Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Freddie had awoken, if not revitalised, then certainly energised following his night at the theatre with Miss Mifford.

She had allowed him to hold her hand, she had not balked when he had kissed it, and she had offered to receive him for a morning call. It was all very promising.

Farley, still as matrimonial minded as any mama, attended to his morning ablutions with slightly more zeal than was usual. This same enthusiasm was applied to choosing out his clothes for the morning, polishing his boots, and trying his cravat in a jaunty knot--so much so, that it was almost noon by the time Freddie reached the breakfast table.

He took only a coffee and a slice of brioche bread, before ordering a footman to have his horse readied. A moment later, having glanced out the window and spotting a threatening grey sky, Freddie re-summoned the footman and asked for his carriage instead.

It would not do to turn up on the front step of Northcott House rain-sodden and dripping. If that made Freddie vain, then so be it.

His care to his appearance, however, was somewhat wasted, for when he arrived at Northcott House, and sent the footman to the door with his calling card, the lad returned moments later with an apology that Miss Mifford was indisposed.

"Indisposed?" Freddie growled, "In what way?"

"I did not ask, my lord," the footman stuttered--the correct response, for it was not a servant"s place to ask such things.

"The earache?" Freddie mused, worried now, "Influenza? A bout of whooping cough, perhaps?"

"I do not know, my lord," the footman repeated, shifting with discomfort at having to discuss a lady"s health with his master.

"I will offer the assistance of my apothecary on Jermyn Street," Freddie decided, already halfway out of the cab, "He"s the best there is."

With little thought to the rules and diktats of polite society, Freddie hurried up the steps to the austere, black front door--very ducal, his own was green--and rapped the brass knocker, in the shape of a lion"s head, loudly until it was opened.

"I am Lord Chambers," Freddie said, to the butler who peered out at him, "My footman tells me that Miss Mifford is indisposed; I wish to offer the services of my druggist to speed her recovery."

The butler, typically stoic as befitted a gentleman of such a position, remained blank-faced as he tried to think of a reply to Freddie"s offer. He was spared having to supply an answer, by the arrival of the youngest of the Mifford girls, Eudora.

"Who"s that, Bentley" she called, as she sauntered into the entrance hall from an adjoining room.

"A caller for Miss Mifford," Bentley informed her, in a deep rumble, "Lord Chambers, Marquess of Highfield."

"Oh," Miss Eudora"s face dropped, and she cast Freddie a nervous glance, before turning back to Bentley, "Thank you, Bentley. I shall speak with Lord Chambers for a moment."

Bentley's bushy eyebrows drew together in surprise for one brief moment--for it was not the done thing to receive a marquess on the front doorstep--but he kept his counsel and slipped away.

"Emily is not here," Eudora whispered, her brown eyes large and excited behind her spectacles, "If the others return, I am supposed to say she is indisposed with a migraine, but she is really gone to Berkley Square to spy on Lady Hardthistle"s maid."

"Did she tell you to tell me this?" Freddie wondered, for he had expressly forbidden Emily to go spying.

"No," Eudora was certain, "She told me not to tell Mary, Jane, or Mama, but she did not mention that I should not tell you."

There was a moment of silence, as Eudora puzzled over this, and her expression turned suddenly worried.

"Gemini, do you think I shouldn"t have told you?" she asked of Freddie, "I always do the wrong thing..."

"You were perfectly correct to inform me," Freddie assured her, omitting that it was only he who would think her confession correct, "I shall go to fetch her at once. I hope she had the sense to take a maid with her."

Eudora"s pained silence was all the answer Freddie needed. He bit back a sigh, for it was not Eudora"s fault, and she had been most helpful, before touching the brim of his hat and bidding her goodbye.

"Maybe don"t tell her I sent you," Eudora"s nervous call followed Freddie back to his carriage.

"I won"t," he called back, before instructing his driver to take him to Berkley Square.

"Circle the square, until I tell you to stop," he instructed, brusquely.

