The Birth of Blue Satan (30 page)

“
Monsieur
. . .” Philippe sounded unusually tentative, which made Gideon believe he was sincere. “Is there something Philippe can do to help?”

“I would like you to stay on, if possible. I expect that my cousin will wish you to serve him as valet. He has never been happy with the man he engaged, and I know how much he admires your talent.

“My only question, then, is whether you can continue to serve me, when it will be my cousin who pays your wages?”

He was relieved to see the haughtiness return to his servant’s features. “
Monsieur le comte
, my wages shall come from the money that is rightfully
Monseigneur’s,
n’est-ce pas
? And when
monsieur
is restored to the place he should occupy by right, then Philippe will be his valet once again.”

“And not a moment too soon for me, I assure you.” Gideon smiled, for once entirely willing to pander to the little man’s vanity. “You can see that I am much in need of your valuable attention.”

“I did not like to say it, but
monsieur
is correct,
évidemment
.
” This was offered with the most Gallic of shrugs, which almost made Gideon laugh, until the weight of his losses tamped his amusement.

“I will stay in touch. Though it may be some time before you hear from me again. If you have any messages for me, you may send them to Mr. Brown at the Fox and Goose in Pigden.”

A measure of caution came over Philippe’s face. “I do not suppose that
monsieur
will be requiring Philippe’s services at a place that sounds like that?”

“No. Never fear. You can serve me better by keeping me informed of anything important that goes on inside this house. But I shall soon receive the news-sheets, so confine your messages to important news only. I would not want Sir Joshua to notice a sudden burst of exchanges between the Abbey and my current lodgings. Is that understood?”

Philippe assured him that it was, and Gideon started to leave. Then he remembered that he had, also, come to obtain some of his clothes.

In his dressing chamber, as Philippe made up a bundle of shirts and riding clothes, Gideon thought about his plan to waylay his father’s carriage. “I shall need something to disguise myself—some garments unlikely to be recognized as mine.”

Philippe halted his packing and turned to look through the smaller items in a drawer of Gideon’s commode. He withdrew a black loo-mask. “If
monsieur
wishes not to be recognized, he should ride masked, and may I suggest his
tricorne
, pulled low in front,
comme ça?”
As Philippe talked, he placed Gideon in front of the mirror, fastened the mask, and placed the cocked hat at the angle he believed it should go.

Gideon saw that with his hair tied at the nape of his neck and these accoutrements, he presented a very different appearance from his normal one. “That will do,” he said. “Now pack my greatcoat, and that will suffice.”

Philippe shook his head. “
Non
,
monsieur
. Not the greatcoat.
Monsieur
is forgetting how many times Sir Harrowby has complimented him on the greatcoat. It must be something that Sir Harrowby has never seen.”

Gideon waited for him to emerge from another pilgrimage to the wardrobe, but when he saw the item his servant was carrying, he gave a restrained sigh.

“You will not be content until I have worn that damned blue cloak, will you, Philippe? I am of a mind to wear it once just so you will stop pestering me about it.”

“But
monsieur
will see—” he rushed to drape it across Gideon’s shoulders— “even with those intolerable clothes beneath it, how elegant an appearance it makes. And if
monsieur
has formed the intention of stealing
Mademoiselle
Mayfield from his cousin, he must think of how the lady will feel. He cannot lead her to think that she has been abducted by a common ruffian.”

Gideon could no longer be astonished by anything Philippe said. Still, he marveled at his servant’s ability to fathom his most intimate thoughts.

Exasperated, he turned back to the mirror, and was surprisingly pleased by what he saw. The blue satin reflected even the smallest amount of light from the single candle burning in the tiny room. It glimmered with a midnight eeriness that seemed appropriate for his plans. With the mask and hat, he looked sinister enough to feel sure he would not be recognized.

“If this won’t frighten the very stuffing out of Harrowby’s escort, I do not know what will. You seem to have found the answer, Philippe.”

“But, of course, I have,
monsieur
. Philippe is
un homme de talent
. That is understood.”

Tom rode back from London at a breakneck pace, having learned the news of Gideon’s dispossession in the papers.

Gideon told him of his plan. “I may not be able to save my inheritance, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let Harrowby take everything away from me without a fight.”

“You mean to call him out?”

His question drew a wry smile. “No—for that would be murder for certain, and I cannot afford to have another charge like that laid at my door. What I mean to do is waylay him long enough for a chance to speak to Mrs. Isabella Mayfield.”

Tom stayed silent, for no matter how risky this errand would be, he would not try to stop St. Mars from obtaining what he wanted.

Hester Kean was the only person in Harrowby’s boisterous carriage who seemed to be aware of the injustice that was taking them down to Rotherham Abbey.

The scheme had been decided within a day of her encounter with Mr. Letchworth. For, as he had promised, he had stormed into their house and in the most unpleasant language imaginable given Mrs. Mayfield to understand that he would not be trifled with in such an unscrupulous way. He had then gone directly to call on Harrowby, but fortunately, that gentleman had still been at the palace.

That evening, after hearing about Mr. Letchworth’s call, Harrowby formed the fear that the man intended to force a duel upon him, and nothing Isabella could say would convince him otherwise.

