Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
“ Y our dear papa Squire Talbot was one. And look where that got him !”
Wilkes had Celia Talbot. And Fenton knew what Wilkes had done to her father.
The pistol was in his hand before he even had time to think. He grabbed a corner of the heavily laden dessert table and pulled it, thinking to slide it gently and quietly away from the doors. It scarcely moved.
“… gave specific instructions that the syllabubs and the Chantilly cream were not to be brought up until after the first remove. It is far too hot.”
“But your ladyship…”
“ What is that man doing?”
Fenton let go of the table and whirled to find himself facing a haughty, middle-aged blonde who seemed to be encrusted in diamonds. She was flanked by Mr. Brock and the senior footman. All three of them were staring at him, aghast.
He blinked. It took him far too long to realize that her eyes were upon the… “ Gun !” shrieked the lady. “He has a gun !”
From the other side of the library doors Fenton heard the sound that he’d been dreading: The report of a pistol. Wilkes had shot poor Miss Talbot.
He didn’t need a plan after all. He seized the table and flipped it over.
Keynsham flung the library door open. This time, he wouldn’t let Miss Spry divert the conversation with her lies and playacting. This time, he’d tell her exactly what he…
Instead of Miss Spry, he saw Wilkes, struggling with Celia.
Keynsham lunged.
The gangster stepped back, jerking Celia against him. Now he was facing Keynsham, holding Celia in front of himself as a human shield, his forearm around her neck. “Ah. Lord Alford. I expected that you would be along presently.”
Celia’s eyes met Keynsham’s. They were full of terror and misery.
“You were expecting someone else? The pretty little heiress, perhaps?” Wilkes smirked. “Why, everyone at this soirée is simply abuzz with talk of your engagement! I have just explained to Miss Talbot here”—he jerked her tighter against him—“that she is not quite viscountess material.”
He must not let Wilkes goad him into a mistake. “What an odd thing for you to say. Are you quite… well ? Miss Talbot and I are engaged to be married.”
Wilkes’s smirk slipped for a moment. “Oh, is that so? Well, you may be interested to know that Miss Talbot’s dear papa was—not to put too fine a point on it—a thief. He cheated me out of a very large sum of money. No, no, I am afraid that Miss Talbot is… not quite the thing.”
Keynsham kept his voice even. “Let go of her now.”
“Oh, I think not.” Suddenly there was a pistol in his hand. “You see, viscount , I invited you here because it is time that I settle a score with you.”
“Oh, stop crying , Townley!” A braying voice came from the corridor. “Mark my words, Alford took my advice! He will not have been so foolish as to come to the library .”
Two figures stumbled through the door. One was Bartlett. The other—Townley—lifted a shaking hand to point at Wilkes.
“What the devil…?” Bartlett lurched forward, his fists raised. “Who are you? I warn you, sir! I am a trained practitioner of the pugilistic arts! Unhand this lady!”
Wilkes drew back, collided with an armchair, and stumbled. The pistol went off. Townley screamed and clutched his arm.
Regaining his balance, the gangster shoved Celia aside and lunged at Keynsham. A flailing blow caught Keynsham above his left eye. His head rang. “You overbred, interfering…” Wham ! Another punch caught him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
A thunderous crash seemed to shake the foundations of the house. The doors to the adjacent room were torn open. Light spilled into the library. A man was shouting over the sound of smashing china. “It’s him! It’s him! Stop him!”
Wilkes looked toward the noise. Keynsham, gasping for breath, managed to swing. His right cross caught the gangster across the jaw. Wilkes spun sideways. He reached for Celia, his fingers spread like a claw.
“Never! Touch! Her! Again!” Keynsham’s fist slammed into Wilkes’s face.
Wilkes staggered. His pomaded hair was hanging into his sweaty face. Blood from his cut lip spattered onto his lace-trimmed neckcloth and his grey silk jacket. Still clawing at Celia’s skirts, he crumpled slowly to the floor.
Bellowing like an enraged bull and clutching his injured arm, Townley charged forward and collapsed on top of Wilkes.
In the background someone was screaming. “Keynsham! Keynsham! The ball is ruined! The ball is ruined !”
