Chapter 18 #2
“Your father, eh?” Jack looked around. “Why not have it refurnished? Brought up to date. This heavy oak and velvet ain’t really the thing. Is that a fan?”
By way of answer, Fort spread it, Vauxhall side out.
“Oh-ho! Buying gifts for the ladies, eh? There’s life in the old dog yet.” He went over to the side table that held glasses and decanters. “Sure you don’t want us to bring along some pretty wantons for your pleasure?”
“Completely.” Fort made an abrupt decision. “In fact, I suspect I might soon be married.”
Jack turned, a half-filled glass in hand. “Married? You gave no hint—”
“I’ve had time to think on it. Lady Lydia North should do admirably.”
Jack stared at him. “Lady Lydia? Ain’t she that simpering chit with the big eyes? Never knew you were interested.”
“Her father has been wooing me assiduously. Though without particular imagination, I must confess . . .”
“What?”
“Ignore my whimsy. Let us just say that I have suddenly developed an interest in Lady Lydia.”
Jack turned back to fill his glass, but after a moment he said, “To be honest, Fort, I think she’ll bore you to tears in a week.”
“One never knows what lurks beneath an image of maidenly modesty. But at least she’ll be a shield against other ladies.”
Jack came over to press a glass of wine into Fort’s hand. “Don’t do anything rash, old boy. Trust me. Wait till you’re up and about. This room is turning your wits.”
“Surely Lady Lydia is exactly the kind of bride I am expected to choose.”
“Aye well, why start doing the expected now?” Jack sat and shook his head. “Ever hear the story about the man who shot himself for fear of catching the plague?”
Fort savored the wine. “Ah, but can’t you see the appeal of choosing your own form of demise?”
Cyn wandered into the drawing room in Malloren House, a piece of paper in his hand. “I’ve a strange invitation here.”
Elf and Chastity looked up from their stitchery and chat. “Why strange?”
“It’s to Walgrave’s for an evening of cards.”
“He’s better, then,” said Elf, bright-eyed.
“Must be improved at least. But why invite me?”
“Will you go?” Chastity asked.
“Of course not. I’d likely throttle him.”
Elf paused in her needlework. “If only we were identical twins . . .”
He caught her meaning immediately. “Don’t be foolish. And a man and a woman can hardly be identical, can they?”
She pulled a face at him. “Very close in looks, then.”
“Well, you are,” said Chastity. “But not close enough for anyone to mistake one for the other, no matter how dressed.”
“And women can’t dress as men. It’s never convincing.”
“Well . . .” said Chastity, with a mischievous twinkle at her husband.
“I spotted you within moments, love.”
“That was before you advised me to stuff some padding down my breeches. That fooled those ruffians in Maidenhead.”
He pulled a face at her. “Need I point out that you’re putting ideas into my hen-witted sister’s head?”
Chastity stared at Elf. “You wouldn’t!”
“I don’t think I would . . .” Elf made them both wait a moment, then laughed. “But only because I’d be caught.” She looked between the two of them, sobering. “It is very . . . bothersome not to have seen him for so long.”
Chastity leaned over to squeeze her hand. “I understand. But if he’s holding entertainments he must be finding it easier to move. We’ll soon have him out among society again.”
“And then he’ll remove to the Towers.”
“If he does, you’ll just have to practice patience. Even if you have to wait months to encounter him, nothing important is going to happen.”
“I have discovered that I am not of a patient disposition!”
Elf would have invaded Fort’s entertainment if she’d believed for a moment that she could get away with it, but she had no intention of making a fool of herself.
Again.
Instead, she dispatched to his house a gaudy handkerchief of red silk trimmed with gold-and-black lace.
Lord Coalport was clearly delighted to be asked to Walgrave House, and to hear Lord Walgrave ask for his daughter’s hand. To Fort’s irritation, he did not immediately grant it.
He received Coalport in the library on the ground floor, where a narrow bed sat behind a screen. Fort was settled comfortably in a chair, his leg supported on a cushioned bench. It was a significant improvement, but he felt for all the world like a victim of the gout.
Coalport was not a likely candidate for gout. His build was trim and healthy, his actions brisk, and Fort doubted that he ever overindulged in anything. Not a bad stable for a wife.
“You see, my lord,” said Coalport, crossing one leg over the other, “I’ve promised my wife that our little Lydia will have her say on the matter.
Now, I’m sure it’s just a matter of you courting her a little, for you’re a fine, handsome man, particularly now you’ve put off your blacks.
But I can’t settle the details before you have her interest.”
