Much Ado About Rogues (30 page)

The messenger’s sole line in the play announced: “My lord, your brother John is taken in flight, and
brought with armed men back to Messina.” Jack remembered it fairly precisely because he’d wa
ited through the entire reading of the lines for the sword battle that would end with Don John’s capture. But then, he could have been no more than twelve, and bloodletting was of great interest to him at that age.

Jack took up his position just at the curtain, concealed from the audience but with a clear sight of the actors on the stage. Beatrice and Benedick stood face-to-face, their hands joined as they declared their love for each other. Jack’s stomach turned as he saw the naked adoration in Adelaide’s eyes as she recited her lines. It was painful to watch.

“‘Peace!’” Andreas interrupted. “‘I will stop your mouth.’”

And then he kissed her, and Jack looked away.

There followed a few brief exchanges between Benedick and his fellows, Benedick’s final speech, and then at last Andreas declared, “‘First, of my word; therefore play, music. Prince, thou art sad; get thee a wife, get thee a wife: there is no staff more reverend than
one tipped with horn.’”

That was Jack’s cue, but he waited as the silence grew uncomfortable and
all the actors on the stage looked to the wings, clearly wondering what had become of the messe
nger.

“Hark! Did someone say there is a messenger? Enter a
messenger!
” the actor playing the part of the prince prompted nervously.

Jack didn’t move. Now the heretofore slightly bored audience, as well as the actors, were all craning their necks toward the wings. Every eye was open and watching, every ear strained eagerly to hear the next words, including, one could only hope, Sir Edward Starkley.

At last, Jack stepped onto the stage, his head lowered as he bowed and addressed the actor playing the prince. “My lord, I am come here to arrest this man, Benedick, for crimes against the Crown. And his harlot with him.”

The prince, a rather portly man with a rapidly reddening face, whispered hoarsely, “What? That’s not your line, Chester. Wait! Who…who are you?”

Jack removed his hat, flourishing it as he bowed to his father. But when he straightened, it was with his knife in hand. “You are surrounded. There’s no escape. And no mercy, not this time. Understood?”

“Jack!” his mother cried, stepping in front of her lover, her arms widespread as if to protect him with her own body. “What are you doing? You’ve slipped your wits. You can’t possibly—”

“Shut up, Adelaide,” the Gypsy warned, swiftly securing her close to his body, the sharp tip of a stiletto pressed to her throat. “You said nothing, you told me. He didn’t suspect a thing, you said. Stupid bitch! And yet here he is. More my son than yours, God help me. Pray, Adelaide, that he doesn’t care as little for your tiresome self as I do. Jack? What’s it to be? I leave with the cow, and then leave her somewhere for you—or you force me to a rash and surely fatal act?”

“Let her go,” Jack said quietly. “It would be for nothing.”

“Oh, untrue, untrue. Call off your men, Jack, and give me safe passage. You need her to tell the truth. Don’t you?
Don’t you?
”

A small trickle of blood slid down Adelaide’s white throat, and the crowd gasped as one.

“An interesting dilemma. Will you give me a moment to consider the thing?” Jack asked smoothly, even as his heart pounded in his chest. He allowed the tension to build, and then finally shook his head. “No, you’re the bigger prize. Do what you want with her.”

Adelaide’s eyes rolled back in her head as she swooned, to become dead weight in the Gypsy’s arms. He staggered slightly, which was all Jack needed, and he was immediately on him, grabbing at his father’s knife hand as they both tumbled to the stage.

* * *

T
ESS
WATCHED
AS
Jack and the man she’d heard addressed as Sir Edward spoke quietly in a corner of the taproom of The Fox. The shakes she’d acquired thanks to Jack and his ridiculous act of bravado had finally stopped, and she was actually enjoying the sight of the Gypsy stoutly tied to a chair, a large knot just above his left eye. He and Jack had rolled off the stage as they’d struggled for possession of the knife, dropping directly in front of Sir Edward, who had neatly conked the Gypsy over the head with his gold-topped cane.

The crowd had cheered wildly, and Tess wondered how many of them had never witnessed a Shakespearean play, and believed the finale to be of a piece with the rest of it.

And while thinking of pieces,
she mused meanly, looking over to where Adelaide sat, weeping into her handkerchief. Her throat had been bandaged and Jack had secured her a glass of wine she’d accepted gracefully. She’d then stood up and walked over to her lover, and dashed the entire contents of the glass in his face.

If Tess didn’t despise the woman, she would have applauded her.

At the moment, however, she longed to know what Jack and Sir Edward were talking about so congenially, and was even more amazed when the two men shook hands before Jack approached her and sat down, winking at her.

