A Scandalous Proposal (20 page)

“Yes, ma'am. Should I...should I be droppin' m'drawers?”

“No!”

“Honestly, Coop, there's no need to shout,” Dany told him, laughing. “Thank you, Harry, but that won't be necessary. I only want to put pressure against your wound. That's what my papa did for my brother the day he thought it would be fun to see if he could toss his new knife in the air and catch it.”

“Don't have no brother,” Harry said. “No papa, neither. Jist me and m'ma, and she's still on the baron's estate, all alone an' lonely like.”

Dany finished wrapping the leg and tying the ends. “You'll see her soon enough. Won't he, my lord? And with a nice new set of livery. He's been so brave, hasn't he?”

They were entering the outskirts of London. “Anything else, Miss Foster? Perhaps his very own pony?”

“M'very own
pony
!”
Harry grabbed Dany in a fine rendition of a bear hug. “Oh, thank'ee, Miss Foster, ma'am,
thank-ee
!”

Dany patted his head and made a silly face at Coop. “You're very welcome,” she said, obviously content to take all the credit.

Coop shook his head and made the turn that would lead back to Portman Square. She made Minerva look like nothing more than a rank amateur...and somehow, he couldn't be happier.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“A
RE
YOU
ALL
RIGHT
?”
Dany asked her sister as she peered through the semidarkness in the bedchamber, as all the draperies had been pulled tightly shut.

She probably should have asked that of the pair of maids collapsed on chairs, mounds of toweling at their feet, one still holding a horsehair brush in one hand. Both scrambled to their feet when Dany spoke, gathering up the toweling and hastening from the room, probably to beg the housekeeper for restorative cups of tea and buttered biscuits.

“
No
,
I'm not
all right
,” the countess answered sourly from the bed. “Only you could ask such a ridiculous question, Daniella. My head aches from all the repeated washings, my face is still covered in splotches and I have all but
begged
someone to bring me some cucumber pickles in cream and no one has paid me the least amount of attention.
Where
have you been?”

“You said you didn't care where I went,” Dany reminded her as she hopped up onto the bed. “Your hair looks much better, Mari. And it definitely smells better in here.”

“I will not consume chicken again, not for the remainder of my life!”

“Yes,
fowl
creatures,” Dany agreed, although she knew she was the only one who would appreciate her small joke. “But you're all right? I mean, in general? With the baby and all?”

Mari pulled a pink lace bed jacket more closely around her. “You certainly are persistent today. Yes, I'm fine. Has the baron recovered my letters as yet? Is that where you were? With the baron? Where did you go?”

There wasn't much that could be
circumspect
in Dany's answer, not if she answered truthfully. So she summoned a lie.

“We took a stroll along Bond Street and then another in Green Park, where his lordship took my hand and we disappeared into the trees so that he could kiss me. Twice, if you can imagine.”

“Oh, you did not. The baron would never so compromise you, not when he has no real plans of wedding you. Nor you him? Dany, you aren't getting any foolish ideas, are you? I appreciate what you're doing, but I don't want you hurt. You
are
my sister.”

“No, no, of course I won't be hurt. Yes, I was fibbing, silly. As if he'd kiss
me
. I wanted to be certain you were paying attention. You often don't, you know. I don't know why Mama thought you'd be a good chaperone.”

Mari burst into tears, which was the very last thing Dany wanted.

“I'm so,
so
sorry,” the countess said, taking Dany's hands in hers. “I'm a wretched sister. I've set a poor example, I make silly mistakes and now I've confined myself to my room until these nasty, horrid splotches go away, and the Little Season will be over before we know it. What can I do to make it up to you?”

“Well, um, I'm sure I can't know. I mean, really, Mari, you're the best of sisters, and I'm so delighted that I am to have a niece or nephew in a few months, and I truly love being here in London in any case, even if I don't attend another ball or musical party. Although...”

Mari squeezed her hands. “Yes, yes? What is it? Honestly, Dany, unless you want to do something totally outrageous, I'm sure I can approve. Will I approve?”

“Oliver is still traveling?” Dany asked, getting down from the bed. “He won't come strolling in the door in the next four and twenty hours?”

“No, no. I counted out on my fingers, from the day he first said he'd return. It will be at least another three days. I simply
have
to be healed by then. Mrs. Timmerly said I will be, using the cream she said her mother swore by, and her mother before that. Why? Isn't that enough time for the baron to retrieve the letters? Tell me the truth, Dany. I must know the truth. You said he knew the identity of the blackmailer.”

