Chapter Ten

Life passed excruciatingly slowly for Quin as the days dragged by and they waited to hear if a special license had been obtained from Doctor's Commons and the Archbishop of Canterbury. Meanwhile, the blissful state of being he'd experienced during the kiss he and Augusta shared at the Claremont's ball haunted him with regularity. How did he get so lucky?

Miss Augusta Steere is my lady of the Serpentine.

One dance, one moment in her arms, strengthened his belief in the rightness of Cousin Bess's matchmaking skills. While it was true Delphi's admission tricked them into marriage, he regretted nothing. In fact, he was so overjoyed and felt like employing the town crier to shout his euphoria to the masses on every street corner in London.

And it was all the Black Widow of Whitehall's doing. If he hadn't gone to her and sought her counsel—

He hesitated to think of what might have happened if he hadn't sought his cousin's help. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he anticipated ever locating the woman in the park. Happily, Fate was not unkind.

He and Augusta were well-suited, a belief stemming from the core of his very bones. They would be happy, even if their nuptials could be considered a marriage of convenience. Scandal had been avoided by a false betrothal. That didn't make his desire to be a good husband to Augusta any less important.

For Augusta he ached and planned. He longed to gaze at her face, to hear her speak, to be close to her, to place a trail of tender kisses from her mouth to the beating hollow at the base of her throat. To be hers, to explore her—all of her—to understand and encourage the inner workings of her mind. To build a life together, a family, a future, meaning and purpose.

These were not the burdensome chains he'd heard others describe when discussing marriage. But there was more, and he was keenly aware, the cruelty hitting him full force. He did not have a title. To the uninformed—even Augusta, if he wasn't careful—this haste to marry might be seen as a strange attempt to exceed his social status or conceal the likelihood of pregnancy, which couldn't be further from the truth. He'd made a vow, after his mother's death, never to marry until he could provide for a wife and child. Lack and disease had shortened the lives of those he'd ever loved.

He brushed off the effects these rumors had on him, after working so hard to be a respectable man because tonight he was to attend an intimate dinner in honor of their betrothal. One that would include intimate family, and to which he'd been assigned the task of inviting his own. There was only one problem. He had no family to speak of except for the Black Widow of Whitehall.

"What am I to do?"he'd asked Bess one rainy afternoon. How did a man introduce the only family member he had left, when her name alone invited notorious and salacious whispers? "If I do not produce a member of my family, the Steeres will be suspicious."

Bess's comical stare hadn't amused him. "There are plenty of people in the world who do not have any family left to recommend them."

"In my case, however, that would be a lie. I have a family. You are my family."

"Me?"The dangerous look she'd provided him bankrupted his spirits. "Haven't you learned that some secrets are worth dying for?"

"I agree that our relationship is unconventional, but we are related and you have, by design, introduced me to Miss Steere."

"All is not as it seems, Quin. I care for the girls. Take my word for it, I do. More than anyone can know. Nevertheless, my influence is limited. You must understand this."Several long and troubled minutes passed between them—Bess pensive, him lost in his own counsel. "Grey will be there. As will my daughter. I cannot jeopardize them. Of course, I desire to help. Why wouldn't I? I am not heartless. But what you're asking, dear cousin, is impossible."

"Wear your widow's weeds. A veil can hide anything. Isn't that what you always tell me?"He'd gestured to her office. "Think of it as being no different from a business meeting with a client you do not trust."

"It will not be that easy. I have other reasons for not wanting to attend the Steere's dinner party. Reasons I refuse to divulge. Besides, the connections I have in Whitehall are not hazardous for my health. The connections I have in Mayfair, are."She'd stared blankly at him. "Nothing in life is simple, Quin. You, of all people, must understand this."

"There is time to alert your daughter and Grey. Surely, they can handle the particulars on their end."

"You are that set on me being there? Me, the Black Widow of Whitehall, the abbess of the Lyon's Den, the fallen Venus, the repugnant courtesan?"He'd refused to relent until, finally, her head bobbed with stiff dignity. "Very well. If it is that important to you." She tented her hands beneath her nose. "I suppose it could work, given the right circumstances, and the absence of—"

"It will work."

"What will?" He flinched, then glanced at Bess, unaware that he'd been unknowingly ruminating on their conversation. "Nevermind. We are here," she offered stiffly as the coach ground to a halt. She glanced out the window, drawing his attention to the building that awaited them. "It has been a long time since I've been to this place."

