Mischief (29 page)

“Why, that Theodosia has been living on falsehoods for years,” Imogen said. “No one ever fought a duel over her. Her friend, Mr. Exelby, left Town to seek his fortune in America after he was caught cheating at cards in The Lost Soul. And as for that nonsense about Colchester seeking to take Exelby’s place in your bed, well, that is ludicrous.”

Theodosia gave her a seething look. “How dare you imply that I have been lying to my friends.”

“The only person who might wish to set the record
straight is Colchester himself,” Imogen continued. “You could not risk that, could you, Theodosia?”

“What do you mean?” she demanded.

“So long as he remained out of Society, your secret was safe. But lately Colchester has reentered the social whirl. Only think what he could do to your position in the ton were he to start discussing the true events surrounding Exelby’s departure from London. You would be made to look ridiculous.”

“This is an outrage,” Theodosia howled. “I will not stand for it.”

“And I will not abide any more of your silly accusations against my husband,” Imogen said coldly. “The next time you are tempted to imply that he may have killed Vanneck, stop and think that you could be made to appear the guilty party.”

“You cannot do this to me,” Theodosia hissed.

Imogen gave her a scornful look and then spoke to a stunned Patricia. “Come along. We must stop at the glovemaker’s and then I want to pay a visit to the bookshop.”

She swung around briskly. And ran straight into Matthias, who lounged in the entrance of the fitting room.

“Umph.” Imogen staggered. For a second she could see nothing but green straw. She realized that her wide-brimmed bonnet had been knocked askew by the impact and had fallen forward over her eyes. She grabbed the brim and shoved it out of the way.

Matthias smiled slightly and reached out to adjust the bonnet. “Allow me.”

“Good heavens, Colchester.” Imogen hastily retied the bonnet strings. “I didn’t see you. What on earth are you doing here in Madame Maud’s shop?”

Matthias surveyed the frozen tableau in the fitting room with gleaming eyes. “Perhaps I have developed an interest in fashion.”

Selena appeared vastly amused. Emily’s eyes darted anxiously about, as though she sought an escape.

Theodosia made a very odd, strangled noise and collapsed to the floor in an untidy heap.

“Hmm.” Imogen peered at the fallen woman. “I do believe that this time her swoon is quite genuine. Perhaps you should get out your vinaigrette, Mrs. Hartwell.”

T
he tall clock ticked heavily in the corner of the library. For some reason Matthias was intensely aware of the sound as he sat facing his wife and sister across the width of his desk. He studied the pair, trying to think how best to begin his lecture.

Patricia would not be a problem, he decided. She already looked thoroughly uneasy about the outcome of this little interview. Matthias suspected that her chief fear was that he would throw her out on her ear because she had inadvertently disobeyed his instructions not to discuss the duel.

Imogen was another matter. She faced him with a disgruntled expression that did not bode well. Any apprehension she may have felt was buried beneath her sense of righteous indignation.

Matthias folded his hands on his desk. He looked at Imogen. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear this morning.”

“You made yourself perfectly clear,” Imogen assured him grandly. “You told me that I was not to discuss the events surrounding Vanneck’s death with anyone.”

“May I ask why you chose to disobey me?”

Patricia cringed at the tone of his voice. Matthias ignored her.

Imogen gave him a frosty glare. “I did not disobey you, sir.”

“Then would you kindly explain just what the devil you were discussing in that dressmaker’s damned fitting room?”

Patricia crushed the hankie she held.

Imogen bristled. “It was not my fault that I happened
upon Theodosia Slott spreading lies and falsehoods. All I did was put a stop to them by pointing out that there were any number of people besides you, my lord, who could be made to look guilty of Vanneck’s murder.”

“You damned near accused her of killing Vanneck.”

“Not exactly,” Imogen said carefully.

“Yes. Exactly.”

“Well, even if one could interpret my words in that manner, it was only what she deserved.” Imogen scowled ferociously. “Aunt Horatia assures me that Mrs. Slott has spread all sorts of malicious tales about you for years. And she as good as accused you of Vanneck’s murder in that fitting room. Is that not true, Patricia?”

Patricia gave a start at hearing her name brought into the discussion. Somewhat to Matthias’s surprise, however, she managed to answer Imogen’s question.

