Chapter 8
“Look at her face,” expounded the Duke of Rivers, gesturing wildly toward the small spy hole that he had created so that he, Fennyman, and Lord Philip could spy on the antics of those in his ballroom.
Yes, yes. Spying on those in his ballroom might seem quite concerning if one did not understand the context of said spying, but he had set up his entire house in the last months so that he could arrange marriages. And he needed to be able to see what was going on to arrange said marriages.
The Marriage Managing Society was of vital importance. And the network of maids, butlers, haberdashers, modistes, tailors, and a myriad collection of professions could not be let down by a sense of fair play when it came to spying.
No, his Society was ensuring that members of his class were happy. And happy people did not make poor people’s lives more miserable than they already were.
But aside from any such thoughts, what he was currently seeing was extremely displeasing. Fennyman, the large man of dubious origin, let out a long sigh as he leaned back in Rivers’ desk chair.
Some might consider this offensive. Rivers did not. He respected very few people as much as he respected the commoner.
“People are not always going to do exactly what you think they should, Your Grace.”
“You keep telling me this,” Rivers said, “but the truth is that we were supposed to be able to predict what would come next. That’s your specialty.”
“Yes, it is,” Fennyman said without apology or explanation.
The man stood, dressed head to toe in black, his coat straining at shoulders made strong from years of work, and yet he moved with an elegance that belied years being raised by the toughest people in London. He crossed to the small hole in the wall and looked through it.
He didn’t react. In fact, he looked positively resigned to the stupidity of the class that was supposedly so much better than his own.
“He is somehow making a mess out of it,” Fennyman said. “How? I don’t understand it. He’s good with women.”
“Exactly,” Rivers agreed, thankful that Fennyman was now at last admitting the difficulty. “That is exactly what I want to know.”
And he headed to the sideboard, trying to pull his thoughts together.
Methodically, he grabbed a crystal decanter filled with rather expensive liquid from France.
He poured out brandy into a glass, took a long swig, something he pretty much never chose to do, and then poured out another drink for Fennyman and thrust it at him.
“The last couple was fairly easy,” Rivers mused. “We just needed to manage a few family members and put Westfort and Agatha in the right situations. This time, everything suggested that if we simply got these two together, everything would work out as it should, but she is proving obstinate.”
Fennyman arched a brow. “You are misremembering some of our conversations. I did tell you that all of the maids indicated quite strongly that she has no desire to marry. She dislikes England, and she can’t wait to leave. The only thing you could possibly do would be to stall her inheritance.”
“I can’t do that,” the duke said swiftly. “That would be dastardly.”
Fennyman accepted the glass of brandy and took a swift drink, the burn having no effect. “Sometimes one has to do dastardly things to achieve great ends.”
“I’m not going to stall her inheritance.” Rivers scowled, contemplating his brandy, but refused to turn to darker methods. Yet. “We simply need to move this along, and he clearly needs intervention. Women consider the earl one of the most beloved men in London. Surely, she should be no different.”
Fennyman sighed. “If you insist on doing this the long way, then we are going to have to fully admit that she is different. Not in the sense that she’s different from all the ladies, but she’s had different experiences, and she clearly isn’t interested in simply rolling over for a set of beautiful eyes, fine compliments, and a towering body. ”
“Bloody hell,” Rivers said. “I don’t think a lady has ever resisted Seaborough before.”
Fennyman laughed. “And that’s what makes her his perfect match, of course.
Now, I think what went so terribly wrong was that whole initial meeting.
They were supposed to meet and discuss statues and find out they had similar interests and that both of them love Italy and Rome.
And then Seaborough would mention the fact that he has a villa in Italy and a house in Venice.
And that he’s currently building a country house that is meant to mirror the inside of a house in the Herculaneum, et cetera, et cetera.
And that would have set off a whole discourse that would have been perfect, but that’s not what happened.
Instead of their conversations being about Rome and Italy, the conversation was about Nathaniel Allworthy.
That does not make romance. Strategy? Yes. Romance? No.”
The duke took another drink of the brandy. “Right,” he said. “Right. Do you think I could just kill him?”
Fennyman let out a slow groan, turned away from the wall, headed towards him, lifted up the glass, and tossed back most of the contents in one go. “By him, I assume you mean Allworthy?”
Rivers lifted his glass in a salute of affirmation.
Fennyman’s eyes gleamed for a moment as if he found the idea to be quite appealing.
“You could. I know a few colorful characters who could happily do it for you. As a matter of fact, I have two fine lads that I could send a note to immediately, and Allworthy would find himself in a pauper’s grave on Dog Island and no one would be the wiser for it.
The fellow would just disappear, but it does cause difficulties when one starts murdering the son of a duke.
And I’m not really sure that’s what you want in this whole endeavor.
You’re supposed to be making love matches, not murdering people. ”
Rivers ground his teeth. “It might be true, but the world would probably be better without that man.”
Fennyman nodded. “I don’t disagree with you there. I think that there are many people who would make the world a better place by being absent from it. But playing around with such things always leads to unforeseen and sometimes grisly consequences. Take my word for it.”
Oh, he would. Rivers had a feeling Fennyman had seen his fair share of bodies thrown into the Thames. “You don’t think I’m one of them, do you?”
Fennyman grinned. “No, Your Grace. Not you. You’re one of the few that I actually like.”
“You like me?” the duke said, quite surprised. “Most people don’t.”
“That’s not true,” Fennyman countered. “The Earl of Seaborough likes you. Viscount Skyburn likes you. And the Duke of Westfort likes you.”
