The Black Widow (8 page)

“Do not be ridiculous—I should like nothing better than to have him marry and set up his nursery, but that wretched boy refuses point-blank to meet the daughters of any of my friends.’’

“I rather think he has already got his heart set on a particular young lady.”

“Fustian! That wretched girl is nothing more than a scheming hussy seeking to entrap my son, and he is only encouraging her because he knows it will upset me. His father was just such a one—obstinate, stubborn, pigheaded. And Demetrius takes after him—he positively delights in running counter to my wishes. I am sure if I welcomed that chit with open arms, he would drop her in an instant.’’

Dorothea had always been prideful, even as a young girl, and Lady Letitia found it no more attractive now than she had years earlier. It was surprising that Demetrius and Collier had turned out so nicely. They obviously had a lot of their father in them. He had been such a sweet man, but no match really for his wife.

“I suppose you have had a hand in this,” Lady Thorverton now muttered. “I know very well that you delight in matchmaking.”

“I? Really, Dorothea, it was not I who sent a letter to Devon demanding that Lord Thorverton come posthaste to London.”

“Well, now that he has accomplished the task I gave him, I am amazed that he has not rushed back to his precious horses.”

What amazed Lady Letitia was how quickly certain people could give her a headache. Thank goodness neither Demetrius nor Collier had inherited their mother’s self-centeredness and conceit.

* * * *

After having been abandoned in public by her sister, Hester was quite relieved when Lionell Rudd minced over to where she was standing and invited her to walk along with him a bit.

“It is not fair,” she said, taking his arm.

“What is not fair, my love?” Lionell asked.

“Over there—my sister,” was all Hester said before she turned her head away, unable to bear the sight of Meribe smiling and talking with Lord Thorverton. Only a few more weeks and it would not matter, but for now he absolutely must not court Meribe—not when everything could still be lost.

“He does give the impression of being totally infatuated with her, I must admit,” Lionell said with a smirk.

“You may find it amusing, but I do not.”

“Tsk, tsk, do I detect a note of jealousy in your voice? Pray moderate your tones, my sweet, else you will encourage all and sundry to be amused at your expense.”

Lowering her voice, she persisted in trying to elicit his opinion. “I want to know what you think. Are Thorverton’s intentions serious? Or is he merely trifling with her? It is most important that I know.’’

“Who can predict what any man will do? All I can tell you is that the odds in the clubs are now two to one that Thorverton will expire before the month of May is out, and seven to one that he will not live to see July, so I would say the consensus is that he is seriously courting your sister.”

“It is just not fair,” Hester repeated, feeling physically ill at the mere thought of her sister being betrothed once again.

* * * *

“Might I suggest your new periwinkle-blue waistcoat?” Fredericks said, his expression carefully bland.

“I was unaware that I had a new waistcoat,” Demetrius replied with a frown.

“A present from your mother,” his valet answered a bit too promptly.

For a moment Demetrius was torn between anger and amusement. “Need I point out that I have not allowed my mother to pick out my clothes since I ceased wearing short coats?”

“Do you wish me to dispose of the offending garment, then, m’lord?”

“That depends on how offensive it is,” Demetrius replied, unable to keep a straight face any longer.

“Oh, it is actually quite stunning.” With a flourish, Fredericks produced the aforementioned waistcoat from behind his back.

He was right. At the first sight of the waistcoat, Demetrius was too stunned to speak for a few minutes. The garment may have been blue, but very little of the fabric was showing, so encrusted was it with gold and silver embroidery, seed pearls, and ...

“Diamonds, Fredericks? Have my mother’s wits gone begging? Does she really expect me to wear that ... that ...?” Words failed him again.

“Actually, this is only the first of many. The boy who delivered it informed me that your mother has ordered an entire wardrobe for you from Nugee.”

“Ecod, you make my blood run cold!”

“I took the liberty of using your name to cancel the remainder of the items,” the valet said smoothly. “I trust that meets with your approval?”

“Can you doubt it? You have definitely earned yourself a raise,” Demetrius said, still staring in awe at the waistcoat.

