The Vengeful Bridegroom (26 page)

“What is it? The note, is it from Matthew?” Madelene asked anxiously, trying to read her husband’s thoughts.

Gabriel stared at her for a moment before shaking his head. “Ah, no, just word from one of the insurance companies I need to address.”

Madelene sat back in her chair, dismayed. When was Matthew going to contact them?

“And your note?” he inquired after stuffing his message in a top coat pocket.

She showed him the invitation. “What do you think, Mr. Westcott?” she asked her husband, who perused the note.

“Hmm?”

“The ball tonight. It is awfully short notice.”
What to do,
she thought. At any moment, they could hear from her brother, so it would be best not to leave the house. However, she did intend to meet him at the town house tonight. If they attended the ball, she could slip away, provided she had the diamonds in her possession.

She could see his mind pondered something far different from her question. He looked over her and smiled. “It must have been some time since you attended a society event. Why do you not consider going? I don’t know the earl and his wife. It is kind of them to invite us or more particularly, you, since you are the sister of a baronet.”

Madelene nodded. At any other time in her life, she would have loved to attend the gathering and view the latest Paris fashions and visit with old friends. Indeed, it seemed a superficial desire, considering all else.

Lady Patience Londringham. She had last seen Lady Londringham over a year ago. A lovely, vivacious, and daring woman, if the stories were true about how she and the earl, her husband, stopped a band of French spies intent on invading England on the southeast coast many years ago.

She decided to send a note to Lady Londringham accepting the invitation for her husband and herself. Later in the evening, she could claim an illness and slip away from the ball to meet Matthew.

“If it is my decision, then we shall attend.”

Gabriel nodded and, with a smile, turned to leave.

But Madelene was not through with her husband just yet. “Mr. Westcott, please do not keep me in suspense any longer. Where do you keep the diamonds?”

Her husband raised his eyebrows. “Oh, yes. Falstaff. Has anyone seen Falstaff?”

“Ruff, ruff.” The little dog, who lived under the dining-room table waiting for a careless diner to drop a tidbit, heard his name. Madelene felt him brush by her morning dress, unknowing Falstaff had been under the table all this time.

“Here, boy.” Mr. Westcott swept up Falstaff and placed him at the edge of the table, which was covered with a dainty petal pink tablecloth. Gabriel looked at Madelene. “Have a care Mrs. Lavishtock does not learn of this recklessness on her linen tablecloth. But it is all for the good.”

Madelene watched wide-eyed as Gabriel unhooked the little dog’s collar and held it up. “Mrs. Westcott, I made incisions in this leather collar, inserted the diamonds, then sewed the holes tight. The jewels have been in Falstaff’s collar ever since.”

Madelene fell back in her chair. Simply amazing. No one, not her brother, not the count, not Alec would have thought the dog kept them safe. She smiled at her husband’s cleverness and watched as he took a knife and sliced open the leather stitches.

One by one, the diamonds fell onto the tablecloth, ten stones in all.

“I understand from the investigation handled in Florence, Italy, these diamonds were part of an earring and necklace set belonging to the Contessa Rocusco. Count Taglioni, for a time, was the contessa’s lover, and given his greed, stole the set from the contessa. The local constabulary found the London jeweler, who had been paid handsomely to pluck the diamonds from their setting.”

From his buff waistcoat pocket, Mr. Westcott pulled a small leather bag and gathered the diamonds, dropping them into it. “They will be safe with me until we can locate Colgate and George.” He returned the bag to his pocket. “After we find George, we can hand over these diamonds to the London constabulary, who will see they are returned to the rightful owner.”

During the revealing, Falstaff had wandered across the table, sniffing the air and inching ever so close to the finished plates.

“Oh, no you don’t, you little scavenger!” Madelene leapt from her seat to collect the sneaky would-be thief and plopped him on the floor, where he promptly ran out the open dining-room door.

“I have errands this morning I must see to,” Gabriel told Madelene as he excused himself from the dining room.

Madelene smiled, already deep in thought how to get her hands on that leather pouch.

