Chapter Thirteen
It was close to noon by the time Dom found his betrothed and his mother, accompanied by his cousin, Grace, and Lady Charlotte. They'd just regained the pavement and turned right on Bruton Street, heading toward him as he left Bond Street.
Thea's countenance lit when she saw him. “Good morning. Did you have business here?”
Yes. Hunting down her and his mother. He greeted the other ladies, then took Thea's hand, brushing his fingers over her knuckles. He hid his smile as she breathed in sharply. “No, just out for a stroll. You look lovely as usual.” Her face and neck were once more a charming shade of pink, and he had a sudden wish to always be able to make her blush. He liked how natural she always was. “Are you finished shopping?”
“No, we are on our way to the shoemaker.”
Tucking her hand in his arm, he turned to stroll with her back toward Bond Street. Dom lowered his voice so that only she could hear. “I believe I am jealous.”
Thea's eyes widened. “Of what, pray?”
“Of the shopkeeper who will be allowed to touch your foot, when I cannot.”
She slid him a sidelong glance. “Are you flirting with me, my lord?”
“I'm certainly trying to.” He had never felt the need to flatter a lady before. He hoped she liked it. “Am I succeeding?”
“Immensely.” Her complexion was even rosier now, but her tone was light and teasing. “I had no idea you were such a rogue.”
What was he to say to that? Here she was newly on the Town, and already she knew more about the art of flirtation than he did. It must come more naturally to women. “Only with you, my love.”
Thea promptly responded, “Yet, what about after we are wed? I thought the
ton
disparaged a married man flirting with his wife.”
Hoisted on his own petard. The thought of another gentleman paying attention to her made his blood boil. He gave her back her own words. “I prefer to make my own fashion. One not based on deceit.”
A burble of laughter escaped her lips before she put her hand over her mouth. “I'd forgotten I shouldn't laugh too loudly.”
Damn the person who prescribed that everyone in the
ton
should appear permanently bored. He would not have her delight stifled. Particularly when her laughter sounded like the tinkling of bells and it was him she was pleased with. “As the Marchioness of Merton, you may do much as you please. You will be looked at to set fashion.”
“That may very well be true, but as Miss Dorothea Stern, I may not willy-nilly break the rules.” She gave him a sly look. “I shall wait until later.”
She was so comfortable with herself, confidence that had nothing to do with her rank. Was it courage or an innate sense of belonging? She never behaved as if she had to prove herself to anyone or disparaged another to build herself up.
Pure lust surged through him. If only they were alone and he could kiss her again.
“Dotty.” Ahead of them, Grace had stopped. “We are here.”
The sign for a cobbler hung overhead. He would either have to let Thea go now and allow the blasted clerk to touch her foot, or remain and shoot the man black looks. Blast it all, he
was
jealous. “Shall I come by at five o'clock to take you for a drive?”
She grimaced. “I cannot promise we'll be home. I am not the only one we are shopping for.”
Grace shooed the others into the shop, leaving him alone with Thea.
He would most likely have to put up with this orgy of shopping until their marriage. “Send a message round when you return.”
Thea's face brightened. “I will. If we are too late for the Promenade, I'll see you this evening.”
“You shall and this time I can remain at your side the entire night.”
She gave a light laugh, and he released her to join the others. Tonight, he'd ensure that no gentleman would be under the impression theirs was a marriage of convenience. He walked back up to Piccadilly, then to St. James Street and White's to enjoy a beefsteak.
Fotherby accosted Dom as he stepped onto the shallow stair leading to the door of his club. “You are actually going through with it?”
Dom raised a brow. “I take it you saw the notice.”
“How else would I know?” Fotherby replied peevishly. “You're never at your usual haunts these days. I just don't see how you could marry that chit.”
Once again, anger at the way Fotherby referred to Thea speared through Dom. Yet he wasn't about to allow the man to ruin his mood. He made himself shrug noncommittally. “What would you have me do?” Fate had handed him the perfect opportunity to have what he wanted. But he was not about to discuss his desire to marry Thea with Fotherby or anyone else.
