A Reformed Rake (15 page)

“Rich?” His uncle sat down slowly. “Rich you say?”

“Just who did you think your daughter married?”

“Some jumped up Frenchie who thought to line his pockets at my expense. One of the young émigrés living on his wits and smooth tongue.”

“You’d have done well to find out the facts, my lord Uncle. This particular émigré was of a family which was canny enough to save its fortune.”

The color faded from the high-boned cheeks and the man seemed to become smaller as remembered pain filled him. “I was angry with the chit.”

“So you cut off your daughter without a penny, announced her demise to an unsuspecting world and then, later, when you’d come to your senses, could find no way to reverse it all and still save your pride. Perhaps you’ll be glad to know she had a happy life from then, so no very great harm was done.” The sharp old eyes lifted to pierce Frederick’s, but Frederick didn’t look away. His uncle’s fell. “Will you also let pride deny you a granddaughter?”

The man suddenly looked older, his mop of white hair seeming less alive and his cheeks more hollow. “Tell me the whole, Frederick.”

Between them, Frederick and Yves, who Frederick finally had a chance to introduce, did just that.

“What’s your interest in this?” asked his uncle when a pause ensued, once again suspicious.

“The interest any gentleman would have,” said Sir Frederick, promptly. “I wish to protect her from a villain.”

“Villainy such as your own?” sneered Crawford.

Yves bristled, but Frederick laid a hand on his arm and the younger man controlled his ire. “I don’t believe,” responded Frederick pensively, “I’ve ever indulged in attempted murder to remove blocks from my path.”

His uncle had the grace to look apologetic. “True, there are villains and then there are villains.” After a moment’s silence he added, “What do you expect
me
to do about it?”

“The girl is your responsibility.”

“And, you think,” his uncle said with a wry look that reminded Yves of Frederick, “my wife’s as well?”

“That
has
been worrying me—as I hinted earlier,” said Frederick. He flicked open his snuffbox and offered it around. When the others refused he closed it and returned it to his pocket. “She will not like Françoise, I fear. Not at all ”

“A little beauty, is she?” For the first time his lordship showed some personal interest in his granddaughter. “Well, well, her mother was easy on the eyes.”

“Not a beauty exactly,” objected Frederick. “More a minx. A delightful chit.”

His uncle’s eyes narrowed. “The relationship is too close.”

Frederick laughed. “Be easy. I have no interest of that sort in the child.”

“Hmmm. I still don’t understand why you’ve bothered your head about her if it
isn’t
that.”

“
Why
is irrelevant. I’ll take you to meet her tomorrow.”

“You say the grandmother is not well?”

“No. She wore herself to a thread bringing the girl to you. I believe, too, she has not recovered from the poison she was given and that will make her convalescence difficult.”

“I’ve no responsibility for an old lady. I won’t have it.”

“I don’t believe you’ve been asked to take responsibility for Madame la Comtesse. Robert is willing to care for her and Miss Cole will be at hand.”

“I thought this Miss Cole was Françoise’s companion.”

“She is. But Lady Halford and Mademoiselle Françoise have become inseparable and Miss Cole is not the sort to sit and twiddle her thumbs when there is work to do. Besides, Miss Cole is genuinely fond of Madame.”

“A pie-faced old twit, I suppose.” Those sharp eyes fastened on Yves when Yves choked back a laugh. “Or am I mistaken?”

“Quite mistaken,” said Frederick in cool voice. “She is not in her first youth, but she is neither old, nor piefaced ... nor a twit.” He stood and strolled to look out the window, his gaze suddenly fastening on a thin, darkly clad man. “Yves, come here, but do not allow yourself to be seen. Look at that man. Isn’t it the one we sent off after that acting troupe on the wild-goose chase?”

“I believe it is. The angle and the lighting are bad, but as nearly as one can judge, I’d say you’re correct.” Frederick pretended to yawn, moved cautiously away from the window. He moved quickly once beyond sight of the comte’s spy. “Cob,” he called and when the valet appeared, asked that Chester be sent for. Cob looked disapproving. “Don’t get up on your high horse. I have need of him.”

“As you say, Sir Fred.” Cob bowed slightly, but his expression didn’t change as he backed out of the room.

“I don’t see why you put up with such disrespect in your servants,” complained his uncle.

“Cob is more than a servant as you well know. Ah,” he added as Chester arrived, his long nose fairly twitching in expectation of just the sort of order he liked to receive, “there you are. Out on the street is a tall man dressed in black. Cob can point him out to you. I want him followed and wish to know whom he contacts and where that contact lives. Don’t lose him.” Chester quivered in anticipation. “Cob will give you a purse for expenses. The man is very likely dangerous so take a barker. I’d prefer it, however, if you’d avoid the necessity of using it.”

