Page 62

Duke of Chelmsford’s Mansion

Berkley Square, Mayfair

C aptain Eleanor Goodrum Whitcombe, otherwise known as the elegant Duchess of Chelmsford, smelled a rat. And he’d appeared at their front door that morning to call on Percy. When her husband had exited from his meeting with Lord Reynolds, his face was pale with rage.

She and Olivia had been reading through nearly a week’s worth of The Morning Post , but when the two men arrived in the family sitting room, the air was so thick with animosity, they both set aside the gossip sheets.

“Olivia, Lord Reynolds has asked my permission to call on you, but I will not agree to such an arrangement until I hear you say this is what you want.”

The baron smirked at Olivia. “Of course, this is something we both want, isn’t it, my dear?”

“I want to hear what Olivia has to say, in her own words.”

If anyone could slay with a look, it was Percy Whitcombe, Duke of Chelmsford. El could almost feel the floor of the sitting room vibrate with Percy’s anger and his raised eyebrow signaled a warning no other being in the ton could mistake.

“I…I’m honored that Lord Reynolds chooses to call on me.” Olivia kept her head bowed while answering so that her words came out semi-muffled.

El was certain from the trembling and softness in her voice that Olivia wanted nothing of the sort, but her instincts honed from many years of tight situations and negotiations told her to keep silent.

“Then I shall collect you this evening at eight for a rout at the Countess Zofterhollen’s townhouse.” With that, the odious man bid them good day and rushed out to his curricle, relieving his tiger of the reins.

The room remained unnaturally silent for many minutes whilst Olivia kept her head down. El was not fooled. She could see tears dripping off the silly goose’s nose. When she finally looked up, it was to announce she’d be taking her lady’s maid as chaperone.

“No, you won’t,” El said. “Tonight, I’m coming along as your chaperone.”

This time, Olivia’s face blanched. “No, please. You shouldn’t have to put up with him.”

“I don’t know what’s going on here, but I don’t trust that bastard. If he tries anything with either one of us tonight, I’ll slit his throat and drink his blood.”

At that point, the duchess’s warlike threats were interrupted by the arrival of Lady Alice, Sinjin, and baby P.D.

Alice immediately dragged Olivia up to her bedchamber for a private talk.

O nce they were alone on their usual cross-legged perch atop the counterpane on Olivia’s bed, Alice gave her a stern look. “You have to tell me. What in Hera’s name is going on with you and that horrible Baron Reynolds?”

Olivia had had enough of sobbing and feeling sorry for herself. She slid off the bed and began to pace. She turned at last and stared at Alice. “We have to destroy him.”

“Whew…that’s a little strong.”

“No, it’s not. He deserves whatever we can devise to make him wish he’d never been born.”

“Good heavens…what has he done ?”

“He’s a blackmailer.”

“Your best friend is a Peeler. Turn that insect of a man in to the police.”

“I can’t prove anything. It’s just my word against his.”

“Who is he trying to blackmail?”

“Me. He’s threatening to expose my real name and embarrass the duke and Aunt El if I don’t go along with an engagement and marriage so he can get his hands on my dowry.

He’s been taking money from my mother for years for what he claimed was my upkeep.

And now he’s also threatening to expose her for having a bastard child and ruin her career in the opera. ”

“Wait,” Alice said, and crawled closer to the edge of the bed, nearer to Olivia. “Your mother? I thought she abandoned you years ago?”

“So did I, but it appears the opera singer, Miss Villeneuve, may indeed be my mother. He’s been lying to her for years and extorting money he never gave to anyone to care for me.”

“How did you find out?”

“Someone submitted an anonymous on dit to The Morning Post , saying she had an unacknowledged daughter with eyes the same unusual color as hers…a daughter who was about to have a coming-out ball in Mayfair.”

Alice’s mouth dropped open, and for the first time in Olivia’s memory, her friend seemed speechless.

Eventually, Olivia demanded, “How are we going to bring down this monster?”

After some thought, she said, “I have an idea. Remember what we did to those rakes who made your last Season miserable?”

“Of course. But we can’t put itching nettles in his shirts. Everyone would remember the last time we did it, and then we’d all be in the soup, including poor Sinjin.”

“Then here’s a better plan. There all sorts of nasty potions we use at the laundry to clean stubborn stains. When he’s planning to go to a big event, we’ll bribe someone in his kitchen to add a smidgen to his soup or something, so that he’ll lose physical control of his innards in public.”

