Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

P atience was annoyed. Not only had Major Stuart neglected to accompany them to the dinner, but he was late. It was clear that Lady Fagge was also irritated by the slight and was holding off dinner as long as possible.

The drawing room, though perhaps once the height of fashion, bore the marks of shabbiness compared to the splendour of Taywards. Faded damask curtains and worn carpets gave evidence to that theory. The elegant furniture, though crafted from fine mahogany, showed signs of wear, with threadbare upholstery and the occasional creak of overuse. Apparently, all of the Fagge funds went to Rupert's toilette.

She'd already endured Rupert's clammy hands and spittle in her face. Why did he not wear gloves? And why must he stand so close?

It would have been much better if all of the soldiers had been able to attend that night so she would not feel cornered by the attentions of one person, but at least when Major Stuart finally arrived, she knew she'd have an ally.

As she tried to discreetly wipe away the latest spray of spittle from Rupert's machinations about something or other, she remembered that they were supposed to be considering any of the neighbours that might have involvement in the scheme and or who might be delivering missives to Devil.

She scanned the party that had gathered thus far. By far the largest group was that of the Fagges with their three daughters and two sons. It was hard to imagine any of them with enough wits to organize such an operation as they behaved as though they all shared one brain together. Perhaps it was harsh, but they had yet to convince her otherwise.

The remainder of the party, besides the one from Taywards, consisted of the other local gentry. A vicar and his wife who were elderly with twenty grandchildren and as sweet as could be. A very unlikely candidate.

The only other possibility was the Honourable Charles Greening, the third son of a viscount, who did not strike her as anything but refined. He was well-mannered and unpretentious—well-dressed but not a dandy who overspent his income. His wife was elegant, but quiet, and spoke of their three young children with love.

No one fit the bill of someone she would call a scheming criminal. For that's what would be necessary to steal a shipment of arms from the government, was it not?

"Why are you frowning, my dear?" Rupert asked with concern. Had he finally noticed she was paying him no mind?

"Just thinking about the criminal at Taywards. It is difficult to understand why he is still there."

"I wish I could understand it myself. Why would Westwood keep all of the ladies there in danger?"

"He is doing no such thing," she argued hotly. "I am certain he has his reasons. Not that he would share them with me." She remembered herself almost too late. Not that she suspected Rupert, but neither should she give anything away in case someone was listening.

"Of course not. Although it is rather strange not to have already sent the man to Newgate."

"I believe they were discussing that very thing," she said evasively.

"I am glad to hear it. The sooner the blackguard is gone from the neighbourhood, the better. You must promise me you will not go traipsing about the grounds alone again."

"With all of the soldiers around to protect me, I am not worried. You yourself were there." The last person she would heed was this man.

"I am capable of defending myself, though." He puffed out his chest, though it was already rather far out to begin with.

Patience clenched her jaw and ground her teeth so she did not pull the dagger she kept hidden on her person out and stab him in the heart with it.

The butler appeared. Apparently, they had grown tired of waiting for Major Stuart. However, instead of announcing dinner, he announced the infuriating man and Captain Fielding. Then, of course, he would outshine every other gentleman in the room looking impeccable in the Guard's Regimentals. "Forgive our tardiness, but duty called." One smile from him, and he charmed Lady Fagge into forgiveness. Patience wouldn't be surprised if she melted into a puddle at his feet.

"We understand, sir," she cooed. "Where would we be without gentlemen like yourselves to protect us?"

Patience looked to the ceiling with disgust.

"Now that all of our guests have arrived, shall we go on in to dinner?" It was clear that Lady Fagge intended to monopolize Major Stuart. When they were seated about the table, she put her two eldest daughters to either side of him. Predictably, Patience was seated next to Rupert, though his conversation surprised her as they received the first course and began to eat.

"Parliament will be in session soon. Will you be removing to London when Lord Westwood does?"

"We have not yet spoken of our plans. Everything at the moment revolves around Lady Westwood and her confinement. I suspect he will choose to go back and forth."

"Oh, yes, of course."

"Will you be removing to London yourself? I know it is only a short ride there when you need entertainment."

"But what I seek is right here," he said pointedly. Surely he didn't mean her?

"And what is there to delight a man of your sophisticated tastes here?" The sarcasm in her question eluded him, and had quite the effect of him again puffing out his chest with pride that she had noticed such a quality in him.

Major Stuart was sitting directly across from her and raised a brow at her question. He was eavesdropping, drat the man.

