Which reminded Rex of why they were all standing in the hall outside the woman’s door. “We have come to see about that very thing, Nanny. Is Miss Carville able to answer a few questions?”
“At this time of night? I should say not. She is fast asleep.”
Rex could tell by the red flashes that sweet old Nanny was lying through her false teeth.
“We’ll just disturb her rest for a moment.”
Nanny crossed her arms in front of her age-flattened chest and barred the door. “You will not come into a gentlewoman’s bedroom looking like a prizefighter, the one who lost the bout. You will not come into a proper young lady’s chamber at night at all, ever. Now you go on and get that man of yours to do something about your face before you give the poor girl more nightmares in the morning.”
With Daniel’s words about compromise and marriage echoing in his mind, Rex nodded. “We shall speak with Miss Carville early then. We have a lot to accomplish tomorrow.”
The ancient martinet shook her head. “I promised the lass a bath and a hair wash if she has no fever in the morning. That will make her feel better about things. So you’ll just have to wait.”
“Devil take it, I have to insist.”
“Insist all you want, my lord. I do not take orders from you, no matter how much you glare at me. I’m here because you need me, young man, not because I need a salary. Your father made me a generous pension, so mind your tongue.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Rex answered, stepping back on Daniel’s foot to stop his cousin’s snicker. “You will tell us when it is convenient to begin trying to prove Miss Carville’s innocence. I am certain her clean hair will impress the judges.”
Nanny used her pointing finger like a poker to Rex’s chest. “And I won’t have you dressed like a stable hand in my lady’s chamber, either. You tell that valet of yours that, too, unless he’s deaf as well as dumb. He refused to listen when I asked for your pistol, so I had to fetch it myself when he was out.”
“Out as in out of the house? Or perhaps in the kitchen or the laundry room?”
“How should I know? The fellow does not talk, does he?”
He did when he got his first look at Rex and what he’d done to yet another suit of clothes, to say nothing of his face.
“Sacre bleu!”
Murchison yelled before he could recall himself, which Rex felt was worth the sore, swollen nose.
“He can speak?” Daniel whispered.
“In French,” Rex whispered back, knowing full well that Murchison could hear every word. “But don’t tell anyone. We’ll have to puzzle that business out, too.” Which, Rex reasoned, was fair notice to Murchison that he meant to investigate the gentleman’s gentleman. Rex disliked secrets almost as much as he disliked lies.
“He ain’t a spy for the Frogs, is he? I told you, I’m out of the espionage business for good.”
“I doubt my father would keep on a traitor, but then again, I never considered that Lady Royce would befriend a convict.”
“Well, I never thought I’d see you at your mother’s house, either, so I guess you can’t trust your gut. Except when it’s telling you it’s hungry.”
With his size, Daniel needed far more sustenance than Rex. Hell, he ate enough for two men, and never seemed satisfied.
“Maybe there is some of Nanny’s stew left.”
There wasn’t, but they did find a cured ham in the larder, a tin of biscuits, some fruit preserves, a wheel of cheese, and a bushel of apples.
“I told you your mother sets a fine table,” Daniel said between mouthfuls, washed down with a bottle of excellent wine. “Even if it is the kitchen table.”
“I saw no reason to stir up the butler and the footman to serve us in the dining room. Do you mind?”
Daniel laughed. “After sharing half a scrawny chicken with you in a sweltering tent, this is heaven. As long as the monster you call a dog does not steal from my plate.”
Verity did not need to steal, not with Daniel sliding slices of ham across the boards to where her chin rested on the wooden table.
Rex relaxed and cut off another slice of cheese, pleased his two friends were getting along. He should have known they would, since both were more interested in food than conversation or physical activity.
He was pleased, too, with the meal. Daniel was right: The food did taste better than any Rex had eaten in ages. He ate more than usual, his appetite encouraged by Daniel’s enthusiasm. Or else the fight had reinvigorated him. Yes, Rex thought, being hit in the head must have knocked some of the cobwebs out of his skull. Instead of that aimless wandering, that dreary melancholy he’d fallen into, he felt more like himself than he had since being shot. Perhaps better, since he was not interrogating captured soldiers; having the generals press him for faster, more detailed, results; or pretending not to notice the disdain of the other officers.