Keynsham gathered Celia into his arms. “Darling! Darling! Did he hurt you?”
She was shaking. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I—I shall not hold you to your promise.”
He squinted at her. He really wished that people wouldn’t keep punching him in the face. “What on earth are you talking about?”
Celia’s knees were shaking so badly that she wasn’t certain if she could continue standing. Her thoughts were jumbled. Chaos surrounded her.
“He shot Townley!” shouted one of the men who’d burst into the library. “ He shot Townley !”
Keynsham pulled her closer. “Please tell me that you are unhurt.”
And then Dick Fenton was standing before them. “He did it! Wilkes did it, Miss Talbot! He murdered your old dad! He’s guilty as sin!”
Dick Fenton? How could he be here? She shrank back.
“Don’t worry, Miss Talbot! I ain’t here to hurt you!” He stretched a pleading hand toward her. “Wilkes did it, Miss Talbot! He killed your dad! It weren’t no carriage accident! I came here to stop him afore he could kill the young lord!”
“Stop where you are.” Keynsham raised a warning hand. “Keep away from her. And me.” He pointed at the footmen who stood frozen in the other room. “You and you! Come into the library and light all the candles.”
Celia stared at the big thug. There was a smear of… whipped cream ? on his face. Her eyes traveled to the pistol in his hand. “Oh!” He reddened. “Sorry about that!” He stashed the gun in the back of his waistband. “Always putting me foot in it!”
Her eyes went to Wilkes—face down on the library floor, and half under the dead weight of the larger of the two men who’d burst into the library.
“Darling?” Keynsham’s hand tightened on her upper arm. “You are safe. Wilkes will never hurt you again. Nobody will ever hurt you again.”
“I—I think that I always knew it.” Everything seemed to be spinning through her mind. She tried to clear her throat. “Somehow I knew it.”
“You have had a terrible shock. Now is not the time to” —
“The ball is ruined! The ball is ruined! ” The shrill voice broke through whatever he’d been going to say. An elegant blonde lady in an icy green gown was struggling toward them through the mounds of smashed cakes, biscuits and creams that covered the floor. She swatted away a footman who was trying to assist her. “Keynsham! Keynsham !”
Keynsham turned. “Ma’am.” He made her a bow. “Miss Talbot, my mother—Lady Alford. Mother, allow me to present my fiancée, Miss Talbot.”
Fiancée . He’d said fiancée.
Lady Alford’s eyes were narrow with fury. “ But what about Miss Spry ?”
Through the doors that connected the library to the other room was a growing crowd of spectators. Celia glimpsed a pretty young woman in a bright pink gown elbowing her way toward them. But at that moment, a trumpet flourish sounded.
Everyone looked around in surprise.
Lady Alford clasped her hands, her expression agonized. “It is the prince! The prince has come! Someone clean up this mess ! ”
The servants looked at each other. Before anyone could move, the prince himself—middle aged and leaning on a cane—entered the other room, smiling broadly. He was accompanied by an entourage of fashionable gentlemen. The crowd fell back out of his way. Everyone made deep bows and curtsies—except Lady Alford, who seemed too frozen in horror to move.
“Lady Alford! You are as exquisite as usual.” The prince was splendidly dressed in a high-collared evening suit of darkest plum damask. His snowy neckcloth was surmounted by the bright ribbon and heavy gold pendant of the Order of the Golden Fleece. And there was a gleam in his eye that Celia could only call… glee.
“Why, what have we here?” He raised a quizzing glass and surveyed the room. “Dear me! It looks like an explosion in a pastry cook’s shop!”
His entourage snickered. The laughter spread to the crowd. Red with fury, Lady Alford recollected herself and sank into a curtsey. “Your royal highness.”
The prince motioned for everyone to stand. “Yes, yes, that will do.” His sharp blue eyes were sparkling with curiosity. “Now, what has happened?”
Before Lady Alford could answer, Fenton waded through the sea of smashed desserts, seized the prince’s hand, and shook it. “What happened , your highness? He murdered her old dad! That’s what happened!”