The man was rapidly becoming a dead bore. “The fact remains that I am.”
“I suppose I should wish you happy,” Fotherby huffed. “I'd feel a deemed sight better about it if I thought she wouldn't lead you on a merry dance.”
Dom struggled to keep his lips from tilting up. She would indeed keep him busy, yet he would always know where he stood with her. “If she does, it won't be for long.”
“I suppose there is nothing left to say. I saw what happened to my brother just before his wedding. You'll be as busy as a three-legged dog.”
“There is that.” Dom wondered if he'd be called on for an opinion of the ceremony or wedding breakfast at all. The ladies seemed to have it all in hand. “I still have a great deal of work to attend to. Duty does not stop because of a wedding. Unless you'd like to dine with me, I shall bid you good day.”
“Wish I could. M'mother's in Town and made it clear she expects me at the house.” Fotherby inclined his head and walked off.
Dom couldn't believe how relieved he was that his friend had other obligations. Two hours later, he climbed the steps to his home and was met by Cyrille, who gazed up at him, clearly expecting attention, and Tom waving a piece of paper in his hand.
“My lord, see what I've done. Mrs. Sorley says I'm a prodigy.”
The boy's cultured accents became more pronounced with each passing day. Thea had noticed it when she visited the other afternoon. Dom took the paper, a drawing of Cyrille asleep in Dom's chair in his study. Although it was done in pencil, the child had captured the detail of the cat's shimmery coat against the slick leather of the chair. Someone had taught the child how to draw. Who the devil were Tom's parents and how was Dom to find out when the lad refused to speak of it?
“That is excellent. We must find you a drawing master.”
The boy's whole face shone with pride. “Thank you, my lord.”
What would have happened to Tom if Thea hadn't rescued him? Most likely, he would have been taken to the local gaol, then possibly a workhouse, if not worse. Dom must do whatever it took to find the child's family. “Can you tell me where you lived when you were with your mother?”
The boy's countenance shuttered. “I'm not supposed to tell, or I'll get what for.”
He signaled for tea to be served in his study and took the child by his hand. “I am confident I can assure you that as long as you are under my protection, no one will harm you.”
The boy was silent for several moments. “You kept me from dying.”
“Er, yes. Not only the first time but subsequently as well.” Bath time was still difficult. Fortunately, once assured he had given one of the footmen his power to keep Tom safe, Dom had not had to attend the lad's ablutions again.
Tom hopped up onto the sofa, and stared at Dom. Finally, he nodded his head. “I don't know the address, but I'd recognize it if I saw it again.”
He wanted to groan. This was liable to be a long and painful process. “Outstanding. Perhaps we'll take a drive in my curricle. You'll like that.”
Tom nodded his head up and down so hard, Dom thought the boy would rattle his brain.
Tea arrived. Mrs. Sorley poured a cup and gave it to him. She handed a mug of milk along with a jam tart to Tom. “You eat that all up, mind. You're still too skinny.”
“I will.” Tom nodded. “It's very good. Even Cook's wasn't this good.”
Mrs. Sorley glanced at Dom and raised her brows.
Clearly, he was supposed to make the inquiry. “Ah, did Cook live with you?”
The boy shook his head, munching on his sweet. “No. She used to bring us food. Mama said Cook was her most favorite person after Papa and me.”
Papa? Had his parents been married? Dom ran a hand through his hair. Where was the scoundrel now?
* * *
Lord Fotherby was swinging his new gold-headed cane in time with the tassels on his boots as he strolled down the pedestrian walk of the Park when a lady called out.
“Lord Fotherby, how delightful to run into you again.”
“Lady Manners.” He bowed and lifted his hat. “The pleasure is all mine, I am sure.”
She signaled to the footman to drop back. “Such sad news.”
What the devil was she talking about? Did someone die? He would not wish her to think he was not up on all the
crim cons
. “Indeed. It took us all by surprise.”