As the carriage trundled from St James" Square, towards their destination, Freddie mulled over which punishment would be most fitting for Miss Mifford"s reckless disregard for her safety. His thoughts then turned to worry, as he imagined what terrible fortunes might have befallen her, then back to anger.

This cycle of emotion repeated itself numerous times, as the carriage made its way up Piccadilly, so by the time they reached Berkley Square, Freddie was fit to burst.

He scowled, as his gaze swept over every person on the footpath, trying to spot Emily amongst the crowds. Finally, having circled the square thrice, he sighted her, strolling along without a care in the world.

"Pull up here," Freddie called, rapping on the roof of the carriage with his cane.

As the carriage drew to a halt beside the footpath, Freddie snapped up the screen on the window, cast Miss Mifford a glare--so she would understand just how much trouble she was in--before reaching over to open the door.

Miss Mifford scrambled in without his assistance--for Freddie did not wish to cause a scandal, by risking being seen bundling a young woman into his vehicle--and sat herself primly on the bench opposite him.

"I know you said--" she began, but Freddie had no patience for excuses.

"Do you know how much danger you put yourself in?" he growled, "This is not the Cotswolds; London is filled with villains, thieves, and footpads. You could have been assaulted, or robbed, or kidnapped."

"Yet none of these things occurred," Emily answered, with a forced mildness to her tone, "What I do is none of your concern, my lord. Besides--"

Again, Freddie did not wait to hear her excuses before interrupting her, such was his anger.

"Your safety is my concern," he retorted, scowling across at her.

She opened her mouth to protest again, and Freddie"s willpower snapped at the sight of her plump mouth, petulant and sulky.

He moved swiftly, crossing the carriage to sit beside her, before drawing her into his lap, and covering her mutinous lips with his own. She gave a slight gasp, and he braced himself for a slap, but none was forthcoming.

Instead, Emily melted against him, wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself, and giving a quiet mewl of pleasure as Freddie kissed her thoroughly.

His senses were assaulted by her; her soft lips, her warm curves against his body, her sweet floral scent. His hands on her back pulled her closer against him, as Freddie was filled with a deep longing for her--for all of her.

It was only when the carriage hit a pot-hole and jolted them apart, that Miss Mifford was saved from being thoroughly ravished in a moving vehicle.

"Forgive me," Freddie said, as she glanced up at him with nervous eyes, "I seem to have left myself off the list of those things that are dangerous to you..."

"You"re not dangerous," she replied, and Freddie was touched by how much she trusted him.

The carriage turned, and Freddie realised that his driver was headed towards Pall Mall. Miss Mifford might trust him, but even Freddie knew better than to bring her within a furlong of his home and bedchamber.

"St James" Square," he called, rapping on the roof.

"Oh, we"re nearly there," Emily blinked, still a little stupefied from the passion of their embrace, "My lord, I must tell you--"

"Freddie."

"Freddie," she corrected herself, leaving Freddie to marvel at how sweet his name sounded upon her lips--like a heavenly chorus of angels.

"I know you did not wish me to spy on Ethel," she continued, "But I"m very glad I did. You see, I followed her from Berkley Square to the graveyard beside St George"s."

Freddie bit his lip to keep from growling with displeasure at the news that Emily had spent all morning traipsing across the whole of London alone, and not just Berkley Square.

"And you"ll never guess who she went there to meet--Sir Cadogan," she revealed, not giving him a chance to guess.

"You"re certain?" Freddie squawked, startled into gaucheness by the news.

"Most certain," she nodded, her eyes gleaming, "And, she wants to marry him, but Sir Cadogan is insistent they wait, for it would look most suspect."

"He said that?" Freddie breathed, for it was tantamount to a confession of guilt.

"He mentioned that you had accused him of having played a hand in Lady Hardthistle"s death," she explained, "And that to marry so soon, might draw further attention upon him."

Not an exact confession, Freddie conceded, but near enough.

"I think we must confront him," Emily added, her eyes sidling to his to assess how he felt about this.

Freddie, who was quite pleased by the use of the pronoun "we", nodded in agreement.