A gasp went up from the crowd. “Indeed?” The prince studied him through his quizzing glass. “And whose ‘old dad’ would that be?”
“Miss Talbot’s dad!” Fenton gestured at Celia. “Squire Talbot, as was! Oh, aye! He killed him with his bare hands!”
Another gasp went up.
“I see.” The prince frowned. “And who is this, er… alleged murderer?”
“Wilkes! Andrew Wilkes! Right there!” Fenton pointed at the unconscious gangster. “Oh, he’s done a great many wicked things, has Andrew Wilkes! That’s him! That’s him right there!”
Lady Alford was motioning frantically at the footmen, apparently trying to get them to silence Fenton or remove him from the room. They all studiously gazed at the floor.
One of two gentlemen who’d burst into the library hurried forward. “Bartlett, your highness!” He made an unsteady bow. “And damme if that damned… damned tulip did not shoot Townley! Winged him! Without the slightest provocation!”
“I see.” The prince frowned. “And who is Townley ?”
“Cecil Townley, MP, your highness! But he has pinned the villain to the floor, as you see.”
Townley, sprawled comfortably on top of Wilkes, let out a loud drunken snore.
“ Shot , your highness! And it may prove more serious than it looks, for it has been scarcely a fortnight since the poor fellow took a ball in the other arm—when he and young Ladbrooke met to settle their dispute over Miss Spry!” He gestured in the direction of the young lady in the pink gown, who was still determinedly making her way toward Keynsham.
She froze. Everyone gasped.
The prince gave Bartlett a quelling look. “Sir! May I remind you that there are ladies present, and that such a topic is not suitable.” He turned to one of the members of his entourage. “Fetch a surgeon for Mr., er… Townley. And for heaven’s sake, take this—this other fellow into custody!”
The crowd fell back as two footmen did their best to support an incoherent and resentful Mr. Townley toward the door.
Then, as Celia held her breath, two more footmen and one of the members of the prince’s entourage hoisted Wilkes’ limp body between them. Her hand was over her mouth and her eyes were filled with tears as they carried him from the room.
He was gone.
One moment Wilkes was there—seemingly still capable of waking, springing up and terrorizing her. The next… he was gone.
It happened almost too quickly for her to believe that it was real. He’d murdered her father. He’d forced her to flee from her home. She’d been running from him for over a year. And then, in the space of a few minutes, he’d been lugged away like yesterday’s rubbish.
The tears were tears of relief. Her knees were shaking so violently that she put a hand out for Keynsham. He slipped his arm about her waist to help support her.
“Ah. Lord Alford!” The prince applied his quizzing glass to his eye again. “There you are! Do you know, no one has yet explained how all this, er… tragic destruction occurred.” Despite his cane he made his way through the sea of smashed desserts.
“Good evening, your highness.” Keynsham bowed. “May I present my fiancée, Miss Talbot?”
“Charmed, charmed.” The prince bent over Celia’s hand as she sank into a curtsey. He squinted at Keynsham. “Somehow I am not surprised to see that you were involved in this, er… contretemps .”
“Only in a minor way, your highness.”
“ Minor . I see. Well, no doubt that explains that nasty gash in your forehead.” He glanced at Fenton. “And this… big fellow? Is he employed by you? He will have to swear out a statement, of course.”
Fenton, still gazing in rapture at the prince, took this as a cue to seize his manicured hand again and shake it some more. “Blimey, what an honor this is, your highness! What an honor!”
“Your highness, this is all a dreadful misunderstanding!” Lady Alford hurried toward them. “This—this young woman is not my son’s fiancée.”
“ Ma’am .” Keynsham’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp. “You have said quite enough this evening.”
The prince was trying to extricate his hand from Fenton’s grasp. “Yes, yes. That will do. I said, that will do . Thank you.” He turned to Lady Alford. “My dear, after the events of tonight, it is only natural that you find yourself… overwrought.”
"But your highness”—
The prince held up a be-ringed hand. “Consider the matter logically: Any man of Lord Alford’s fighting ability must certainly be able to see clearly enough to recognize his own future wife.”