There was a knock at the door, and Fredericks opened it to admit the butler.

“Beg pardon, m’lord, but Lady Thorverton requests that you join her in the drawing room.”

“Who does she have with her this time?’’

“Why, no one,” McDougal answered. “I believe she is expecting company for dinner, but for the moment she wishes to speak with you alone.”

“Then tell her I shall be down when I am finished dressing.”

It was about ten minutes before Demetrius joined his mother, who eyed him through her quizzing glass with distaste.

“That coat was obviously made by that wretched little man—I shall not dignify him by calling him a tailor—in Tavistock. Well, you will be pleased to know that I have taken steps to procure a wardrobe for you that is more suited to London.”

Demetrius was far from pleased, and he was tempted to tell her that her plans had already suffered a major setback, but he held his tongue. He was not really in the mood to listen to the recriminations and accusations that were bound to ensue when she discovered for herself that her orders had been canceled.

“Was there anything else you wished to discuss with me besides the unsuitability of my attire?’’

“Yes, I have invited several friends over for dinner this evening. They have all expressed an eagerness to meet you.”

“I am sorry to disappoint them, madam, but I have already made my plans for this evening.” He hadn’t actually decided how he would spend the evening, but under no circumstances was he going to let his mother know that. She was too determined to play the matchmaker.

“Then you must simply cancel them. It lacks but an hour until our guests arrive, and you will quite throw off the numbers if you refuse to oblige me in this small matter.’’

Demetrius shrugged. “I am afraid that is not possible. You should have consulted me earlier.’’

“And would you have agreed if I had?”

“Certainly not,” he said bluntly, “but that would have given you time to arrange for someone in my stead.”

“I cannot understand why you delight in embarrassing me this way in front of my friends.”

“You wrong me, madam. I have always done my best to avoid any contact with your friends.”

“Oh, oh, how can you speak this way to your own mother?” Clutching her hands to her breast, she collapsed against the back of the settee. “What have I done to deserve such ungrateful sons? If your father could only see how you flout my every wish, he would turn over in his grave. That I should have nursed two such vipers to my bosom! It is all that wretched woman’s fault—she has turned you against me!”

“If by ‘that wretched woman’ you are referring to Miss Prestwich, you might consider inviting her to dine with us. I should be quite agreeable to a dinner party here that included her.’’

Instantly his mother abandoned her die-away airs. Jumping to her feet, she closed the distance between them and glared up at him. “The Prestwichs may still be acceptable to some people, although they are never invited where there are marriageable sons, but be that as it may, never,
never
shall I invite any member of that family into
my
house!’’

Accustomed as he was to his mother’s dramatic utterances, Demetrius stood his ground without flinching. “I was unaware that you were acquainted with Miss Meribe Prestwich.”

“I have never been introduced to her, nor do I ever intend to acknowledge her in any way. She is niece to that hateful Miss Phillipa Prestwich, which is enough to condemn her in my eyes. If you only knew what that horrid woman did to my dear brother, you would cast aside your inamorata.”

She was not precisely his beloved, but Demetrius had no intention of revealing to his mother the exact nature of his relationship with the youngest Miss Prestwich. But on the other hand, his curiosity was definitely aroused. “So what did the aunt do that was so terrible?”

“I do not actually know the details,” his mother replied, “but whatever she did, it was terrible enough that dear Humphrey’s life was ruined.”

“Ruined? In what way? He has never complained to me, and he appears to be quite happy with his current situation.’’

“That is all that you know! Why, that beastly woman is the reason he has remained a bachelor to this day.”

“You do not think it has merely been my uncle’s fondness for self-indulgence that has kept him from stepping into the parson’s mousetrap?”

“Now you insult my poor mistreated brother! Oh, I knew you would not understand. You have not an ounce of sensibility.”

And his mother, he decided, had not a particle of sense. “So far you have given me nothing to understand—you have made only the vaguest of accusations.”

“Which should be enough if you were only a loving, obedient son. In any case, I cannot tell you what I do not know. If you wish to discover all the sordid particulars, you must apply to your uncle.”