In the front parlor, Madelene hastily wrote a note of acceptance to Lady Londringham and a note for her brother to be delivered to her old home. She said a prayer Matthew would receive the note and bring George to their town house in Bloomsbury. Wouldn’t Gabriel be surprised when she came home this night with George? Indeed, he might be greatly disappointed she had to give the diamonds to Matthew, but she could discern no other satisfactory solution. She spent the rest of the morning putting a plan together.

Madelene lay on her favorite deep blue chaise waiting for word when she heard a timid knock on her door.

“Madam, it’s me, Fanny.”

“Come in, Fanny,” Madelene called and sat up, anxious to learn of her maid’s success. “Well? Do you have news?”

The young woman entered the room and shut the door before replying. “Yes, madam, but it was not easy. I had to be ever so clever so as Mr. Windthorp would not know what I was after.” Fanny held up the buff waistcoat Mr. Westcott wore earlier in the day. “This is what you wanted.”

Madelene sprang from her lounge and over to Fanny, grabbing the piece of material and rifling in the pockets. She held up the leather bag.

“Madam, what is it? Is it very important?” Fanny asked.

“Quite.” Madelene hurried to her dressing table for her reticule and dumped the contents out. Untying the leather string, she opened the bag and dumped the glittering stones into her hand.

“Oh, madam,” Fanny gasped, her jaw dropping.

“Promise me you don’t know what I am about, in case anyone asks you,” Madelene instructed her maid before pouring little soap balls into the leather bag, then shaking the bag. “Yes, it appears to be the proper weight.”

Stuffing the leather bag back into the waistcoat, she turned to face Fanny. “Fanny, please return this waistcoat to Mr. Westcott’s room and ensure no one sees you.”

Fanny nodded, a frown crossing her brow, obviously puzzled by these latest events.

At the door, Madelene called to her. “I need to prepare for the Londringham ball. If you could obtain a light refreshment for me, we’ll start the task of beautifying me.”

“Oh, madam, if it to be called a task, let it also be called terribly effortless to make you even more beautiful,” loyal Fanny told her.

Their eyes met in the looking glass as Madelene sat down at her vanity table. “Why is it you are only a few years older than I, but somehow you appear younger? Perhaps it is the optimism you carry with you. You are a treasure, dear.”

Fanny smiled, curtsied, and hurried out the room to do her mistress’s bidding.

“Rascal, do not ask any questions,” Mrs. Lavishtock instructed the young man severely. The housekeeper sat at the table in the kitchen below stairs eyeing Rascal, who sat nearby eating a pudding cake, one of the bribes given him.

The young man sighed. “Wot is it you’d ’ave me do? Steal from the master? Steal from Mr. Westcott? No, I’d never do such a thing.”

Mrs. Lavishtock gritted her teeth and pushed her royal blue turban back on her gray-haired head. “Besides the money I’ve promised you, what if I told you it was a matter of life or death?”

Rascal cocked his head and looked at her with narrowed eyes. She could tell he was becoming interested in the subject. “’ose life and ’ose death? As long as it’s not mine, don’t matter.”

“Come, come, ’tis quite serious. Even though it might seem like you’re stealing from the master, you’ll actually be doing him a favor.” She pushed a star confection in his direction. “Here, have another.”

“I don’t know. It does seem furtive, if I say so myself,” the young man told her in earnest.

Mrs. Lavishtock sighed, never realizing it would be this difficult to convince the young groomsman. It was like trying to part Falstaff and a biscuit. And the word “furtive”? Wherever could he have learned—Cappie, of course. Not only was the elder coachman teaching Rascal how to read and write, he was also trying to improve the young man’s vocabulary.

Unwilling to give up, she appealed to his vanity. “Rascal, the reason I’m asking you to do this is because I trust no other to get the job done,” she told him.

“Well, ’ow do I know, when Mr. Westcott learns of my doings, ’e won’t send me off to the work ’ouse or even the gaol?” Rascal folded his arms in front of him and waited.

“Because I’ll tell Mr. Westcott this was all my doing and you did this under my direction.”

Rascal brushed the hair out of his eyes and stood up, first grabbing the confection, and nodded. “Keep these sweets at the ready, and I’ll take a wander up to Mr. Westcott’s room to look for this leather bag.”

