Secrets of a Scandalous Bride (22 page)

Rowland ignored the prince, daring to reel forward, crossing the expanse of gray marble flooring, only the sound of his uneven steps echoing in the vast chamber. As he passed, several guests grimaced in reaction to his apparent aroma.

A wild smile spread across his dark face as he
lurched to a stop in front of the entourage. “Ah, but Your Majesty will loikes what I ’ave to say.” Rowland’s slur of cockney betrayed him.

“Silence!” The prince’s humor had vanished on a whim, as it was disposed to do.

Rowland swayed and scratched his head. “Can’t figure why no one wants to talk wiv me ’bout it.”

The prince nodded almost imperceptibly toward the guards, who immediately left the doorway to apprehend Rowland.

Elizabeth darted another glance toward Luc and Michael, who moved not a muscle to stop the insanity. A small smile formed on Pymm’s lips.

And then the crowd parted and Ata tottered forward, her cane tapping those poor souls who did not make way for her. Sarah stood beside her.

“Majesty,” she said in a gentle tone Elizabeth had never heard her use.

The prince raised his quizzing glass to his eye. “Who is that?”

“The Dowager Duchess of Helston.” Her deep curtsy left her floundered on the floor. Elizabeth tried to rush to help her regain her footing, but Leland’s hand stopped her.

“Ata?” The prince’s smile returned and he crossed the distance himself to help her to her feet.

“I would beg your indulgence, Your Majesty. I am an old woman with few amusements left to me now.” Her forlorn expression was so well done, Elizabeth’s jaw dropped. “May we not hear what that man has to say? He has me curious.” She had the extraordinary audacity to whisper something more into the royal ear.

Pymm blustered his objection but the prince chuckled. “You were always the queen mother’s favorite.” The prince sighed heavily. “Oh, all right. I suppose he must be given a few moments of leniency for winning the Gold Cup. If he chooses to use up any good will he gained in that endeavor by making a drunken fool of himself here and now, then that is his choice.”

“My thoughts exactly, Your Majesty,” Ata murmured with a tiny smile.

“Majesty,” Rowland bowed with as little elegance and as much exaggeration as a drunken dockside laborer. Not once did he look at Elizabeth.

“Yes, yes, get on with it, Manning.”

“A question fer the grand Duke of Pymmslydale.”

Leland stepped forward, his chin jutting out. “That’s
Darlington
. And if you had a particle of sense, you would know that men of your ilk are not wanted here.” A sneer marred his cool performance.

Ata tapped her cane on the floor. “What is your question, Mr. Manning?”

Rowland straightened and pulled on the ends of his improperly buttoned waistcoat in a show of exaggerated bravado. “I should loikes to know why the general be marryin’ a bloody traitor to the crown. An’ doin’ it
tonight
instead o’ tomorrow loikes it was planned.”

Rowland’s furious eyes bore into Elizabeth’s, and in that moment she knew he was as clearheaded as she. And he would never forgive her.

She felt lighter than the floating ash of the battlefields of her past.

L
eland Pymm gaped like a cod hauled onto the bow of a vessel. And Rowland Manning held the gaff. He could only hope the general was sufficiently stunned. Otherwise, there was no question as to who would be filleted and served to the royal entourage.

He dared not soften his heart to Elizabeth’s deathly pale visage. The numerous gasps created a vacuum of silence. Every pair of eyes jerked to the new duke.

“I beg your pardon,” Pymm said in haughty splendor. “First you dare come here in such a disgusting fashion, which shows your contempt for His Majesty, and then you interrupt my wedding. And now you dare to…” The general’s words slowed and his brow furrowed.

Rowland would not give him a moment to decipher his actions. He pointed a shaky, accusatory finger at his beloved. “She be a traitor to every man, woman, and child in this kingdom. Drag ’er to the Tower, Majesty. And then ’ang her fer crimes against the crown.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rowland spied Helston’s face, white as chalk, seconded only by the
dowager duchess’s stunned expression. Even his half brother appeared unnerved.

