Chapter Twenty #2
He walked up the hallway. This wasn’t his doom. It was his future. A new beginning. This was a partnership with someone who would teach Rebecca to smile at an insult … and then wait to say something cutting behind her tormentor’s back and attempt to ruin that person.
Beckett slowed. That was how Pauline managed foes, because he’d seen her do it. Demure, polite, and far nastier than the situation strictly called for. His mother was the same, and without really thinking about it he’d thought it clever, simply the way things were done.
Coming to a halt in front of the library door, he raised his hand to knock.
It was how his peers preferred to conduct themselves.
Pauline merely happened to be exceptional at it.
Iris, on the other hand, was horrible at it.
She preferred a direct, immediate confrontation.
Society frowned on that. But was it wrong?
Which of these two women would he rather have Rebecca emulate, and why for one second had he thought it should be Pauline Grenedy?
“My lord,” Butler said, appearing beside him so abruptly it made him jump, “Mrs. Alliday has both an orange meringue and a fresh cherry dessert, but she’s terrified one will offend Lady Pauline, and the other, Lady Becks. I would greatly appreciate if you’d have a word with her.”
Shutting his eyes, Beckett lowered his hand.
“I can’t do it,” he muttered. He didn’t want Rebecca to be that cold and calculating.
He wanted her to keep her passion and compassion, and to defend herself with clarity and force if necessary.
He wanted her to be more joyful than she was concerned with how others saw her.
“Beg pardon, my lord? I’ve been trying to calm Mrs. Alliday, but she won’t listen to m—”
“Hmm? No, not that. I…” He needed to go find Iris before she accepted Trent’s proposal—even though she thought that marriage the best solution to her troubles and she’d likely punch him for attempting to decide otherwise on her behalf.
“My lord? Please.”
Beckett took a hard breath. He needed a moment to think. To figure out if he’d just found his way, or if he’d just proven himself an idiot beyond all hope. “Yes. Of course I’ll speak with Mrs. Alliday. At once.” Turning on his heel, he strode back up the hallway.
John Butler sagged against the wall, fanning his face, then crept forward and silently locked the library door.
Hurrying through the music room, he did the same with the second entrance.
That was one of the miscreants trapped, but it wouldn’t last. If she began yowling, one of the other guests would hear it and let her out.
The hourglass, as it was, had been turned. The sand had begun its descent.
Squaring his shoulders, Edmund walked over to take the seat beside the Duke of Trent. The Old Moldy name they’d given him definitely fit, and Edmund tried taking shallow breaths out of his mouth so the smell didn’t fill his nose.
“What do you want?” the duke asked, glowering down at him.
“I just thought we should become acquainted,” Edmund said. “You told Mama you might marry her, and if you do, we’ll be living in the same house.”
“How old are you?”
“Ten, Your Grace.”
“Cheeky lad. You should be in school. Nearly grown and still attached to your mother’s teat. We’ll see you turned into a man, boy. Don’t you worry.”
“I’m not worried,” Edmund lied. So he and Becks would both be headed to boarding school if their plan failed. “Does that mean you’ve decided? About Mama?”
Old Moldy turned to gaze at her where she sat chatting with Mrs. Brubbins and Becks.
“She’s pretty enough. Makes me think of things.
She’ll do, I reckon.” He chuckled like he’d forgotten Edmund was sitting next to him.
“Says she’s willing, but flinches every time I put a finger near her.
I’ll see to that.” He shifted, seeming to notice Edmund again.
“Go tell her I want a word with her about our … potential betrothal, boy.”
“Oh, she wanted a word with you. That’s why I’m here. She said to meet her in the morning room.”
“Well, well. Good lad. Toddle away, now.” Trent picked up his glass of brandy and took a long swallow before he stood and ambled toward the hallway.
They’d been right; the engagements were supposed to happen tonight.
Both of them. And from what Becks had overheard, Masquerade meant to kiss the Major and make him marry her because he was honorable.
Old Moldy would do the same thing, kiss the Mongoose and then say she had to marry him to keep from being ruined.
Adults were horrible, except for the Biscuitses. He meant never to act like that, to lie and scheme and trick people into doing things. Well, except for tonight. Tonight, he and his partners meant to trick everyone.
Standing again, he walked over to his tutor. “The duke is going to the morning room,” he muttered. “There are two doors, one on the foyer, and one on the right-hand hallway.”
“Done and done, my dear old son,” Mr. Fredericks muttered, and a minute later left the room.
It would be fun to lock both Old Moldy and Masquerade up until they both begged to go straight home, but that would only see to things for tonight.
Tomorrow engagements and betrothals and seductions could happen all over again, and he and Becks might not be about to put a stop to it.
“Mama,” he said, sitting beside Becks again, “the duke said he wants to see you about your potential betrothal.”
“Oh.” Her shoulders lifted and sank again. “Very well.”
“He said he’ll be waiting for you in the garden.”
His mother smoothed her skirts. Then she clapped her hands against her thighs and stood up. “I’ll go see what he has to say, then, I suppose.” She kissed Edmund on the cheek. “We make the best of what we have, do we not?”
“Always,” he returned. Then he went and sat beside Becks.
“That’s all four of them out of the room,” Becks whispered. “My turn now.” She clapped her hands against her thighs just like his mama had done, then stood up and pranced out to the hallway.
As soon as she was out of sight of the people in the drawing room, Rebecca stopped prancing.