"Somewhere public would really put him on the spot," he said, thinking aloud, "It might shock a confession from him."

"That"s what I was thinking," Emily sounded awed by the synchronicity of their thoughts, "Mary and Northcott are holding a ball--it would be easy enough to add Ethel and Sir Cadogan to the list of invitees. We could confront them there, together."

There it was again, the use of the word "we", that left Freddie with a feeling of pleasure in his stomach. He hid a smile, as he imagined Emily using it in other sentences.

We were pleased the wedding went so well. We enjoyed our honeymoon in the Lake District. We look forward to the birth of our first child...

"Freddie?" Emily interrupted his daydreams, glancing at him queerly, "Are you alright? You seem to have drifted off."

"Ahem," Freddie cleared his throat, importantly, "Yes, I was just thinking of the best way to go about it but leave it with me--I shall think of a plan."

He added a masculine harrumph to the end of his sentence--more for his benefit, than hers--and Emily rolled her eyes.

"Well, do remember to include me in it," she grumbled, averting her eyes.

Freddie reached out and gently turned her face toward his, so that she was looking at him fully.

"You are in all my future plans, Miss Mifford," he said, addressing her formally for what felt like a very formal declaration of his intent.

Again, she flushed, her green eyes awash with longing but also fear. Something was holding her back from admitting that she wanted him too, but Freddie could not for the life of him work out what it was.

It wasn"t his looks, personality, or style--for he had already dismissed those notions as absurd--but, rather, something else...Freddie just needed to discover what that something was.

The carriage turned on to St James" Square and Emily gave a nervous glance out the window.

"I think it"s best if we stop here, I shouldn"t like to cause a scandal by being seen exiting your carriage," she said.

A scandal would necessitate a proposal, which would suit Freddie just fine, but he nodded in agreement--for when he proposed, he wanted her "yes" to be given freely.

"Stop," he called, rapping on the roof of the carriage.

His driver pulled in at once, and Freddie smiled apologetically at his companion.

"I"m afraid I cannot help you out," he said, "But I want you to know that the wish to do so is there."

"I would never doubt your gallantry, my lo--Freddie."

My Freddie? Things were looking up already.

Freddie reached over to open the door, and Emily slid past him, hopping elegantly down to the pavement. She paused, offered him a shy smile, then set off at a quick trot towards home.

Freddie allowed himself a moment to savour the memory of their kiss--all the more vivid for the floral scent which still lingered--before rapping on the roof of the carriage.

"White"s," he called--he had a very acute need for a brandy, following the morning"s high-jinx.

The club was filled with thirsty gentlemen, just released from the confines of The House of Lords. Freddie had no wish to join the boisterous fray at the bow-window, who sounded intent to continue an earlier debate, and instead made for a quiet corner. There, he ordered a brandy, and sat back to mull over Miss Mifford"s confusing reluctance to admit that she liked him.

She did like him, of that Freddie was certain. No woman, especially an innocent one, could feign such passion and warmth. There was something holding her back though, and Freddie needed to work out what it was--for he could not very well drag her down the aisle, though it was a tempting thought.

"Brooding silently in the corner again--I take it you have recently encountered Miss Mifford? Lud, I ought to send her a bouquet of hot house flowers, as thanks for her service to my ears--I can"t recall the last time I was forced to endure one of your lectures on matters sartorial."

Delaney, displaying his customary charm, sat down uninvited in the chair opposite Freddie, and waved down a passing footman to fetch him a drink.

"If you don"t mind, I"m going to capitalise on your silence and take a moment to grumble," he continued, with a sigh, "Mostly about the female of the species."

"Had your heart broken?" Freddie asked, with a note of surprise, "I didn"t think you had one."

"Just because I"m not keen to get leg-shackled, does not mean that I do not have a heart," Delaney harrumphed, "But no, this is nothing to do with women I am romantically interested in, rather women who I am obliged to suffer because of blood relations."

"Your mother?" Freddie guessed, feeling more certain he was correct.

