The Genuine Article (4 page)

She had to make Mr. Montague hold his tongue. She had spent three weeks setting her cap on Darley. She didn't have a great deal of time left to lose. There were second and third runners in the contest for her hand, because she was a practical woman, but none of the others were as appealing as Darley. She wouldn't let this disagreeable Corinthian stand in her way.

"Lady Marian." Montague acknowledged the introduction with the barest of nods and none of the effusive greetings to which Marian had become accustomed. She wasn't a great beauty, but she was a new face, and the gentlemen seemed to react with pleasure to anything or anyone different from the usual. It wore off quickly, she knew, but generally most of them managed to be pleasant through the introductions. This man hadn't even the common decency to smile through that.

"Mr. Montague." She managed a syrupy voice and a light smile. "Lord Darley has been telling me about your stable. You are indeed a fortunate man as well as possessing a skilled eye for horses if all he tells me is true." A compliment like that on top of a subject about which most men were usually mad, generally put them at ease. She waited to see how he would react.

He merely gave a curt nod and turned to Darley. "Will I see you at the club later?"

Marian wasn't much accustomed to being treated with rudeness. She wondered if she kicked his shin under the table would he even notice. With a rump as stiff as his, he probably had no feelings below the waist.

She almost giggled at the thought. Some of her laughter must have escaped, because he turned a wary eye in her direction. Marian pretended not to notice as she turned to Jessica's young gallant, complimenting him on his elegant attire. He turned red but set out upon a learned discourse on the topic of available tailors.

Once Montague had departed, she gratefully returned her attention to the viscount. At least Lord Darley conversed intelligently without stuttering and stammering. Poor Jessica. Marian really was going to have to look into a proper suitor for her sister just as soon as she had Darley firmly attached, which wouldn't be ever if Montague had any say in the matter.

Marian listened with dread as Darley sang the man's praises. What hope was there for a mere woman against a man who knew the best tailors, stocked the finest wines, owned the fastest horses, and in general was the male epitome of perfection? It was quite apparent whose word would be believed first should it come to a confrontation.

Drat her dreadful tongue. She had held it carefully for three entire weeks. Would that she had held it one day earlier. She could see disaster looming with every pearl of praise falling from Darley's lips. She had to bite down hard to keep from asking why—if Montague were so superior—Darley did not just marry him. Obviously, they were well suited.

Finally, Marian could not take any more of it without offering something in her own defense. Biting her bottom lip and lowering her eyes to the table, she affected a small sigh. Into the brief lull of talk that ensued, she murmured, "I could never aspire to the heights of such a paragon of perfection. You must find me very poor company indeed in comparison. I do not think I could learn half so much as a man like that must already know."

Darley looked horrified. He reached for her hand and patted it. "Don't be such a goose. Of course you cannot. You are a woman. But if Reginald is a paragon of perfection, then it is only of his gender, for you are the epitome of all that I hold dear in the fairer sex."

Had she been herself Marian would have ripped his tongue out while informing him that a female—any female—was five times more preferable to a puffed-up ass who knew nothing but horses and tailors. But she gave him a gratified smile, took his hand, and allowed him to escort her from the supper room. She feared her tongue would bear scars before the season ended.

To Marian's relief, there was no further evidence of the disagreeable Mr. Montague's presence after supper. And her mother was rested enough to stay for the final waltz, so she spent a whole interval talking with Darley as well as claiming the last dance. Gossip was already swirling. She smiled into his eyes, melted into his arms, and willed him to see her as his viscountess. She was quite certain she would be very good at the position.

* * *

Reginald Montague sat sipping brandy, glaring at the noisy gaming tables around him while he waited for Darley to tear himself away from the ball and his latest folly. The viscount was too good a man to ever see the scheming qualities of another soul, and he was too diffident around women to see beyond their pretty paint and manners. The last two mercenary witches who had tried to dig their claws into him had been routed easily by Lady Agatha. This time, the little fraud had managed to fool even that daunting lady. How many others had she deceived? Was he the only one aware of the lady's true nature?

If lady she were at all. Remembering her manner of dress and the fact that she had been all alone in an inn of a less-than-respectable nature, he had to doubt even that quality in the woman. The pretty young thing she had called sister seemed innocent enough, but then, looks were not the best cover to judge by. Even this spurious Lady Marian passed easily as a lady of quality in her fashionable gown, but her bold looks and saucy mouth betrayed her.

The show she was putting on for Darley's benefit was very well done, so well done that Reginald thought she might be an actress. Perhaps he could investigate her true background. That would be the wisest course to take: confront Darley with cold facts instead of subjective opinions.

Having decided that, Reginald waited with less impatience for his friend's appearance. He hadn't been looking forward to informing Darley of his inamorata's despicable behavior. Now he could keep his personal opinion out of it. He would set Bow Street on the matter tomorrow. It shouldn't be difficult to determine lies from truth if she wasn't Effingham's daughter. He might even present the facts to Lady Agatha first and let her lead the way. Darley more or less always bowed to that lady's opinions.

By the time Darley arrived, Reginald was complacent with brandy and good intentions. When his friend took the seat across from him and demanded, "What did you think?" Reginald managed a good-natured smile.

"I thought about the beefsteak I had for dinner, which horse I prefer in the spring meet, whether to attend Lady Jersey's fete or the boxing match, and any number of fascinating topics."

Darley scowled and sipped the port the waiter brought to him. "I mean Lady Marian. What did you think of Lady Marian? I know you did not stay long, but surely you could see she was an absolute diamond."

