Chapter Twenty-Seven
ERIK STUDIED DEVERELL OVER THE rim of his cup. Since the baron had announced his and Muriel’s engagement yesterday in the garden, the party spoke of little else. Lady Ingram had even gone as far as to have the village seamstress call on Muriel to take her measurements to send off to her favorite dressmaker in London. As much as he despised having all consumed by talk of Muriel’s romance with the baron, he was confident the distraction kept Deverell from noticing anything was amiss. He only had to keep Deverell and his accomplice in the dark until the party ended on the morrow.
The butler accepted the silver letter tray from a footman and bowed beside Sir Alexander. He broke the seal, his mien betraying nothing as the ladies at the table continued chattering over the coming nuptials.
Erik nodded to the missive. “Is there news?”
Sir Alexander sighed. “I am sorry to break up the party. I just received a note from Lord Deverell’s mother. Mrs. Deverell wishes for our presence at once at her London residence.”
“Why would Mrs. Deverell wish for us to attend her?” Lady Ingram interjected.
“Apparently, she received your note, Deverell, that you were about to propose to Miss Beau. She had no doubt of Miss Beau’s answer and is most eager to meet her future daughter-in-law before Miss Beau returns to Kent,” Sir Alexander explained. “And as her guardians during her stay in London, we will, of course, need to be part of the caravan escorting her.”
Erik swallowed back his retort that he would escort Miss Beau. He knew society would see her as under the Ingrams’ and baron’s protection, not his. And if Requin was indeed not Deverell, she would be safe enough. But, if the man was Requin, Miss Beau had never been in more danger than she was now, and he was helpless to save her. Any action on his part could put her in even more peril.
“And with their departure, I believe we too must attend Eliza, as she is my sister-in-law and will surely welcome help in planning an impromptu celebration of the happy couple’s engagement,” Widow Whelan said, rising from her chair.
Though the rest of Erik’s guests bemoaned the breaking up of the party, with so many leaving early, Lord Sullivan decided to return with them instead of on the morrow.
By half past three of the clock, the entire party was packed and ready. Erik stood beside the Ingrams’ carriage as the servants scrambled about, lifting the trunks into the correct carriages for each guest.
Erik grasped Ingram’s arm. He had not even been able to tell Sir Alexander of Deverell, and there was no way to do so now without putting Muriel in danger if he was overheard by the wrong person. “You know I do not approve of Muriel leaving—not with the way things are.”
“She is now promised to the baron. It is hardly proper for her to remain here under your protection. In fact, I think her engagement to Baron Deverell is even more protection than you are able to offer, given the threat by the river and your ill-advised refusal to cede. Further, Parliament isn’t out yet, and we both have our duty to the Crown and House of Lords. It is time we each return to London.” Sir Alexander’s reply brooked no argument. “If we dally, society would undoubtably gossip about Miss Beau being engaged to one gentleman while another courts her.”
Muriel approached on Deverell’s arm, resplendent in her traveling pelisse of navy and gold piping.
“I was hoping you would allow me to escort Miss Beau home in my carriage, Lady Ingram?” Deverell bowed his head to Muriel’s female protector. “I’m certain the ladies Miss Hale and Miss Poppy would be happy to chaperone as I overheard that they are staying with my bride-to-be in London instead of returning to Chilham.”
“Actually”—Elena interjected and looked to the two ladies in question—“my mother and I were hoping to join my cousin with Viscounts Sullivan and Traneford. Miss Hale and Miss Poppy don’t mind riding with Sir Alexander and Lady Ingram, do you?”
Six to a carriage?Erik swallowed back his retort. Despite his not liking the arrangement, Muriel would indeed be much safer with two other gentlemen present. He despised seeing her on the enemy’s arm, and now, knowing she would be spending the next two hours traveling with the man, he could hardly bear it.
Lady Ingram smiled to Elena and Lord Deverell. “Of course. With so many in our party and our carriage following directly behind, no one could object. Perhaps Widow Whelan will wish to join us to allow a little more room for everyone?”
As if sensing his discomfort, Muriel slipped away from the group under the guise of petting the horses, a secret smile at the corner of her lips as Erik followed her. “I persuaded your maids to pack my trunks with Charlotte, leaving me enough time to bake a few things for your journey to London tomorrow morning,” she whispered.
“You are a gift, Miss Beau.”
“It is nothing. Consider it a thank-you for hosting us.” She squeezed his hand and released him, returning to Deverell’s side, bestowing smiles upon him that pained Erik far worse than a rapier through the shoulder.
