The Most Wicked Of Sins (26 page)

“Da, are you saying that…I am worthy of the Sinclair name at last?” Ivy held her breath.

“Aye, my dear Ivy. My approval had nothing to do with whom ye married, but who ye became.”

Ivy sprang from her chair and wrapped her arms around her father. “Thank you, Da.”

The duke smiled at her and summoned one of his footmen forward, who presented him with a leather purse. “Now, ye haven’t much time before the wedding. Best collect yer sisters and head off and see if ye canna find something suitable to wear.”

The Counterton residence
Berkeley Square

Nick had just arrived home from his interview with the Duke of Sinclair when he entered the parlor to find Felix sitting atop the trunk of clothes that had gone missing for nearly a month. “I don’t believe it! After all of this time—my clothing!”

“The trunk might have arrived…oh, two or three days after Lady Ivy moved you in here. I can’t quite remember,” Felix said, shrugging.

Nick narrowed his eyes at his cousin. “Are you telling me that you forgot to mention this to me or that this omission was in fact purposeful?”

“Well, we agreed you needed clothing more appropriate for life in Town—”

“You were alone in that notion, Felix. I only agreed to purchase a suit of clothes because I had nothing else!” Nick stalked forward and pushed Felix off the trunk.

Felix rolled up off the floor. “Well, aren’t you glad you have everything now since I haven’t time to find something appropriate for your wedding?”

Nick pointed his finger at Felix and had just opened his mouth when the knocker pounded urgently upon the front door. Nick and Felix exchanged glances, and his cousin walked from the parlor and opened the door.

There was a pounding of footsteps and into the parlor strode three magistrates, Mr. Cheatlin, and Lord Tinsdale.

Tinsdale turned to Cheatlin. “Go on, Cheatlin, tell them all about it.”

Cheatlin’s face contorted with apparent confusion. “I don’t know what you mean, my lord.”

The magistrates were studying Nick quite keenly.

“How may I help you, good sirs?” Nick asked, though he knew exactly why they had come.

“Tell him about the ruse concocted by Lady Ivy Sinclair and…this man—an actor,” Tinsdale charged, thrusting his finger at Nick. “He isn’t Lord Counterton. He is impersonating the marquess and living in his house!”

“Lord Tinsdale, you have met me many times before,” Nick replied, talking very slowly as if to someone addled. “I am Dominic Sheridan, the fifth Marquess of Counterton. Have you forgotten?”

“No!” Tinsdale scowled and turned his gaze toward the magistrates again. “I am telling you, he pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes. The real Lord Counterton is up north in Averly, but I will ensure he hears of this!”

It was clear from their puzzled frowns that the magistrates had begun to doubt Tinsdale’s story. “Um…my lord, just where did you learn that this man is not truly Lord Counterton?”

“I’ve had my doubts for sometime. Lord Rhys-Dean, who went to Shrewsbury with the true Dominic Sheridan, did not recognize him when I introduced them. I knew something was afoul at that moment.” Tinsdale pinned Cheatlin with an angry gaze. “And then I inquired here, at this very house, and this chap, Mr. Cheatlin, told me all about Lady Ivy and this man’s plan to impersonate Lord Counterton. Cheatlin even sub-rented the house to Lady Ivy in order to give credence to the claim that this
actor
was truly Lord Counterton.”

The largest of the magistrates rolled his eyes, but addressed Cheatlin. “Did you tell Lord Tinsdale about this scheme?”

Cheatlin shrugged again. “I’ve never even met Lord Tinsdale. I only came to the house just now because I need to finish some carpentry work before the wedding this eve.”

Tinsdale’s eyes went round. “No, that’s not true. I asked him to meet me here to tell you about the impersonation!”

“Lord Tinsdale, why would I pretend to be the Marquess of Counterton?” Nick asked softly. “There must be a reason.” He glanced at the magistrates and nodded and looked expectantly at the increasingly anxious Tinsdale.

Tinsdale’s face reddened. “To assist Lady Ivy in winning back my affections. Is that not abundantly clear?”

“The same Lady Ivy I am marrying this very night?” Nick chuckled resignedly. “Oh, dear.”

“Marrying Lady Ivy? Preposterous! The duke would never hear of it!” Tinsdale raised his chin. “He already accepted my offer for her.”

“Did he now?” Nick addressed the magistrates. “Sirs, would you please assist me by removing this man from my home. I have a wedding to prepare for.”

“Absolutely, Your Lordship,” one of the magistrates replied, while the others took Tinsdale’s arms and marched him out the door. “Dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience, my lord.”

Felix closed the door behind them.

“Thank God that’s over.” Nick collapsed into the armchair and ran his hands through his dark hair.

“Timing could have been a bit better, Cheatlin,” Felix complained, as he directed the carpenter down the passage. “What if he had waited until this evening and interrupted the wedding?”