“Ewww…we can’t do that.” Alice hunched her shoulders and squinted with her eyes before suddenly opening them wide. “What if you accidentally kill him?”

“Not a chance. I know what I’m doing. All I’ll use is just a tiny bit to make him a laughingstock in public.”

P ercy knew better than to argue with his duchess when she made terrifying threats, because he knew she was more than capable of carrying them out.

However, he did shudder at this particular wild plan to chaperone Olivia.

No matter. He had important messages to send.

He grabbed a couple of footmen on the way to his study so that he could rally his own private army of spies without delay.

J ameson tapped at the door to the family sitting room at precisely eight o’clock, intoning in his familiar, gravelly voice, “Lord Reynolds has arrived.”

“Send him up,” the duke ordered, without looking toward his wife and Olivia who sat stiffly nearby on a wildly floral-patterned, silk settee.

Jameson nodded and walked rapidly away and down the staircase to the ground floor. Their stoic butler, a former sergeant in Captain Atherton’s cavalry division, made obvious his disdain for Reynolds in every bit of body language he could muster.

A normal, concerned husband of the ton might balk at allowing his duchess and niece to ride off into the night with a man of such questionable moral character.

However, Percy knew for a fact no harm would come to them, because he’d been with El earlier that evening as she strapped numerous weapons to her person.

Watching his wife, erm, arm herself was one of his favorite things.

Baron Reynolds was no match for his smuggling pirate of a wife.

Most of the time, Eleanor scared the hell out of him, but he’d trusted her once with his life, and she hadn’t let him down.

He knew no harm would come to either her, or poor Olivia, who was trying hard to mask her trembling whilst awaiting the baron’s appearance.

He was also reasonably sure his pretend-niece was armed and knew how to take care of herself as well.

She was, after all, Dickie Jones’s sister.

And speaking of Dickie…the duke pulled out his pocket watch. He’d summoned a war council which would be gathering as soon as the women left with Lord Reynolds.

J ameson, Percy’s oldest, and most trusted, servant poured small crystal tumblers of brandy whilst Col, Dickie, and Will took turns filling him in on what they’d discovered thus far about Baron Reynolds.

The look on detective and sometime Bow Street Runner Archer Colwyn’s face was grim. “This man is one of the most prolific blackmailers I’ve ever encountered, and he’s been plying his trade for years beneath the noses of the magistrates and Runners…”

The duke motioned for Jameson to pass around the drink and then interjected. “You seem as if there’s more you want to say, but aren’t quite ready to reveal.”

“It’s…it’s just that the immensity of his network of blackmail victims is so stunning as to be unbelievable.”

“In other words,” Dickie filled in, “‘e’s probably got a network of Runners and Peelers being paid to keep their gobs shut.”

Silence filled the room as they each savored their drinks before setting their tumblers back down.

“How can you be so sure?”

Col leaned forward. “Dickie came to me even before your message arrived. We’ve been shadowing him for days.”

“Is it just him, or does he have a network of collectors?” Percy motioned for Jameson to refill the men’s tumblers.

“Looks like it’s just him.” Col shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s a bloody full-time job for the bastard, it is.” Dickie fairly vibrated with animosity toward the man.

Will added what he knew. “We’ve all been following him in shifts, and one of the nights I followed him, he ended up at a very interesting address.”

The other three men turned toward him at once. “Where?” Percy demanded.

“Madame Clarot’s modiste shop on Bond Street.”

No one said another word, but Percy could almost hear a final piece of the puzzle dropping into place. That could explain the leak to The Morning Post . Why hadn’t they all thought of that?

Percy could sense when they all came to the same conclusion, but it was Dickie who snapped his fingers and explained, “The seamstresses working on Olivia’s wardrobe must have also done work for the opera star, Miss Villeneuve.”

Col added, “The unusual color of both women’s eyes probably alerted them to a connection, and the one of them being blackmailed probably needed the money she got from the gossip sheet for passing on the on dit .”

A pril 28, 1830

Countess Zofterhollen’s Townhouse

Hanover Square, Mayfair

Olivia’s skin literally felt like snakes were slithering across her whilst she watched the baron work his smooth way through the crush of revelers at Lady Zofterhollen’s rout.

He had a small notebook he kept secreted within his waistcoat, but pulled out and recorded notations periodically if he heard a particularly interesting piece of gossip.