Chapter Sixteen
The day turned wet and cold as the afternoon drew on, which was a help in putting out the fire someone set in the wood stack against the back wall of Clara’s house.
Fortunately, one of the bodyguards noticed the smoke before the flames could take hold, and he used a rake to scatter the mess of twigs and straw that had been piled against the wood.
Spread across the cobblestones in the rain, the embers soon gave up and went out.
Someone else must have made the same assumption as the maids—that Allan was living at the address he had given for correspondence.
This theory was confirmed late in the afternoon when a thunderous knocking on the door—an attack rather than a request for entry—proved to be Farnham with a letter from the marquess.
He insisted on handing it to Allan in person. Baldwin left him in the cold bare parlor Clara only had heated on the days that she received petitioners from her estates, shops, and manufactories, and came to tell Allan and Melody, who were dressing for dinner.
“It’s Farnham,” said Baldwin.
“Threats?” Allan asked.
“Probably.” Baldwin shrugged. “There is a certain way to find out, and that is to see him. I can always tell him you are not here and demand that he give me the marquess’s letter.”
“No need,” said Allan. “I am here. It will be no secret by tomorrow, after all. I’ll go down and see what he wants.”
“His lordship demands that you return home or face retribution,” Farnham said coldly, in the insolent voice he kept for his master’s sons and disobedient servants.
Mel had insisted on coming to the parlor with Allan, and Baldwin and Clara were present, as well.
It was Mel who spoke, her voice meditative.
“The marquess is… what? Eighty years old? More? He shall be dead soon enough. Probably in the next ten years. Perhaps much sooner. He has led a dissolute life, after all. And then, Allan, you shall be Farnham’s master. ”
“An interesting thought,” Baldwin said. “Farnham, while you are thinking about that, remember that none of the marquess’s sons like you. One of us—by rights it will be Lord Kemble—will inherit the title.”
“Don’t bother,” Allan commented. “Farnham, tell the marquess that the answer is, and always will be, no.”
Farnham sneered. “We know you sent your youngest brother away on the 30th. We knew yesterday that he and Lord Isaac were headed for Liverpool, and a ship to the Americas. The marquess has sent a veritable army after them, and by now they will be in custody and on their way back to London. Surrender now, and Lord Jerome’s punishment will be lighter. ”
Good. That old villain believes the story we leaked to London’s gossips. Mel managed not to smile.
Allan examined his cufflinks and then the set of his matching cravat pin, looking thoughtful.
“That is a pity,” he commented, after a while.
“I trust his lordship does not intend to detain Lord Isaac? He is of age, and bringing him home against his will would be kidnapping. A capital offense, Farnham.”
“He’ll come along right enough when we drag Lord Jerome back,” Farnham blustered.
“No.” Allan looked at Farnham over his steepled fingers, his eyes as cold as the north wind. “No, he will not. And neither shall I nor any of the other brothers. We would, I grant you, have preferred to wait another five months, until Jerome was no longer under his lordship’s legal authority.”
He took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.
“However, your master made that impossible when he tried to force those ridiculous marriages. Tell the marquess that we are all agreed. If Jerome must be sacrificed, we shall not blame ourselves. We shall place the blame where it belongs, on the marquess. And we shall have our revenge.”
“If that is all, Farnham,” said Clara, “my butler shall see you out.”
Farnham glowered. “Is that your final word, Lord Kemble?”
“I shall not enter any of the marquess’s properties again until I am the marquess,” Allan told him.
“You shall regret it,” Farnham growled.
Clara clapped her hands for the butler. Mel turned her back on Farnham, though listening for his movements. She wanted to show her contempt, but she was certainly not going to allow such a violent, improvident man to step closer to her.
A pity this room was so plain. The contemptuous gesture was satisfying, but she would have liked a mirror to watch his reaction.
“My lady,” said the butler.
“Show this person out,” Clara said, refusing to refer to Farnham with an honorific, a term of respect, or even his name.