His entourage began to titter. The laughter spread to the crowd. The prince basked in the admiration of his wit. Then he stooped, reached into the wreckage of the dessert table, and lifted something out of it. “Well, well.” His smile broadened. “What have we here?”
He was holding a sugar paste decoration molded in the shape of the word “Waterloo.” Somehow it had survived intact. “How very apt.” The prince held it up so that everyone could see it. “One might say that several people present this evening have met their Waterloos.”
“Very good, your royal highness,” said a gentleman. “A Waterloo indeed! Most witty. Most witty.”
Guests began to applaud. And at that exact moment, Celia saw a flash of pink silk disappearing from the back of the room…
The prince waved a hand. Everyone stopped clapping. “Now. You. Stop. Yes, you . Stop.” He was speaking to Fenton, who’d been edging toward the door. “It will be your duty to give king’s evidence.”
Fenton stopped and gazed adoringly at the prince. “Yes, your highness.”
The prince handed the ornament to a member of his entourage and dusted off his hands. “Well! And I had feared that this might be a dull evening! But after dear Lady Sophronia’s ball last year, I ought to have suspected that the Alfords might provide a little scandal.”
At this, Lady Alford made a faint moaning noise. The prince lifted one of her limp, gloved hands to his lips. “ Dear Lady Alford! I jest, of course.” He looked about. “Still, considering that—well, a man has been shot—it would be in poor taste to continue with the ball. And one can only hope that your innocent young daughter Miss Keynsham did not witness any of these dreadful events.”
Lady Alford gaped at him. “But… but…” Her voice was faint. “The ices. The ices have not been delivered.”
The prince frowned. “ Decidedly poor taste.”
His highness had just canceled the ball. As this sunk in, the guests took their cues and began pushing toward the front door. “The ices.” Lady Alford pressed a hand to her breastbone. “ The ices !”
The prince made her a bow that had an air of finality. Then he, too, turned and exited, followed by his entourage.
Lady Alford stood rigid for a moment. Then, red with fury and humiliation, she turned on Fenton. “You! You are the one who ruined everything! You are the cause of all of this!”
Fenton froze. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. For once, his blank face registered an emotion… and that emotion was terror.
He turned and ran after the prince. “Your highness. Your highness !”
Lady Alford stormed off. Celia looked about, dazed. In what seemed like only moments, everything around her had transformed. The guests were all but trampling each other in their eagerness to leave, and a chilly draft found its way along the floors from the open front door.
Yawning footmen were stacking dining chairs against the walls. Some of the housemaids collected broken china into buckets and baskets, while others lugged in pails of water and began mopping up the remains of icing and whipped cream.
Celia and Keynsham were seemingly forgotten by everyone. The prince had pronounced the dreaded word “scandal” over the ball. Members of the ton were fleeing the house as fast as they could. Keynsham’s mother had been rude to her, and their engagement hadn’t been announced.
And… she had never been so happy in her life. Keynsham’s hand still rested on her back. Warmth seemed to flow into her from his touch. Warmth... and hope. She didn’t have to run away ever again. She was finally free to be with the man she’d loved almost since he’d rescued her in Whitechapel.
She reached up and gently touched the fresh cut on his forehead. “You are still handy with your fives.”
He winced, caught her hand, planted a kiss in her palm and smiled. “I beg your pardon, darling?”
“On the night we met, you told me that a gentleman might be as handy with his fives as any ruffian.”
His eyes kindled. “You remembered that?”
“Of course I remembered it. I remembered everything.” She met his gaze. And for a long, long moment she was lost in it.
“Well.” He cleared his throat. “Now you have seen what you are getting yourself into. You will be allying yourself with what is currently the most scandal-ridden family in London.” He took her other hand and held both of them in his. “My mother is bound to make our wedding as awkward as she can manage. My face will be covered in bruises at the ceremony. I should not blame you in the slightest for making a run for the stagecoach—any stagecoach—while you still can. In fact, perhaps I will join you.”
The happiness she felt was like a sunrise in her chest. “Oh, I am almost used to your bruises by now.” She glanced around to check that everyone was still ignoring them, then reached up and placed a quick kiss on the unbruised side of his mouth. “And I do not plan on going anywhere.”