“They don’t count,” Rivers said tightly. “I’m not really myself with them. I have to be a highly cultivated person when I’m with them because I’m maneuvering them,” he said. “With you, I pretty much am exactly who I am. So it’s nice to know that someone likes me.”
“I thought you didn’t care if people liked you,” Fennyman said.
“Everyone cares if people like them,” he returned, hating the sudden ache that formed in his chest, “especially the ones who say they don’t.”
Fennyman smiled slowly. “Glad to hear you finally admit it, Your Grace.”
“Wait, did you just manipulate me to admit that I actually care what people think?”
“Perhaps,” Fennyman said slyly.
“You, sir, are dangerous.”
“I know. It’s why you have hired me and we are working together.”
Rivers took a drink, quite glad that Fennyman was on his side. “So what is it exactly that you advise now?”
“Not the murder of Nathaniel Allworthy,” Fennyman drawled, heading back to the massive desk covered in papers, near the wall covered in pictures and lists of all they knew about the potential couples they planned to unite.
“It will cause too many complications, and we don’t really want to have the Duke of Lindly breathing down our necks. So what I suggest is a house party.”
Rivers winced. “A house party.” He hated house parties. Too many people about. Noise. Always being on show. “Can’t we just do what we’re doing and have events happen in London?”
“We can, but if we want to accelerate things, especially since she’s going to get her inheritance quickly, and Seaborough doesn’t seem to be doing as well as we thought he would, getting them into a place together where neither of them can leave will be ideal.”
“But if she’s so uninterested in him, why would she come to a house party?”
Fennyman’s brows rose ever slightly, clearly hoping that the duke would understand his intention.
Then the duke nodded. “Ah, I see. Her aunt.”
“Exactly,” Fennyman said. “Her aunt will desperately want her daughter and her son to make good matches, and if you invite them to a house party, there’s no way that Ernestine will not attend, because she cares for her aunt and her cousins.”
“Fine, then. Let’s do it,” he said, even as dread built in him. “A house party. Harlowe will be delighted. He loves a house party.”
“Does he?” Fennyman asked.
“Oh, Harlowe loves everything that I suggest.”
Fennyman snorted. “The man will do whatever you ask, it’s true, but I think he’s going to die of apoplexy quite young. You should send him away to the sea every now and then for a bit of peace. For his health.”
Harlowe popped in at that very moment as if he had been listening, and, frankly, Rivers wouldn’t have been surprised if he had been.
“What do you think, Harlowe? Do you need a spot of time by the sea?”
“Oh, no, sir. Salt air makes me break out in hives,” Harlowe said quite seriously. “I really prefer to be in your presence, or at least near to it, so I can make certain that you don’t get into any trouble.”
“I?” Rivers asked. “Get into trouble?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
And suddenly Rivers wondered exactly how much time his butler spent trying to make sure that he did not get into trouble. A great deal, he feared.
Was he so very difficult or challenging? Did he make his life a muck quite often? He glanced from Fennyman to the butler, and Fennyman and the butler exchanged a glance, a knowing one, and that definitely gave him pause.
But then again, what great man did not have great people in his employ, trying to make certain that he did not fall off the path? In fact, it was when great men stopped listening to their advisors that things went terribly wrong.
“Right,” Rivers said. “I shall listen to both of you. A house party it is. And eventually, Harlowe, I am sending you to the seaside. Fennyman must be listened to.”
“What?” Harlowe yelped. “I don’t want to go.”
“Fine, then.” Rivers twirled his hand, trying to think of some appropriate place. “The mountains, something, somewhere. Baden-Baden, a spa town.”
Harlowe scowled at Fennyman, as if he wished to eject the man to South London, but then he sighed and relented. “Fine, but only after we’ve gotten all these marriages sorted.”
Rivers nodded. “I like the way you think, Harlowe.”
“I know, Your Grace. I know.”
“Get the invitations sorted,” Rivers said as he put his brandy down and clapped his hands together, reinvigorated. “A house party will commence.”
Fennyman smiled, his dark eyes alight with anticipation. “Good. Now, I’m going to head back to my club and I will begin—”
“No, no,” Rivers protested with sudden merriment.
Fennyman paused. “What?”
“You’re going to come with me.”
“I am?” he said. “Where?”
“The house party,” he said. “Because we’re also going to invite Nathaniel Allworthy.”
“What?” Fennyman ground out.
“We need to keep an eye on him, and we need to make sure he’s not causing trouble. And we need to make sure our young woman is no longer afraid of him.”
Fennyman ground his teeth. “He’s definitely going to cause trouble.”
“Yes, but if we put him in the right situation, maybe one of us could challenge him to a duel, and then we could murder him without it being a problem.”
“Duels are illegal, Your Grace,” Harlowe said with a long-suffering look.
Fennyman let out a long sigh. “You really are intent on making this difficult, aren’t you?”
“Not difficult,” Rivers said. “I want to expedite a few things, and teaching that young man is one of them.”
“Don’t you think that he might make Miss Foxley feel rather uncomfortable?” Fennyman said.
“Possibly,” he said. “But I have a funny feeling that if we support her in the right way, our lady can put him in his place far better than any of us can.”
“She doesn’t think so,” Fennyman warned.
“Think,” Rivers said. “That word. Think. Most of us are limited by how we think, but not me. Thinking, while valuable, will not get you where you want to go. No, no. Action, Fennyman! Action is key.”
Fennyman gave a nod, wiped a hand over his face, and said, “You’re the one paying me, Your Grace.”
“Exactly,” Rivers declared. But not before Harlowe, quite cheekily, poured himself a glass of brandy and drank it.