Corey McFadden (15 page)

Chapter Eight

“Your sister is the ape leader this year,” Roderick said, in a singsong voice over porridge in the breakfast room, reserved these days as the children’s exclusive domain.

“She is
not!” Harry fumed. He grew tired of the incessant teasing and somewhere along the line, Roderick had apparently figured out that the surest way to get Harry’s goat was to malign his older sister, a goddess in Harry’s young eyes. Roderick was obviously not so enamored of his own sister, although considering the slaps and pinches he endured at the end of her sharp fingers, that was perhaps understandable. Elspeth had never slapped or pinched Harry, not as far back as he could remember.

“Caroline says so. She says Elspeth will be lucky to marry old man Sommers. He smells bad and he’s nasty. That’s the best your sister will do,” Roderick announced, dipping his spoon into his hot porridge and blowing noisily on it. He slanted his eyes at his target, waiting for a reaction.

Harry was used to this drill by now and was quite determined not to rise to the bait, although he wrestled with the pain of allowing this outrageous slur on his sister’s honor to pass without remark, particularly since he had a delicious secret that fairly burst to be set free. Mr. Thorpe was to be his brother-in-law! Julian Thorpe would teach Harry all sorts of wonderful things about being a man, maybe even how to duel with pistols. Harry was quite sure Mr. Thorpe had killed any number of other gentlemen in duels, scurrilous cads that they must have been. And when he grew up, he himself would have a valet who would tie his neckcloth just so, and all the ladies would swoon at the very sight of him. It was all too wonderful! Old Man Sommers, indeed!

“Caroline is going to marry the most eligible bachelor in Bath this Season,” Roderick announced, splatting his spoon into the porridge to satisfactory effect. “Do you want to guess who?”

“I don’t care whom your sister marries,” said Harry, quite sullenly. Some of Roderick’s porridge had slopped over to his side of the table and he was bound to get scolded for it. Julian had said he must let the little things pass, but Harry was finding it a rough go to take the blame for misdeeds that positively were not his fault.

“Yes, you do,” said Roderick in his singsong voice, always a sign that he was about to say something that would make Harry mad. “You won’t like it one bit when your hero marries my sister. He’ll never have time for you again, only me.”

“You’re never meaning Mr. Thorpe,” said Harry darkly, spoon still.

“Yes, I do. Mr. Thorpe is mad about Caroline. He’s going to ask her to marry him, may have last night already!”

“He did not. And he isn’t going to,” Harry cried. Some insults were just too much to take. “Mr. Thorpe is going to marry Elspeth!” He regretted the words the minute they were out of his mouth, but he did take some satisfaction in the red anger that suffused Roderick’s face.

“He’ll never marry your cow of a sister, and you’re a bigger fool than she is if you think he will!” Roderick cried, porridge forgotten. “He’s just making fun of her, that’s all. They’re all laughing behind Elspeth’s back about how gullible she is—everyone in the
ton
!”

That did it. Knowing even as he acted that he would live to regret it, Harry leaped from his chair and pulled Roderick from his. He had Roderick on the ground and was straddling him before his older cousin even knew what had hit him. It was, Harry had found, the only way to hold his own with Roderick, to get on top and stay on top. “Take it back, you pig!” Harry cried.

“I’ll not!” Roderick shouted back, trying to buck his cousin off. “Julian is going to marry Caroline, and he thinks your sister is an ugly, stupid old cow!”

“He’s going to marry Elspeth! He asked her last night. He told me so himself, so there!” Harry was goaded into saying. His words produced the desired effect. Roderick could be as dull as a clodpoll when he wanted to be, but now Harry had his attention. His older cousin went very still, looking up at Harry with narrowed eyes.

“Master ’Arry, you get up off him at once, do you hear me?” cried Bessie, always one to interfere in Harry’s rare moments of triumph. Strong, reddened hands helped him ungently to his feet. “Are you hurt, Master Roderick?” asked Bessie, but to be fair, she didn’t sound all that sympathetic to him either. She thought both of them were a great trial laid upon her.

“Yes, and I’m going up to see my mother,” announced Roderick, as he scrambled to his feet. “She’ll beat you, Harry, she will, and then send you home in disgrace, you and your stupid cow of a sister!”

