The Wyndham Legacy (15 page)

B
ADGER STOOD IN
the doorway of the drawing room, saying nothing, merely looking at her. She was writing and humming as she wrote, quicker and quicker, which meant that it was coming easily now. A blessing, he thought, for she'd been so silent, so very withdrawn, damnation, so very
broken,
since their return from Paris some weeks before.

He waited patiently, grateful that she had something important to her to give her thoughts another direction. She looked up, jumped slightly at the unexpected sight of him, then smiled. “Do come in, Badger. I was so immersed in this. It happens sometimes, which is good.”

“I know, I know. It means everything is flowing freely out of that clever head of yours.”

“Clever? Well, that's an interesting thought, isn't it? Odd, isn't it. Now I do it because of the fun of it, not because I have to pay the rent or buy eggs or try to pay your wages.”

She'd always paid him, despite his protests. She'd always paid him first, even before paying the rent on Pipwell Cottage. He'd hated it but he'd known it was important to her; paying him proved to her that she had control over her life. He said, clearing his throat, “I heard the ditty about Czar Alexander and the Grand Duchess Catherine. Goodness, what a harridan she is. She certainly deserves
her treatment in the song. In this case, I must admit I felt sorry for the Prince Regent. He might be a fat selfish sod, but he's an English sod and not one of those feudal tyrants in Russia who kill peasants because they don't like the smell of them.”

“It's true. Grand Duchess Catherine really outdid him in rudeness, crudeness, and lewdness.” She laughed and it warmed him to his toes. “Isn't it marvelous that all those juicy words rhyme?”

“Yes, and they roll off the tongue. I hear it everywhere I go.”

“The Czar is just as horrible, rude to the Prince Regent, hobnobbing with the Whig opposition who in truth think him a fool. He deserves a ditty all to himself, I think.”

“Possibly,” Badger said. “But he didn't force himself into that all-male banquet at the Guildhall like the Grand Duchess did. Then she insisted that all the music be stopped because it made her sick. I should have loved to be there.”

“I too. Can you imagine the Regent having to plead with her to allow the musicians to play
God Save the King?”

“Yes,” he said, “and she complained loudly through the whole thing. I have been thinking, though. There are other subjects than the state of diplomatic affairs, though those buffoons give as much credence to incompetence and self-aggrandizement than the gentlemen and ladies of the
Ton
give to frivolity and sin.”

She laughed again and he wanted to shout for the sweet sound of it. “You've a good point there, Badger. Hmmm, perhaps I should read other parts of the
London Times
and the
London Gazette
with that in mind.”

“You used to read all of the papers, every single word. Perhaps it is time again. I came to speak to you about something else, Duchess.”

She merely cocked her head to one side, her quill still held in her right hand, poised above the piece of foolscap.

“It's his lordship.”

She became utterly still, almost as if she were trying to draw into herself, to protect herself. “What about him?”

“Mr. Spears has written to tell me it is possible that his lordship will be returning to London soon.”

“I see. Has he sold out again?”

“I don't know. Mr. Spears didn't say, so I must assume that he hasn't.”

“Very well. This will require some thought. Ah, is that the front door knocker?”

It was. Nettles, the London butler, allowed Mr. Wicks to present himself a very short time later in the drawing room. He gave her a low bow and a frazzled smile.

“Dear Mr. Wicks, what is the matter? Do sit down, sir. Should you like a cup of tea? Brandy?”

“No, no, my lady. It's . . . oh dear, this isn't good, but I had to come tell you immediately so that we could make plans. I'm so very sorry, Duchess, er, my lady, that—”

“Please, Mr. Wicks. Calm yourself. Nothing could be that dreadful. Do sit down and tell me about it.”

In his agitation, he was actually pulling on a straggly lock of grizzled white hair. She waited, her silence meant to calm him, to steady his nerves, and it did. She was good at soothing nervous animals, nervous humans, all except Marcus, her husband. All she could do to him was make him want to murder her.

Finally, he managed to draw a deep breath. Then, unable to help himself, he blurted out, “The American Wyndhams are at Chase Park!”

“The Americans. Oh yes, my father's youngest brother, my uncle, gambled and wenched until my grandfather wanted to throw him in Newgate, but then to top it all off, Uncle Grant went to America and had the gall to marry an American, which finally got him disinherited, and he went to Baltimore to live, which was her home.”

“Yes, yes, and Grant Wyndham is dead. But his wife, Wilhelmina, isn't, nor are the three offspring. There is Trevor, James, and Ursula. Oh dear, you already know
all of this. They're all at Chase Park.”

“Tell me about it, Mr. Wicks.”

“I wrote to them, my lady. I had to because I believed back in April that the earl, er, your husband of three weeks now, wouldn't marry you and that the Americans would inherit and thus I had to write to them and tell them of their probable good fortune, and now they're here. They never wrote me back, they never came to see me in London. They just went directly to Yorkshire, to Chase Park.”

“How very odd. How did they know where the estate is, I wonder? You did say that Uncle Grant is dead. He would have known, surely, but his wife?”

Mr. Wicks shook his head distractedly. “I don't know, but I do know, Duchess, that I must leave now, today, no later than tomorrow morning. I must go to Chase Park and I must explain to them that there is nothing for them, nothing at all. It is a dreadful coil. Why didn't I simply trust you to bring his lordship about? I'm a dolt, Duchess, a bloody dolt.”

He stopped cold, shocked that he'd spoken so, with such unplanned emotion.

She merely smiled. “Perhaps you should have waited, but you didn't. Indeed, you did what you believed the proper thing. No matter, Mr. Wicks.”

“I'm relieved the earl isn't here and thus, perhaps, if the good Lord still believes me an obedient servant, the earl won't find out about it.”

