What a Gentleman Desires (25 page)

“Ha! Orders, followed hard by bribery? The stick, held out to dangle the carrot? And you think that’s going to work with my grandmother? Trust me in this, Daisy, the best have tried and—”

“Richard and I were driven to Canterbury, where we met with the archbishop, who happened to be in residence, and were married by special license by the man himself, after which we retired to a lovely inn just outside the city and celebrated our nuptials in the customary way. I’ll accept your congratulations, pet, the moment you can lift your lower jaw back into place, since you’ve ruined any chance for Richard and me to surprise the family.”

She held out her left hand, to show the simple gold band on her ring finger. It had rather been lost amid the diamonds.

“Married? You’re
married?
But that’s wonderful. Mostly unbelievable, but wonderful!” Valentine was on his feet in an instant, to bodily pick up his petite grandmother and swing her in a circle as if she was a young girl before kissing her on both cheeks. “Where’s Richard? I want to shake that man’s hand and toast the two of you.
Married?
How many times have I heard you vow to never marry again?”

Trixie had her hands on Valentine’s shoulders. “Yes, yes, but it seems love has a mind of its own. Now put me down before you wrinkle my gown. But first swing me about again. Ah, that’s lovely. Daisy? Might I have a kiss from you, as well?”

Daisy happily obliged, marveling at how small and delicate this powerful woman was as she hugged her, the matriarch clearly held in great affection and perhaps awe by her family. “Forgive me for ruining your surprise, ma’am.”

“Trixie. I’m Trixie, remember? And truth to tell, I’ve been all but bursting to tell someone.” She sat down once more and took up her wineglass. “But now, back to cases. Richard and I went nowhere but Canterbury, spoke to no one but dearest Charles—the archbishop, dear—quite frankly stayed in our rooms at the inn, and then came directly here. The only other people I spoke to were Kate and Simon and a few of the longtime tenants at the Manor, which means we’re back on your side of the court, Valentine. Tell me more about your adventure at Fernwood. Obviously you’ve been quite busy.”

“And reasonably successful, yes.”

“I’d consider your rescue of Daisy’s sister to be your greatest coup.”

“Oh, yes, ma’am—Trixie. I...I had thought her lost to me.”

Trixie nodded. “We’ll discuss your sister on the way to Bond Street. For now, since Valentine here is in such a hurry, I believe I need to hear the names. You do have names for me, don’t you, pet?”

Valentine returned from the drinks table with a glass of wine in one hand, a glass of lemonade in the other—he’d earlier told Daisy only fools drink water in London—and retrieved a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket.

“You already know Charles Mailer, now deceased. From what we overheard, it seems he had been one of the current Devil’s Thirteen, the innermost circle of the Society. Hammer, a code name we already knew, will be taking his place. As he was pleading for his life, Mailer called him Axbridge, reminding him it was he who had brought him into the Society in the first place. Hammer, ax. As we’ve said, not an elaborate code.”

“Axbridge,” Trixie repeated thoughtfully. “I know no— Ah, wait a moment. Remember, pet, memberships also were often passed along in the family, which is why the code names were always connected to the surname. Baron Terence Conway introduced his son Stephen to the Society during your father’s time. The elder Conway was then left to his gout and hassock, and his son Stephen took over both his place and code name. Stephen was mad for gambling, and ran through his inheritance with considerable speed. Worse for the Society, he’d sired only daughters, and began marrying them off one after the other to fairly lecherous old men in exchange for considerable dowries.”

“Trixie, is this leading anywhere?” Valentine asked, but Daisy could see he was listening intently.

“Yes, dear, it is. It was a scandal at the time, but only a nine-day wonder, however, as something else came along to take everyone’s attention elsewhere.” She gave a graceful wave of her hand. “Perhaps Lettie Lade riding bare-breasted around the Serpentine, or rumors of our dear King George precariously balancing on the balustrades at Buckingham dressed only in his bathrobe, and shouting gibberish? Something like that.”

Daisy kept herself occupied (and her burning cheeks averted), by leaning forward to scratch the dogs behind their ears.

“Trixie...”

“Yes, yes, I’m getting there, but in my own time, pet, if you please. I have a multitude of memories to sort through in order to find the one I want. Ah, now I have it.”