Mel longed for the absent mirror, but she held her pose as the footsteps of two men retreated into the hall. Only when she heard the front door close did she turn back to Clara, Allan, and Baldwin.
“That should put the cat among the pigeons,” she said.
“Liverpool,” said Baldwin, and snorted with laughter.
Allan stroked his chin. “We need to warn the others. His lordship will go after whomever he considers weakest.”
“We shall see them at tonight’s dinner,” Mel reminded him. “Let us finish getting ready. It must be nearly time to leave.”
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived downstairs to find there was a delay.
The stable master had examined both horses and carriage, and had found sabotage of tracings, wheels, and axles.
“He has brought out the alternative tack, my lady,” said the groom he’d sent to the house.
“And he is preparing the traveling coach to take you to dinner.”
It didn’t take long, but even so, Allan, Baldwin, Clara, and Mel were the last guests to arrive.
The Duke of Dellborough had invited some of the most influential people in the realm to meet the Sheppard brothers and their ladies.
And Mel, who was what? Not Allan’s wife, obviously, and not fit to be so, or so most of Society would say.
She was gentry, not noble, and had fallen even from that level by earning her own living.
Not his mistress, certainly. She was not bedding him for payment in cash or in kind.
His lover, of course, but she was not entering Dellborough’s home in that guise.
So, she was his ally. The woman whose knowledge, contacts, and experience would help him to defeat the marquess.
She was satisfied with her analysis. As his ally, she had the right to stand beside him as they faced some of the great ones of their world.
She had to remind herself of that a short time later, when she faced the other ladies, with their pearls and their diamonds, their custom-made silks and their imported shawls. These were a cross-section of the great ladies of England, and most of them dressed accordingly.
In the gown that Harmony had made her, her cropped hair adorned only by the ribbon Clara had once again woven through the curls, her only jewelry the locket bequeathed to her by her grandmother, she felt like a common barnyard duck who had accidentally fallen among swans.
I am not here as a fashion doll or to puff off some man’s status, she scolded herself. I am Melody Blackmore, and I belong at Allan’s side until the Marquess of Teign has been brought down.
*
Melody was the most amazing woman Allan had ever met.
Allan, though he was heir apparent to a marquess, felt inadequate in the illustrious company that the Duke of Dellborough had gathered under his roof.
Yet Melody didn’t turn a hair, but conducted herself as if she had walked with duchesses and marchionesses every day of her life.
He felt stronger and more capable just having her at his side. And he had not just her, but his brothers and their wives. With his family to protect, he could handle anything.
“Kemble,” said the duke, after a round of introductions, “I’d like you to give the guests a quick summary of your situation, and what you are trying to do.
We shall talk more seriously after dinner, but I know everyone has heard bits of gossip, and they shall not pay adequate attention to the delectable dishes my wife has selected for tonight without at least some idea of the facts behind the rumors. ”
Allan nodded, wondering what on earth he could say.
“You have already done this,” Melody murmured. “At Burlington Arcade, you explained what had happened to you. All you need add is that we are collecting evidence of the marquess’s crimes.”
She was right. He squeezed the hand that rested on his arm as Dellborough clapped his hands to attract everyone’s attention.
“Friends and family,” the duke said, in a clear voice that carried easily through the large room.
“I have asked you here this evening to hear the truth of the rumors that have been swirling about London regarding Teign’s treatment of his sons, and their move away from his home.
Lord Kemble shall give us a summary before dinner, and you shall have the opportunity to ask questions after dinner. Kemble?”
Melody, bless her, did not let go of his arm. Baldwin gave him a nod. Donald winked at him and Hudson grinned. They all believed in him. They needed him to speak for them.
“Your Graces,” he said, “my lords, my ladies, gentlemen.” That was the easy bit, but as he kept talking, he found the words came easily enough.
“You all know the Marquess of Teign, at least by reputation. My brothers and I are here tonight to say that what you have heard about the marquess is almost certainly true, and not the worst of it. Leaving aside what he has done to others, he has been a brutal tyrant to his sons, and our best memories are of those times that he ignored us.”