“It wouldn't matter if he were here or if he did find out. You did what you believed was right, Mr. Wicks. Don't chide yourself further.”

She rose and shook out her skirts. “Well,” she said more to herself than to Mr. Wicks. “Life does dish up odd things on one's plate.” She turned to him, holding out her hand. “I will come with you, Mr. Wicks. Please don't worry. We will face the dreaded Americans together. I wonder if Marcus would declare the name Wilhelmina as ugly as Josephina.”

* * *

Marcus Wyndham, VIII earl of Chase, arrived at the Wyndham townhouse in Berkeley Square on the twenty-sixth of June.

Nettles took his lordship's cloak and hat. “My lord,” he said with more formality than before, for now there was appropriate substance in his lordship's pocketbook, no longer just the title, “her ladyship left with Mr. Wicks for Chase Park just yesterday morning. She was accompanied by Badger and that red-haired maid of hers, Maggie.”

“I see,” Marcus said. “Spears,” he said, turning to his valet, who appeared to be closely regarding the elegant baseboard molding in the entrance hall, “do see to our things. I wonder if there is anyone here to prepare the meals since Badger went with my . . . went with the Duchess.”

“I have instructed Mrs. Hurley to resume the responsibilities, my lord. Her ladyship told me to see to it quickly since it was possible that you would be arriving here shortly. If I may say so, my lord, her ladyship has seen to everything in a very nice way—so considerate she is—if you don't mind me saying so.”

“No, not at all, Nettles.”

Heartened, the butler added, “She is a very restrained lady, my lord, allowing no familiarities, as if anyone would ever attempt such a thing in any case. Now, my lord, would you like a glass of port, perhaps, in the library?”

Marcus took his port and went instead to the master bedchamber at the end of the corridor on the second floor. It was a massive room, hung with dark draperies, spread with even darker carpets. The furnishings were very old, but they sparkled with wax. He wondered if his wife's meddling hands had rubbed in the lemon wax.

He said to Spears, who was gently folding his cravats and placing them in a drawer in the dresser, “I wonder at the timing of all this.”

“Timing is an unpredictable thing, my lord, or so I've always believed.”

“I wonder why she left for Chase Park with Mr. Wicks, of all people.”

“Ah, my lord, I do have a letter, given to me by Mr. Nettles, who was given it himself by the Duchess to give to me and finally for me to present to you. You understand?”

“Certainly, Spears. Where is this letter that couldn't have been given directly to me but had to go from the Duchess to Nettles to you and then to me?”

“It is here, my lord.”

“A circuitous route always arouses suspicions,” Marcus said as he tore open the envelope. He read, cursed, then laughed. “Well, this is very interesting. It seems the American Wyndhams are at Chase Park, for Mr. Wicks, doing his duty, mind you, wrote them and told them of their perhaps good fortune come June sixteenth. They came to England and now they are at Chase Park, arriving evidently precisely on the sixteenth. The Duchess and Mr. Wicks have flown after them. Ah, yet again, she meddles.”

“She is your wife, my lord. It is not meddling, it is the duty of a wife to see to her husband's interests whilst he is unable to see to them himself.”

Marcus gave his valet a grunt, then began to pull off his clothes. “I would like a bath, Spears.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He had one leg out of his trousers when he said, “I wonder why they went to Chase Park. Surely Mr. Wicks didn't tell them that was also part of their probable inheritance.”

“It is a mystery, my lord.”

“One would have expected them to stop here first in London and see Mr. Wicks. Then perhaps he would have directed them to the Essex House, in Clampton, a very nice property that I saw with Charlie and Mark some years ago. Unentailed, of course.”

“Now all the property is yours, my lord, including Essex House.”

“I know.”

“Will you be remaining home this evening, my lord?”

“If you must know,” Marcus said now, pulling on a dressing gown, “I am going to White's. A number of gentlemen are dining together.”

“I suggest, my lord, that you not imbibe overly. I further suggest, my lord, that we ourselves leave for Chase Park on the morrow.”

“Your suggestions be damned, Spears. I have no intention of going to Chase Park. Mr. Wicks got himself into this mess, let him extricate himself. Doubtless the Duchess will be of invaluable assistance. Why else would she have accompanied him if she hadn't intended to meddle? No, don't answer that. In any case, I have to meet with Lord Dracornet at the War Ministry tomorrow.”

“I will see to your bath, my lord.”

“Good. Don't try to change my mind, Spears. I won't go to Chase Park despite the fact that the namby-waist, Trevor, just might be the future earl.” Marcus looked around the rapidly darkening bedchamber. “You know, perhaps I should inform Mr. Wicks not to send the American Wyndhams to the rightabout entirely. Perhaps I should tell him that dear Trevor just might be the earl someday. Perhaps I should tell him to encourage that mincing fop, Trevor, to get himself an heir just in case. Yes, I should make that communication to Mr. Wicks.”

“The Duchess, my lord? Your
wife?
”

“Oh, she is fully aware that any offspring she bears will be not of my seed and thus will not succeed to the title.”

He listened to Spears suck in his breath. Ah, consternation from his unflappable valet. It felt good. He smiled. He was still smiling when the two footmen entered the bedchamber, carrying buckets of hot water for his bath.

He was lathering his hair when he chanced to see Spears looking at him with the tight-lipped disapproval of a bishop at an orgy. It made him feel even better.

He saw Spears open his mouth and quickly said in a voice as chill as Gunther's ices, “No, Spears, I will not go to Chase Park. I don't care what either Wicks or the Duchess
do. I plan to enjoy myself immensely here in London. I plan to install a mistress over in Bruton Street or perhaps in Stretton Street, close enough to here so that I can stroll over at my leisure. Yes, that's what I'll do.”