“I’ll play least in sight.”

“You do that. But remember, a man is often like his master. This one’s employer has twice tried poison to rid himself of unwanted interference and will stop at nothing to achieve his end which is marriage with my cousin.”

Chester’s eyes lit up, his satisfaction at a mystery explained obvious. “Ah, that explains the long meg. Cousin, is it?”

“Miss Cole is no relation,” said Frederick, his voice chilling. “You will, however, remember to treat her with respect.”

Confused again Chester said, “Gor-blimy, Sir Fred, what you be wanting to have anythin’ to do with a mort like that if she ain’t no relation?”

“I don’t believe that is any business of yours. Cob? Prepare Chester and point out his quarry.”

His uncle shifted in his chair when the three were again alone. “Where in Hades did you pick up that gallow’s bait?”

“Chester has been very useful to me over the years. The game has changed, but his expertise will still come in handy.”

“Which does not explain how you came to have him in your employ.”

Frederick grinned. “I caught him picking my pocket. How else?”

Yves chuckled. “And hired him on the spot, I suppose.”

“Of course.”

“ ’Taint no of course about it,” said Lord Crawford with a glowering look. “Should have turned him over to the nearest Charlie.”

Yves looked confused and Frederick explained a Charlie was the nickname for the watchmen, originally employed during the reign of King Charles II for the hours of darkness and, later, also for daytime duty. He turned back to his uncle. “If I’d turned him in, I’d have lost a cunning and skillful servant—and that at a time when cunning was of prime value! Never mind. You will come with me to visit your granddaughter tomorrow?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You do not.”

“Well, at least, this puts
your
nose well and truly out of joint.”

“The dibs are in tune,” said Frederick carelessly, not ready to reveal his new wealth. “I think we should drink a toast to your son. What did you name him?” He poured drinks, which were eventually followed by a supper served by Cob. More liquor followed and the conversation wandered over a wide variety of subjects.

Once the preliminary shifting and dodging had ended, Yves was surprised to find Crawford very good company indeed. The conversation was excellent and the wine better. All three men were a trifle fuzzy by the time they wandered off to bed.

Lord Crawford freely admitted, “Not drunk as a wheelbarrow, exactly, but definitely above par...”

“It isn’t that any of us have shot the cat...” agreed Sir Frederick, yawning.

“We are, each of us, simply very well to go,” decided Yves, proud of having acquired the proper English cant phrase for the situation. It had been, all in all, a very interesting evening, decided Yves just before he drifted off to sleep.

Eight

Madame glared from Harriet to her granddaughter. “I
will
get up,” she insisted.

Harriet and Françoise looked at each other and back to the bed. “Madame—” began Harriet but was interrupted.

“Do not attempt to dissuade me. I will not meet the man who disinherited my son’s wife while lying in my bed. It would do nothing but further his wrong-headed opinion the child made a misalliance. I will not have it.”

Madame was obviously very near to losing her temper, an energy draining emotion to be avoided at all costs. Harriet pinched Françoise into silence when the girl would have argued and offered a compromise. “If you would lay on the chaise longue—”

Again she was interrupted. “
Mon Dieu!
I will not act the invalid in
that man’s
presence.
Mais non!
Never! That gentle giant, John Biggs, may carry me to the salon.
Exactement
!” she said, her French aroused by her determination to have her own way.

Harriet gave it up. “We’ll leave you to rest and prepare yourself. He’ll not stay beyond the usual half-hour, I think, and you may return to bed immediately.”

With her capitulation, Madame was immediately contrite. “You understand, Harriet, why I must do this?”

Harriet smiled. “I understand. You are at least as proud and stubborn as the man in question!”

Madame chuckled. “You
do
understand.”

Harriet removed Françoise from the bedroom, leaving Madame to her maids. “I hope it is not too much for her.”

“Why are you allowing her to do this?” scolded Madame’s granddaughter.

“Frani, do you think I have it in my power to forbid her?”

Françoise giggled. “No. No one does. But I wish—”

“We both wish. I think her a trifle better this morning. Good food, rest, and the prospect of transferring her responsibility for you to other shoulders—she
is
recovering. But this visit from your grandfather will tire her, Françoise. Do not add to her burdens in any way.”

Françoise pouted. “I am, it is true, interested in meeting the man, but I cannot
like
him.”