More like coal, Reginald ruminated, but to say so would only get his friend's back up. He answered honestly, "She is quite attractive." For a brunette, he amended to himself. Fashion didn't favor brunettes. He, himself, was inclined to be less concerned with coloring than character, but he was more peculiar, as well as particular, than society in general.

"Isn't she? I'm glad you agree. I was afraid after you turned your back on her this evening that you had taken her into dislike already. But she was much too good-natured to comment on your rudeness."

Remembering what he almost certainly thought was a snicker from the young lady in question, Reginald also had the courtesy not to comment. He rather suspected the lady might be a mischief-maker in addition to all her other faults. While Bow Street worked on her background, he might do some investigating of his own. It was possible the lady could be diverted from her course with the proper inducements.

"I had not realized she was anyone of importance," Reginald replied carelessly. "I shall take better note next time."

"If I must marry, she is all that I could wish," Darley said eagerly. "I could talk to her for hours. You know how my tongue gets all tied up around women, but she is not like that at all. She even shares my interest in horses and has made some very interesting suggestions. We get along famously. And she does not have an encroaching family who would be forever dangling on my coattails. All she has is a mother and sister who are very shy and circumspect. No daunting fathers or rakehell brothers to be fished out of the River Tick."

Reginald groaned inwardly as he rose from the table. This was much worse than he had suspected. He should never have stayed so long in Somerset. If Darley weren't his closest friend, he would wash his hands of him now. But Darley was the only one of his companions who had gone through school with him and understood his position and accepted it. Darley's friendship was very valuable to him. He wouldn't see it destroyed by a scheming, conniving female.

"What about the current marquess? Will he not have some say in the matter of a cousin's marriage, if that is what you are contemplating?"

Darley drained his glass and accompanied his friend as he left the club. "As I understand it, Effingham is an old curmudgeon who never comes out of the woodwork. Lady Marian and her family never say anything against him, but it is apparent he has never taken any interest in their welfare. They appear to be living on very limited means. If they will let me, I intend to correct that situation."

They strolled down the gas-lit street in the direction of the park near which Reginald had only recently purchased a small lodging. Even at this hour the streets were active. Gentlemen strolled to and from their clubs. Carriages rattled by filled with elegantly dressed fashionables driving from one entertainment to another. Street urchins lurked on every corner, eager to hold a horse's head for a penny or sweep the street of droppings so their betters might cross without endangering their polished boots. A watchman snoozed in his box, unaware of the young bloods drunkenly eyeing his weight and wagering on who could tip him first.

Reginald and Darley ignored the night life. Wandering from the street into the darker environs of the park, they continued their desultory conversation.

"You have all the time in the world, Geoff. Do not waltz hastily into something so permanent as marriage. You remember that mare you had to have because her bloodlines were so aristocratic and her price was so low? She turned out to be a nasty, mean-tempered sort and never bred true. Had you made a few inquiries, you would have saved yourself some trouble."

Filled with the generosity of spirit that comes with happiness, Darley laughed at the comparison. "I shall interview the lady's servants to see if she is biddable, but I don't believe I can inquire into her abilities to breed."

Reginald allowed himself a smile of amusement at the thought. At least Darley was not too far gone as to have lost his sense of humor. "I had not thought that before, but there's the advantage to marrying a widow. If breeding is what you seek, you would do better to marry a woman who has proven her ability by producing a son or two already."

Darley snorted with laughter, then without changing his pace or his tone of voice, he said softly, "Don't look now, but we are being followed."

Reginald carelessly swung his walking stick. "I know. Not very good at the game, is he?"

"Young, I'd say. Perhaps he's not been about long. P'raps we ought to break him of bad habits before they start."

"My thoughts exactly. Let me offer you a sip from my flask when we stop under this next tree."

With apparent drunken carelessness, they halted their progress in the thick darkness of shrubbery and trees at the edge of the park. The quiet residential street corner not far from this spot offered little in the way of observers. Reginald slipped a flask from his pocket and handed it to Darley.

The slight figure following them was better at his business than they had anticipated. He wheeled out of the darkness, bumped lightly into Darley, mumbled a drunken apology, and had begun to stagger off again when Reginald grabbed him by the coat collar.

Jerking the thief up to his toes, Reginald said patiently, "The purse, sir. I believe you have misappropriated the gentleman's purse."

Dangling by his coat collar, the young man kicked his feet in an anxious attempt to reach the pavement. He managed a drunken whimper. "In my cups, sirs. 'Pologize."

It was too dark to discern much about him other than that he was slightly made, wore the remnants of a gentleman's clothing, and smelled badly. Since there were any number of people in the fashionable world who disdained bathing, the odor was nothing new. The fact that he spoke without the uneducated dialect of the slums did indicate an oddity, however.

Reginald deprived himself of the pleasure of shaking the young rascal until he dropped the purse. Instead, he ordered, "Darley, search him."

The young man struggled again. There was the vague sound of something brushing against the bushes, then he held his hands up in protest. His educated speech slipped slightly to the vernacular. "I didn't do anything, guv'nor. I'm just a poor man down on his luck. Search me, if you like. I been drinking, and I know that's wrong, but I've not done anything else."

Sighing, Reginald lowered the culprit to his feet but kept a firm hold on his collar. "Search the bushes, Darley. We should have just called the watch and allowed them to handle the rogue."

Darley cursed as the bushes tore at his elegant cuffs, but he finally located the small purse that had shortly before been in his coat pocket. He lofted it in his hand to show Reginald he'd found it, then returned it to his pocket. "Shall we wake the Charlie back there?"

The thief quivered. "I didn't do nothing! I been lookin' for employment, I have. I haven't got anything to pay the nippers at Newgate. They'll throw me to the hounds. If they steal my clothes, I'll not be able to find employment anyways."