Muriel studied Deverell’s striking profile as he gazed out the window. If she weren’t in love with Erik and didn’t know about Deverell’s condemning packet of shipping records, Muriel could have easily allowed herself to bask in the romance of it all. The man whom she had proposed to followed her to Draycott Castle to ask for her hand the moment he was free and was now escorting her back to London to introduce her to his mother. But she was in love with Erik, and she knew too much about Deverell’s true character.
The carriage ride passed surprisingly quickly, with Elena taking the lead in questioning the gentlemen until she focused on Deverell’s plans for the wedding.
“So, cousin, a little bird told me that you desire a hasty wedding?” Elena turned from Viscount Sullivan and smiled at Muriel, whispering, “Speaking of which, I haven’t received any thanks as of yet for my part in orchestrating the romance.”
“Did you now?” Lord Traneford interjected, his lip twitching. “Is that the only romance you are interested in orchestrating?”
Elena laughed behind her gloved hand, sending a coquettish smile to each viscount before returning her gaze to Muriel. Despite Muriel’s warning about Viscount Sullivan’s character, Elena had persisted in allowing both men to court her. Muriel only hoped that Sullivan’s wanton ways would be revealed before it was too late.
Deverell grasped his cousin’s hand in his. “And I shall be forever grateful for your assistance in making me the happiest of men, Elena.”
Muriel supposed, after a fashion, Elena’s actions did indeed spur Erik onward into realizing what he wished. No matter the dire circumstances, Elena had indeed done her a favor. “You have my everlasting thanks, Elena.”
Deverell turned to Muriel, his eyes bright with appreciation as the carriage halted in front of the Ingrams’ residence, and he assisted her to the sidewalk. “This has been by far the shortest trip back to London that I have ever had thanks to your lovely company, and while I am loath to part with you, knowing I shall see you tonight makes it bearable.”
That line would have stopped her heart not long ago. Now, it fell like a soufflé taken too soon from the oven. “Pardon?”
He laughed. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“But it is nearly six of the clock now, and we have no plans—”
“You’ll see.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, whispering, “Wear that sapphire evening gown you know I love.”
Before she inquired further, he returned to his seat, waving his farewell as the front door burst open. She was at once wrapped in her mother’s embrace, the scent of her favorite biscuit, Shrewsbury cake, lingering in her hair. Mother truly must have been flustered to have been in a baking storm. Muriel laughed. “What a wonderful surprise! But, how did you know I was returning to London?”
“Lady Ingram wrote to me, telling me of the Baron’s upcoming proposal. I knew you would accept him, of course, so I at once accepted her invitation to come to London and surprise you.” Mother pressed her hands on either side of Muriel’s face, holding her back to study her. “My dear girl. It is a miracle. I hardly believe your dream of a marriage to Baron Deverell came to fruition.”
“Let her inside, my darling.” Father laughed from behind them, jostling a far plumper Declan.
With a little cry, Muriel seized the babe from her stepfather’s arms, kissing both her parents on the cheeks before pressing a kiss to sweet Declan’s button nose as he waved his delightfully pudgy arms in an attempt to get his dimpled fist into his mouth. “It has been too long.”
“And we have much to discuss in regard to Baron Deverell’s missive. It seems out of turn for the man to propose before seeking my permission,” Father replied, holding the door for her and Mother. At his wife’s pointed look, he cleared his throat. “But first, we must sample some of those delightful Shrewsbury cakes your mother took the liberty of baking in the Ingrams’ kitchen for your arrival. She wouldn’t give me even one, as she wished to wait for the lady of the hour.”
“If I gave you one, it would ruin the specialness of them,” Mother teased, wrapping her arm about Muriel’s waist and smiling down at her babe. They ushered her into the parlor, where Grandmother Fletcher perched in her finery, looking down her hook nose at Muriel.
Her stomach sank, and all hope of having a candid conversation with her parents about the situation evaporated.
“I see you have spent your time in London well, Muriel.” She frowned as she dusted the crumbs of a biscuit from her fingertips. “But where are your chaperones? Have you disregarded etiquette once more?”
Muriel curtsied. “The Ingrams are just behind me. Good to see you too, Grandmother Fletcher.”
The old woman’s lips quirked. “Lying isn’t becoming on one so young. I know you have no desire to see me. Nonetheless, I had to see for myself that you had indeed landed the baron after all your antics.”