Roderick stormed off and Harry knew a moment of fear, not that he was really scared of a beating—Aunt Bettina would not trouble herself—but because he had broken his promise to Mr. Thorpe, and told Roderick about the engagement. Still, no man should have to put up with his sister being insulted like that. Any man, Mr. Thorpe included, would understand why he had done what he did. And surely no harm would come of it. Why, they’d have to tell people anyway, if they were going to plan a wedding. And he’d really gotten his own back on Roderick with that one. It was one of his rare triumphs, and it tasted better than porridge.

* * * *

“What did you say?” Caroline turned angry eyes on her little brother. “You expect me to believe that, you little brat? I should throttle you for coming in here with that silly nonsense just to upset me.”

Whenever Roderick entered her room, it was to make mischief. Now that he had something serious to tell her, he was irritated to find that she seemed disinclined to take him seriously. “No, it’s true, Caroline, I swear it! He said Mr. Thorpe asked Elspeth to marry him last night and told Harry so himself.”

“Elspeth didn’t see Mr. Thorpe last night, you little beast. She was home here alone all night.”

“Where was Mr. Thorpe?” asked Roderick sullenly. He knew he was right about this and he wasn’t getting the proper credit for telling the tale.

“He was at the assembly with me, of course!” Caroline cried, but there was just that something in her voice that indicated she was thinking about it.

Roderick pressed. “All night? Was he with you all night?” he asked.

“Most of it,” Caroline said, but she stared off at nothing, as if she were doing sums in her head.

“I heard voices here last night—downstairs,” Roderick said. He was lying, but if that was what it took to get her to believe him, so be it.

“Whose voices?” his sister asked sharply.

“Well, Elspeth’s, of course, and a man’s. I was sleepy at the time. I meant to go down and see who it was, but I guess I fell asleep.” That should do it.

Caroline said nothing for a long time. “Yes, I see,” she finally said, very quietly, to herself. She seemed to recollect herself. “Thank you, Roderick,” she said, uncharacteristically giving him a pat on the head. “You’re a good boy sometimes. I shall buy you a treat next time I’m out. Now run along, please.”

Roderick gave her a big grin, content with his day’s work. Now he’d see who had the last laugh. He took off, feeling exceedingly proud of himself. That nasty little Harry would go home in disgrace and stupid old Elspeth with him.

* * * *

Caroline sat for a long time, staring with unseeing eyes at the large looking glass before her. How could she have been so stupid? She had assumed Julian Thorpe was taunting her, playing little games with her by seeking out Elspeth. How could it be otherwise? Aside from having no money whatsoever, and little enough standing among the
ton
, the chit was nothing if not insipid. What could he find the least bit interesting about Elspeth? She was several years older than Caroline herself, and had no conversation at all, unless one allowed stultifying remarks about the proper fertilization of grape arbors to pass for scintillating repartee, which Caroline certainly did not. Obviously, still waters ran deep, or, more to the point, Elspeth was much more of a contriving minx than Caroline had given her credit for. The little hussy!

Perhaps Elspeth had trapped Julian into a compromising position. Yes, Caroline mused, seeing her own reflection now, that must be it. She examined her face carefully. No sign of the lines that would come later, no hint of a sag, or an extra chin or two. Beautiful blue eyes looked back at her, surrounded by cascades of luscious blonde hair, all her own, no chignons or hairpieces hidden among the golden depths. No one who saw the two cousins together could ever prefer Elspeth’s dark plainness to Caroline’s own glittering beauty and wit. The scheming little witch must have trapped him, must have used what paltry wiles she could muster to maneuver the gentlemanly Julian into an unlooked-for marriage proposal.

Well, two could play at that game. All Caroline needed to do was act before Julian and Elspeth made their announcement, something they couldn’t very well do before receiving Elspeth’s mother’s blessing. And if Elspeth had some small skill at scheming, Caroline was a veritable master. She would need a confederate—someone, perhaps, whose pockets were perennially to let, and who had an appetite for delicious mischief, particularly if the price were right. Caroline had a bit put away for a rainy day, enough to interest one particular gentleman she had in mind, a gentleman who had already shown an interest in the situation over the matter of a small rock....