It was dark. Night had fallen three hours earlier. Gas lamps illuminated the street, the light allowing them to see the Steere's townhouse. Built much like the other row houses along the street, it had clean lines, balconies and terraces, iron railings and chimneys, all complimenting the ornamented facade.

Being in an upscale neighborhood no longer intimidated him. He had become accustomed to finer things at this stage of his life, niceties his father had never fathomed. "Are you ready?"

"I am." He reached for her hand, but she hesitated to accept it. "Wait. Are you certain this is what you want?" When he didn't reply, she added, "I do not mean the wedding, of course. But my being here. It is not too late to change your mind. I could not bear—"

"You will not ruin my life. You are my cousin. Family. You belong here, with me, and I am deeply indebted to you for agreeing to do this."

"This will require delicacy, my daughter and her husband, and—"

"I am not asking you to lie. I only want to appear human."

"Quin," she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You are enough."

"Am I?"

The carriage creaked and the door opened, bringing their conversation to an end. He exited first, then turned to help Bess maneuver the steps. How she got around in a veil and heavy skirts without mishap puzzled him, but he straightened the lapels of his coat, placed Bess's hand in the nook of his arm, advanced to the stoop, and approached the large oak door. There, he gave the knocker a brief rap.

Almost instantaneously, the portal opened and an archaic-looking butler appeared. "We've been expecting you, Mr. Prendergast." He glanced at his companion. "And—"

"My cousin." Bollocks! He'd agreed to present Bess as Mrs. Dovesett, one of her many aliases. The name, however, was simply too close to her maiden name, Dove. Even a simpleton could combine the widow's weeds with ‘Dove' and come up with the abbess of the Lyon's Den. Grappling for something less obvious, he reverted to the nickname he'd given her as a child. "Pigeon. Mrs. Pigeon."

Bess's extended talons cut off the blood supply to his forearm. Did she think that he was embarrassed to be seen with her? His gaffe was to prevent her from being discovered.

"Mr. Prendergast and Mrs. Pigeon, do come in. We are expecting you," Greaves said politely, bowing his head.

"Thank you." Despising himself for not being honest, he leaned on his cane and ushered Bess indoors as if escorting her to the butcher's block. A cold knot formed in his stomach as servants swiftly and deftly relieved them of their accoutrements: her cloak; his coat, hat and cane. He almost snatched his cane back, but pride prevented it.

"This way."

They followed Greaves up the wide staircase to the first floor. There, the butler directed them to an elegantly decorated parlor. Bess hesitated to enter the room, the rise and fall of her subsequent sigh shifting the veil. It was so unlike her to be nervous. What was she afraid of?

"Mr. Prendergast and,"—the audible pause broke through Quin's misgivings, freezing him in place—"Mrs. Pigeon."

Bess's height altered perceptibly, the veil obscuring the anxiety and displeasure the tension building in her arm suggested. Damn him for a fool. She had everything to lose by being there. But the threshold had been crossed. The only thing left to do was to get on with it.

Lord and Lady Steere, Lord and Lady Grey, and Augusta sat expectantly waiting in the room.

Augusta was the first to rise and greet them. She wore a fine laurel-colored gown, trimmed with matching ribbon. To emphasize her delicate cheekbones and rosy-bow-shaped lips, her hair had been gathered atop her head with braids and pearls. He drank her in as she smiled enthusiastically, then advanced and stopped before them to curtsy. "Welcome, Mr. Prendergast."

"Thank you." He bobbed his head gallantly. "Miss Steere, allow me to introduce my cousin... Mrs. Pigeon." The name stuck in his throat. Curse me for a fool. Glancing at Bess, he wondered how he could make it up to her. "Mrs. Pigeon. Miss Steere."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Pigeon. Forgive me if I am being too forward by half after only having just met you, but how are you related?"

Bess graciously answered. "We are distant cousins, on my mother's side, and thicker than thieves."

Hesitant to believe that nothing would come like a thief in the night to destroy his present happiness, Quin reached into his coat and pulled out his pocket watch, fidgeting with the fob.

"There is no need to check the hour, Mr. Prendergast. You are right on time, I assure you." After a lengthy pause, Augusta said, "That is an extraordinary pocket watch. Have you had it long?"

"Many years now. It was a gift... from my cousin."