“I intend to do just that,” Demetrius replied.

* * * *

Uncle Humphrey was not in his rooms, nor in his club, but fortunately Demetrius ran into a man he recognized as one of his uncle’s cronies.

“Swinton? Heard he was dining with Mannlius this evening.”

Further questioning elicited directions to Lord Mannlius’s town house, which was in Hanover Square. Since the night was balmy and his destination not too distant, Demetrius elected to walk instead of taking a hack.

He found the correct house without difficulty, but gaining entrance was another matter altogether.

“I regret, my lord, but I cannot allow you to interrupt the gentlemen,” the butler said quite firmly. “If you would care to wait in the library until the dinner is over?”

“I only wish to speak with my uncle briefly,” Demetrius replied.

“I am afraid you do not fully understand the circumstances. His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, is also dining with my lord, and it would simply not do for someone to burst in upon them uninvited.”

“Could you not simply take a note in to my uncle, asking him to step out into the hall for a minute?”

Clearly shocked, the butler drew himself up even more stiffly. “Lord Thorverton, how can you even suggest such a thing? No one is permitted to leave before the Prince departs. Now, if you wish to wait in the library, you may, but under no circumstances whatsoever can you disturb our royal guest. The wait should not be overlong since the port has already been taken in.’’

The house being quite stuffy and grossly overheated, Demetrius chose to wait in the little park in the center of the square. The butler willingly agreed to inform Uncle Humphrey that his nephew wished to speak to him.

After slightly more than half an hour, an ornate coach pulled by six horses drew up in front of Mannlius’s residence, and four liveried outriders sprang down to assist the portly gentleman who ponderously descended the steps and with great difficulty managed to climb into the carriage. Then the lackeys took their positions again, the coachman cracked his whip, and the carriage rolled away.

A few minutes later another man appeared in the doorway, and Demetrius recognized his uncle. The butler, who was pointing toward Demetrius, was obviously telling his uncle that he was waiting to speak with him.

Pushing himself away from the fence against which he had been leaning, Demetrius started toward the street. He had gone only a few steps when a low voice behind him whispered hoarsely, “Lord Thorverton?”

Demetrius started to turn, but before he could see who was addressing him, a bag was thrown over his head and twisted tightly around his neck, choking the breath out of him.

Desperately he clawed at the cloth, trying to relieve the pressure on his windpipe before he passed out from lack of oxygen, but it was an unequal contest. Not only was his assailant incredibly strong, but he had also attacked from behind, which gave him all the advantage.

Despite his best efforts to break free, Demetrius could feel his arms beginning to weaken, and he knew that the darkness closing in on him was not entirely owing to the hood covering his eyes.

Slowly and relentlessly Demetrius was forced to his knees, and his situation became so desperate that it took him a moment to realize the pounding in his ears was actually the sound of running footsteps.

Suddenly the man holding him gave a grunt of pain, and the pressure on Demetrius’s neck was gone. Barely conscious, he fell forward on the ground, gasping for breath.

Rough hands pushed him over on his back, and the hood was jerked off his head. Kneeling beside him, staring down at him with horrified looks, were his uncle and Lord Mannlius’s butler. The assailant was nowhere to be seen.

“Are you all right? Speak to me!”

Uncle Humphrey shook him, but Demetrius was still unable to talk. All he could do was nod his head, but that was apparently enough to reassure his uncle, who pushed himself ponderously to his feet.

“I cannot believe such a dreadful thing could have happened right here in Hanover Square,” the butler wailed, wringing his hands. “Oh, my, suppose he had attacked His Royal Majesty!”

Hearing that remark, Demetrius abruptly remembered the words that had come out of the darkness—
Lord Thorverton
—and he knew the Prince of Wales had been in no danger.

A more immediate puzzle was how his two rescuers had managed to fight off the attacker so easily. Feeling his breathing and heartbeat gradually returning to normal, Demetrius sat up, waited until his head was no longer dizzy, and then got to his feet.