Lord Will & Her Grace (16 page)

Gladys accepted the hand of the servant
before Agnes because her cousin had been rendered motionless in her
shock. For the first time in her life Gladys Crosby felt the thrill
of speaking her mind. She was equally sure she would awaken in the
morning in horror of her actions, and be forced to swallow her
pride and beg forgiveness. But she could savor her small heroics
the rest of the night.

THE wind rushed through William's hair during
his ride at dawn along a muddy track among the low marshes and
ditches of Battersea Fields. He knew better than to risk the remote
chance that one of the three male Tolworths trolling London would
take it upon themselves to search Hyde Park's infamous Rotten Row.
He cursed the Tolworths and his ill luck and urged his mount to a
breakneck pace.

The varying green shades of summer foliage
flashed through the gray mist at a dizzying speed. It failed to
bring him a moment's cessation of his constant thoughts of her.
Sophie
. Damn her goodness, her kindness, her Venus-like
self. If it had only been a matter of his physically still wanting
her. That would be eminently curable. In fact, he knew of a certain
lush actress at Drury Lane who would satisfy his every— The image
of Sophie's gentle eyes, encouraging him to take her innocence that
night in the music room, flooded his mind. He suddenly experienced
the same gut-wrenching sensation that had been torturing his
thoughts and dreams since last he saw her.

He came to an abrupt stop then allowed his
horse to walk off his exertion. Steam from the horse's flanks rose
to mingle with the mist. William dropped the reins at the horse's
withers and took great gulps of air.

He must get her alone tomorrow. All his
previous efforts had failed. He had never met with such a run of
ill luck. She had refused his calls, which was not surprising, he
supposed. But she had also been ruthless in her endeavors to evade
any possibility of seeing him—on the street, in the park, even in
church she had surrounded herself with a clutch of females and
increasingly with a band of besotted gentlemen. It was the latter
that perturbed him the most.

William thought about what he would do to
Drummond if he ever came face-to-face with the peer. He felt
violently ill at the thought of that lapdog having the audacity to
kiss his Sophie. Last night had been the worst. Watching the
pompous twit waltzing with her in his arms had unleashed a fury he
had never known. If Mornington had not been there to bash some
sense in him he would have created a scene in the Mayne's ballroom
that would have been talked about for the next century.

William supposed it was a good thing that Mr.
Derby, the architect, and now Mr. Baird, the man Will had employed
to oversee construction, consumed so many of his hours each day.
They were making genuine progress ever since his spectacular win at
a gaming hell a fortnight ago. This would hold off the creditors
for at least another month. But he must raise more funds, and it
was horrendously difficult to secure an audience with possible
investors when he was in hiding.

His original idea of creating a new banking
institution with progressive ideas about investments and credit was
losing, in his more desperate, darker days, some of its brilliance.
If he had not already invested so much time and effort into his
dream of restoring his family's name and properties, he had to
concede that he might have chosen a simpler method. But simplicity
had never been his strong point. And damn it all, his idea was
sound and it would be a boon to so many, notwithstanding his
primary goal of reestablishing himself and his brother.

William reached the end of the track and
pulled his pocket watch from its resting place. Noting that he had
but five minutes before he was due to meet Jack and Mornington at a
costumer's, he urged his mount into a fast trot across Parkgate
Road. The shop owner had accepted a significant monetary incentive
from Mornington to open his shop early for a clandestine viewing of
his wares.

A man wearing a vibrant yellow waistcoat
surrounded by a robin's egg blue coat loomed up ahead. A bark and a
hiss confirmed William's guess and he shook his head. A commotion
was in progress. Blending in with a crowd had never been Jack
Farquhar's forte.

"Now, now, Mrs. Tickle. Mustn't tangle with
the shop's mouser, my love," Jack said when William arrived. "Now,
my good man, if you would just let us into your delightful
establishment, I'm sure we can come to some sort of an arrangement
about my dog." He turned his head and whispered loudly to
Mornington. "Give him a few more quid, if you please."

William plucked Mrs. Tickle's leash from
Jack's hand and gave it and his horse's reins to an aproned
assistant shopkeep nearby. A coin and a word directed the man to
walk the horse and the dog.

"Well, I never—" Jack crossed his arms before
William hustled him into the shop, Mornington's stout form skulking
in behind them all.

"I know you never. Come on, then, let's
collect our costumes before the rest of Mayfair arrives,"
interrupted William.

"But we need to outfit Mrs. Tickle too."

"All in good time. Now, sir"—William turned
to the shop owner—"will you be so kind as to show us various
costumes from say, two or three decades ago?"

"Oh goody," said Jack, quick to reapply his
smile. "I do so love wigs, and powder. Oh, and patches, and higher
heels, and those divine cosmetics."

The shopkeeper looked over Jack and sized him
up in an instant. Without batting an eye, he turned to enter the
back of the shop. "Let's start with hoops and panniers for you,
madam
."

Mornington and William burst out
laughing.

Jack sniffed. "Well, I don't see anything
remotely funny—"

"Mr. Charles Mornington, lately of
Burnham-by-the-Sea and"—the Master of Ceremonies leaned in close to
Momington—"and?" he repeated.

Charles whispered something into the man's
ear.

"And Lady
Jacqueline
and Mr. Barclay,"
the man announced to the ballroom full of people who turned to
catch sight of the late arrivals.

"Thank you, my good man," Jack said in a high
voice. Will's erstwhile valet dazzled the lorgnette-clinging crowd
in his high-necked, gold-colored gown with six-foot wide panniers
and enough white powder on his face and hair to look like the queen
of the dead. Only the bright red lips and quivering heart-shaped
patch near his left eye proclaimed he was, indeed, alive.