“You will treat him with the deference a grandfather deserves.” Françoise shrugged. “I know he cast off your mother, but if
she
forgave him, and you know very well she
did.
If that is so
you
have no quarrel with the man. You
must
behave, Frani.”

“I’ll try.” A mulish expression contorted the French girl’s features.

Harriet sighed. “Frani, don’t make life more difficult for yourself than it already is.”

“He will take me north into the wilds of nowhere as he did his new wife and bury me in a moldy castle, and I’ll never be happy again,” wailed Françoise, her greatest fear finally verbalized.

“Where did you get that notion?”

“Elizabeth has been telling me about him.” Françoise’s eyes widened. “Do you know the awful thing he did to his bride?”

“I have heard
she
believed they would honeymoon in Paris. I have also heard, minx, that he had good reason to treat her as he did.”

Françoise giggled. “Yes. Elizabeth does not like her at all.
She
says the woman was once her father’s mistre—” Frani clapped her hand over her mouth.

“
That
gossip should never have reached your ears.” Harriet eyed her charge with a cold look that had Frani blushing. “I would suggest you turn yourself out in prime style and act the lady even though we both know
you are not.’’
Harriet’s voice softened. “Off with you, child. I must change as well.”

“You
will
wear the new yellow morning dress?”

“I think not. I am, after all, your companion. It will not do to put the old man’s back up by dressing like laced mutton.”

Françoise laughed merrily. “Harriet, you are a complete hand.”

“You’ll refrain from using cant language as well, my girl.”

“
You
did.”

Harriet thought back and a conscious look filled her eyes with remorse. Put his back up? Laced mutton? How
could
she have allowed herself to
think
let alone
say
such things! “So I did.” Harriet took a breath and, adopting a prim manner, said, “I must not dress in a manner unsuited to my age and station in life. I must present a proper facade so as not to upset the old gentleman’s sensibilities of what is proper. There.” Her eyes twinkled. “Is that better?”

“Oh, Harriet, I
do
love you.”

“I love you, too, Françoise. Now off with you.”

Harriet closed her door and leaned against it. The note from Sir Frederick which announced the unexpected arrival in London of his uncle had arrived early that morning and had set the whole household into a bustle.

Elizabeth immediately consulted with her housekeeper on the subject of rigidly proper old men and how to turn them up sweet.

Madame immediately insisted that she would not receive his lordship in her bedroom as all urged her to do.

Françoise immediately drooped tragically, fearing instant removal from a situation where she’d begun to feel very much at home.

Harriet immediately began, again, to worry about her future despite Madame’s earlier assurances she would see Harriet right and tight.

So, thought Harriet. To dress suitably for a companion. That was the next step. Then to see that Françoise was acceptably turned out. It wouldn’t do for her charge to present herself in full evening dress or some other outrageously inappropriate costume simply because the girl wished to make herself as lovely as possible when meeting her grandfather for the first time!

Later, the scene set in the formal drawing room, Elizabeth, Françoise and Harriet awaited the arrival of Madame. The door opened and, appearing as regal as a woman could when carried in the arms of the gigantic footman, Madame was borne into the room. John very gently settled his charge in the armed chair Harriet had thoughtfully arranged near the fire with a footstool before it. He grinned when Madame thanked him, and now, his duty done, he awkwardly removed himself from the scene. No one spoke. In the silence the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the ormolu clock seemed overly loud.

Harriet glanced up toward the mantel to check the time. Two minutes to the hour. Sir Frederick, Monsieur de Bartigues, and Lord Crawford were due at any moment. The silence became oppressive and Françoise, meeting Elizabeth’s eye, reprehensibly giggled. The girl bit her lip and conquered her nerves, straightening and composing her features.

The clock intoned its hourly message and, as the second strike reverberated gently through the room, a knock sounded. Given permission the Halford butler opened it, announced the three men and, as they strolled forward, closed the door with himself in the hall—very obviously wishing it were otherwise since
his
curiosity was no less avid than anyone else’s.

Madame didn’t attempt to stand. She waited, her hands resting on her cane and her back straight. Harriet thought she’d never looked more magnificent, her dress and jewels very slightly overdone for a morning call, perhaps, but her bearing carrying them off.

Sir Frederick introduced his uncle and the man bowed, straightened, and two pairs of dark eyes met, very slight animosity in Madame’s and something very close to apology in his lordship’s.

“We meet at last,” he said.

Madame nodded. “Yes, my lord. We meet at last. Be pleased to know your granddaughter, my lord.” Lord Crawford turned, his eyes skimming over Elizabeth whom he recognized, lighting for a moment on Harriet, and dismissing her, and settling on Françoise. The girl rose to her feet and curtsied.