Rowland pressed forward, ever forward with his rambling charade. He was far too deep into the sucking mud to pull himself out. “Majesty, we canna blame the general. He be blinded wiv ’er beauty. She be a cunnin’ liar.”

Surely, nothing before had ever rendered the Prince Regent speechless.

It worked to Rowland’s advantage, for he was not interrupted. “General, you’ll join wiv me in condemning ’er, won’t yer? Or ’as she duped you as she ’as so many other poor sods?”

Pymm’s cold eyes glinted. “I told you already. I do not answer to bastards,” he said harshly. “And I never will.”

“One would hope you have some sort of proof, Mr. Manning,” the prince said dryly, recovering his voice. “Otherwise, it is you who will be dragged to the Tower.”

Rowland watched in horror as Elizabeth’s lips parted of their own accord at the Prince Regent’s words. “Your Majesty, Mr. Manning is—”

“Not finished.
” Rowland’s harsh words echoed in the chamber. If he failed in this he would never forgive himself.

The Prince Regent glanced first at one then the other of them. “By all means, Mr. Manning, do continue. How can I refuse a man so determined to make an utter fool of himself?”

He pointed again toward Elizabeth, praying no one would see through his camouflage. “Her mother be French. She told me ’erself. I wager there be more
to it. Spyin’ is wot she be doing.” He added a nasal whine to his ridiculous words. “And she only fancies high-flown frog food. Upon my honor, ’tis true.”

The teetering emotions on Pymm’s countenance terrified Rowland like nothing else. The general’s lips formed a grim line, and remained firmly closed.

And then, his half brother strode forth, to stand beside him. “Your Majesty,” Michael began solicitously. “I do beg your pardon, but I fear I must intercede—explain, if you will. My poor brother is besotted with Miss Ashburton. I should not say it, but I must, to clear the air. It must be obvious to everyone here that he has formed an obsession with her—”

“’ave not,” Rowland said with a hiccough.

“He formed an obsession,” Michael patiently began again, “when Miss Ashburton graciously agreed to ride Vespers during the Gold Cup, and—”

The chamber erupted in shocked sounds. The Prince Regent chuckled. “I knew you looked familiar, Miss Ashburton! I told you I never forget a face.”

Michael cleared his throat loudly. “In any case, I’m afraid this is partly my fault, since
I
suggested she ride the horse when the jockey fell ill. I’m certain my brother will regret this unfortunate display in the morning.”

“Will not,” Rowland insisted unsteadily. “She be a frog lover. And the worst sort o’ flirt.
On yer honor
, ain’t she, General?”

Pymm grimaced, and yet his eyes took on a fevered intensity as he stared back into Elizabeth’s unblinking, shocked expression.

The Prince Regent finally regained his voice. “This
is becoming tedious, Mr. Manning. General Pymm would never betroth himself to a traitor to England. Now, you’ve had your say. And you’ve proven you are once again not fit company. I’m appalled by your feeble attempt to malign this poor woman, whose only crime was to try and help a ne’er-do-well such as yourself. You should be ashamed, Manning. General, if anyone has ever earned the right to rebut or even…well, is there anything you would like to say to this man before I have him tossed out on his ear?”

It was the height of irony. If Leland Pymm behaved with any sort of honor toward the woman he obsessively loved—by defending her or even remaining silent in answer to these accusations, he would unknowingly condemn himself.

It was a gamble only a mudlark would take. A man used to risking his life, risking his love when others would not dare.

“He has the audacity to speak of honor,” Pymm finally said through clenched teeth. “Don’t you know, Manning, that no one cares about your lunatic ravings? You’ve done nothing with your life but groom horses at best. At worst, you are a petty criminal and now a slanderer. Any imbecile knows that most Englishmen possess French relations somewhere in their family tree. Get out of here before I demand reparation in so public a place.”

