on the nursery window seat, I could see moonlight filled the street below. I had dared to hope the message had been a ruse or a mistake, but just after the clocks struck two, a carriage had turned down our street and pulled up at the gate.

Even as I watched, the door of the carriage swung open. A man in a cloak descended, unmistakably young and energetic. He did not approach the front door. Instead, he walked out of my view, in the direction of the kitchen garden behind our house. Could that humble garden be Iris’s Eden?

I could bear waiting no more. I started downstairs, soundless in my kidskin slippers. If I told Mr. Smith point blank that Iris wouldn’t come with him, surely he and his coachman would take themselves off. If not, I would be obliged to raise the alarm, but only if it was absolutely necessary. If the household knew of this, Iris’s reputation would be in shreds. Even Lord Camborough’s devotion could not stand such a blow.

I had descended two flights of stairs before I was stopped on the first-floor landing by a hand grasping my wrist. I gasped and twisted, but found myself held fast.

A grim whisper in my ear. “Go back to bed, Miss Malvern. This caller is not for you. I shall see your intended off the premises for you.”

I gasped again for I recognized the voice as Mr. Hugo’s. “I’m not Iris. Let me go!”

The iron grip left my wrist. “Miss Olivia! I beg your pardon.”

In unison we whispered, “What are you doing here?” then I added breathlessly, “Iris didn’t see the message. I stole it. You must have seen it when you brought the bouquet up.”

“Do as I tell you and go back to bed,” Mr. Hugo whispered through gritted teeth. “I will take care of everything.”

It was a tempting proposition. I could go back to my room and lie down in my bed and pretend I knew nothing whatever about anything. In the morning, it would all be over. For a moment, I wavered. Then I thought of Iris. What did a tutor know about dealing with a man like Mr. Smith? What did any gentleman understand about the perils to a lady’s reputation? I put temptation aside. “Iris doesn’t need to know this ever happened. But I must come with you, or I’ll raise the house.”

Mr. Hugo said nothing, but the way he exhaled through his nose spoke volumes about his patience—and lack thereof. When he spoke at last, I had to strain to catch the words. “Very well. Stay out of the way, whatever happens. This man’s a villain. You must let me deal with him.” He picked up a bundle and started downstairs. I hastened after him.

I had all I could do to keep up with Mr. Hugo. He must have known the house as well as I did, for he moved through the darkness in perfect silence. Mr. Hugo had keys, I was interested to discover. I’d thought only Papa, Mama, and Jamison the butler had all the keys to the house. Apparently I was wrong.

With only the faintest click of the latch, Mr. Hugo opened the door to the garden. We stepped through, careful not to let the pea gravel underfoot crunch unnecessarily. The night was cool and fragrant. The moonlight was bright enough to cast shadows. I could smell the nearby river on the breeze that stirred my hair.

Mr. Smith’s voice, pitched low, came at once. “Is that you, my love? I thought we might have been betrayed.”

I yielded to a base impulse and did my best to imitate Iris’s voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Love laughs at locksmiths.” Even by moonlight, the flash of Mr. Smith’s smile was charming. “I’ve come to claim my own.”

“That’s a remarkable coincidence,” said Mr. Hugo as his bundle hit the ground with a metallic clink. “So have I.”

“Iris?” For the first time, Mr. Smith sounded uncertain. “What have you done?”

I stepped out of the shadows. “Iris isn’t coming. Go away.”

“Get behind me.” Mr. Hugo stooped and to my surprise drew two swords from his bundle. “I’ve taken the liberty of choosing the weapon. Sabers.”

Mr. Smith stepped forward. “I don’t know who you think you are, but you’re not wanted here. Where is Iris?”

“Iris isn’t coming. Now go away,” I said firmly, “or I will raise the house.”

“Do so, by all means,” Mr. Smith countered, “and your sister’s reputation is ruined.”

Mr. Hugo held out the sabers. “Choose your weapon, you fraud. You’re going to rue the day you decided to pass yourself off as Michael Von Falconberg.”

“Oh, am I?” Mr. Smith inspected the weapons Mr. Hugo held out to him. “Quite sure of that, are you?”

“Quite sure.” Mr. Hugo’s voice was cold. “I’ve been longing to try occasions with you. Whoever you are.”

Mr. Smith’s laugh held a sneer. “I don’t know what you mean by that, but I only fight with gentlemen.”

Mr. Hugo sneered back. “I too prefer to fight with gentlemen, but in your case I shall make an exception.”

Mr. Smith took one of the sabers. “Before I make you eat that insult, tell me your name. I like to know who I’m killing.” Moonlight glinted on the bare blade as he took a practice swing.

Mr. Hugo came to solemn attention, holding his saber as if it weighed no more than a teaspoon. “Prince Michael Christian Ludwig Hugo von Falconberg. I won’t add ‘at your service’ because I dislike unnecessary lies.”

