Kasey Michaels - What a Gentleman Desires

“You do at times reveal a penchant for needlessly complicating matters, Master Valentine.”

“Putting my foot in it, you mean. As I told her, it was the disguise, mostly, that steered me in the wrong direction, if I’m to have any excuse at all. She was shocked to hear what I had to say, genuinely shocked. But her reaction fell far short of what I would have expected. She already knew, or at least suspected something havey-cavey going on beneath that inquisitive little nose of hers. Now it’s left to me to learn why she’s here. Then I should be able to convince her to leave.”

“Would you go if someone asked you to leave, especially after you’d taken such pains to get here in the first place? You know, the way you have done?”

Valentine spared a moment to recall the warm, silky softness of Daisy’s ringlets against his hand. “She’s in the way, Piffkin.”

“Females are always in the way, it’s their nature. It’s more than that. You’re intrigued.”

“I don’t have the luxury to be intrigued, for God’s sake, or the possibility of being distracted while making certain she doesn’t get herself into trouble. As you so brilliantly pointed out, there could be bears.”

“So she goes.”

Valentine got to his feet. “So she goes, if I have to tie her up and personally toss her in the coach. I’ll have her taken to the Manor, where Kate and Simon can watch over her.”

“Until you have the leisure to be distracted,” Piffkin said, neatly catching the banyan Valentine tossed at him.

“Until the Society is exposed and destroyed. No matter why she’s here, her abrupt departure will be suspect and she could be marked for elimination.”

“Yes, of course. While I am already charged with removing her ladyship and the kiddies to the hideaway inn Twitchill and the others have adjourned to whenever you think it appropriate. Thus burdened, I couldn’t possibly take Miss Marchant along with us. Shame on me for thinking anything else.”

“Miss Marchant is quite concerned about her ladyship. Remember, I caught her out last evening, departing the woman’s chambers. Hardly the action of a governess. I believe Lady Caroline indulges in laudanum, or perhaps hides in it. Lord knows she doesn’t eat. She spent the entire meal yesterday variously staring at me or the wall.”

The wall. Just the one, when there were four to choose from, not to mention two gaudy chandeliers. Valentine closed his eyes, attempting to mentally reconstruct the Mailer dining room: sideboard, footman, door, bank of windows, footman, one of those depressing paintings of dead game, door, another sideboard, more windows, fireplace, painting above the fireplace.

Ah, yes, now he had it. The painting above the fireplace. Lady Caroline hadn’t been just idly staring, she had been attempting to send him a message. But why would she do that, if she believed he was about to become a member of the Society, either happily or as a result of some sort of blackmail, as Simon’s brother had been, to his damnation? Had she been trying to warn him away, or draw his attention? It would be a hell of a thing if she had seen through him when her husband had not.

“A young woman forced to seek the solace of opium. How very sad. Would you care for your breeches back now, sir? I’ve managed to banish the smut, and it will only be the work of a moment to brush up your boots so that you can partake of an afternoon ride, and perhaps a luncheon at the new inn, where you can surreptitiously have some sort of contact with our men. A reconnoiter of the area is in order, isn’t it?”

Valentine pulled himself away from his thoughts. “Always a prudent move, yes, and thank you for once again anticipating my next step. Mailer boasts of his stable, so it would be mean of me not to take advantage of his offer of the best he has should I care for a ride. Frankly, anything would be preferable to spending the afternoon looking at his face. I nearly had to stuff his neckcloth down his gullet twice on the way here yesterday in the coach.”

Valentine heard Mailer’s voice again in his head, their conversation of just a few hours ago. Something about some of the parties being here, while others were held there. Could the so-called satanic rites of the Society take place here, and the treasonous conversations there? Or were there several meeting places, with Mailer’s property only one, perhaps simply the one closest to London? Anything was possible. Not every arrangement could be as extensive as his grandfather and father had accomplished at Redgrave Manor. This incarnation of the Society might simply have to make do the best they could. Lord knew they were making-do to have a buffoon like Charles Mailer as one of their members.

“You’re smiling, sir. Is that a good thing?”

“Possibly. I do believe a few more pieces of the puzzle may just have fallen into place inside my thick brain. Tell me, Piffkin, if you were to host some satanic rite, where would you do it? Indoors or out? Remember—not to influence your answer—the weather is fairly warm, and it would seem a full moon is mandatory.”

“And perhaps a convenient church ruin somewhere close by, in order to take full advantage of that moon?”

“Perhaps. Convenient or specially constructed, just as many of our more romantical citizens have ordered ruins built on their estates. Coincidently, there’s a large oil painting of the ruins of a stone circle holding place of honor in Mailer’s dining room, so such things may intrigue him.”

“It sounds as if this particular painting intrigues you, as well.”

“Possibly, possibly. A ruined stone circle mimicking Stonehenge or Avebury or any of the others would hardly be remarked on, and even if truly ancient, stories about bloodthirsty Druids and such would be enough to keep the local population from seeking it out during a full moon. However, it wouldn’t appear out of the ordinary for a guest new to Fernwood to stop to admire the thing in the daytime, walk about a bit, kick a few of the stones. If there is one, that is.”

“Try not to scuff your boots.” Piffkin rescued the discarded bouquet and snatched up a vase as he headed for the water pitcher. “There may even be posies, and benches for the ladies to sit and paint watercolors.”

“Before you paint too rosy a picture, remember, we’re only being wishful here right now.”

“And where would this sorry world be, without wishes.” The gold tooth shone for a moment in the sunlight streaming into the bedchamber. “Enjoy your ride, Master Valentine.”

Valentine considered a dismissive hrummph at the man’s hopeful words, but only said, “Thank you, Piffkin.” After all, he hadn’t been raised by wolves.

* * *

DAISYSATCURLEDup in the window embrasure in her small attic room, alternately looking out through the dusty window and turning pages in her diary, reading snippets here and there.

The children were with their nurse, partaking of their luncheon and, after pleading the headache thanks to the bright sun this morning, Daisy had escaped the schoolroom. She would not be needed again until Lady Caroline summoned her for what had become a regular late-afternoon chat. The meetings were outwardly so that Daisy could report on the children’s “progress” under her tutelage, but the children were rarely mentioned. At times Daisy wondered if the woman even remembered their ages.

No, Lady Caroline would talk about her childhood home, her deceased parents, her older sister, who now resided in Canada with her soldier husband.

Sometimes, she simply asked Daisy to kneel with her and pray.

She dreaded meeting with the woman today, could not imagine how she could even look at her without hugging her, telling her how sorry she was...and then grilling her about a small, blonde woman with a beauty mark just at the top outside corner of her mouth.