A Wallflower Demands Satisfaction (Revenge of the Wallflowers #55)

7. April 19, 1830

7

APRIL 19, 1830

DUKE OF CHELMSFORD’S CARRIAGE

* * *

S treets in vicinity of Piccadilly

Percy stared across the space in the center of the ducal carriage toward the stubborn young man seated facing him. Will’s chin jutted forward, his hands were clenched into fists, and the ridiculous Peelers’ oversize stovepipe perched on the seat next to him. Will’s earlier explanation for Sir Robert Peel’s design of the hat was so that they could stand on them to look over fences. Frankly, that made the whole idea even more ludicrous.

“Mr. Beckford, I hate say this, but I believe I see in you the man I used to be prior to my marriage.”

Will gulped, obviously stunned, without a reply.

A chasm of silence yawned between them until the young man finally spoke. “I must apologize, Your Grace. I must have confused you with my sudden change of, erm, habit.”

“Yes. I rather miss our morning raids on Cook’s chocolate biscuits.”

“I’m afraid I’d become the source of much frustration on Miss Jones’s part.”

“I didn’t see that at all,” Percy interjected.

“Please let me finish.” He unbuttoned the top button on the heavy, long wool coat that was part of his uniform.

Percy took a languid look out the coach window. “It is unseasonably warm today, isn’t it?”

“I may have been a little too, um, friendly with your kitchen staff, for which I apologize.”

“And you believe that is what caused Miss Jones to take umbrage?”

He squirmed a bit, readjusting his lanky legs to the side, before leaning over in a gesture of confiding. “I have to say, I’m not sure what caused her to turn on me so suddenly. Sometimes, I think I’ll never understand women.”

Percy gave Will a long, serious stare before breaking out in a peal of laughter. He laughed so long and hard, he eventually began to wheeze and had to stop.

“No man understands women. We’re not meant to,” the duke assured him. “Anyone who says he does is a deuced liar.” He leaned in closer. “Olivia’s lost her nerve, Will. She’s a young woman who’s lost her way. She needs you to come back and tell her she can do this. She must do this to secure her future. You’re her best friend. Nobody else can give her the prod she needs to stand on her own and give as good as she gets from those high-in-the-instep snobs of the ton.”

“But she has Dickie.”

“He’s her brother, and he loves her. He coddles her too much. Dickie’s afraid to prod Olivia in the direction she needs to go.”

At that moment, the carriage ceased moving. They were back at the spot on Piccadilly where the duke’s footmen had snatched Will away from his beat. “I know this is none of my business, but please think about it, for her sake.” After a long moment, he added, “And yours.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. I will.” And with that, Will slipped through the carriage door and disappeared into the crowds surging amongst the shops along Mayfair’s great thoroughfare.

Percy knocked twice on the roof, signaling his coachman to drive on home. He sat back and smiled a self-congratulatory smile. If he knew anything about young men and how they approached commitment to the women they loved, he’d poked Will into action as surely as if he’d poked a bear.

* * *

April 20, 1830

Lady Camilla’s drawing room

St. James Square

Olivia swung her gaze around the circle of her friends, all with grave expressions on their faces. Dickie looked as if he wanted to find someone to punch senseless; Lady Camilla looked like an invading Hun plotting mayhem beneath her perfectly coiffed silver curls; and her former employer, the Duchess of Chelmsford, sat on the edge of her chair and looked like she was ready to head out to sea to renew a life of piracy.

And then there was Will. Dickie had obviously dragged him in from the middle of his beat. She wondered how he managed to keep his regular job with the Peelers. His face was so pale, he looked as though someone had drained all his blood during the previous night and left him for dead. She felt a small twinge of guilt and wondered whether he was eating and sleeping properly what with his grueling work schedule on top of all his other racing around Mayfair making sure she was safe.

Everyone had a copy of the small bit of gossip which had appeared in The Morning Post, and was the reason she’d called them together. Olivia spoke first, voicing what she was sure everyone was thinking. “Is there any way this woman could possibly be my birth mother? And if she is, why has someone exposed her secret after all these years since she abandoned me on a street in Seven Dials? Who would have seen both of us to connect the similar odd coloring of our eyes?” She shook her head slowly. “I’ve never even been to the opera.”

Her Grace snapped her fingers, jumped up and began to pace. “That’s it.”

“Wot is?” Dickie couldn’t help himself and reverted to his old accent.

“Olivia has to go to the opera and see for herself if this woman might be her mother.”

“How do we even know which opera singer she is? I say this is a bad idea. We shouldn’t drag Olivia to every theater in town looking for the right opera singer.” Will shook his head vigorously.

Lady Camilla interrupted. “There’s only one opera production currently in town - Die Zauberflote at Covent Garden Theatre.

Her Grace stopped pacing. “Then it’s settled, Will. You and Dickie will escort Olivia to the production tonight and use our box seats.”

“Why can’t you and the duke escort her?” Will’s voice took on a touch of a whining tone.

“Because we want her to be able to get a discreet look at this woman to determine if she is indeed her mother. If Percy and I were to show up, every nosy person in the audience would be staring at the box all night. Olivia would have no privacy.”

Lady Camilla finally leaned forward to cover Olivia’s hand and spoke. “Would you like to meet the woman who might be your mother?”

“Good heavens, no. All I want is to be sure some horrible gossip about my being a bastard is not going to spoil the efforts you all have put into making sure I have a Season.” Olivia paused for a moment to collect herself before going on. She’d be damned if she would cry. “She abandoned me on a street in the rookeries when I was so little, I don’t even remember what she looked like. I have no desire to meet someone who could do that to another human being.”

* * *

April 20, 1830

Covent Garden Theatre

London

Will watched with trepidation as Lady Camilla’s nephew, Carrington-Bowles, stepped from Chelmsford’s carriage into the gaslit splendor of the pillared entrance to the Covent Garden Theatre. Dressed in dark evening attire, he cut a fine figure as he handed down the a mysterious masked woman from inside the carriage. Glimpses of a violet silk dress peeking through the swirls of a dark green woolen cape completed her aura of intrigue.

Will slid out behind her with Dickie close behind. They stared carefully at the crowd and the shadows beyond as though they were her bodyguards. A buzz of gossip and speculation began immediately amongst the crowd assembled in the queue outside to enter the theater. Opera patrons rarely attended performances with their faces covered with masks.

CB had finally consented to accompany the young people to the opera that night after concurring with his aunt’s assessment that the combination of the three volatile friends on such a sensitive mission might end in bloodshed before the evening was over without a level-headed chaperone in charge. His partner, Nathaniel, was catering a private party that night, and, besides, he’d admitted he was curious about the coloratura soprano singing the part of the Queen of the Night in Die Zauberflote .

Will gritted his teeth to keep from blurting out what he knew about the performer, and Olivia rolled her eyes at CB. She was determined to hate the woman who might be her mother, and Will couldn’t convince her otherwise without revealing his own failure to tell her what he knew. He convinced himself the lie was a small one…and only for her own good.