She needed to give Mr. Fredericks a minute to secure Old Moldy, Mongoose needed time to get to the garden, and the Major needed to finish helping Mrs. Alliday figure out the desserts and go outside, too, which was her job.
The person she most worried about ruining everything was Whiskers; her grandmother always seemed to know what everyone was even thinking, and that wouldn’t do tonight.
Not at all. If they needed to invent something to keep her occupied, Rebecca would have to think of it, and she would have to do it quickly.
Just behind the kitchen door she stopped, took a deep breath, and then walked straight in. “Papa?”
He finished licking a spoon with orange meringue on it and put it behind his back. The cook winked at her from beside him. Ha! She’d known the desserts would work as a distraction; Papa loved sweets. And orange meringue made his toes tingle.
“What is it, Rebecca?” he asked, putting the spoon on the worktable behind him.
“I didn’t want to say anything to Eddie,” she went on, putting a hand beside her mouth, “but I saw his mama go by the window in the garden. She looked like she was crying.”
He took a fast step toward the door leading outside, then stopped. “Um, the garden? I—Mrs. Alliday, please do as we … discussed.”
The cook bobbed a curtsy. “Of course, my lord.”
“Rebecca, return to the drawing room, if you would,” the Major said. “Keep Mrs. Brubbins and Mr. Fredericks company. I would imagine they’re uncomfortable tonight. I’ll be back in a moment.”
“I’ll do it. I think you’re right; Mr. Fredericks just tried to rhyme ‘dinner’ with ‘manners.’ I thought he might faint.”
He nodded. “Yes, of course.” That didn’t make any sense, but that was good. If he was worried about Mrs. Silbern, that was very good.
The second he shut the door behind him, Mrs. Alliday rushed over and locked it. “That won’t put him off for long. You can’t lock a lord out of his own house.”
“They just have to stay out there long enough to fall in love.”
“He chose the cherry dessert, just as you said.”
Rebecca nodded. “Because he’s nice. The b—”
“Rebecca,” her grandmother’s voice came from the kitchen doorway.
She jumped. “Yes, Grandmama?”
“As I’ve said before, you are to call me Grandmother. It’s more dignified.”
“Yes, Grandmother?”
The dowager marchioness pinched her lips together. “God, that’s just as horrid. Where is your father? He’s expected in the library.”
“You just missed him. He said that was where he was headed,” Rebecca lied, crossing her fingers behind her back to ward off any bad luck from telling fibs.
“Good. It’s time the nonsense stopped.” Lady Hentrose gave the kitchen a grimace, then turned her back. “I’d best give it five minutes,” she muttered as she headed back to the main part of the house. “Perhaps four. Beckett’s annoyingly astute.”
Her grandmother meant to be the one to discover her papa being compromised, then. And four minutes wasn’t enough time for anyone to fall in love. “Oh no,” Rebecca breathed.
“What is it, my sweet?” Mrs. Alliday asked.
It was time for that quick thinking. Rebecca picked up the bowl of orange meringue. “I wish I could spill this on Masquerade.”
“It would serve her right, choosing cherries and nuts. Anyone can put out cherries and almonds.” Mrs. Alliday wiped her hands on her apron.
“I agree. But I’m going to spill it on my grandmother.”
The cook gasped. “You can’t, my lady!”
“I have to. She’s going to ruin everything.”
“You be careful, Lady Becks. The dowager marchioness has a temper.”
“Oh, I know that.”
How, though, could she make it look like an accident?
She had no reason to be carrying a bowl of meringue out of the kitchen, after all.
Oh, she could say she was rescuing it from being thrown out, because Lady Pauline didn’t like oranges.
Rebecca grinned to herself. Sometimes she was dreadfully clever.
Speeding her pace, she hurried back into the drawing room to see her grandmother halfway through the opposite door.
Edmund was on his feet, looking about as if trying to figure out how he could create a distraction to keep Whiskers from going to find Lady Pauline while she was locked in the library, and Whiskers was already scowling like she smelled something amiss.
Dash it all. There was only one thing to do now.
Pretending to trip, Rebecca flipped the bowl in the air, halfway caught it again, and encouraged it to plop thick meringue all over her as she bobbled it to the floor.
“Oh no!” she squealed, smearing creamy orange down her face and dress and flinging it about in the same motion. “Grandmother, help me!”
The dowager marchioness turned around. “Good heavens. I told you not to touch things, child.”
“But I did!” She scowled, then made a loud sob. “I’ve ruined my dress!”
Her grandmother took a step back into the room, while Mrs. Brubbins and Bradley attacked Rebecca with table doilies and a throw blanket to wipe off the delicious-smelling mess.
Putting a hand behind her back, she gestured madly at Butler.
This was earlier than they’d wanted, because her papa and Mrs. Silbern had only been outside for a minute, but if someone released either Masquerade or Old Moldy, their entire plan would be ruined.
That made her next sob more real, but her grandmother still didn’t move any closer.
She didn’t leave either, though, and that was what mattered.
“Grandmother, what gets meringue out of a dress?” she sobbed.
“I have no idea. Not smearing it on yourself in the first place, I would imagine.”
Butler slipped out the door behind the dowager marchioness. Lord Michael snickered at her, and narrowing one eye, Rebecca flipped her fingers, sending a splatter of meringue onto his knee. Ha! She’d learned some things from Mrs. Silbern, so the boys had best keep on their toes.