It had not taken Mrs. Mayfield long to see an opportunity in her future son-in-law’s terror, especially when she lived in fear herself that something might happen to snatch Isabella’s prize away. She had learned enough of Harrowby to know that he lacked resolution. It was not inconceivable that, even after presenting Isabella to the Court as his fiancée, he would find a way to get out of the marriage if he wanted to. And if Mr. Letchworth, or anyone else, threatened him, he might find that sufficient reason to rethink a decision which had, in some respect, been forced upon him.

The timing of their engagement, when Harrowby was supposed to be in mourning for his uncle, had always been inconvenient. But now, the threat of violence had given her just what she needed to persuade him to a secret wedding. Clandestine ceremonies were very fashionable. Whether because a great many young people married against their family’s wishes, which was often the case, or whether they simply hoped to avoid the traditional expenses of a public wedding, secret marriages were all the mode.

And nothing appealed to Harrowby so much as being
à la mode
.

It had not taken Hester’s aunt long to persuade him that a quick trip to his country house would remove him from Mr. Letchworth’s anger and provide him with a chance to surprise the Court. A few indelicate references had been made to the pleasures attending him on his wedding night without the interruption of an endless stream of visitors, who would expect expensive ribands for favours, and the riotous bedding by the bride men and bride maids, to be repeated early the next morning, complete with the drums and fiddles whom he would have to pay.

Harrowby listened to all her arguments, and as Hester might have foreseen, gave in.

So, although he might rather have remained in London to be fêted and to enjoy the attention of the gossips at Court for at least another week, he resolved on a secret ceremony. The journey to Hawkhurst would be made in the interest of discretion and his personal safety. Mrs. Mayfield had always longed to see Lord Hawkhurst’s country seat, and Isabella was as eager to visit her future home.

The next morning, before Mr. Letchworth could call again, Harrowby went to obtain a license. Word was circulated that the Mayfields had gone to visit relatives in the North. Sir Harrowby was to be imagined retiring quietly into the country in view of his mourning for his uncle. And only Hester seemed to care about the grand hypocrisy of that particular lie.

Their first night had been spent in Sevenoaks, after Mrs. Mayfield had worked on Harrowby all day. The initial plan had been for the wedding to take place as soon as they arrived at Rotherham Abbey. The Abbey had a chapel. The former Lord Hawkhurst’s chaplain could read the vows.

But once inside the coach Mrs. Mayfield had thought of objections to this plan. What if the King became displeased when he learned that a nonjuring priest had performed the new earl’s wedding? Would he not expect one of his most faithful subjects to uphold the principles he had sworn to protect?

Another clergyman would certainly be wanted, and that being the case, wouldn’t it make sense to look for one in Sevenoaks?

After a day of sitting next to Isabella in the carriage, with her body pressed intimately to his side, and her hands caressing him skillfully whenever the occasion offered, Harrowby had been no match for his mother-in-law’s logic. The prospect of bedding Isabella even one day sooner had been enough to tip the scales.

So, they had been married in the parlour at the inn in Sevenoaks by a minister the innkeeper had fetched. Harrowby had tipped the curate a guinea and his clerk a crown, and within twenty minutes, they had all been drinking healths to the happy couple.

Isabella was now a countess. Her mother was ecstatic. And for two days, Hester had been subjected to the carryings-on of the lovers who, since the wedding last night, had made no effort to spare her blushes.

Harrowby had repeatedly allowed that it had been “great, good fun” to sleep with his wife, and Isabella had also been gratified by their activities, if her adoring looks and surreptitious movements were anything to go by. Hester was well prepared to believe that the marriage act was enjoyable. Every person she knew with any experience of it had said this was so, and during her short sojourn in London, she had been faced with enough examples of indiscretion to be convinced that coupling was practiced more just for the pleasure of it than for its more religious purpose. But that did not mean that she wanted to watch Isabella and Harrowby pawing at each other all day.

After two days on the road, she was looking forward to being anywhere other than in this carriage or with this company. And it was not only the lovers who tired her.

Mrs. Mayfield was never a stimulating companion, but in her house she might be avoided for hours on end. She was happy now, but already she had begun prodding at Harrowby to get her way. Hester wondered how long it would be before she had complete control of him and all of St. Mars’s fortune.

Two complete days and one entire night with this lot had stretched Hester’s toleration to its limits.

Her aunt had insisted she come to wait on Isabella. She also wanted to hear her opinion on the economy of Lord Hawkhurst’s household before taking it over. And she most certainly wished to give as forward an impression of her own menage to the Abbey servants as she could, which bringing a waiting woman would accomplish. For Mrs. Mayfield had made it clear that they would both make their home with the new couple.

Feeling her neck grow stiff from resting her head against the cushions, Hester sat up to look outside at the passing scenery. They had left Sevenoaks that morning, with the intention of reaching Cranbrook tonight. This second leg had been much rougher than the first, since they had left the turnpiked portion of the road at Woodgate. From that point on, the surface of the highway had been so poor that they had lurched over ruts as deep as their wheels, and a rain earlier in the day had made the clay so slippery, that if not for the skills of Lord Hawkhurst’s coachman and the excellence of his vehicle, they would surely have turned over in a ditch.