"Why you, of course."

Patience began to choke on her soup.

"Are you all right, Miss Whitford?" Stuart drawled from across the table. He was enjoying every minute of her discomfort. She glared at him between unladylike coughs.

Rupert put a glass of water to her lips and she took it from his hand. That would be the last straw of her dignity at the moment to have him hold her glass.

Once her coughs settled, and the others had returned to their conversations, Rupert must have decided since she had not rebuffed him thus far, he could continue.

"Indeed, Miss Whitford, if you have not gathered by now, I intend to speak to your brother-in-law about courting you in earnest. My prospects have recently improved such that I can comfortably support a wife in the leisure to which you're accustomed, even before I inherit the baronetcy."

She opened her mouth to give him a set down when she felt a kick under the table. Her eyes looked up swiftly to see Major Stuart give her a slight shake of his head. Did he mean for her to encourage Rupert? What could he mean by that? Did he wish for her to draw Rupert out? She glanced at him, attempting to discern his meaning.

"I-I am very happy for your good fortune," she said carefully. "Have you made some investments? If they are so good, perhaps Westwood would be pleased to know about them."

Stuart gave her an approving nod.

"You could say that," Rupert replied, lowering his voice.

"Oh, I see. You do not wish for others to know about it?"

His eyes darted nervously around the table. "I would rather not have word get out that I have made my fortune, if you know what I mean."

"Indeed, sir. Your secret is safe with me." She mimicked his low voice.

"I also do not think the friend that enlightened me to the scheme would appreciate sharing the wealth, so to speak."

"Oh, I only thought it might be something in which my brother would wish to invest. I can see it is not that sort of scheme." She waved her hand as though the thought had already left her mind. And Rupert was not acting his normal self. She tried to think of how else to draw him out as she turned to give her time to her other dinner partner, Mr. Greening. It was clear Rupert did not wish to tell her more about how he made his fortune as he put it, but what if this friend was the mind behind the theft and he was using Rupert as a puppet in his scheme? Rupert must have friends in London, but she'd never actually run into him there. When it was time and she turned to him again, those questions were burning in her mind. Was he not welcome in Westwood's circles? If he had an unsavoury reputation, then surely Westwood would not associate with them here. He was at least ten years Westwood's junior, so perhaps he ran about with a younger crowd. However, if he was seeking to court her, that was not the behaviour of someone running wild with their set. She frowned, trying to work out the mystery.

Ashley sat across from Patience and amongst the two eldest Fagge daughters. She stood out like a rose amongst the thorns. However, he knew she had her own well-hidden ones, including her prickly tongue.

He could not keep from listening to her conversation. She was doing an admirable job of trying to draw Rupert out. Was his idiocy all an act? Or was he merely the pawn of Layton's son? He would have to be looked into. Ashley had a strong dislike for the plump tulip. It certainly could not be because of his obvious interest in Patience Whitford.

If only he could be the one to interrogate Rupert, but talking across the table simply was not done in polite circles. Not that he thought anyone would mind in such a small gathering in the country. Certainly any host with as many marriageable daughters would forgive anything to a wealthy bachelor with such connections as Ashley had. He would have to wait until the ladies left.

When the ladies withdrew, and the port was poured, Ashley took the opportunity to move close to Rupert. Westwood raised a brow as Rupert was not exactly Ashley's normal sort of acquaintance. He would have to explain the conversation he heard earlier.

"Mr. Fagge," he said, leaning back lazily in his chair and swirling his port. "Do you mind if I call you Rupert? We are neighbours of sorts."

Of course, Rupert looked pleased as Ashley suspected he would.

"And you may call me Ash, like my friends do, if you choose. We never crossed paths much before. I was mostly away at school and then with the army. May I ask what your interests are?"

"M-m-mine?" He sputtered as though no one had ever asked him such a thing.

Ashley shrugged with Gaelic nonchalance. "I don't have much time for amusements hereabouts, but surely you must know what there is. Westwood has become eminently respectable since his marriage." Ashley's mouth formed a moue of distaste.

"To be honest, there is very little here unless you've an interest in the river. All other pursuits, you must unfortunately ride back into Town."

"As I suspected. But the river you say? Do you mean boating?"

Rupert shook his head then leaned forward as though he were going to say something very clever. "Speculation," he enunciated with a great deal of spittle.

"Oh, is this the investment you mentioned to Miss Whitford?" He tried to look abashed. "I could not help but overhear a little."