“I came when he contacted me. Wouldn’t work otherwise, now would it?”

Nick exhaled. He’d had more than enough games to last a lifetime. All he had to do now was look forward to his wedding.

One week later

The Times

Recollections of the Wedding of the Marquess of Counterton and the Lady Ivy, daughter of the Duke of Sinclair by Mr. Felix Dupré, First Cousin of the Groom.

The moon was bright in the clear night sky, and the garden’s lush roses scented the air with fragrance at the hour the wedding of Lady Ivy Sinclair and Dominic Sheridan, Fifth Marquess of Counterton, commenced.

A column of cresset baskets illuminated a glowing pathway for the Duke of Sinclair to lead his daughter to her betrothed and the rector of St. George’s, Robert Hodgson (who had already wed three other couples at the church that day alone), was charged with binding them in holy matrimony.

The Ladies Ivy, Siusan, and Priscilla wore simple white gowns from Edinburgh adorned with vibrant green satin ribbons, with pearl and crystal pins in their hair.

The groom’s attire, a dark blue coat, white neckcloth, and white kerseymere waistcoat and breeches befitted a gentleman of his elevated position. At his side, his groomsman, Mr. Felix Dupré of Davies Street, was impeccably garbed in a bottle green kerseymere coat, a gold neckcloth with a coordinating gold-shot silk waistcoat, black breeches and slippers. Mr. Dupré has recently accepted the role of Gabriel in the upcoming production of
Tales Over Scandalbroth
opening in two weeks at Astley’s Theatre.

The Duke of Sinclair and his sons the Marquess of Blackburn, and Lord Grant, Lord Lachlan, and Lord Killian, in keeping with Scottish tradition, wore the Sinclair clan dress tartan, topped with black woolen coats and accented with sealskin sporrans.

After a visit to Lincolnshire to visit the ancestral mansion, the Marquess and Countess of Counterton will
—

“Well, you know the rest—except for
this:
‘We notice the London Society also bereft of the enchanting Miss F.F., who just this week (after a hurried trip to Gretna Green) has returned to Ireland with her new husband, the Duke of O…’” Felix said, smiling proudly as he folded the paper and stashed it under his arm.

Ivy’s jaw dropped open. “This is all…true?”

Felix nodded excitedly. “Absolutely true! Miss Feeney has claimed her happily-ever-after as well. Or so we hope.” He grinned. “You know, everyone who is anyone, that is, has commented on my Recollection column. I reckon it’s only a matter of days before the editor of the
Times
requests another Society column from me. And at last, for the first time since I began writing my columns nearly a year past, I shall finally be able to share my
on dit
with all of London—without the need to conceal my doings.”

Ivy furrowed her brow suddenly. “So you—you have been the source of the regular mentions of the two of us in the
on dit
columns!”

Felix snickered at that. “Well, certainly I was. Had I not used my connection with Nicky here to glean whispers for my columns, others would have begun digging into your lives. Believe me, I squashed a number of reports regarding your escapades. My columns ranked, however, because I admitted from the beginning that Lord Counterton was my cousin.”

Ivy studied Felix, watching his face for any sign of deception. But there was none. “Then, Felix, I thank you for your observations, and your protection.”

“Allow me to add my thanks. Though I do not agree with your spying and eavesdropping on me, I know you did it out of love,” Nick said as he hurried Felix from the carriage. “Good night, cousin. We’ll see you next month when we return to London.”

“Gads, that’s right. When are you leaving for Lincolnshire?” Felix called out from the pavers.

“First thing on the morrow,” Ivy called back. “Must away though, we have one more stop to make this evening.” She waved to Felix. “Good night, Felix.”

Nick closed the door and the carriage rumbled down the road. “We have one more stop to make?”

Ivy nodded. “I thought, since it’s been so long, we’d stop at The Theater Royal Drury Lane.”

Nick gazed at her through suspicious eyes. “But…Felix claimed that the Drury Lane is dark.”

Ivy smiled wickedly at him as she drew the shades down over the windows. “So is the carriage, my love.”

My deepest thanks and appreciation to my wickedly smart agent, Jenny Bent; my wickedly insightful editor, Lucia Macro; my wickedly clever research assistant, Franzeca Drouin; and my wickedly organized personal assistant, Kim Castillo, whose wholehearted support and hard work allowed me to have wicked fun writing this book.

KATHRYN
CASKIE
has long been a devotee of history and things of old, so it came as no surprise to her family when she took a career detour off the online superhighway and began writing historical romances full time. With a background in marketing, advertising, and journalism, she has written professionally for television, radio, the internet, magazines, and newspapers in and around metropolitan Washington, D.C.
The Most Wicked of Sins
is her ninth novel. Kathryn lives in a 200-year-old Quaker home nestled in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains with her greatest sources of inspiration, her two young daughters. Readers may contact Kathryn through her website at
www.kathryncaskie.com.

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