Chapter Sixteen #2
Iris curled her fingers into a fist. “I suggest you keep your distance, Your Grace. You have bargained for a transactional union. There are no samples.”
“We’ll see about that. I’ve gotten everything I’ve wanted so far.” With that he banged his cane beside Polly’s head, making the maid flinch. “Back to Grove House, Ritter. I’ve played about enough this afternoon.”
Edmund hefted the small wooden box beneath one arm. “I’m going to Raines House,” he announced, trying to sound the same as he did every time he went next door.
Tollins the butler nodded. “I’ll inform your mother if she should inquire,” he said, like he always did, and pulled open the door.
This was going to be tricky. If Lord Hentrose got too angry with him, he could lose Flintlock Biscuits and his privilege to play with Becks.
But if he didn’t do anything, he and Becks weren’t going to be together for much longer anyway, and he was fairly certain that all of his new step-cousins or-nieces and-nephews or whatever they would be would laugh at him for riding a pony.
This was the sort of thing he wished he’d been able to do weeks ago when Uncle Lord Bellamy had clomped straight into their house with his muddy boots and his architect, and started talking about which walls they should tear down.
It had taught him not to be surprised by what people did to each other, though Lord Hentrose purchasing him Flintlock had stunned him.
Perhaps it was the bad things he was expecting, and not the good ones.
He knocked at the front door. Bradley the footman opened it. “Good morning, Master Edmund,” he said with a smile. “I’m afraid Lady Becks is not feeling well this morning, and she’s still to bed. Mrs. Brubbins is with her if you’d like to go up and sit with her for a bit.”
“That would be grand,” he said, nodding. “Where’s Butler?”
“We’re having a breakfast here this morning. Butler’s measuring the silverware spacing.”
“Oh, I’d like to see that,” Edmund blurted, before he could stop himself. Drat it all. He needed to be upstairs.
“I’m afraid it’s quite dull,” the footman commented, thankfully, gesturing him toward the stairs. “You know the way, Master Edmund.”
“Thank you, Bradley,” Edmund said again, and started up the stairs.
“By the way, Master Edmund,” Bradley said in a lower voice, “your box has a nose sticking out of one corner. Be cautious no one else sees.”
His heart jumping, Edmund turned around and walked back down the trio of stairs he’d just climbed. “Did Becks tell you the plan?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows. “Are you going to help?”
The footman squatted in front of him. “I can’t say I’ll spill something on Masquerade,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder, “but if there should be a ruckus, I’ll do what I can to not resolve it too quickly.”
Nodding, unable to help his smile, Edmund headed upstairs again.
They had more people helping than he’d expected; after what had happened with Uncle Lord Bellamy, he’d assumed he and his mother would always be on their own.
And since all he and Becks had been able to manage were some outings and meals together and both his mother and her father were still talking about marrying the wrong people, they needed all the assistance they could get.
He knocked on Becks’s shut door. “It’s me,” he said.
“Come in, Eddie,” she said, her voice sounding weak and tired.
When he walked inside, she lay in her bed, propped up by a hundred pillows and the covers pulled up to her chin. Practically all he could see of her was her eyes and her nose. Mrs. Brubbins sat in a chair by the window, some sewing in her lap, but she didn’t look like she’d been working on it.
“You look terrible, Becks,” he commented.
“I’m quite ill,” she whispered, and gave a little cough. “Do shut the door, please.”
He complied. The moment the latch clicked, she sat up, the sheets sliding down to reveal her wearing one of her walking dresses. “Did you think of something disruptive?” she asked, leaning forward. “What’s in the box?”
“The disruptive thing I thought of.”
“Oh, good! May I see it?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Are you certain about this, my dears?” Mrs. Brubbins set her sewing aside and stood up.
“I am responsible for you, and while I have no objection to you finding a way to encourage a certain horrid person to leave, I will not claim ignorance about this scheme if Lord Hentrose asks me about it. I can’t lie to someone who hired me for a position of trust.”
Becks’s smile dropped. “Papa would never sack you, Brubbie. But I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“Maybe Becks should ask you to bring her some soup, and the disruption can happen while you’re gone,” Edmund suggested, hefting the box under his arm. It was getting heavy, but he didn’t want to set it down yet. Not until they had all the details worked out.
“But then you could get in trouble, and we wouldn’t be allowed to play together any longer.