“Yes,” she said very softly. “It’s true.”

“There, you see?” Imogen flashed him a triumphant look. “The gossip would have been all over Town by tonight if I had not intervened.”

“The gossip is already all over Town. Madam, you may be brilliant when it comes to deciphering the formal script of lost Zamar, but you are hopelessly naive where Society is concerned.”

Imogen was briefly diverted. “Brilliant?”

Matthias flattened his hands on the desk and got to his feet. It was not easy to scold her for leaping to his defense, but it had to be done. “Dammit, Imogen, I told you to ignore anything that you overheard regarding Vanneck’s death.”

“I could not ignore Theodosia Slott’s accusations. I did not want them going any further.”

“Nobody, including me, gives a damn about Theodosia Slott’s opinions,” Matthias said through his teeth. “Don’t you understand? I am far more concerned with your reputation.”

“I have told you that I do not give a bloody damn for my reputation.”

“Well, I do. How many times must I remind you that you are my wife now? You will act accordingly.”

“Is that all you can think about?” she flung back. “How the new Lady Colchester should behave?”

“Hell’s teeth, madam, I will not have your name linked to Vanneck’s death.”

“And I will not have yours linked to it either, my lord.”

“The only way to deal with the inevitable gossip is to ignore it,” Matthias said. “Believe me, I am an expert on the subject.”

“I do not agree with you. In my opinion, one must fight fire with fire.”

“We will fight this particular blaze my way,” Matthias said bluntly. “The tales will fade with time. They always do. Henceforth, you will follow my instructions to the letter. You are not to utter another word concerning Vanneck or his death to anyone outside this house. Do you understand me, madam?”

Patricia jumped to her feet. “Do stop shouting at her, Matthias.”

Matthias stared at her in astonishment. So did Imogen.

Patricia’s expression was a mixture of fear and determination. She clenched her hands very tightly. “I think it is grossly unfair of you to talk to Imogen in this manner, Colchester. Indeed, she was only trying to defend you when she confronted Mrs. Slott.”

“This does not concern you, Patricia,” Matthias said. “Sit down.”

“
Patricia
. How kind of you.” Imogen shot up from the chair. She threw her arms around Patricia. “No one has ever defended me in such a fashion. How can I thank you for interceding on my behalf?”

Patricia looked taken aback. She patted Imogen somewhat awkwardly on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Imogen. I was forced to speak up. Colchester is being most unfair.”

“Damnation.” Matthias sank wearily back down into his chair.

Imogen stepped back from Patricia and whipped a hankie out of her reticule. “You must excuse me.” She blotted her eyes. “I am overcome with emotion.”

She rushed toward the door, opened it, and vanished into the hall.

Matthias drummed his fingers on the desk as the door closed behind Imogen. “She does have a way of ending a conversation that she is not enjoying.”

“You really should not have lectured her in such a nasty manner,” Patricia muttered. “She was only attempting to defend you.”

Matthias eyed her with brooding interest. “When did you become one of Imogen’s supporters? I thought you disapproved of her.”

“I have changed my mind about her,” Patricia said stiffly.

“I see. In that case, it would seem that we have a mutual goal.”

Patricia looked wary. “What is that?”

“We must both exert a great deal of effort in order to keep her out of trouble.”

“I do not think that will be easy,” Patricia said slowly.

“Nothing is ever simple where Imogen is concerned.”

That evening, during the middle of the Reedmore ball, Imogen came to the conclusion that there was definitely something amiss with Patricia.

Alastair smiled gallantly at Imogen and abandoned any attempt to lead her in a long, gliding circle around the dance floor. “I assume you gave the map showing the location of the Queen’s Seal to Colchester as a wedding gift. Tell me, was he suitably grateful?”

“Actually, we have not discussed the map.” Imogen gave Alastair a vague smile and glanced to the side to see who was dancing with Patricia this time.

Hugo Bagshaw. Again.

Imogen nibbled on her lower lip. This was the second time that evening Hugo had led Patricia out onto the floor. Matthias would not be pleased.

The strains of the waltz drifted from the ballroom balcony, where the musicians gamely battled the heat generated by hundreds of chandelier candles and an almost equal number of people. The affair was already accounted
a crush, the highest accolade that could be paid by Society.