Muriel gnawed on her bottom lip. She would have to be careful lest the woman ferret out her true feelings on her so-called engagement. Muriel shifted her attention to her mother. “The baron mentioned something happening tonight. He would not say what, though. Judging from your state of dress, I suspect there is something more than our family reunion occurring this night?” She lifted Declan to her nose, sniffing his hair, but instead of the usual sweet scent, something pungent clung to his thin locks. She twisted her lips.
“Sorry, my dear. Declan has been tossing his accounts left and right these days.” Mother lifted him from her and nodded to the maid in the corner. “Would you mind bathing him? I would have, but I didn’t wish to miss Muriel’s return.”
The maid curtsied and removed the little chap, Muriel aching at his absence at once.
“Perhaps you should take the opportunity to bathe as well, Muriel,” Grandmother interjected. “Before you dress and soil your fine clothing with the grime of travel.”
“And for what occasion exactly am I dressing?”
“For one of the best moments in a young lady’s life. The man is obviously smitten with you.” Father grasped her hand.
She paled. Surely, he hasn’t arranged a wedding for us?
“And despite his having to reject you that night and not securing my blessing beforehand, I do respect the man for coming to you the moment he was free. He wrote to his mother of his intentions and had her arrange for a ball tonight at his London residence in your honor.”
She nearly sagged in relief that it was not a wedding party, though an engagement ball was hardly any better. “I—I am not certain I am feeling well enough for a ball the moment I return.”
“Would I take the trouble to set aside my schedule in Dover only for you to refuse to attend your own engagement ball?” Grandmother Fletcher scoffed, filching another Shrewsbury cake. “Everyone who is anyone will be there, and you will be attending.”
“I hear it will be quite the crush.” Mother’s cheeks heated as if just the thought of it was overwhelming. “Regardless, I agree it is imperative you attend.”
“One can take the baker out of the bakery, but it does not make her anything more than a baker.” Grandmother rose, leaning heavily on her cane.
Father scowled at her before turning an apologetic smile to Muriel and Mother. “Despite her words, my mother is actually quite excited about the prospect of tying our family tree to nobility.”
“Hardly. I was a baron’s daughter myself, though you did not receive a subsidiary title.” Grandmother sniffed. “The title of baroness is hardly worth the shame your stepdaughter has put our family through these past months. However, her new connections may prove useful for when my grandsons are of marriageable ages … something I hope to witness one day.” She swept from the room. “Until then, do try your best not to shame us further.”
Muriel attempted to blot out her grandmother’s harsh words, but as she bathed and dressed, she could not help but believe them to be true. What was she but a baker in a fine gown? She ran her hands down the sapphire creation. Truly, all she ever wished for was to remain a baker with a loving husband of her choosing. If she did not take great care, she would end up with neither. She must tread wisely to see her mission through and be able to wed Erik. Muriel was ever grateful for her lovely elbow-length gloves. The white fabric would keep her damp palms hidden from her step-grandmother.
Bracing herself for the drive with the woman, Muriel withdrew into herself. Her family attempted to drown out the snide remarks for the short ride, but the ordeal left her wishing she had walked the half mile to the party. She straightened her shoulders and stepped into the Deverells’ London receiving room in Cavendish Square. The five-storied home was far grander than the Ingrams’ residence. Opulent furniture perched about the parquet flooring, and a gilded ceiling overhead boasted a charming fresco that displayed an English shepherdess being serenaded by her lover.
“I can hardly believe it. You will be the lady of this fine house.” Mother squeezed her arm as they wove about the press of guests, the reception line slowly parting at the realization that Deverell’s bride-to-be was approaching. “I never imagined such grandeur for my darling little Muriel.”
She inwardly cringed that her mother was admiring the home as if it were already her daughter’s when she had no intention of marrying the man who had purchased the grand house with tainted money.
Deverell spotted her in the crowd, his expression bright. “My darling.” He swept her hand into his, pressing a kiss atop it. “I have so many friends I wish to introduce you to before the night is over. We must begin now if we are ever to hope of meeting them all.”
Muriel had never felt so beautiful nor so desired as when she met Deverell’s guests. His hand never left the small of her back, as if their engagement were not claim enough on her. His attentiveness brought smiles from the guests who pressed near, wishing to be introduced to the baron’s heiress fiancée. The room seemed too hot, even for her. Deverell, noticing her flushed state, guided her to the open set of glass French doors, leading her out onto the balcony that overlooked the circle park below. Passersby on the sidewalk craned their necks to observe the merriment within the row of fine residences.