"Is there an inscription?" The fleeting touch of her fingers as she retrieved the watch from his hands sent a jolt of delight through him. "I do so enjoy mysteries."

"I have nothing to hide." Aware of the irony, he pointed to the inner case. "See here."

She read. "‘Don't let your will roar when your power only whispers.'"

"It is an adage from Dr. Thomas Fuller." Bess looked away, as if measuring the room and numbering the exits. Unbeknownst to the Steeres or Greys or Augusta, she was probably familiarizing herself with the characteristics of each person present, especially her daughter- and son-in-law, who, for their part, behaved as if nothing untoward were happening. "Eighteenth century nonsense."

"Not at all." Augusta closed the case and handed the watch back to Quin. "My family enjoys a good quote or two. Don't we, Lottie?"

Quin wondered what the sight of his cousin's daughter did to Bess. How hard was it to be so close to your own flesh and blood without an exchange? What kind of relationship did the duo have when their worlds were so vastly different and socially distant? So many unanswered questions cropped into his mind. For instance, how did the daughter of a courtesan end up in the home of a viscount in Mayfair?

Lady Grey declared, "We have an affinity for Aesop here. Have you heard of him, Mrs. Pigeon?"

"I cannot say that I have," Bess answered, hiding the fact that she did quote Aesop.

As the conversation continued, Lord and Lady Steere kept to themselves, allowing Augusta liberty to perform the pleasantries. Quin assumed, given the way they kept their distance—not to mention the shock of seeing him kiss their daughter at the Claremont's ball—that he had a bigger problem on his hands.

He was going to have to earn their approval.

"And how are you this evening, Mr. Prendergast?" Augusta's question battered the buttresses erected around his heart. "I am delighted you agreed to join us for dinner."

He'd thought of nothing else but her in the hours and days leading up to this moment, wondering if she would change her mind and demand he cry off. "One does not refuse such a gracious invitation."

"Mrs. Pigeon," she said, changing the subject, "I am sad to see that you are in mourning. Do accept my condolences for your loss."

"Do not concern yourself with my circumstances, dear." Bess finally released his arm, lowering hers to her side. "This is a joyous opportunity to meet my cousin's betrothed, and I would not miss it for the world."

He shot Bess a look, though it was anybody's guess if she returned his stare.

"I am grateful you decided to join us." Augusta smiled indulgently.

Lord and Lady Steere, and the Greys, left their sanctuary sofas, their attention riveted to Bess as if their ears hung on every word she said. Rebellious feelings of inadequacy attacked Quin. He would quickly be shown the door, if not thrown on his arse, if the Steeres or Augusta learned Bess's true identity.

"And do you live in Town, Mrs. Pigeon?"

"Yes," Bess answered without preamble. "In the home I shared with my husband."

"Being a widow must be lonely."

"Augusta!" Lady Steere scolded.

"I only meant—"

"To be kind." Bess's voice was deceptively composed beneath the veil. "A lovely glimpse into your character, no doubt. If I may be honest, I hardly have a spare moment to be lonely. My staff—"

"Requires daily supervision, I am sure," Lady Steere said. "As I've been trying to explain to my daughter, maintaining a household requires an attention to detail."

"I concur," Bess said. "A thriving household does not run without a firm hand."

Lord Steere choked, coughing uncontrollably.

Quin groaned.

"You see, Augusta?" Lady Steere added. "A wife is rarely left to her own devices. But that is the method of marrying and managing a house. Being here. There. Everywhere. And everything to everyone."

"Surely marriage cannot be as taxing as that," Augusta asked, incredulously. "I should hardly know where to start."

"I assure you, Miss Steere," he said, holding his head high. "While I have lofty plans for Sevenoaks, I will see that you live a life befitting a woman of your station."

"I am eager to see Sevenoaks." Her gaze was gentle and contemplative. "Do your parents live nearby?"

"My mother died when I was six, my father five years later. The man who took me in passed away two years ago. My cousin is all I have left."

"Quin is an admirable man, and too kind." He shot Bess a warning look, preferring she didn't speak about his past. In his opinion, his demons were no one's business but his own. "He has lost much in thirty years, but one thing will never change. He is a man of integrity, one of the best men I have ever known. And he will move heaven and earth to ensure that you are happy."

Lord Steere raised his glass of brandy before downing the contents. "That is a big order to fill."