Imogen knew that Horatia considered Patricia an even greater success. She had told Imogen earlier that she was greatly relieved that the recent rumors concerning Colchester had done no harm. Indeed, the fresh gossip concerning the duel and the hasty wedding had served to make the Colchester women even more intriguing to the jaded members of the ton.

“Imogen?” Alastair sounded impatient.

“I beg your pardon?” Imogen forced herself to smile at him. Dancing with Alastair was somewhat boring, but at least there was never a struggle. Dancing with Matthias, on the other hand, was always something of a skirmish.

Imogen had accepted Alastair’s invitation to dance just as she had agreed to dance with a number of other gentlemen only because it was the most convenient way of keeping track of Patricia. Horatia had voiced some concerns earlier about the efforts of certain known rakes to lure Patricia out into the gardens.

Imogen said nothing to Horatia or to Matthias, but she had become increasingly worried about Patricia since the duel. There was a moodiness about her that had begun to alarm Imogen. She knew that the Colchester bloodline harbored a tendency toward dark imaginings, but Patricia’s current behavior appeared more anxious than usual.

Imogen had begun to wonder if she should discuss the situation with Matthias. The only reason she had hesitated thus far was that she knew he was not fond of conversations about the family tendency toward anxious forebodings and weak nerves.

Alastair must have realized that he had lost Imogen’s attention again. Annoyance flickered briefly in his eyes. It vanished quickly, however, and was replaced by bland amusement. “I am surprised that Colchester has not already made plans to search for the Queen’s Seal.”

“I expect we shall get to the matter one of these
days,” Imogen said carelessly. She tried for another glimpse of Patricia and Hugo. The pair had disappeared, swallowed up by the crowd on the dance floor. “Bloody hell.” She steered Alastair back across the floor.

Alastair’s mouth compressed with irritation. “What did you say?”

“You are taller than I am, Mr. Drake. Can you see Colchester’s sister?”

Alastair gave the crowd a cursory glance. “No.”

“I do hope young Bagshaw has more sense than to drag her out into the gardens.” Imogen came to a halt in the middle of the dance floor and stood on tiptoe to see over the heads of the nearest dancers. “Ah-ha. There they go. You must excuse me, Alastair.”

“Devil take it,” Alastair muttered, furious at being abandoned in the middle of the dance floor. “You do not have the least notion of how to behave properly in Society. Lucy was right. You’re a walking joke, Lady Colchester.”

Lucy’s name stopped Imogen as nothing else could have done. She whirled around to stare at Alastair. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” The brief flare of fury faded swiftly in Alastair’s gaze. He glanced around uneasily, clearly embarrassed by his predicament. “Run along and see to your duty as a chaperone.”

“What did you say about Lucy?” Imogen staggered slightly as another couple, unable to change course quickly enough, plowed into her. She scowled at the pair. “I’m trying to have a conversation here.”

“Yes, we can see that, Lady Colchester,” the gentleman said wryly. “Perhaps it would be easier to conduct your discussion off the dance floor.” The lady in his arms looked slyly amused.

Imogen flushed. “Yes, of course.” She turned back to discover that Alastair had disappeared in the crowd. “Damnation. Where did he go?”

Matthias’s strong, elegant fingers curled firmly around her wrist. “Perhaps I can be of some assistance.”

“Matthias.” Imogen smiled in relief as he drew her into his arms. “What are you doing here? I thought you intended to spend the evening at your club.”

“I took a fancy to dance with my wife.” Matthias surveyed the room over the top of her head. “What happened between you and Drake a moment ago?”

“What? Oh, nothing important. He said something about Lucy. I tried to make him repeat it, but he vanished when I turned around to speak to those people who crashed into me.”

“I see.”

“I believe he was annoyed with me because I left him standing in the middle of the dance floor,” Imogen confessed.

“I have no difficulty with that notion,” Matthias said. “But I’m curious as to why you abandoned him. Did he attempt to take the lead?”

“No, it wasn’t that. I wanted to find Patricia. I had lost sight of her in the crowd.”

“She’s in the buffet room with Hugo Bagshaw. I saw her a moment ago.”

“Oh.” Imogen searched his face. “I collect that you are not pleased.”