Rowland watched the prince glance at his royal guards. He had but a moment. He took a smooth step closer. “And yet,” he said with a quiet viciousness devoid of any cockney, “you have used this knowledge of her French relations to blackmail Elizabeth
Ashburton into marrying you. Do you deny it?”

A wave of shocked whispers erupted from the crowd.

The prince shook his head and sighed loudly. “Blackmail? Good God, Manning. You do like to tread the line of disaster. You now dare accuse our dear Pymm of such an atrocity?” But Rowland could see a hint of doubt blooming on the prince’s face.

Pymm attempted to speak but Rowland continued, far louder, and without a trace of his former fabricated inebriation. “The general secretly holds letters…letters no one has ever seen, and he has suggested privately to Miss Ashburton that she and her father were traitors. He did it to force her to bend to his will—using blackmail. Well, Pymm, you cannot have it both ways. You cannot threaten her in secret, and now defend her in public. Or perhaps you can, since you have done so. But the one person you will answer to is me.”

Still staring at Pymm, Rowland nodded to his brother and Helston, who brought forward the two portmanteaus.

Pymm’s anger took control. “What have you there? Let me guess. Alleged blackmail money?”

The kill was sickeningly sweet. “Actually, I am curious to hear you explain why you have suddenly delivered seventy thousand pounds to me.” He refused to give him a chance to speak. “Is it not the money you authorized from the royal treasury to silence me? To make me go away?”

Pymm’s eyes widened as the full weight of Rowland’s accusations rolled through his consciousness. He gritted his teeth in frustration and then smiled.
“You’ve lost your mind, Manning. You know very well that money is in payment for the eight hundred horses you were contracted to provide our country’s cavalry.” He sighed heavily, frustrated beyond endurance.

The prince scrunched his brows in confusion. “Why would you scrape my coffers to purchase horseflesh in this time of peace, Pymm?” He scratched his chin. “I am baffled. Displeased, actually. I loathe wastrels. Indeed, it almost makes me regret your elevation.”

Manning would have chuckled if he had not been so terrified of failing his objective. The Prince Regent was not known for any remote form of personal parsimony. However, someone else dipping into the royal treasury was another matter altogether. Prinny clearly held blackmail a distant second in importance.

“Your Majesty,” Pymm said stiffly, “the contract was drawn many, many months ago. Well before we had a notion we would drive Bonaparte so quickly through the Pyrenees.”

Rowland Manning took the chance of a lifetime, swallowing back fear as he watched his beloved’s desperate expression. “Majesty,” Rowland said quietly, “I am returning this gold to you. It is not in payment for the horses your military
legally
contracted me to provide. A
very kind
Lieutenant Tremont—he is here tonight, in fact—informed me not two months ago that the contract was rendered null and void when peace was declared. These guineas are without doubt naught but blood money, brought to me tonight to keep me silent. I will not allow it to touch my hands. I beg you to take it—all of it.”

The prince pursed his lips. “So you would refuse
seventy thousand pounds? And keep eight hundred horses unfit for anything but war?”

“Eight hundred
and twenty
, Your Majesty,” he emphasized with expert reluctance. “But I do it for England. And I do it for her.” He nodded toward Elizabeth. “I do it for the daughter of a noble British company commander, who is not here to protect his innocent daughter from the likes of that damned blackguard Leland Pymm.”

The prince raised his hands to silence the shocked sounds from the guests and shook his head slowly. “Manning, you will ever and always be confounding. But I will admit that you amuse me like no other.” His voice deepened. “And I shall have a full and thorough review of any and all of these charges. But first I must hear from Miss Ashburton.”

Rowland had a crushing desire to leap onto the dais and wrest her away from Pymm, whose eyes were bouncing around, looking for escape and not finding any.