Oh dear.” Becks slumped, falling back onto her mountain of pillows.
She shut her eyes. “We need to make certain everyone knows it’s my fault,” she said, opening them again.
“Papa will be mad, but if the plan turns out the way we want, we’ll be able to tell him why we did all this and he’ll forgive me. ”
“I still maintain that I could speak with Lord Hentrose and tell him why you choked, that day,” Mrs. Brubbins said. “That would be enough to have him send Lady Pauline away.”
“No, Brubbie. He still needs to get married. We need him to fall in love with Mrs. Silbern. If he doesn’t have anyone, he’ll be sad, and it’ll be my fault.” Clenching her fists, Becks scowled. “I want him to be happy.”
“Lady Becks, you—”
A knock rattled her door. With a squeak Becks yanked the sheets up to her neck again. Mrs. Brubbins picked up her sewing again, then went and opened the door. She curtsied.
“My lord.”
Lord Hentrose walked into the room. “Not feeling any better, Rebecca?” he asked, nodding at Edmund as he went over to sit on the edge of Becks’s bed.
“It’s just an aching head,” she said weakly. “I’ll have some tea, and I’ll be fine in time to go see the menagerie.”
“We could make that another day, Cricket.”
“Oh no! I want to go. So does Eddie, and Mrs. Silbern.”
Her father eyed her. “And you’re not doing this to avoid Lady Pauline this morning?”
“No, of course not. But I don’t want to eat something and then cast up my accounts all over her, either.”
“Ah. That’s logical thinking there, Rebecca.” Leaning down, he kissed her on the forehead and then stood again. “Very well. If you should feel up to joining us, please do so. She’ll be here any moment.”
“Very well, Papa. I’ll try.”
The marquis left again, and Edmund set the box on the dressing table.
Even if this worked and made Masquerade look silly in front of the Major, someone was going to be in trouble.
And whatever Becks thought, that person should be him, and it meant he wouldn’t be allowed to go to the Tower to see the menagerie.
Well, he’d gone ten years without seeing lions, so he supposed he could wait a little longer.
This was more important, because while he could tolerate being teased and bullied by Old Moldy’s family, Masquerade wanted Becks to leave her home and her papa.
That couldn’t happen, no matter how many fun things he didn’t get to do.
Becks climbed out of bed, smoothed her skirts, and walked over to him. “Thank you for helping me, Eddie. Even if we don’t get to be brother and sister, you’re my family.”
He smiled. “Whether we’re Silberns or Howards or Raineses, we’re all Biscuits, now.”
Becks hugged him. “We are. Eddie Silbern Biscuits and Becks Raines Biscuits.” She looked at Mrs. Brubbins, who seemed to have poked herself in the eye. Both eyes, from the way she was tearing up. “And Brubbie Biscuits.”
“Oh, heavens. Let’s get on with creating some mayhem, because just the idea of you two not being together makes me weepy.”
“I’m going to go into the upstairs sitting room,” he said, moving to the door, “so I can see when Masquerade gets here. Don’t touch the box. If the ruckus begins too early, she won’t be caught in the middle of it.”
“Just what is this ruckus going to be?” Mrs. Brubbins asked, eyeing the box.
“It’s better if you don’t know. Then you can be surprised, too.”
With that he left the room, shutting the door behind him again, and crept into the sitting room three doors down. From the window there he could just see the portico over the front door, and he sank onto his knees to begin his watch.
He’d only been there for a minute when a big black coach rolled up and stopped, and Masquerade took Butler’s hand to step to the ground.
She wore a very fancy-looking green gown, and she had a little hat with what looked like a stuffed bird perched on top of it.
He would never wear a dead bird on his head, but he wasn’t a chit, either.
Then again, he’d seen a sketch of Daniel Boone with a badger or something on his head, and Boone wasn’t a chit, and a badger wasn’t a bird.
Masquerade’s maid climbed out of the coach behind her, and no one helped her step down.
Taking a breath, Edmund crawled away from the window and then stood up again.
“She’s here,” he said, slipping back into Becks’s bedchamber.
“What do you think? Should we wait until they sit down to eat and then make our ruckus? Or should we do it now, so she can run away faster?”
Becks twisted up her face. “I want her to leave now, but I think it’ll be better if they’re sitting down. Are you certain they’ll hear our ruckus from the breakfast room?”