"And my sisters," Delaney sighed, "They"re ganging up on me, and they"re rather formidable when they have a shared cause."

"The cause being to torture you, and, by default me, who has to listen to you?"

"A-hur-hur-hur," Delaney met Freddie"s sarcasm with some of his own, "How you suffer. No, Mother has gotten it into her head that she would like to take up residence in Bath near Amelia."

"Understandable," Freddie conceded, for Delaney"s sister had only recently given birth.

"Which has led to Nancy demanding I rent her an apartment there too," Delaney continued, rolling his eyes, "Which in turn led to Frannie demanding one for herself, so she"s not left out."

"Can their husbands not facilitate these demands?" Freddie raised a brow.

"Apparently they"re unwilling to indulge their wives" aching need to be close to their sisters, but as their brother I should understand better--even though I haven"t been invited to join the coven."

"You"re just here to fund them, Delaney," Freddie agreed, "Don"t get ideas above your station, like joining in. One must know one"s place."

"Sisters," came the dour reply, "Who"d have them?"

From the resignation in his voice, Freddie guessed that Delaney had already decided to yield to the demands of his siblings. No wonder the poor chap had no wish to marry, he was already hen-pecked as it was.

His woes, however, had inspired an idea in Freddie.

"Do Lord Crabb and Northcott both have residence in the Cotswolds?" Freddie queried, suddenly.

"Three minutes," Delaney looked at his pocket watch, "I got three minutes before you brought the topic round to the Mifford chit. And don"t be pedantic and claim you didn"t mention her directly. To answer your question, yes, both their estates are very close by; they border the same village."

"Plumpton," Freddie sounded out the name of the village Emily had mentioned numerous times.

"That"s the one," Delaney agreed, finishing his drink in one gulp, "Are you of a mind to set up there, in the hope of winning Miss Mifford"s hand?"

Delaney"s tone had been teasing, but when Freddie did not immediately reply in the negative, he gave a whoop of laughter as he realised that he had hit the nail on the head.

"You"re in much deeper than I had thought," he said, with a kind smile to his friend, "As a man with sisters, I will concede that you"re on the right path. The bonds of sisterhood are too strong to break for any man."

"And if you can"t beat them, join them," Freddie finished, with a grin.

"Indeed," Delaney, who had refilled his glass from the decanter on the table, now lifted it in toast to his friend. "Here"s to admitting that we are powerless in the face of women, and to accepting our fate as nothing more than their devoted subjects."

Freddie raised his own glass in recognition of such a fine--and apt--speech. He was, he feared, completely lost to reason when it came to Miss Mifford. The only other thing capable of inspiring such devotion in him, was the fine tailoring at Weston"s, and he"d even give up his exquisite collection of dinner jackets, if it meant a chance at having Emily"s hand.

"Where would a man go about procuring an estate in Plumpton?" Freddie mused, having finished his second glass of brandy.

"Are you going to buy the estate before she agrees to the marriage?" Delaney gawped at his confidence.

"What makes you think she will not consent to the marriage?" Freddie frowned, "I have gone through all the reasons why Miss Mifford might refuse me, and I have ruled out that she might object to my looks, my clothing, or my personality--all are wonderful, as you well know. The only objection I can think she might have, is being separated from her family--a problem I can easily solve."

"If you"re certain you won"t end up master of an expensive folly," Delaney exhaled the breath he had been holding, "Then Chesterton in Kensington is your man--he knows every bit of land for sale south of the Tyne, and he"ll arrange things for you, for a fee."

Freddie, who was always glad to delegate tedious tasks to a paid underling, gave a smile of satisfaction.

"My thanks," he said to Delaney, before standing up from his seat, "I shall go now to see him, before he closes for the day."

"Aren"t you going to sleep on it?" Delaney blinked in surprise at his eagerness.

"What"s there to think about?" Freddie gave a Gallic shrug.

He had found the woman he wished to marry, and if a pile of bricks in the Cotswolds was what it would take to make her his, then Freddie would not rest until he owned every brick he could lay his hands on.