A Scandalous Proposal (17 page)

Dany pulled her legs up under her, cross-legged, and rested her elbows on her knees, pretending her sister had her fullest attention. “Not that I'd have reason to either understand or worry about that. But, please, do go on.”

“I'd be happy to explain.”

Sarcasm was something else that eluded Mari's comprehension. It must be nice to be so completely and dedicatedly involved only with oneself.

Mari unwrapped one side of the toweling and used it to wipe away the drying, flaking green potion. “It's simple, really. Oliver saw me and was immediately smitten. He told me that, told me how beautiful I am. But I was four entire years younger then, Dany. If I'm to keep him, to hold him, I have to
remain
beautiful. And—” she sighed soulfully “—clearly I'm failing. Soon I'll be a hag.”

Dany was all attention now. She shifted uncomfortably on the bed. What had Coop said to her when she was wishing he'd shut up and kiss her? Oh, yes, she remembered.
You're so beautiful.

“I think you're wrong,” she said, partially to reassure herself. “Men always say things like that. Especially when they're...when they're being romantical.”

“And how would you know that?”

Dany blew out her cheeks, and then smiled. “I've read a few of Mama's books.”

Mari motioned for her to move so that she could put down her legs and get out of bed. “Oh, that's too bad, Dany. I thought perhaps your
betrothed
kissed you.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Dany asked, following her sister to the dressing table and the basin and pitcher of water that sat there. “Not the kissing. The way you said
betrothed
. As if you—how did you—
Emmaline?
”

“It wasn't her fault, so don't fly up into the treetops, for goodness' sake. After my initial jubilation, I got to thinking, that's all. What would the hero of Quatre Bras see in my fresh-from-the-country sister? You only did it so that he could be closer at all times, to help me retrieve my letters. Really, Dany, I'm extremely grateful to both of you. What I don't understand is how you'll manage to cry off without looking the greatest fool in nature. Turning away the hero, that is.”

“The debutante who turned off the hero. I imagine it will do wonders to enhance my reputation when I make my formal debut in the spring.”

It seemed a reasonable answer. For three full seconds.

Mari was bent over the washbasin but, unfortunately, every word she said was clear as the pealing of a bell—perhaps a death knell. “But, Dany, haven't you realized yet? With me increasing, and probably
huge
by the spring, I can't possibly chaperone you, and Mama swore she would rather have splinters stuck beneath her fingernails than try to ride herd on you in Mayfair. Your debut is going to have to be delayed again. How old will you be then? I mean, in
real
years?”

“You missed a spot on your forehead,” Dany said dully once her sister was done scrubbing at her face and turned around. “I'm going to bed.”

“Yes, all right. No, wait. Why did you come bursting in here in the first place?”

“Oh. That. I was... I was just going to say that Coop believes we've identified the blackmailer, and you'll have your letters well before Oliver comes home.”

Mari gave a ladylike screech and held out her arms as she raced to gather her sister close. “Oh, you're the best of sisters, Dany. Thank you.”

“I'm your only sister,” she returned, attempting to avoid being coated with chicken fat and whatever else was clinging to Mari's hair.

“Yes, but you know what I meant. You didn't say. Do you have a name for this horrid blackmailer? Is he anyone I know?”

“No, Coop plays his cards quite close to his chest, as the saying goes,” Dany lied. “I'm just the make-believe fiancée, as you so kindly pointed out. I don't know anything more on the subject. You'll be fine. No matter what, Mari, Oliver loves you. Please remember that.”

Her sister gave her another hug. “Thank you. I love him
so much
. And now we're going to have a baby, and we'll live happily ever after!”

Dany struggled for humor. “Only if you don't wear Mrs. Sweet's concoctions to bed once he's home. You've given me a lot to think about. Good night.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

C
OOP
ARRIVED
AT
the Fleet before ten, having partaken of an early breakfast with Darby, who was now on his way to see Geoffrey Quinton.

Divide and conquer wasn't quite their strategy, but time was of the essence, so they'd split their chores between them.