The prince continued, “I see but two choices before you, my dear. You must either refute Mr. Manning’s allegations of blackmail and marry General Pymm, or you will implicate Pymm and take on the reformation of this horse trader before us. I fear you must choose if you want to keep a shred of reputation after today. So, which is it?” The Prince Regent, along with the hundreds of guests, leaned forward to hear her answer.

Pymm’s countenance was wild now, and Rowland would have rushed to her side and pulled her into his arms—out of harm’s reach—if six royal guards did not stand between them.

“Well?” the prince asked.

All this time, the archbishop had stood slack jawed during the exchange. “Miss Ashburton,” he finally rasped, his sonorous voice quite gone, “you have nothing to fear. Tell all of us the truth.” He offered her his aged hand and she took it, her hand fluttering.

“Your Majesty, since the day my father died at Badajoz, General Pymm has insisted he has letters from my mother’s relatives that would compromise my father and me.” She looked at her fingers, and Rowland’s gut twisted. “I’ve never seen these letters, but I do have French relations. Indeed, the one in question is General du Quesne, although I have never met him or had any correspondence with him. And I have never for a moment doubted my father’s loyalty to England. The general implied that my only recourse was to marry him, and that it was my father’s dying wish, despite the fact that my father had refused General Pymm’s offer for me not one week earlier.”

The prince was, finally, shocked. “But why did you not come forward, if you are innocent?”

She laughed without any humor. “Because I doubted anyone would take my word over that of the most decorated war hero of the century.”

“Well, I shall show you that you are wrong, my dear. Pymm, you will bring these purported letters to me personally in the next hour. My guards shall help you,” he said sourly. “But you shall first tell everyone assembled if there is any indisputable proof that Elizabeth Ashburton or her father are guilty of crimes against the crown. And I warn you now that if you dare utter a single falsehood, I shall demand the return of every medal you possess.”

Leland Pymm, third son of a minor baronet, directed his gaze to a distant corner and said not a single bloody word.

Just as Rowland had thought.

The Prince Regent reached forward and snatched the patent letters of nobility from Pymm’s numb fingers. “You are hereby stripped of the duchy for behavior unbecoming. I shall see to the rest after I see the letters.”

Pymm’s countenance blazed. “And so this is how a grateful nation rewards its servants for single-handedly leading a nation to victory over its enemies?”

There was the smallest sound of someone clearing his throat and all eyes turned to Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, who stared at Leland Pymm with a granitelike countenance.

The prince shook his head at Pymm. “You are a fool. I regret I did not see it before now. Guards, search his affairs and return this
man
to me along with every piece of correspondence you can find,” the prince instructed. “You there, Mr. Manning. Come forward.”

Rowland could have almost pitied the madman at the sight of his agonized expression if he had not wanted to horsewhip him even more. He crossed paths with Pymm and the latter sneered as if he could read his thoughts. Rowland saw nothing except Elizabeth, waiting for him, uncertainty on her fair features. Relief flooded him as he reached her side, yet he dared not touch her, dared not utter a whisper in her direction.

Prinny had no such qualms. “Now, Mr. Manning,
please keep in mind that I am fatigued by the folly of this day. But I recognize that no matter the reason why you have chosen to return this money that found its way into your possession—blackmail or otherwise—in the end you have done a noble deed. I like that.”

Murmurs of approval erupted all around the chamber.

And then the unmistakable voice of the damned dowager duchess piped up. “Will you in your great wisdom reward him then, Your Majesty?”

Prinny lifted a diamond-encrusted quizzing glass to his eye and fixed it on Ata in a great show of annoyance. “Hmmm. Well, I suppose he has saved our nation a great deal by eliminating the need to reward a blackguard like Pymm, if he has the right of it. Might as well not waste what is left of the day. What shall I do for this man before us?”

“Well, Your Majesty,” Ata inserted without hesitation, “bastardy is the very backbone of many of our great nation’s bloodthirsty thirteenth-century dukes.”

Rowland froze and then noticed Helston’s horrified expression.