“True enough, but he wouldn't tell me. Aren't you simply
itching
to know?”

Mari shrugged. “I suppose so. I may have to meet him in Society at some point.” Now she shivered. “Can't the baron just shoot him or some such thing? After he retrieves my letters, I mean.”

So much for diverting her
,
Dany thought, smiling inwardly.
Now we're back, as always, to Mari's favorite subject. Herself.

“You'd ask a near-stranger to sacrifice his freedom in order to retrieve your silly letters?”

The countess sank back against the pillows. “Not for me, Dany. For the
child
.”

“Oh, yes, of course. The child. How could I have been so silly. Babies need fathers, don't they? Fathers and being named the heir without any niggling little questions as to just who that father might be.”

“You know very well I would never— Oh, Dany, this
has
to work. It just has to!”

Ah, and now, finally, they were where Dany wanted to be.

“I couldn't agree more. That's why I wanted to be certain you were all right. Because the duchess has asked me to dinner, and possibly to spend the night, as she believes her guest, Miss Clarice Goodfellow of the Virginia Goodfellows, you understand, is pining for home and could use some female company more her own age. Are you certain you'd be all right here, on your own?”

“I'm surrounded by people, Dany,” her sister said, actually sounding reasonable. “Besides, how does one, especially one with no prospects or dowry of any import, turn down an invitation from a duchess? No, no, that's not possible.”

Dany was already heading for the door. “Are you certain?”

Mrs. Timmerly herself entered the chamber, carrying a silver tray holding a china bowl filled to the brim with pickled cucumbers in cream sauce.

Mari sat up, all excitement, and fairly shook in anticipation of her treat.

“What? Oh, yes, yes. I'm sure. Just go.
Ahhh
,” she said, all attention turned to the tray placed in front of her, employing her fingers to lift one round slice and hold it in front of her eyes. “Heaven.”

Dany didn't wait to see the dripping thing disappear into her sister's mouth. As far as she could remember, Mari didn't even
like
pickled cucumbers.

Within an hour, fresh from her bath, her short hair hopefully attractively mussed and blessedly dry, a stuffed bandbox already handed over to a footman—and assuring herself that Harry was resting in the servants' quarters—she was standing in the foyer, awaiting the arrival of the earl's town coach.

“Miss Foster?”

She turned about, to see Timmerly descending the staircase, a worried look on his face and a folded letter in his hand.

“Yes? Does my sister want to see me?”

The butler shook his head. “No, Mrs. Timmerly is with her. I don't know if you are aware, Miss Foster, but longtime retainers, such as myself, are privy to information one might think withheld from them. Such...such is the case with her ladyship's current dilemma. Not that I would say that I...
snoop
, but there are moments when it may be necessary to...”

Dany had been watching Timmerly's hand, and the broken seal on the letter he held in that hand. “Give it to me.”

“Oh, thank you, miss. It arrived this morning, but Mrs. Timmerly said her ladyship is already too overset to...”

“‘My dearest wife,'” Dany read out loud, holding out her hand for silence. “‘I've left my luggage and the others to follow, frustrated by their slow pace when all I wish is to be home, to see your beautiful face again. Expect me within a day of receiving this. With loving affection...'
Oh, my God!
”

“Yes, miss. Mrs. Timmerly is doing her all to soothe my lady's, um, complexion. But it won't do to overset her ladyship in her current condition.”

“Her
splotches
?
Ah, Timmerly, if only that were her sole problem. Is the coach outside? I must get to the duchess to, um, assist her and her other guests with a small project.”

And to hopefully find out Coop's plans for the evening, as they were sure to involve confronting Ferdie.

Ten minutes later, she was being ushered into the private sitting room of the Duchess of Cranbrook.

The duchess was already there, she and all her flounces and filmy draperies. As was Coop's mother, the infamous Minerva, dressed much more severely and in her clearly favored purple. Clarice Goodfellow, blond curls hanging, was sitting at a writing desk, quill in hand, as the older ladies stood on either side, bent over her.

None of them appeared to have heard Dany being announced, and all the butler did was look at her, shrug and retire from the room, closing the double doors behind him.

“No, that's not it, Minerva.
Clandestine
is spelled with two
d
's, I'm certain. Clan...
des...dine
.”