“Wait, young man.” Mrs. Lavishtock pulled her roly-poly body away from the table and stood, pulling a small fabric bag from the voluminous folds of her skirt. “All that needs doing is to replace the leather bag in the master’s waistcoat with this one. He’ll never know the change. Think it can be done?”

In reply, Rascal rolled his eyes at the effrontery. In total insouciance, the young man left the kitchen.

She looked after her young cohort and shook her head. She would make this right for her mistress and master. Satisfied she could do no more, she turned her attention to tea.

At the punctual hour of nine o’clock that evening, Mr. Westcott, refined in white waistcoat and white neckcloth, black dress coat with long tails, and breeches, escorted Madelene down the arched center stairway in the Londringhams’ large town house on Berkley Square.

Madelene was most pleased with her pale lemon muslin dress with capped sleeves, a dark blue ribbon tied under her bosom, white gloves, and daisies in her dark curls. Walking down the elegant staircase, Madelene smiled, remembering the dark and possessive look Mr. Westcott gave her before they climbed into their carriage. Especially when he whispered in her ear that he wanted to find the ties to her silk hose later. Did he know he caused her to quiver at his suggestion? In all likelihood, indeed.

A number of dancers already crowded the floor to the music of an English country dance. Having known her husband for a brief span of time, she knew not whether Gabriel could dance. She loved to dance, and many a partner had delighted in her gracefulness, or so they had complimented her.

Madelene might be inclined to dance with her husband, but she must keep in mind her part in the drama to unfold later. She would be hard-pressed to enjoy the evening with the worry that surrounded her like her own cashmere shawl.

They walked through crowds enjoying libations or waiting to dance along the gold-trimmed walls of the ballroom, while acknowledging acquaintances on the way toward a row of chairs when they heard their names called.

“Madelene Colgate. Oh goodness, Mrs. Westcott! I am not accustomed as of yet to your new surname!” Lady Patience Londringham floated across to greet them.

“She was a phantom of delight—” Wordsworth’s words came unbidden to Madelene. Surely he had composed those words to describe Patience, Lady Londringham. With deep green eyes and rich reddish brown hair, her face bright, dressed in the palest of greens with feathered green headdress, she was a vision. The warmth and generosity in such lovely proportions could seldom be found in London’s
haut ton.

Lady Londringham had befriended Madelene last year at one of the masquerades. Patience simply couldn’t credit Madelene had created her own costume of the fairy Tatiana from
A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
It was at the ball when Patience admired her costume that Madelene had confided in the older woman her talent and fascination to adapt French patterns for British fashion.

Because Madelene was concerned about society’s acceptance of her trade as a modiste, Lady Londringham had named herself Madelene’s patron in secret. She found a Frenchwoman on Bond Street who would sell Madelene’s designs under the fictitious name of “Madame Quantifours.”

Her infant business continued despite her father’s passing only a few months later, which left Madelene bereft and unsure about her shop. She had been on the verge of sharing her success with her father, although not quite confident of his reception of her work. Without her father, she had thought to retire her yearling business.

“Lady Londringham! It seems quite a time since I’ve last seen you, but surely, not so long,” Madelene greeted her friend warmly.

The friends embraced before Madelene turned to present her husband to Patience. “Mr. Westcott, I’d like you to meet Lady Patience Londringham, the Earl of Londringham’s wife.”

Gabriel took the gloved hand Patience presented and bowed over it. “It is a pleasure to meet someone of such renowned fame. Some years have passed, but tongues still linger over Miss Patience Mandeley’s adventures to save her brother.”

Unwittingly reminding Madelene of her own current dilemma.

Patience blushed, not realizing her husband had joined the trio and slipped his arm about her trim waist. Lord Londringham added, “Would there be more daring women in the world, we men would have little time to rest.” He stepped forward to bow to Madelene and greet her husband. “Mr. Westcott, I’m sure you realize what a wonderful lady you have married.”

Before Gabriel could reply, Patience added, “Madelene, my dear, we were very surprised, not only by your hasty nuptials but that you married
Mr. Westcott.
” The last statement was made for Madelene’s hearing only when Lady Londringham took her arm, and they walked over to one of the empty gold sofas. Their husbands followed, probably believing they had much gossip to share.