He could laugh, even, as Daniel and Verity both gazed longingly at the last biscuit, which happened to be on Rex’s plate. He ate it.
Lud, a man could not stay in the doldrums with Daniel and a dog around. Besides, now he had a mission, and a partner.
All in all, Rex decided, he’d had a good day, his most productive in months. He found it hard to believe so much had happened—had he truly just arrived in London this morning?—in so short a time. A jailbreak, a scandal, and a bar fight, plus finding out that his cousin had been banned from Almack’s. The day was almost perfect, especially if one did not consider the sins of ogling an unconscious female or lusting after a helpless woman in his care.
Maybe he should get into brawls more often.
Her hero was a drunken brawler? His cousin was a social pariah, a troublemaker since birth, and a gambler? Amanda had heard every word between Nanny Brown and the gentlemen through the open door. Now she could not hold back her tears.
When she’d woken from her stupor to find herself at Royce House, she began to think she had a chance of living until her next birthday. She would not have made next week in prison. Why should she struggle to survive there, anyway? They were only going to hang her. The formal conviction appeared irrelevant.
At her godmother’s home she’d felt a spark of hope, a tiny glimmer of optimism. Lord Rexford had seemed so competent, so confident, she had to believe he would rescue her. That flicker of faith was doused by the cold wind of reality. No one was going to be able to save her, especially not a ruffian and his unmannered kin.
She had no money, no friends or relations to call on. Only an old woman with an unloaded pistol stood as her defender. Why, she had to sleep in a borrowed nightgown. Amanda wiped her eyes with the corner of the sheet. She did not even have a handkerchief. Perhaps she’d go to the gibbet tripping over one of the countess’s old frocks.
What was the point of waiting for them to hang her? She eyed the window of her room, but knew that shrubberies surrounded the entire house, thick enough to break a fall. The bottle of laudanum? She had no idea how much was needed. If Nanny Brown brought the pistol back . . .
The coward’s way out? Yes.
A sin? Yes.
But it would be proof of her guilt, too. That’s what everyone would believe, anyway. Lord Rexford would look like a fool for coming to her aid. He had come, though, so she supposed she owed him better than that.
He should have left her in that wretched cell. She’d been so close to escaping it all there, so distant from her misery, almost in her parents’ arms. Now she was suffering worse, because he’d thrown her a life preserver. Her ship was sinking and sharks were circling, but she’d grabbed hold with both hands. Now the rope was fraying, and the viscount was not going to bring her to shore. She’d have done better letting the waves wash over her. Hope was gone. Hope was a demon, a devil, a cheat.
When Nanny came back into the room she found Miss Carville curled into a ball, sobbing.
“There, lambie. He’ll fix it, I know he will.”
Amanda looked up, checking for the pistol. “He’s drunk.”
“Pooh. He’s a gentlemen fresh come to Town, seeing his best friend after months. I doubt they have been apart so long since their crib days. And he has burdens of his own to carry. But the boy I knew is good at heart. And nearly as wise as his father. Tonight’s nonsense is nothing to fret over. You’ll see.”
“No,” Amanda said with a sniff and another sob. “There is nothing he can do. And why should he put himself to the trouble? I am nothing to him.”
Nanny handed her a handkerchief. “He will help because he is an honorable gentleman. And because his mother asked, that’s why.”
Amanda blew her nose and asked, “He does not like her much, does he?”
“He has his reasons, and none of them for us to discuss. It was sad times for all of the family. I doubt any of them will ever recover, but that doesn’t mean his lordship won’t do his duty. He served the country proud, no matter what anyone says. And that oversized oaf Daniel wouldn’t hurt a fly, unless someone threatens his friends. Close as brothers they always were. Where one was in trouble, the other’d be there, too.” Nanny sat by Amanda’s bedside and took up her knitting. “Why, the stories I could tell about those two rapscallions.”
