A Wedding In Springtime(12)

“Ye cut off her funds?” asked Thornton, eyebrows raised high.

“She still has the pin money that is hers,” said March. “But the extra blunt I provide her every month will now only be available when she resides in Hertfordshire.”

Grant shook his head and gave a low whistle. “You are a brave one, my friend. If you awake with a hatpin through your heart, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“What did she say when ye told her?” asked Thornton, his eyebrows still elevated.

“I left her a note.”

“Coward,” accused Grant.

“True,” acknowledged Marchford. “I would rather face down Napoleon’s army than take on a straight fight with my grandmother. I fear I would not emerge the victor.”

“If you would oblige me by continuing to lose, I shall continue to be flush with funds,” commented Grant.

“You would oblige me by not betting against me!” demanded Marchford.

“You cannot ask me to pass a bet I cannot lose.”

“You doubt my ability to be the master of my own house?”

Grant looked over his whiskey with a smile. “Easier for you to depose Napoleon from France than oust Granny from Marchford house.”

Finishing their respective drinks, the men left for Tattersall’s to inspect the prospect of new horseflesh.

After the men left, a gentleman in a drab coat quietly left the club and walked down the streets of Mayfair unnoticed by passersby. His appearance was so commonplace as to render him practically invisible. He turned into a fashionable house and was admitted without question.

“Good afternoon. Please enjoy some tea and tell me of your day.”

The man accepted a teacup and recounted the entirety of the conversation between Marchford and his friends.

“It is not much to go on,” commented the host, “but we must make what we can of this animosity between Marchford and the dowager.”

The spy nodded in agreement and removed his gloves for tea, revealing hands covered in red disfiguring scars.

“Cover your hands, man!” demanded his companion. “No one cares to see those ugly burns.”

The man stared at his hands, the scars from his burns giving the appearance of melted red wax. “The night my father met his fate on the guillotine, I burned down his house. I got too close. Sentiment perhaps. I wished to put certain items into the flames myself.”

“Were you not the cause of your father’s death?”

“I revealed the truth about him to the tribunal; his death was his reward.”

“Reward?”

The spy gave a brittle smile. “He was put to death the same day as that witch, Marie Antoinette. I am sure it gave him a sense of aristocratic pride.”

“Ah, Madame Guillotine,” said his companion wistfully. “Nothing can last forever, but we look forward to a future most bright. Here’s to Napoleon.” The companion raised a teacup.

“Here’s to the reward he provides for information,” countered the man.

“You are not a true believer in the cause.”

“I am a true believer in the power of gold.”





Five





“I cannot believe it. That old warhorse has no intention of leaving the field,” muttered Lady Bremerton, eyeing the passing city streets from the comfort of her carriage.

“Warhorse?” Genie asked, genuinely confused.

“Do not be vulgar, Eugenia,” said Lady Bremerton in clipped accents.

Genie was rendered mute in reply. The day before, they had left Marchford house without meeting with the dowager duchess. As soon as Aunt Cora heard that the dowager had used her time while abandoned at church to acquire a companion, she proposed a return to Marchford house. Louisa, who moments earlier appeared to be in fine health, suddenly developed a megrim and bowed out of the social call. Genie now understood the sudden illness. She was beginning to feel a little sick herself.

“The dowager must be made to leave,” continued her aunt. “I will not rest until I see Louisa mistress of the Marchford household.”

“So we are going to ask the dowager duchess to leave?” asked Genie, forgetting her aunt hardly needed her input to engage in conversation.

“No, of course not. How can you be so dense? We are going to ask her help in finding a solution to your unfortunate behavior before the queen.” Lady Bremerton smoothed her skirts. “And hopefully find a way to depose the dowager while we do it.”