“But I am tied to a chair most of the time, Coalport.”
“Aye well, there’s no hurry.” Coalport leaned forward and patted Fort’s hand.
“I assure you, Walgrave, she’ll not go to another before you have your chance.
There are others interested, I’ll not deny it.
Doubtless you’d not believe it if I were to try, for she’s quite the prettiest lady on the town this decade.
But you have my favor, and will have your chance. ”
Fort felt like cursing the doting father for he was now in a fix. He could hardly go after another woman who would agree more speedily, and yet he was in no shape to court anyone.
“I confess to some urgency,” he said, hoping he looked like a love-struck fool. “Soon all the world will be leaving London, and your estates are far removed from mine.”
Coalport nodded, much struck by that. “True enough, my lord. True enough. My wife does talk of leaving within the fortnight.” He scratched beneath his neat gray wig.
“I could have you over to the house, for you could sit there as well as here, but I tell you, Walgrave, it would look a little too particular if your first venture out were to call upon Lydia. I’ll not have her pressured. ”
“Then perhaps I had better take up some general social moves,” said Fort, forcing a smile. “I am much improved. Not up to dancing, of course, but as you say, I can sit as well in company as alone.”
“That’s it, my lord! And if you tell me where you plan to be, I’ll see that Lydia attends if it be suitable.”
“Thank you, my lord. I think we will soon find everything just as we would wish.”
Coalport grasped his hand and shook it. “I believe it will be so, Walgrave. Indeed I do. And there isn’t a girl in the world to match my Lydia.”
And so that night, despite hating to appear such a figure, Fort ordered his sedan chair, and had himself carried into the gaming room at White’s, where he hobbled to a chair.
He was immediately surrounded by friends and the merely curious, telling the approved tale of a madman down at the wharf who had fired into a crowd and unfortunately hit him.
In fact, soon he was having a grand time and silently blaming Elf Malloren for keeping him trapped in his house for a fortnight.
Until Rothgar turned up.
Fort eyed him, both wary and cool. It was, after all, the first time they had met since that encounter at Sappho’s.
The marquess’s brows rose slightly, then he strolled over to Fort. “I am delighted to see you about again, Walgrave.”
“It is a relief to me, too,” Fort said. “I feel more in control of my life.”
“I rejoice.”
“In fact,” said Fort, suddenly determined to seal the matter, “I’m thinking of marriage.”
“Indeed.” Rothgar flicked open a gold snuffbox one-handed and presented it.
Fort took a small pinch. “Nothing is settled of course,” he said and inhaled, letting the powder create its own moment of well-being. “But the young lady’s father gives me reason to hope.”
Rothgar did not so much as pause in his own use of the snuff, and took the time to wipe his fingers on his silk handkerchief. Then he smiled approvingly. “Accept my felicitations in advance of the happy event.”
With that he bowed and moved away leaving Fort prey to sudden doubts. He should have realized that Rothgar wouldn’t want another alliance between their families, even when Fort and Elf had enjoyed the privileges of the wedded state.
By escaping Elf, Fort could be doing just as Rothgar wished.
For a moment, the old urge returned, the urge to do anything that would make life difficult for Rothgar. He pushed it aside and concentrated on cards. He’d given up judging his every act by its effect on the Mallorens.
The next morning, Elf was poring over financial statements when Rothgar strolled into her study. Rather than change her boudoir into a place of business she had taken over a spare room for an office and it had now become one of her favorite places.
“ ‘All work and no play . . . ,” ’ her brother remarked. “The same applies to Jill as Jack, I think.”
Elf smiled up at him. “Perhaps this is play.”
“You are distressingly like Bryght, aren’t you?”
“I suppose we are all a mix of the same ingredients. Did you know that if we were to buy—”
“No,” he said, raising his hand. “I have no interest in it. Explain it to Bryght. I think you should be out in society.”
“It’s so dull. People never talk of interesting things.”
“Like trade and profit,” he said dryly. “Walgrave is breathing fresh air again.”
Elf put down her pen and paid attention.
“I encountered him at White’s last night.”
“I’d hardly describe that as fresh air.”
“I assume he passed through the streets to get there.”
“Was he walking?”
“With a cane, and with some difficulty. He let his chairmen carry him almost up to the table.”
Butterflies had suddenly taken up residence in Elf’s stomach. No, not butterflies—wasps. Buzzing there, and likely to sting her. The time had come to act.
But she might see him.
At last, she might see him.
“How did he look?” she asked.
“Well, all in all. Rather less under a cloud.”