“Did I ever mention that I dislike you smug? Almost as much as I dislike being left to do nothing more than watch while you risk your life. That was the most ridiculous thing I ever witnessed. Telling the man he could kill her if he wanted, as if she was of no matter to you.”

“I thought it was a very good line. Shakespeare missed out on that one, didn’t he? A much better ending to his farce, I’d say. By the way, when you and the ladies were having your coze, did Regina happen to mention her small adventure of few months ago?”

Tess frowned. “Are you talking about how her cousin was abducted by slavers? That was dreadful. But what does that have to do with what’s happening now?”

“Blonde, blue-eyed virgins, young ladies of quality, as is Regina’s cousin, were being abducted, to be taken abroad and sold, and it has everything to do with what’s happening now. You did see his daughter before her mother and husband took her away, didn’t you?”

Tess’s eyes went wide. “She…she was one of those women?”

“I would never say that, and you would never have heard it. She’s been married off to her second cousin, and is reportedly happy, at least her father believes so. Sir Edward was most grateful to me when his daughter was returned to him safely, and he’s delighted to be of any assistance I might ever need. In thanks, you understand.”

“Indeed,” Tess said, attempting a discreet glance in Sir Edward’s direction. “And did you suggest a way he could do that?”

“We’ve come up with an idea as to how that might be accomplished, yes,” Jack said, and Tess was torn between wanting to hug him or boxing his ears for his clear delight in the moment. He, too, turned to look at Sir Edward, who was now standing halfway between Adelaide and Andreas. “Ah, and we begin. Now to pray this works.”

Sir Edward resembled nothing less than a pouty pigeon as he stood on the rough boards of the taproom floor, his feet spread, his hands behind his back.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he intoned gravely, his deep voice not quite fitting his stature, but definitively forceful, authoritative. “I am Sir Edward Starkley, which means little to you, I’m sure, save to say that I was great chums with his royal highness the Duke of Norfolk while at school. A friendship that continues to this day. Indeed, his royal highness did my family the great honor of standing as godfather for my only daughter. In other words, and not to refine too much on the thing, I hold a certain
influence
in some quarters.”

Tess coughed into her fist, fairly certain she already knew where this small speech might lead. Sir Edward didn’t disappoint her.

“Now, this young rapscallion here has sung me quite a tale, one, for good reason, I am inclined to believe. You, sir, will be transported to London, to answer for your crimes, most likely via a rope or at the hands of a firing squad. No problem there, as far as I can see, if half of what this boy said is true. At the very least, you will be made to pay for the murder of one René Fonteneau, Vicomte de Vaucluse.”

Andreas glared at the man and said nothing.

Sir Edward shifted his stance, and his attention, to Adelaide. “I don’t propose to assert that I know all the ins and outs of current law, madam, but it may be possible to save you from the hangman if you cooperate with the authorities, which I highly suggest you do.”

“What!”
Adelaide leapt to her feet.
“Me? Hang?”

Sir Edward cleared his throat. “This gentleman, an official of the Crown, asserts that you, er, acted in consort with the prisoner here, committing serious crimes against that same Crown. In varying degrees of seriousness, and over a lengthy period of time. Therefore, much as it pains me, you, with your companion, will be put in chains, and also transported to London, at least until everything is sorted out. I see no other choice.”

Adelaide whirled about to face her son. “Jack! How could you do this?”

“Do you deny that you have traveled with this man?” Jack asked her. “Remembering before you speak that I am, that is, I have incontrovertible proof of that fact.”

“Andreas?” she begged, turning to the Gypsy. “Tell them. For the love of heaven, tell them! I’m
innocent
of any wrongdoing.”

Jack’s father looked at her and smiled. “On the contrary, Adelaide. You’ve never been innocent. Of anything, save any claim of intelligence. You do realize that I would not be in my current dire straits were it not for you? You swore he wouldn’t follow you, remember? My sin is to have believed you.”

“But…but you love me!”

Andreas looked to Jack. “She
thinks
I love her. I always warned her. She has her attributes, God knows. Her interesting talents. But I told her, never think, Adelaide, it’s not your forte.”

There was a knock at the door, and the innkeeper entered, carrying a length of rope. “All I could find, Sir Edward,” he said. “For the woman, right?”

“No!” Adelaide shouted as she ran to Jack, frantically pawing at his chest. “You can’t do this. You can’t let this happen. He says he has
influence.
You heard him. Tell him.
Tell him!
”

Jack took hold of her hands, removing them from his chest. “Tell him what, madam?” he said coldly.

Adelaide’s breath caught on a sob. “Who I
am.
I can’t be arrested. I can’t hang. Tell him I’m innocent. Tell him who I am.”

“No,” Jack said as Tess held her breath, worrying that he may have gone too far, but quickly realizing that Adelaide had to say the words, Sir Edward had to hear her admission from her own mouth. “If Sir Edward is to testify on your behalf, you have to tell him.”