“I see I have overdone it. My apologies, my dearest. In my zeal and eagerness to show you off, I didn’t think to fetch you any refreshment.” He pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrists, bestowing his most apologetic smile upon her. He leaned toward her—his intention clear.
With the memory of Erik’s kiss on her lips, she couldn’t allow Deverell to steal one. She swayed.
His hands instantly captured hers. “My darling? Are you unwell?”
She leaned her head on his chest for good measure. “I think I may need to lie down for a few moments. Are there any free chambers upstairs?”
“I’m a bachelor, my dear, there are always free rooms.”
“I only thought that with the party … some of your friends might be staying with you,” she whispered, pressing her hand to her forehead.
“Not a one.” He led her through the crowded ballroom to the foot of the stairs. “Any room you desire is yours besides the one for my mother.”
“And yours,” she whispered, her cheeks heating as she pushed out the request. “Which are those so I may avoid them?”
His gaze burned her skin as he brushed his lips to her hand. “The first on the right. My mother’s room is directly across. Go claim a room before anyone, or myself, sees you, else I might forget to keep my kisses chaste.”
She wavered at the fourth step, glancing down at him. “I’ll return in a quarter of an hour.” Waiting for his smoldering gaze to leave her, she hurried up the stairs and down the hallway to the door she knew belonged to him and entered. Unlike his guestroom at the castle, this one was filled with stacks of books, scattered papers, and neckcloths draped over furnishings as if it hadn’t been cleaned in many months. The sight was so unexpected she paused. But, rolling her shoulders back, she started to methodically search, wary not to alter the room in any way as she worked. Though even if she did, it was so shambolic she doubted he would notice.
Filtering through a stack of papers, she gasped at the sound of footfalls outside the door. She released the papers and dropped to her belly, rolling under the skirt of his bed as the door opened with a squeak. Her panting drew a dust ball into her nose, and it took everything in her not to sneeze.
“Did anyone see you follow me up the stairs?” Deverell’s breathless whisper made her stomach knot.
“I took the servants’ stairs. They were all attending the guests and didn’t see me.”
Muriel stiffened at the feminine lilt of the voice. Deverell would bring a woman into his chambers when I am supposedly resting on the same floor? She shook the thought from her head. It mattered little. She was in fact not marrying the man. Instead, she focused on what they were saying.
“I warned you to keep away from him, and now you tell me that a page is missing from the packet I gave you? How did you not notice it before?”
She knew that voice—though it sounded a little less genteel than usual. She dared a peek under the skirt of the bed and slapped her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping aloud at the sight of the lovely Lady Ingram. She is the one pulling the strings? She thought of the signature R that she had copied over and over from the packet from Deverell’s chamber in the castle. She had thought it stood for Requin, but what if it was Lady Ingram’s first initial, for Rebecca? Muriel’s stomach churned. If her guardian was a spy for Requin, did that mean Sir Alexander was as well? Was he Requin? Since they knew Erik well, they knew exactly how to end him should he come too close to deducing the Ingrams were a part of the ring. Dear Lord in heaven, protect my beloved.
“I was rather busy with my engagement to Muriel.”
“Because of your distraction with the girl, you grew careless. How do you think he came to have those documents in his possession?”
Deverell crossed his arms. “No. I know where you are going with this. You know I love her, and I refuse—”
“Don’t be a fool. Despite my best efforts to keep her affections away from him and direct them toward another, the girl cares for Erik. She stole the packet and delivered it to him. They know too much. You need to end the pair of them before they go blathering to the Crown of their findings,” the woman growled.
“I won’t allow you to harm her. I’ll marry her tonight if that’s what it takes.”
Lady Ingram crossed the room, pausing a foot from Muriel’s hiding place. “Do it. And then I want you to kill Erik.”
No!Muriel clenched her fist, desperate to act—to save Erik. No matter the cost.
“Done. But Erik Draycott is rather too high ranking for his death to go unnoticed.”
“Then make it an accident so memorable people cannot question the validity.”
“We’ve been gone too long. Let me depart first. Wait three minutes and then you leave,” Deverell commanded and closed the door behind him.
Lady Ingram wove about the piles of belongings and lifted a penknife from his desk. She ran her fingertip over the dull blade before flipping it in her hand in a practiced manner. “Farewell, my dear Erik. You will be missed.”