"Uncle, are you aware that Augusta and Mr. Prendergast met before Lady Claremont's ball?" Lady Grey asked, gaining everyone's attention. "Ah. I shall tell you then. We were walking in Hyde Park when Mr. Prendergast dropped his cane and Augusta retrieved it for him."

"You did what?"

A blush like a shadow ran across Augusta's cheeks. "It was not as scandalous as that, Papa. He dropped his cane, and I picked it up and returned it to him. We barely said two words to each other."

"Isn't that romantic?" Bess's light tone hinted she found this humorous.

"It is." Lady Grey smiled. "Nothing untoward happened."

"Indeed, Delphi can vouch for that." Augusta chewed her bottom lip and stole a look at him. "If only my sister could share this moment with us now."

"Where is Miss Delphi?" He chastised himself for not noticing her absence earlier, and strived to mask the concern seeping into his voice. "Is she still unwell?"

Augusta sighed forlornly. "She will not be joining us tonight."

"I am very sorry to hear this." And he truly meant every word. Delphi was a beautiful young woman, and beautiful women deserved to be in the thick of things, pampered and pursued. "If there is anything I can do—"

"You have done more than enough." A chill, black silence followed as tension filled the room and a tight knot of dread wrapped around Quin's throat. Lord Steere, the great artifact hunter, approached, his expression almost unreadable as he handed him a glass of spirits. Refusing to cave beneath the man's glower, he accepted the draught of brandy with an appreciative nod. "I have taken your suggestion into consideration and decided to send my daughter to her aunt in Lyme. We shall see if the sea air revives her cheerful nature."

"Lyme Regis, you say?"

"That is good to hear," he said, attempting to draw attention away from Bess's strange reaction to this news. "But I cannot accept credit for the information I gave the Misses Steere. Indeed, it is not my own to claim. I learned about the method six years ago on a trip to Portreath, while the coal shipping industry was under expansion and I invested in Trevithick's Puffing Devil, the Cornish pumping engine."

"Ah, but you have come for a time such as this," Steere said, "and I am in your debt."

"But how do we get Delphi to Lyme in her condition, Papa? There is so much to do before the wedding and I would like her to be an integral part of it. Perhaps we should postpone—"

"No need." Grey's declaration couldn't have been more shocking or predictable. The man made it a habit to intervene at the most inopportune moments. "I will see her safely to Lyme."

At his generous offer, Lady Grey immediately said, "And I will accompany him."

"No!" The alarming tone in Augusta's voice electrified the room, giving everyone pause. "That is to say," she went on, wringing her hands. "There is no one else I would rather escort my sister than you, Lottie. But I need you. As horribly selfish as that may appear, I have never been without either of my sisters. Now Thenie is in Athens and if Delphi travels to Lyme, it would mean very much to me if you stayed to assist me."

"But, of course." Lottie shot Grey a look of apprehension, then righted her spectacles and fondly clasped Augusta's hands.

Quin clenched his, knowing it was futile to intervene, though he wanted to offer the solace his betrothed required. He tried to imagine the turmoil that must be racing through her veins. The intense need to see a beloved sister's good health restored. "You should be the one to escort your sister, Miss Steere."

Bess instantly grabbed his arm.

Before he could find out why, Lord Steere grumbled aloud. "Impossible. Augusta must marry before rumors circulate about the events at the Claremont's ball."

"There is no need to worry, Uncle. Delphi will be in Septimus's capable hands." Lottie smiled, though it was apparent the Greys did not want to be parted. "If you need me, I will happily remain here."

"Dinner is served." The butler's announcement put an end to further discussion about officiants, wedding feasts and travel.

"Now. It is time to celebrate the happy couple." Lady Grey led Augusta by the arm, and followed Greaves into the hall. "We must think and plan."

Lord Steere took his wife's elbow, nodding at Quin and Bess as they passed. Grey, too, bobbed his head cordially. He escorted Bess down the long hall to a set of double doors. There, they entered the dining room, and an extravagantly laid table—candlelight gleaming off of silver salvers and crystal and sugared centerpieces.

"Why do I feel there is more going on here than meets the eye?" he asked striding up beside his cousin.

Bess laid her hand in the crook of his elbow. "Don't take it personally, Quin. All will be revealed, in time."

Drawing up behind them, a fellow he'd never seen before bellowed. "What will be revealed?"

"Papa!" Lady Grey turned, abandoning Augusta to embrace the newcomer.

The shocking scene stole Quin's breath.

He glanced at Bess. "Papa?"