It was strange. Until that very moment, even while laboring under considerable duress, Adelaide had been a beautiful woman. But now, suddenly, she was ugly. “I know what you’re doing,” she gritted out in a harsh whisper. “You want that man over there as witness. For them. You’d sacrifice me for them. Your own mother,
for them.
I
held
him, all those years, I held him by refusing to give him what he wanted. He would have tossed me aside again, the way he did for my half-witted sister. How
dared
he choose her over me? Did he really think I’d give him anything he wanted? I loathe him, I’ve always loathed him. Let his sons be bastards, let him suffer, go to his grave knowing how he’d wronged them.”

“You terrible, terrible woman,” Tess told her. “They’re your sons, as well.”

Adelaide glared at Tess for a moment, clearly not understanding her vehemence, before turning back to Jack, her desperation obvious. “If I give you what you want, you’ll tell them? Jack? Whatever I did with Andreas, it was innocent, I swear to you. A game of sorts. We traveled all over Europe. We never really harmed anyone, it was just for the money. They didn’t need so many baubles, did they? I saw Napoleon, Jack. And the tsar. I
danced
with the tsar, and he told me I was beautiful. Can you imagine? I didn’t know it could end like this. I never
killed
anyone. It was all just a lark, and so exciting. Cyril would never give me any of that, what I needed so much. You understand, don’t you? I had to feel
alive.
You can’t let me hang.”

“I’ll help you, Mother,” Jack agreed, a small tic working in his cheek. “Now tell him.”

Adelaide drew herself up, brushing at her costume, patting at her hair. She smiled, and suddenly she was beautiful again as she turned to Sir Edward. “I would ask a boon, good sir, that you contact his lordship, my husband, who I am sure will vouchsafe for my innocence and put an end to this ridiculous misunderstanding.”

“His lordship, madam?” Sir Edward responded. “I don’t understand. You’re an actress, are you not?”

Adelaide looked anxiously over her shoulder to Jack, who only nodded.

“Indeed, sir, that is incorrect,” she then told Sir Edward, dropping into an elegant curtsy. “You have the pleasure, my good man, of being in the presence of the Marchioness of Blackthorn.”

EPILOGUE

“T
HANK
YOU
, R
OBERTS
,” Jack said as the butler handed over the mail
pouch. “Ah, heavy today.”

“Yes, sir,” Roberts answered,
bowing. “Some of it all the way from England. Perhaps with good news, Mr.
Blackthorn?”

“Perhaps.” Jack refused to hope.
Lately, the news from England had been encouraging, but it had been
encouraging before, with little result. He pushed his chair back from the
desk, taking up the pouch as he headed for the large French doors that
looked out over the James River.

He stepped onto the brick
terrace, taking a moment to admire the vista that unfolded in front of him.
He never tired of the view, no matter the season. He was grateful for it,
and for the home he and Tess had made here in Virginia. But it wasn’t
England.

Six years. A lifetime; a
moment.

They were happy here, he and
Tess. Their daughters, Lucie and Marianne, had been born here. He’d taken to
gentleman farming with the enthusiasm Puck had promised him he’d feel, and
the estate had shown a profit every year.

But it wasn’t
England.

He ran Tess to ground in the
herb garden, down on her knees, weeding. She was a tyrant when it came to
her gardens. It wasn’t for her to stand posing with a basket while a servant
cut the blooms for her. Not his Tess. She’d never done anything by half
measures.

“The mail pouch arrived. It
would appear there’s something from England,” he announced, and then smiled
as she quickly scrambled to her feet and reached for the pouch. “You might
want to first remove those gloves, darling. Are you sure you don’t come out
here after a rain in order to make mud pies?”

She quickly stripped off her
gloves and made a second, this time successful grab for the pouch. “I’ve
told you, the weeds surrender to me much more easily when the ground is soft
and moist.” She then grinned. “But I do like mud pies. Come sit with me
while we see what’s in here. Unless you’ve already looked?”

He made himself comfortable
beside her on the bench. “After you made me promise never to look at any
letters from England unless we opened them together? I’m not so
brave.”

“Only because no one should
receive bad news alone. Or good news, for that matter.” She reached inside
the pouch and pulled out a wrapped package that was suspiciously the size of
a book. “Probably another learned tome from Puck about contoured plowing or
the joys of calving, begging your permission to allow him to implement one
or both on our estate in your absence,” she said, and put it aside,
unopened, before reaching into the pouch once more. “Oh, and this one is
from Beau. It’s not very thick, is it? He usually writes two sheets, and
then Chelsea adds another.” She thrust it toward Jack. “Here, you open
it.”