“Did you hear that, Clarice? You shouldn't. You should be clapping your hands over your ears, rather than to be exposed to such nonsense. The woman doesn't even know how to pronounce it. Clan...des...
tine
. Go on, strike it out, write it correctly.”

“Yes, Minerva,” Clarice said, dipping the quill pen and attacking the page once more. “But what does it mean? What is a clandestine assig—assig—nation?”

The two older women exchanged glances, and the duchess put out her hand, indicating that her friend should answer.

“It means, my dear, meeting—lovers most usually—in secret, for reasons of amorous...exploration.”

“Oh, like when you sneak out of the house after midnight to meet up with the cook's son and do the naughty behind the barn. Why can't you just say so?”

“You warned
me
I should be careful of my language around her,” Minerva said accusingly.

The duchess fussed with one of her ruffles. “It wasn't the girl I was thinking might be embarrassed if you were to in any way encourage frankness, Minerva. And you're blushing, aren't you? Clarice is wise beyond her years. We just don't like to think about that.”

Dany's unleashed laughter had all three females turning to look at her, and she hastened to approach, curtsy first to the duchess, then to Coop's mother, and then to simply grin at Clarice.

“Your pardon, ladies. Please believe I wasn't purposely— Oh, yes, of course I was. Purposely eavesdropping, that is.”

Minerva Townsend looked at Dany from overtop an impressive pair of spectacles. “Does my son know you're here?”

“Oh, yes. He sent to me to help, as a matter of fact.”

“He did not,” Minerva told the countess. “She lies well, doesn't she?” She turned back to Dany. “But only when left with no alternative, I'll wager, while I look at lying as a pleasurable hobby. Do you know where he is?”

“You don't?” Dany seated herself in the nearest chair, feeling as if all the air had suddenly been knocked from her. “I had so hoped you would. I came to see you, Clarice. Rigby couldn't keep a secret from you if he tried. Do
you
know? Somebody has to know. After what happened.”

Minerva came around the desk, the other two close behind her. “What happened? I haven't seen my son since he left the Pulteney, having turned down Ames's offer of breakfast. Come on, gel,
speak
.”

Dany spoke. Stronger people than herself would have broken beneath Minerva Townsend's stare.

She told them about Ned Givens. She told them about Darby's visit to Geoff Quinton. She told them about the assassination attempt on the roadway.

She did not tell them Coop's secret that he was only keeping for someone else, nor did she mention her own sister's dilemma.

She most certainly did not tell them about...well,
about
.

“Someone shot at my son? My
son
?” She dropped into a chair with a thud. “Viv, I need a restorative. Quickly!”

Clarice moved first. “I'll ring for some vinaigrette. Or we could burn some feathers.”

“Unnecessary,” the duchess said, walking over to a gilt-and-mirrored cabinet and opening the doors, extracting a decanter and two glasses. “Gin, Minerva? I believe it was once your favorite.”

Minerva nodded, keeping her head down even as she shot out her arm, her fingers opening and closing until the glass was in her hand. She downed its contents in one loud gulp, and then held out the glass again. “The first for its effect, the second to help me think.”

Suitably fortified, Minerva leaned forward on her chair, elbows on her knees, and Dany sat back as far as she could on her own.

“From the back, I'll presume,” the woman said, rubbing the empty glass between her palms. “That's how cowards operate, from cover, and from the back. Who is he?”

“You...you don't know that, either?” This surprised Dany. It would seem she was Coop's only true confidante.

How very lovely.

“I'm sure I couldn't say, ma'am.”

“Minerva. I'm Minerva to you unless I tell you otherwise. Can't say, or won't say?”

Clarice put her hands on the back of Dany's chair. “Be careful. I've never known a woman who could ask the same question so many different ways, until you simply give up and tell her what she wants to know.”

“I don't know, so it doesn't matter how many ways she asks me,” Dany said, putting all her conviction into her words. “Wherever Cooper is, I do know this—he is in control of the situation. He's the hero of Quatre Bras, if you'll all recall, and knows no fear.”

Surprisingly, this caused Mrs. Townsend to pull a large white linen square from her pocket and dab at the corners of her eyes. “That's just what I'm afraid of, my dear. I know my son, and if he ever did experience fear, it would be because you were with him when the shot came. That poor Harry was hit, that either one of you could have been killed in his place? No, I'm convinced Cooper is not feeling fear. He's angry. He's incensed. I've never known him incensed. It's never prudent to anger a normally calm man. Someone has poked a stick at a sleeping bear. God only knows what will happen now.”