“Granddaughter. I never believed this day would come.”

“It is not my fault it has been delayed, my lord grandfather.”

“No, m’gel, it isn’t.” Lord Crawford sighed. “As Frederick has pointed out to me with far more force than I feel necessary, it is, indeed,
not
your fault.”

Now
what, wondered, Harriet.

Now what
became obvious. Her newfound dignity present to such an alarming degree that it made Harriet hard pressed to maintain her composure, Elizabeth asked her guests to be seated. She rang the bell, and the butler entered followed by two footmen carrying trays.

The polite but overly formal process of properly serving the guests drew Harriet’s nerves into screaming lines of pain. Why had Elizabeth decided to make this a rigid exercise in propriety? She met Frederick’s eyes, slid her gaze on to Madame and back to his. He too looked at the old woman and, setting his cup and saucer on a nearby table, went to her side. He leaned over her, said something which no one else could hear. Madame nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet.

“Nothing need be decided today.” The faintly accented words were delivered with the arrogance which had made Madame la Comtesse a Tartar in her younger days. “I believe you will wish to become acquainted with your granddaughter, Lord Crawford, and you should be allowed to do so in private. Harriet?” Harriet rose to her feet so abruptly she spilled a few drops of tea onto her skirt. “Lady Halford?” Françoise, sitting beside Elizabeth, grabbed her new friend’s hand, and sent a desperate if silent message to her grandmother. Madame smiled rather sourly. “He will not eat you, my dear. Come, Lady Halford. We will leave them now.”

Elizabeth and Yves rose to their feet. Yves stepped toward Françoise who also stood. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes encouraging her as well as they could. When he turned to follow, he found Elizabeth awaiting him by the door, the others already in the hall. He sent one last look toward Françoise, who was looking very young and a little lost. The door closed behind them and Lord Crawford hurumphed. Françoise’s gaze moved to stare at him, a wary expression marring, slightly, her usual attractive looks. She firmed her spine and waited politely for her grandfather to open the conversation.

“Well, granddaughter, have you nothing to say to your grandsire?” At the closely pressed lips and sparkle he noted in her eyes he chuckled. “Yes? You have, perhaps, much to say and have been warned to say none of it? Sit down, my dear.”

She hesitated then sat, and he reseated himself. “You are correct,” she said. “There is much I would say were it permitted.”

“None of which I have not many times said to myself, child. I missed your mother dreadfully. I allowed my temper to rule my good sense and lost years of her company. Although it was difficult to communicate during the war, I managed to apologize to her; now I extend my apologies to you.”

Françoise studied him, her eyes not hiding her rebellion. “My mother and father were very happy.”

He nodded. “So Frederick tells me. I am glad.”

Françoise relaxed slightly. “Now what?”

He laughed. “What am I to do with you?”

“Yes.” She pressed her lips tightly together again, as if forcing back more words.

“Very good, my dear. You have been taught the value of making the enemy come to you.”

She blushed slightly, her eyes widening. For a moment she tucked her lip between her teeth, thinking. “I do not understand,” she said, finally.

“
Not
so good. Never allow your enemy to see a weakness.”

Françoise nipped her lip again, her eyes again studying this man who was to have control of her future. “I see.” “Better,” he nodded, judiciously, a twinkle in his eyes. Understanding the game he was playing, Françoise remained silent. The silence stretched, but she forced herself not to give in to him. “You are not stupid and have some control. I like that. Stupid women are a bore,” said Lord Crawford, nodding. “So. What, I wonder,
are
we to do with you?”

She raised her chin. “I believe, sir, that was my question.”

He smiled, a cool smile. “Enough sparring. I will tell you that I have not yet made a decision. The proper course would be for my wife to present you to the
ton
and look around her for a husband for you. However, my wife is not in London and is not expected here this season. Something else will have to be arranged. In the meantime, I understand, you will be welcome to stay here. Lord Halford, is a good man. He will see you are well protected and that becomes more important every day.”

Lord Crawford had watched Françoise gradually relax as he’d told her his current thoughts on the subject of her immediate future. He liked the smile she now gave him which reminded him of his daughter, bringing back both good memories of her youth and bad memories of her stubborn insistence on her own way ... He nodded. “Hmm. Yes. A husband, I think. One who will know how to control the willfulness in you, which has been allowed to grow unchecked. No, don’t poker up,” he added when a scowl marred her pretty face. “A bit of spirit is to be desired. But not self-centered and uncontrolled flightiness.”