Besides, Darby had never really cared for Geoff, a man too slow with his brain and too quick with his fists, and had admitted to looking forward to watching the man squirm. “I'm a true believer in taking my pleasure where I can,” had been his exact words.

After bribing a burly fellow at the gate, Coop was escorted up several flights of stairs covered in residue of dubious origins, and stood back as the fellow rapped his hairy knuckles on the door to what he presumed to be Ned's cell.

The man
knocked
? As if requiring permission to enter?

Hmm.

“Master Givens,” the man called out, his mouth inches from the door. “It's Clem, sir. Oi gots a gentry mort out here wot wants ta see ya. Crossed me palm with a copper and said please, too, jist loik you tol' me real gentry morts do.”

The jolly, disembodied voice of Ned Givens came from the other side of the door. “The gentleman
rewarded
you, Clem? Good on you! By all means, send him in.”

Clem reached for the latch, but before he could grasp it, the door opened and nearly took off his nose. A tall, spindly shanked man pushed past them, but not before Coop saw that he had a copper shaving basin, some brushes and other clear advertisements of his trade hanging from a leather strap around his shoulders.

Checking again, to make sure he was correct, and there was no lock on the door, Coop stepped inside what was not a cell at all, but a generously large and tastefully appointed apartment containing other doors leading God only knew where.

There were tall windows. There were draperies. There were couches, chairs, a writing desk, a large fireplace, even bookcases containing a small library. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling.

It all seemed impossible, but then again, Ned had always found a way to land on his feet.

The man himself was standing before a tall dresser equipped with a mirror, and was in the act of tying a pristine white linen neck cloth, as if he planned on taking the air sometime that day.

“Cooper Townsend, is that you I see reflected in this mirror?”

Ned turned around, presenting a face and build that had barely changed since their years at school. The same dark copper hair, the same overabundance of large white teeth and the same slim-shouldered body with its unfortunate tendency to spread in the middle.

“Ned,” Coop acknowledged. “You're looking well.”

“Expected to see me huddled in a corner, covered in rags and sores, weeping, mumbling incoherently?”

Coop took up a seat on one of the striped blue satin covered chairs. “Very nearly, yes.” He spread his arms as if to encompass his surroundings. “How did you manage all this?”

Ned sprawled his frame nearly sideways onto the closest couch, somehow making Coop feel like a starchy-backed headmaster.

“You know why I'm here, don't you?” Ned asked, not waiting for an answer. “That business about fuzzing the cards. Happily, I was forewarned, you understand.”

Coop leaned forward. He had to mean Ferdie. “Not really, no. Tell me how you were forewarned.”

“I suppose you have a reason for asking. Otherwise, why lower the hero of Quatre Bras to bringing his esteemed self to the Fleet, hmm? Very well. But it will cost you. Five quid.”

“You'll have it. And more, if I like your answers.”

“I suppose I'll trust you. Never gave me a reason not to, did you? I always admired you for your loyalty, your clear head, your sense of right and wrong. I couldn't even dislike you when you had me run up the flagpole, because you explained why you did it. To point out that actions come with consequences, wasn't that it? Shame I didn't listen better, I suppose.”

“Ned?”

“Yes, yes, I'm getting to it. Clearly you're not here to reminisce about our salad days. It was nearly six months ago, as I recall. I received a note, one warning me to pay over a certain sum or else be prepared to be exposed as a card cheat.”

“Were you cheating? Not to condemn you, but purely out of curiosity.”

“You know I'm not going to answer that. Although I'm a proponent of people doing what they're good at, you understand.”

Coop smiled. “That's answer enough. Did you pay this person?”

“Now, Coop, why would I do that? He'd only come back for more, having had success the first run out of the gate. No, I did what was prudent. I
collected
as much money as possible—became quite the social butterfly, although usually only confined to my hostess's card room. I sold all but the furnishings you see around us, and in my bedchamber, all of which I put in the hands of a good friend who delivered them here. I sent a good portion of my wardrobe, my horses and equipages, the family silver and anything else portable to a cousin in Wiltshire, and prepared to meet my fate.”

“Your fate being the start of the rumors and the eventual arrival of the duns.”