“We’re so relieved. I thought we might have to listen to you recount yet again Casanova’s visit to England, and how he chased you everywhere but you refused to be caught. Poor fellow left the country the following year a crushed and disheartened man, never to be the same again. Isn’t that how it went?”

“Oh, darling, I lied about that. I was barely out of leading strings when that overly amorous buffoon came to England. But it was a lovely story, wasn’t it, and I’m certain I had an exceedingly good reason to tell it.”

Daisy decided she would never again believe herself to be bored, not as long as she resided with the Redgraves.

“Now, pet, where was I? Ah, yes. Stephen’s finances dropped lower and lower, his remaining daughters younger and younger. Comely girls, all of them, by the way. The scandal was the marriage of the youngest, barely fifteen as I recall, to the son of a screamingly wealthy private banker in the City hoping to boost his family up the social ladder. One Giraud Axbridge. His sad bride perished in childbed a year later, and not only was Axbridge forced into mourning for a year, but he was no longer received at the highest level upon his return to society. With no more daughters to put on the auction block, it’s always possible Stephen offered the grieving widower something else in return for a fresh infusion of funds.”

“The Society.” Daisy was confused. “But it was Lord Mailer who brought Hammer into the group.”

Trixie nodded her agreement. “Baron Conway was never one of the Devil’s Dozen, and I doubt Stephen was, either—he’s dead now, by the way, so don’t bother to go looking for him. Another unfortunate fall down the stairs, as I remember, leaving behind a widow of no more than eighteen. No one was shocked that he fell. After all, he was a wild drinker, constantly in his cups.”

“Another accident,” Valentine interrupted. “We should add him to the list of older Society members who met such sad ends in the past year, leaving such happy widows behind.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I’m sorry I didn’t think of him earlier. But back to Axbridge. Stephen would have made the initial suggestion, but it would be left to one of the inner circle to issue the actual
invitation.
And remember, I’m only saying you might consider him. He must be edging toward fifty now. What else? Ah, yes. Mother French, father English, if you believe that matters, and I would assume so unless told otherwise.”

“A banker could be invaluable to the Society. He’s got to be our man. Trixie, you’re a marvel,” Valentine said, bending down to kiss her blond curls.

Daisy felt Valentine’s excitement. She was excited, as well, but that emotion was tempered by concern. Valentine looked ready to go chasing hotfoot after the man who’d recently held a knife to his back, and that could be dangerous.

“What are you going to do?” she asked him.

“Nothing rash, I promise you. I only want to get close enough to see if our Mr. Axbridge is sporting a bandage on his right hand and wrist, and then I can definitely put the face to the man. Once I’m positive he’s who we think he is, he’ll keep until we can get together with the others and formulate some sort of plan. In the meantime, why don’t you two brilliant ladies head off to the shops?”

“In a moment, Valentine,” Daisy said, “as I believe you’ve forgotten something. Someone tried to burn down this house around our ears last night. Or are you now convinced it was Axbridge’s work?”

“Yes, pet. Have you made other enemies during your time in the country?” Trixie asked.

“Oh, he’s made several,” Daisy told her, smiling up at him. “Haven’t you,
pet?
We just don’t know who they are.”

“We’ve got some names. We’ve even got one of them, Harold Charfield, a medium-size cog in Perceval’s offices, locked up tight at Redgrave Manor. I imagine Simon is having some fun, questioning him. Charfield, Trixie.
Burn.
”

“Yes, another code name. And the last we know, correct?”

“We’ve got two others possibilities, thanks to Daisy, as she wrote down the names of guests that visited Fernwood. But I’m rather afraid the names are false, created specially for the occasion.”

“There is one more thing we learned, in addition to another code name,” Daisy said, surprised Valentine hadn’t mentioned it, either. She spoke to Trixie. “If Valentine hasn’t yet told you, it would appear the leader of at least the small group that met at Fernwood is a woman. They called her the Exalted One.”

Trixie had been taking a sip of wine, and coughed, nearly gagged. “A
woman?
But that’s...that’s impossible. A woman couldn’t be in charge of the Society. Women are their
victims.
”

“Not this one,” Valentine told her. “I think she’s harder than any of the men. In fact, they seemed nearly terrified of her.”

“I’d say
good for her,
if the Society wasn’t such an abomination,” Trixie told them consideringly. “A woman. Why on earth did I never think of that? There was a time I held them all in the palm of my hand.”