His eyes held a knowing and self-important gleam. "Indeed. And if you could assist me in the matter of convincing Miss Whitford to accept my suit, I might be inclined to let you in on the secret. We would be family then, after all."

"Ah, I see. Miss Whitford might not appreciate my meddling. She is rather strong-willed."

"Nothing my firm hand could not mould into a dutiful wife."

"Just so." Ashley could only hope that he was a better actor than what he was feeling inside. Because his blood was like a molten pipe about to erupt in a massive explosion, which took Rupert's head with it. Right now, he could not afford to alienate this pompous arse.

But he did have an empty glass, and the decanter was sitting right in front of Ashley. Perhaps just a little more port to loosen the man's tongue? Ashley couldn't think of any better alternative at the moment. It might even be worth trying on Devil, though he imagined it would take a great quantity before Devil spilled his secrets. He was protecting that young boy.

They listened to the conversation around them while Ashley kept refilling Rupert's glass. His cheeks were now ruddy, his eyes glossy, and his speech was well slurred.

In a break in the conversation, Ashley swirled the red liquid in his glass watching it as it spun into a nice little vortex. "So how can I be sure the speculation will be worth my while?"

Rupert giggled. Yes, giggled. There was something disturbing about a grown, rotund man giggling like a small child. Ashley had to turn away from the sight of his multiple chins jiggling with mirth.

"I don't know about you, but as the second son, I would think thousands of pounds would be very worth your while."

Ashley raised his brows, showing appropriate intrigue.

"Now I have your 'tenshion."

"Indeed, you do."

"So you'll help me?"

Ashley pretended to think. He swirled his port back into another nice vortex. "How do you suggest I help?" he asked.

"Help me meet with her alone. Maybe draw her to the western gate so we can walk."

Ashley frowned. "I'll not be party to compromising her," he said. "That is quite a different matter than helping your courtship. Besides, Westwood has forbidden her from going out alone."

Rupert scoffed, which drunk, produced an inordinate amount of spray.

Ashley was compelled to take his handkerchief and dab at the unfortunate remains that had hit his face. "Why scoff, sir?" Ashley asked in a tone that was difficult to disguise as other than irritation.

"Because I met her out alone only thish morning."

"I see." Ashley took a fortifying sip of his own port. "And where did you meet her?"

"She was near the turnstile between the estates." He spluttered more as though he realized what he'd confessed.

Ashley's suspicion grew more and more by the moment.

"I was coming to speak with Lady Westwood about the dinner."

So he says. "I tell you what, I will put some favourable words into Miss Whitford's ear about you, though I am certain your own charms will do more than any of my words could."

"You really think sho?" he slurred pitifully.

No, nothing short of public compromise would ever compel Miss Whitford to accept this man's suit, and that would happen over Ashley's dead body.

"Say, Missh Whitford did mention you still have that vagrant you found on the property. Why is he shtill there? I wouldn't think you'd want him near the ladies."

Ashley felt Fielding stiffen beside him. He would have to warn Patience to hold her tongue. She would compromise their efforts!

Ashley waved his hand. "He will be gone shortly. It's only been a matter of transport, but I assure you, the ladies are well-protected from him."

It occurred to Ashley that if Rupert were the go-between, he might be provoked into revealing himself. If they could somehow involve him—or make him think he was—and give him access to Devil, it ought to be quickly apparent if there was a link.

Ashley glanced at Fielding, who seemed to be considering the same thing, and then nodded. He leaned forward and slapped Rupert on the back, acting as though he was just as inebriated. He lowered his voice and looked around. "I'll say, Rupert, we've been trying to get the man to talk a little and tell us where his friends are. We don't think he was vandalizing the properties alone."

"Why, why would you think that?"

Ashley shrugged. "Just a hunch my commander has."

"Oh?"

Ashley nodded. "Mayhap with your superior knowledge of the area, you could help us."

"Me?" he asked us, though no one had ever asked for his help before. It seemed to be a common theme with him.

"Why not? We aren't having any luck. Why don't you give him a go? Fresh eyes and all that." Ashley waved his hand back and forth.

"I suppose I could."

"Excellent!" Ashley slapped him on the back again then refilled his glass before raising his own. "A toast! To a new partnership."

"A new partnership," Rupert slurred as he barely managed to raise his glass.

One thing Ashley knew for certain, Patience was not going to like his next plan, and he almost felt guilty for asking it of her.