“First a kiss,” he said, leaning
toward her. “For luck.”

She smelled of spring, and sun,
and freshly turned earth. She tasted of honey, so that he knew she’d made a
trip to the beekeeper’s hut, to indulge herself with some honey fresh on the
comb. Could she be with child again? She’d always craved sweet things when
she was pregnant.

“I love you,” she told him,
resting her forehead against his shoulder for a moment after the kiss,
before looking up into his eyes. “We’ve a good life here, Jack. We’ve got
our son, our daughters, we have each other.”

“I can think of nothing we lack.
Although,” he added, trying to ignore the letter in his hand, “the idea of
adjourning to our bedchamber holds some appeal.”

“It always does,” she said,
laughing. “But we’ve probably delayed the moment all that we can. Open
Beau’s letter. Regina’s child should have been born by now. You remember
what she told me in her last letter, that she so envies me our daughters.
She feels totally outnumbered by Puck and those sons of hers, which is the
same as to say she has
three
sons. I adore the way they tease each
other.”

“
They
adore the way they tease each
other. Just as Beau and Chelsea enjoy arguing with each other, with both of
them saying they let the other one win.”

“So they can
apologize
to each
other,” Tess pointed out knowingly, and then sighed as she looked down at
the letter. “Six years, Jack. It has been so long.”

Lord Liverpool had expressed
delight in the capture of the Gypsy. He’d commended Jack on his success, and
smiled broadly as he’d agreed to release him from any further service to the
Crown. He’d shaken his hand, even patted him on the back as he’d walked with
him to the doorway of his office, and only at the last moment casually
inquired as to his plans for the future, where he would live, how he would
support himself. Such kindly interest from a man who wasn’t known for being
kindly, but only
interested.
Fools might think the man bumbling and ineffectual,
but Jack knew differently.

Jack and Tess had married in the
estate chapel three days later; he’d gracefully—with Tess there to convince
him that it would please the marquess—accepted the deed to an estate just
east of Swanbourne and then sailed from Portsmouth without ever setting foot
on that estate, Jack carrying a letter from the marquess, installing him as
his representative concerning his lordship’s property along the James
River.

They hadn’t been in England the
day the Gypsy had gone to the hangman. They’d only heard through Beau’s
letter that the marquess had settled an allowance on Adelaide, dependent on
her promise to leave England and never return, and only through Chelsea’s
letter that Jack’s mother had died. They’d had no part in the marquess’s
continuing struggle to have his sons declared legitimate.

They were a world away,
together, building their life together. But on days like today, when the
letters arrived…

“I suppose you’re right, we
can’t put this off any longer,” Jack said as he broke the seal, unfolded the
single sheet. There was no salutation.

Chelsea said you
wouldn’t mind such brevity, as she insists I don’t miss the post. Firstly,
Regina was safely delivered of a son last week, a fine, healthy boy,
although, sadly, much resembling Puck. Ah, excuse the ink blot, which is
entirely the fault of my lady wife, who is peering over my shoulder,
suggesting what I should write, and clearly having taken umbrage over what I
have written.

And yes, I did write lady wife. She
still giggles when she thinks of her family’s reaction, knowing they will
one day be forced to curtsy to her. Regina is much more subdued, but Puck
has more than made up for her calm acceptance. I believe he thinks London
society has been deprived of his delightful presence long enough, and is
already planning a remove to Grosvenor Square next year for the Season,
never doubting his acceptance by the
ton.
I don’t doubt it, either.

At any rate, you must know by now
that Papa’s efforts have at long last borne fruit. Difficult as this is to
believe, after so much time and so many disappointments, the last hurdle has
been cleared. As you know, the Church accepted Papa’s petition two years
ago, but he was never able to successfully bring the matter before the
government until now.

So my congratulations to you, and
to all of us. Miraculously, by the stroke of some official pen somewhere, we
are no longer bastards, but declared Peers of the Realm. Jack, Liverpool
can’t touch you now, and he’d be a fool to try. He’s mellowed, clearly, and
his reshuffled Tory Cabinet has assured his power for years to come.
Frankly, Jack, you’re no longer worth his bother.

And now my dearest wife, in her
always gracious way, is demanding I end this. Papa sends his best to you and
Tess, and his hope you will know what he wishes.

As do we all,

Beau

Jack lowered the letter to his
lap and looked at Tess. She was crying, huge tears running down her
cheeks.

He put his arm around her, drew
her close. There was so much he wanted to say to her. To thank her for her
love, her belief in him when he couldn’t believe in himself, her willingness
to join her life with his. For his son, for his two precious daughters, for
helping him realize the true meaning of
family.

When he could finally speak, he
said it all, everything that was in his heart, in three simple words. “We’re
going home.”

* * * * *