“I would chance it to say such a thing never occurred to you because you aren’t a monster,” Daisy told her. “She murdered Lord Mailer herself, and followed it up by coldly telling the members to dispose of all the women, as well, including my sister.”

“And, lest we forget, she personally dispatched Mailer’s wife and servant,” Valentine added. “I believe she’s the most dangerous of them all.”

“Fascinating. Both ambitious and filled with hate. Disdainful of the men she leads, controls. And completely bereft of morals. I wonder if she participates in the ceremonies. As the aggressor, certainly. I wonder, does she carry a whip?”

“When we find her, I’ll make certain those are the first two questions asked,” Valentine answered tongue-in-cheek, putting down his wineglass. “Since we still have no idea who tried to turn us to crisps, I’m off to the City. You two enjoy yourselves buying out all the shops and we’ll meet here at five. And for God’s sake, don’t corrupt my fiancée.”

“Yes, Valentine, just as you say,” Trixie told him sweetly, rolling her eyes at Daisy.

“Wait, Valentine,” Daisy said as he boldly leaned down to kiss her. She may not have been kissed in her first twenty-two years but, with his help, she was certainly catching up quickly. “You didn’t tell Trixie about the Exalted One’s consort. The code name.”

He winced. “Wasn’t going to do that,” he warned quietly.

But it was too late. “Consort? Perhaps the brawn behind the brains? How delicious. I must hear this.”

Valentine signaled for Daisy to say what she had to say, which she did, although now she worried he had left off telling her something important. “She called him Scarlet. That would be another code name, wouldn’t it?”

It got very quiet in the drawing room as grandmother and grandson looked at each other.

“A simple code,” Trixie said at last, her voice dull, lifeless. “Burn for Charfield, Post for Mailer, City for Urban. Turner, Jessica’s father, was Miner, for Collier. The code names often passed down father to son.”

“So I was right to think what I’ve been thinking?”

“Yes, Val.” Trixie sighed, suddenly looking more her age. “Father to son. It’s the correct code name, although they much preferred Exalted Leader or some such drivel. Your father and grandfather both. Scarlet, for Redgrave.”

“But...but that’s impossible,” Daisy said anxiously. “Isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe it possible, no, but the question begs to be asked. Where’s Max?”

“And now you’ve asked it, as I’ve just asked myself, both of us already knowing the answer. I already told you Richard isn’t here. I’ve asked him to chase down Maximillien, hoping he’s still in Ostend, and bring him back. All the rest of you are too well known by the Society at this point.”

“Hence our retreat to Redgrave Manor,” Daisy said, nodding her agreement, relieved the uncomfortable moment was over. “Valentine tells me there’s a moat.”

“Valentine exaggerates, although just barely. But back to our problem. Max, to my eternal chagrin, never cared much for the silliness of Mayfair and is rarely in England at all since reaching his majority. Although I don’t foresee him carrying his own name with him as he picks up the torch against the Society, he is the logical choice since we don’t want Spencer involved.”

“There is such a thing as coincidence,” Daisy offered, knowing the woman had meant Prime Minister Perceval. She’d rather like an army at their backs, personally. But she supposed the Redgraves had been on their own too long to ask for help. “I can think of several English names beginning with red. Redburn. Reddell. Reddick, Red— Well, there must be dozens of names that begin with red.”

Apparently Trixie had another idea. “Both your grandfather and father sired enough bastards in and around Saltwood to— Oh, God. Valentine, is it possible?”

Daisy looked to them in turn, feeling much like a living shuttlecock herself. “I don’t understand. Is what possible, Trixie? Valentine?”

He sat down beside her once more. “Just a moment, Daisy. I think you’ll understand soon enough. Trixie said she’d been speaking to some of our tenants, and retired servants, as well, I suppose, while she was at the Manor. Who, Trixie? And what were you speaking about with these tenants?”

The woman was kneading at her temples. “Let me think. Mildred, our old cook—she asked about you, pet, and if you still had such a sweet tooth. Faith, Hope and Charity. You remember the Miller sisters. Spinsters all, and happy tending their gardens now that they’re not working in the dairy house, although I swear the butter has never been the same. They adore hearing me tell them that. Smithy. And Angus Cooper, of course. He and your grandfather were lads together, which Angus never fails to remind me. He will insist on calling us all his
family,
which is very sweet. God, Valentine. Is it possible?”