The lady's eyes rounded. “You as well? I would have thought he would confide in
you
of all people. Although he is very reserved.”
Fotherby blinked. Who the devil was it she was talking about? Perhaps if she just kept up the conversation, he'd get an inkling. “No, no. He does, as you say, keep his own counsel.”
Lady Manners nodded sadly. “He must be very embarrassed to have to marry so far beneath him.”
Understanding crept into the recesses of his mind. He wasn't as bright as most of his friends, but he was well up to snuff. She must be talking about Merton and was obviously upset. “I daresay. Though I expect he'll make the best of it. Nothing else to do after all.”
“Well.” She blew out a breath that lifted one of the curls on her forehead. “I, for one, am in despair. The sly minx trapping him like that. He was to have married my cousin, Miss Turley. you know.”
Trapped?
Fotherby didn't like Miss Stern, but he never thought she'd do anything scurrilous. Still, Merton was a marquis. No wonder he had not wanted to discuss his betrothal. Not that he really had a choice. It had been all around Town before the announcement was in the
Morning Post.
A fellow was out of luck at this stage of the game. In fact, he should not have given Merton a hard time about it. “Bad business that, but what can one do?”
He'd meant his question to be rhetorical, but a gleam came in to Lady Manners's eyes and she took his arm, leaning in confidingly.
“Perhaps, if I had a gentleman to assist me, I could discover a way to stop the marriage from happening.”
“I don't take your meaning. Merton would never call it off. He values his reputation too much. And the chit is residing with his cousin.”
She fluttered her lashes, as if she had a speck in her eye. “But what if Miss Stern failed to appear at the wedding?”
Fotherby tried to take a step back, but Lady Manners latched on tightly to his arm. “Merton would not take well to being made a fool of.”
“Precisely my point. He wouldn't give her another chance.”
Fotherby wasn't at all sure he wanted to be a part of Lady Manners's plans. If it got out, he'd never hear the end of it from his mother. “I won't be involved in anything criminal.”
“Not anything truly illegal, but if we were to ensure she was . . . elsewhere for a day or so . . .”
Lavvie petted Fotherby's arm in a soothing way. If she had known he was so hen-witted, she'd have picked someone else to assist her, but she had to help Elizabeth. If she couldn't marry for love, at least Lavvie could ensure her cousin married a man who'd be good to her. Unlike Manners, who never failed to blame her for everything.
The arm she held tightened as he sputtered, “See here, no matter what she did, I'll have no part in ruining Miss Stern.”
The man was being more stubborn than she expected. If there was anyone else Lavvie could use, she would. Unfortunately, Merton did not have a large circle of friends, and Fotherby was the only one with a house near Richmond. Just far enough away to keep Miss Stern from being able to make her way back to London and close enough that no one would notice Fotherby's absence.
She swallowed her exasperation. “No, no, indeed. That would never do. We shall put it about that she went home. I've heard Lady Stern is unable to travel. What could be more natural than for the girl to realize that she is not prepared for the position as Merton's wife and run away to her mama?” When Fotherby didn't respond, Lavvie continued in her most coaxing tone. “We shall only keep Miss Stern for a day or so, then return her to the bosom of her family unharmed, and Merton will be free to select a suitable bride.”
Fotherby glanced at her with his brows drawn together. “Your cousin, Miss Turley, for example?”
“Why, yes, if he still wishes to ask her.”
Lavvie resisted the urge to roll her eyes while he considered her idea.
“Where will you take her?” he asked.
She leaned against his side a little more and glanced up at him, trying to portray a helpless look. “I had not gotten that far in my plan.” She smoothed the cloth of his sleeve. “Do you know of a place near enough to Town for the purpose?”
“I have a cottage in Richmond my grandmother left me. It hasn't been used in a few years, but a couple takes care of it. I don't know that they'd agree to keep Miss Stern against her will.”
“We could tell them she is a relative of mine who has tried to elope and must be kept safe until her brother comes to fetch her.”