“A rabid group,” Ned said, shuddering. “They found me sitting in the only chair remaining in my rented flat, and damn me for a tinker if they didn't fall to fighting over it.”

Coop couldn't help but laugh. “And now you're living here.”

“Residing here temporarily. And with no dint of fellow residents unwilling to sit down at cards with me, which keeps my pockets full so that I have yet to dip into my, shall we say,
capital.
Clem is a good man. I keep him supplied with coppers, and he allows me to join him nights in his favorite pub. There's one barmaid in particular I favor. The duns have fairly well forgotten me, if the ton will never forget. It's not a splendid life, Coop, but it's a good one, and I intend to quietly leave the city soon, winter with my cousin and then set off for adventure. I'm considering Spain, as well as Austria. What do you think?”

“I think you'd want to know who attempted to blackmail you.”

Ned shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“It might, if I were to tell you it was Ferdinand Lanisford.”

Ned fairly leaped to his feet, his fair cheeks gone scarlet.
“Ferdie?”
From there he progressed to mouthing a string of profanities so inventive, so exquisite in its detail, that at any other time Coop might have applauded.

“Do you want to know why?”

Ned sat down again. “I don't think I have to ask. I also know now why you're here. Ferdie's out to bring us all down, all these years later. ‘A man that studieth revenge keeps his own wounds green.' Francis Bacon said that. I've spent much of these past months catching up on my reading.”

“He's come after all of us who were close enough to strike at, yes. Oliver for one, me for another. Johnnie died at Waterloo. Thad's in Jamaica, I believe. I'll soon know if he's come after Geoff. Now I've added you to the list.”

“You forgot one. What about Davy?”

There was no other way but to say it. “Hanged himself around the same time you ended up here. Leaving behind a note about how it was the only way to keep anyone else from
knowing
.”

The two exchanged looks, and then Ned nodded his understanding. “Poor bastard. He didn't even want to be there that night. What's he holding over your head?”

“That's the devil of it for me. I can't really be sure. It could all be a bluff on Ferdie's part. I just know, as you did, that it isn't money he wants. It's revenge. I only wish I'd realized that sooner.”

“You can't be blamed for not thinking like me, Coop,” Ned said as he walked Coop to the door, an arm around his shoulders. “I'm a gambler, I think in odds. To me, odds were that whoever it was would come back a second time, and then a third. So I...prepared. You need to prepare, old friend, you and Oliver and Geoff.”

The two shook hands, a purse ending up in Ned's.

“Excuse me,” a man said, brushing between them and into the room. “Eleven o'clock, Givens. You promised me a rematch.”

Coop looked at the well-dressed but faintly shabby about the hems man just then unfolding a card table that had been propped against one wall. “Isn't—isn't that...?”

“It certainly is. All sorts end up in the Fleet from time to time, him only until his next quarterly allowance, or so he says. There are several apartments here for those who can afford them, you understand, although I shamefully would declare mine to be one of the best. I've no end of whist partners eager to part with their money. I may leave here a very rich man.”

“You'll be all right, won't you, Ned,” Coop declared, stepping through the doorway.

“I always am. Now go take the bastard down. For Davy. For all of us. I can't think of a better man for the job.”

Coop left the Fleet with a smile on his face, which he believed fairly ridiculous of him considering the circumstances, and stepped onto the street to see Darby standing there, lounging against a lamppost.

“I saw your curricle and sent mine on its way,” his friend told him as the two fell into step along the flagway, heading toward young Harry, who was waiting at the corner, growling at any passersby who might be looking too hard at the horses and equipage. “Well? What did you learn?”

“Ned's not subsisting on stagnant water and stale crusts of bread, if that's what you want to know. But you probably want to hear me tell you yes, he was being blackmailed. He was.”

“Not unsurprising. Especially since your friend Geoff...”

“Aquaintance. Not friend. They all were. Although I'm beginning to wish I'd gotten to know Ned better. I think he could have taught me a few things.”

“About hoarding aces?”

“About life actually. How has Ferdie come after Geoff?”