* * * *

Edgar stared thin-lipped at the couple promenading through the Pump Room ahead of him. Julian had bent his head to that of the lesser Quinn girl and now laughed uproariously at something the chit said. Edgar was beginning to think there was more to this literal little
tête-à-tête
than a case of Julian trying to engage Caroline’s jealousy. His pockets were feeling particularly vacant this morning. He had had quite a contretemps with a tradesman in Milsom Street; the oaf had refused to allow Edgar to pick up his new pair of shoes unless he paid for them with filthy lucre right then and there, most unheard of. It meant that his reputation among the trading set was quickly running to ruin, never a good thing when one lived, as Edgar did, entirely on the come. Oh, he could pick up a pound or two at cards, but never enough to get ahead and stay there. And the rent, soon due, on his pitiful lodgings in Westgate Buildings in the lower part of town, while modest by Bath standards, was still more blunt than he had available at this moment. Far more. He would not be able to go to the King’s Bath today, nor, indeed, until he could get the new pair of shoes. The ones he wore now were worn completely through the soles to his stockings, which were fast shredding to tatters. The valets in the dressing rooms at the Baths would gossip to each other, and from thence the story of his soleless shoes would make the rounds as a most delectable tidbit of
on dit.
And while Edgar never minded spreading a new bit of dirt, he loathed being the dirt itself. He scowled at Julian Thorpe’s back. Here was a man who could buy ten pairs of leather riding boots at one sitting and pay for them out of the small change in his pocket. His scowl deepened as Julian placed his hand over Elspeth’s Quinn’s hand, the one she already had wrapped around his arm. He could feel the hundred-pound wager loom as a liability rather than as an asset, and at this time, he could afford no more liabilities.

“Good morning, Mr. Randall,” came a soft voice at his elbow. Schooling his features into a pleasant expression, he turned without enthusiasm. Right now his quest was not for conversation but for funds, and one could rarely cadge any significant sums off of the ladies, who, however well-off they might be, could never actually get their hands on the stuff to lose it to an importuning friend.

His black mood lifted when he saw that this young lady was the one much in his thoughts. Caroline Quinn stood before him. “Ah, Miss Quinn, you’re looking too, too lovely this morning,” he trilled. In truth she was not. She looked peevish and provoked, thin-lipped and sour, as well she might. This was not a woman who would age with a pleasing grace.

“I wish to speak with you,” snapped Caroline, utterly ignoring all the rules regarding empty morning repartee. He was instantly intrigued. Promenades in the Pump Room were strictly for show. No one expected any business to be conducted. It was strictly a “see and be seen” occasion. Indeed, most strollers didn’t feel terribly well at this hour, shortly before noon, and could be found later at the King’s and Queen’s Baths, taking the waters. Edgar loathed ‘the waters’, hot and sulphurous as they were. But he did conduct some of his most profitable business while in hot water up to his chin.

“At your service, as always, my dear Miss Quinn,” he said smoothly, tucking her arm through his. “What may I do to bring a smile to your exquisite lips?”

“Stop blathering nonsense for one thing,” she snapped. Oh, the chit must be in quite a pother, indeed!

“Done,” he replied. Straight to business, then. Nevertheless he kept a vacuous smile on his face as they strolled together. No point in appearing unconventional.

“You were very clever about the stone in the path the other day,” she said baldly.

He raised an eyebrow. Boxing without gloves this morning, she was.

“I undertook to make it my business to find out just why you were so interested in helping me in that little matter. It seemed more than your usual propensity for idle mischief. I managed to get the truth out of Thomas and Robert last night. About your little wager.”

“Blast them for the chattering hens that they are,” replied Edgar, but he was not disturbed that the chit knew. Provided that she kept her mouth shut about it. She would, of course. It would do her reputation no good were gossip about the wager to get about, particularly if Julian could not be brought to heel.

“You have a financial interest in who marries whom then, I understand,” Caroline said, softly enough not to be overheard. She did, however, shoot a venomous look in the direction of Julian Thorpe and her cousin. Edgar inclined his head in a nod. “I have an interest as well, as you might imagine, Mr. Randall,” she went on. “I thought perhaps our interests might dovetail.”

Now she definitely had his attention. Interests that marched together were often profitable together. “What are you proposing, Miss Quinn?" he asked.