Amanda envied the cousins that closeness. She was too much older than her stepsister to be friends, and was more of an unpaid companion to Elaine these last five years. Thanks to Sir Frederick’s penny-pinching ways, Amanda had never gone to school or had a proper come-out, where she might have met girls her own age. Elaine had not even sent her a note in jail, much less a change of clothes or a coin to purchase better treatment. Amanda started weeping again.
Nanny was going on about her favorite topic, it seemed, while her knitting needles clacked. “Master Jordan was a good boy, as smart as could be. And the best rider in the shire. The best swordsman, later, too. I know he must be bothered, limping that way. But he’ll be as steady as a rock. And that clodpoll cousin will prop him up if he falters, never you fear. They are good men, both of them.”
If they were all she had, Amanda thought, heaven help her.
Nanny poured more laudanum and Amanda swallowed it gladly.
Chapter Eight
T
he primping took most of the morning. Even then, Rex was barely fit for polite company.
His hair was trimmed and his uniform was neatly pressed, but his head ached from all the liquor, his nose looked like part of a clown’s costume, his bad leg had stiffened in London’s perpetual damp, and his dog preferred Daniel. He felt wretched.
“I always have a roll in my pocket, or a meat pasty, that’s all.”
“Do not shout.” Rex held his head in his hands, cringing as Daniel took his third helping of eggs and what was left of the ham from the night before. “And I am glad the mongrel is drooling over someone else’s clothes for a change.”
“You used to be able to hold your liquor better.”
“I used to be able to do a lot of things better.” Rex took a sip of his coffee. It tasted as if the housekeeper had used fairgrounds instead of coffee grounds. He shoved it aside and poured a cup of tea.
“Tea? You are acting and sounding like an old man, coz. Hell, you’re not yet thirty years old.”
“I will be soon.”
“Three months later than I will, and look at me.”
Rex tried not to. His cousin’s face was not as lurid as his own, but Daniel’s apparel hurt the viscount’s eyes. Wide yellow Cossack trousers, a turquoise and puce striped waistcoat, a peacock blue coat, with a spotted kerchief instead of a neckcloth, might have looked dashing on a trick rider at Astley’s Amphitheatre. On Daniel? “You look like a hot-air balloon.”
“That shows what you know. My outfit is all the rage, the height of fashion. And a deuced sight more comfortable than the fancy rig you’re sporting.”
There was no getting around the strangling high knot Murchison had tied at Rex’s neck, or the close fit of the heavy woolen uniform coat, with its brass and gold trim. His glossy high boots aggravated his sore leg, and the knit pantaloons emphasized his limp.
“I thought I better look the proper officer if I’m to call at the War Office immediately after we speak with Miss Carville.”
“Oh, I thought you were dressing for your visit to the sickroom.”
“Don’t be more of a gudgeon than you have to be. I am still part of the army.”
“And here I thought you were still Nanny’s lambikin. Since when do you march to petticoat orders? You haven’t listened to Nanny Brown’s nattering since you were in leading strings.”
“She’s old.”
“And Miss Carville is young.”
“I did
not
dress for Miss Carville or Nanny Brown.” He quickly shoved the plate of sweet rolls in Daniel’s direction when he saw his cousin start to scratch at the top of his hand. “I am merely trying to do my best for the lady, guilty or innocent. I think that we might need all the forces we can muster, and all the resources of the Special Section, too.”
Daniel swallowed a bite of roll, then handed the rest to the mastiff. “I’ve been thinking, too”—he ignored Rex’s snort of derision—“about what’s best for the lady.”
“The last time I let you think I got coshed with a bottle.”
“But you got shot on your own.”
That was true. “Very well, so what are the results of your mighty musings?”
“I think you should get betrothed to her.”
Rex set his teacup down with a thump and a splash onto the tablecloth. “Now that is more idiotic than your usual ideas. I might have expected such rubbish from Lady Royce, seeking to shift her responsibilities onto my shoulders, or even from Nanny, but you?”
“Think on it. People will believe she’s innocent if you propose. No viscount would court a killer, would he? And he wouldn’t affiance himself to someone about to dance with Jack Ketch. At least it would get people wondering, instead of hanging her in the press. Public sentiment can sway a judge. Mightn’t be the right way to decide a case, but it’s better than trying to discredit the witnesses.”