The Master of Ceremonies' eyebrows rose three
notches after noticing Mrs. Tickle, wearing a miniature
court-jester costume complete with a hat, tucked firmly against
Jack's bodice.

"Stop gripping my arm, you imbecile,"
Mornington hissed at Jack.

"The better to make sure you don't escape, my
dear," Jack replied under his breath.

"You owe me, Will. You owe me," Mornington
sputtered.

William looked through the dark eyeholes of
his mask, which covered all but his lips. His simple black domino
and hat hid his identity and the stark evening clothes beneath.
"Did I not promise to repay you in spades? With Miss Mari Owen's
hand, no less."

"Yes, but, I fail to see how—"

"Keep smiling, now. The hosts are at twelve
o'clock," Will gritted out while he smiled.

They scraped and bowed and did their duty to
their hosts. And the countess was so taken with Mrs. Tickle that
she didn't notice Lady Jacqueline's faint shadow of a beard.

"Do you see them?" Mornington leaned toward
William to capture his attention.

"No. It's next to impossible to make anyone
out in all this court dress. There are more gray wigs here than
when Prinny visits Parliament," William replied, half hiding behind
a gray marble column.

Jack turned to Mornington. "Would you be a
dear and fetch me and Mrs. Tickle a little something to wet our
throats? Hmmm? Or perhaps a little dancing first? I long for a
waltz, don't you, Mr. Mornington?"

Mornington, flustered and red in the face,
replied, "I think not." He plastered a smile on his face and bowed
as a dowager duchess passed and nodded to him.

"Why, I do declare," Jack continued, staring
at a couple waltzing. "I should have opted for male attire, after
all, if they're going to allow that sort of thing. How very liberal
our good hosts are in their way of thinking."

William stared at the dancing couple. The
taller figure was a gentleman clad in full court dress, only a mask
obscured his face. He held in his arms another gentleman—or no.
William squinted. It was a person dressed in similar clothes,
complete with a powdered gentleman's wig.
A tall, voluptuous
figure
. At that moment, the figure tilted its head and laughed,
in a gloriously warm, utterly feminine fashion.

William's gut clenched along with his
hands.

He forced his gaze toward the circle of
people surrounding the dancers and spotted the aunt and Miss Owens.
"All right Mornington, here's your chance, man. Dance with
Jacqueline here and show us some teeth. In front of the object of
your affection, if you please. Then ask Miss Owens for the supper
dance. I shall think you a complete dolt if you are unable to whisk
her away for an impassioned proposal." He pushed the couple toward
the dance floor, one much more willing than the other.

Jacqueline laughed, handed his pug to William
and launched into an exaggerated waltz with Mornington.

William narrowed his eyes as he watched
Sophie and her partner dance toward the far corner of the room. He
tried to regulate his breathing. It was just a simple waltz and the
gentleman was maintaining the proper distance between them. It was
just the enchanted expression on Sophie's lips and her tight
articles of clothing, emphasizing her every curve that aggravated
him.

"For the love of God, doesn't she know there
is a reason females should not show their wares so blatantly?" Will
spoke to himself. Mrs. Tickle cocked an ear.

He forced himself to look at Mari Owens. That
young lady was watching Mornington with Lady Jacqueline and fanning
her face rapidly. The color had drained from her cheeks. Sophie's
aunt was firmly entrenched in conversation with three older
ladies.

His plan might work, but only if…

William scanned the dance floor. They had
disappeared. He cursed to himself and stalked the outer edges of
the ballroom toward the doors and the terrace beyond. The room was
bursting with bejeweled members of the
haut ton
packed
tighter than a tin of sardines. It was two steps forward, and one
step back to avoid each paniered court gown and leaning wig.

The terrace, illuminated with colorful
lanterns, was empty save for an older couple taking the air and a
footman carrying a tray of canapés. William snatched one off the
tray, then took the stairs two at a time down to the gently sloped
garden. He paused in the shadows to allow his eyes to adjust to the
darkness. Mrs. Tickle, still firmly tucked under his arm,
growled.

A sensuous, throaty laugh sounded and William
quickly edged the ivy covered low wall around a curve.

There, silhouetted in the moonlight, stood a
pair in a classic, theatrical pose.

“…pray don't deny me, Miss Somerset. You know
I have nothing but honorable intentions." The taller figure was
moving in for the kill, lips puckered into service.

Will jiggled Mrs. Tickle, and whispered in
her ear, "Get him, girl."

The pug fairly leapt from his arms and tore
across the space separating them from the object of prey. Small
needlelike teeth sunk into the swain's stockinged Achilles heel and
the dog's jester hat swayed side to side. It was all Will could do
not to give himself away in his amusement as he darted behind the
nearest ancient oak.

A howl of pain erupted from the gentleman,
along with concerned noises from Sophie. The man littered the air
with a string of foul curses as he jangled his leg in an effort to
rid himself of the pug. Mrs. Tickle eventually released him, but
continued growling and snapping, forcing the man to flee in a most
enjoyable, cowardly fashion toward the terrace. Not the smallest
effort or word of concern for Sophie's welfare left the man's lips
in his hasty retreat.

Mrs. Tickle barked once her delight, brushed
her hind legs in the grass as a sign of victory and trotted to the
oak tree for a reward.

William emerged from behind the tree and
surreptitiously gave the canapé to the dog before facing Sophie.
One look at her made him glad he had stifled the urge to chuckle.
Hands on hips, legs spread wide, she looked the veritable
impenetrable fortress.

"I see now why you allow your man the luxury
of a pet. How very clever and brave of you. And you did not even
have to dirty your hands," Sophie said.