My stomach twisted as I realized what a blind fool I’d been. Of course Mr. Hugo was the true prince. He knew all about Falconberg. He knew every subtle step of the madera. He also showed every sign of knowing how to fight with a saber.

“Do you really?” Mr. Smith came on guard. “I enjoy them immensely.”

Mr. Hugo’s voice was as cold as moonlight. “You have stolen my name, you have tricked those who are friendly to my cause, and you have deceived the daughter of the man who has given me sanctuary in exile. Prepare to make amends.”

Astonished and appalled, I retreated until my back was to the garden wall. Duels were not just illegal, they were most unfashionable. I’d never wished to see one. Now I was about to. I feared I was going to see bloody murder.

For a moment, the duelists stood perfectly still, each mirroring the other’s pose. Then the fight commenced. Sabers clashed and slid, glinting in the moonlight as the fighters sliced and swung.

I rejoiced at the dismay on Mr. Smith’s face. His expression soon told me Mr. Hugo’s skill was the greater. This man had tricked my sister into believing him a prince. He had tried to elope with her. What would Iris’s fate have been, had he succeeded in his plan? In the drama of the moment, I judged death was too good for Mr. Smith.

The fight lasted only two minutes, and ended when Mr. Smith’s saber flew out of his hand and struck the garden wall with a clang like a dropped saucepan. Mr. Hugo—Prince Michael—put the edge of his saber to Mr. Smith’s throat.

Mr. Smith fell to his knees. “I yield.”

Eyes narrow, nostrils flaring, Prince Michael regarded Mr. Smith with loathing. I found it impossible to see mild Mr. Hugo in him anymore. He held the impostor helpless, but he did not speak.

“I said, I surrender.” Mr. Smith tried to move away from the blade at his throat, but Prince Michael was relentless. Smith subsided completely, gazing at him in real fear. “I’m at your mercy.”

I regarded Smith with disgust. How could anyone, even Iris, ever have believed this smooth deceiver to be the prince of anything?

“Just so.” When Prince Michael spoke, it was strange to hear the mild tones of the Latin tutor again. “Like any young lady foolish enough to believe a word you say. Perhaps we should go to Miss Malvern’s father, so you can explain yourself and make amends.”

“Let me up and I shall,” Smith promised. “I shall do anything you say.”

I protested, “No, you mustn’t tell Papa.”

The men gazed at me with identical startled expressions. They had forgotten I was there, I’m sure of it. Enraged, I left my spot in the shadows. “Typical. You haven’t spared a thought for Iris in all this, have you?”

“Miss Malvern is safe,” said Prince Michael. “He will deceive her no more.”

“There’s safe and then there’s safe,” I said. “She won’t elope with him now, and that’s a good thing.” I had to resist the urge to nudge Smith with my toe. He was utterly despicable and deserved a good kicking, but it would be most unladylike to administer it myself. “Her heart will be broken, but that can’t be helped. The real danger is to her reputation. She has let her name be linked to that of a base pretender. If he’s exposed as a fraud, it makes my sister a laughingstock, and worse still, an accomplice. No one must know of this.”

“No one will hear of it from me,” Smith assured me.

“You’ve taken money from the people you fooled into thinking you were a prince,” I continued. “You must give it back.”

“I can’t,” said Smith. “I’ve spent it.”

“You astonish me,” said Prince Michael drily.

“You must confess your deception and make what amends you can.” I pressed on, thinking aloud. “You must tell Iris how you have taken advantage of her trust. Once she knows how false you are, her love for you will die.”

Smith smiled. “Sure of that, are you?”

I yielded to unbearable temptation and kicked his leg. My slippers were so light, it hurt me as much or more as it did the impostor.

“Ow!” Smith’s eyes crossed as the tip of Prince Michael’s saber moved to brush the bridge of his nose. “Oh, very well. Yes, miss. I’ll do anything you say, miss.”

“Begin by standing up,” said Prince Michael gently. “Slowly.”

As Smith obeyed, I said, “We’ll go inside and find something to write with. You must make a written confession.”

At that moment, the door opened and Papa emerged from the house. He was wearing his brocade dressing gown and carried a lamp in one hand and a pistol in the other. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded. “Olivia, go to your mother at once!”

“Papa, what are you doing up at this hour?” I knew it was feeble, but it was all I could think to say.

“What does it look like I am doing?” Papa growled. “The servants woke me when they heard the racket you and your friends have been making. Hugo, I am surprised at you.”

“How do you do, Mr. Malvern.” Smith spoke with friendliness surprising in a man held at saber-point. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, sir.”

Papa studied Smith with dislike. “I know you. You’ve been hanging about my daughter Iris. I don’t want you to see her again, understand?”