Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection

“Very good,” she said when he caught it between his teeth before it disappeared into his mouth. “Now, while I deal with this chicken, tell me about the unfortunate Geoffrey Quinton and his broken arm.”

“Yes, my queen.” He retrieved a pair of wineglasses and poured a quantity into each one. Her portion was rather miserly, but that probably was sensible.

He began by explaining that Quinton was not anyone’s bosom chum. He was an earl’s son, yes, but a sadly disappointed second son—his older brother having already produced four male progeny with his fertile wife. He possessed no title, no prospects, little allowance and a predilection to breaking noses as often as most people broke bread. He’d avoided fighting in the late war, something that Coop apparently saw as a large black mark against the man, and was whispered to have rented out his fists. He clung to the fringes of Society, but only because of his father’s title.

“But, at the heart of it, Geoff is a coward,” he told Dany as she settled in with a chicken leg, ignoring the utensils in order to grasp it in both hands. “I’ve never known him to confront anyone remotely larger or stronger than himself. Which brings us to the man’s predicament. Steady yourself, Dany, because you won’t like this.”

“He beat someone to death? He’s attempted to slaughter his brother and nephews? What? Tell me.”

“He was instructed to kill me.”

Dany paused with the chicken leg halfway to her mouth. “Kill you? How?”

“Messily, as a matter of fact. With his fists. He has fists like small hams, by the way,” Coop told her, looking at her overtop the brim of his wineglass. “The demand for blackmail would go away once I was dead, while punishment for not complying would mean his own death. He was given three days to complete his ‘mission.’ According to Darby, the man was in a high state of agitation, and seemed nearly overjoyed to be able to share his dilemma with him.”

Dany’s mind was whirling. “So Darby broke the man’s arm, to put him...what? Out of the game?”

“He told Geoff to consider it a favor, yes. And said he’d return to break the other one if we so much as sniffed one of his cohorts following me. Geoff was ordering his man to pack him up for a visit to his father the earl even as Darby was leaving. Yes, Darby had also suggested that he do so.”

“I knew the viscount could be dangerous. He’s too silly not to be.” Dany put down the chicken leg, her appetite gone and her hands noticeably shaking. Sucking lightly at each faintly greasy fingertip, she spoke as she thought. “He...but would he have done it? Killed you, I mean. In the next three days? Oh, God, Coop. If we hadn’t...if you and I had never met, if we hadn’t found out about Mrs. Yothers...if we—what do you mean, three days? And who are these cohorts?”

Coop drained his glass. “I was waiting for you to pick up on that, although I admit to being distracted, watching you at the moment.”

Dany spoke around her middle finger, which she was just then lightly sucking on, using the tip of her tongue to, she hoped, discreetly coax a bit of chicken out from under her fingernail. “Why are you looking at me like that? I don’t understand.”

“Good. Now, to get back to what we know. Geoff had been approached over a month ago, for blackmail, to avoid having the world know he supplements his allowance robbing coaches with his small gang of undoubtedly dangerous hired cohorts. Ferdie found out about that—how I don’t know, save to say he’s been planning his revenge on us for a long time. The demand to rid the world of me arrived by note just this morning, in fact, only an hour ahead of Darby. Apparently Geoff’s problem didn’t seem to affect his appetite.”

“This morning. Because he—Ferdie—knows we’re onto him. We truly have backed him into a corner, haven’t we? And ourselves, I suppose.”

“We have. Third chapbook or not, Ferdie must believe it won’t be published in time to save him from me.”

“Because you would go straight at him, chapbook be damned,” Dany said, not without pride.

“Miss Foster, such language!” He poured them each more wine. “Luckily, our friend Ferdie isn’t aware that we’ve yet to come up with a plan to best him, to get your sister’s letters back, to stop the publication of the chapbook.”

“We were working on it,” she told him, patting his hand. “We would have come up with something soon. We will, won’t we?”

“There’s no more time for finesse, I’m afraid. I’ll have to directly confront him, find out what he really knows about...about Quatre Bras.”

Dany withdrew her hand. She couldn’t let him know how that prospect terrified her. Besides, she had something else on her mind. “Probably more than I know, which is nothing. Do you know something, my lord Townsend? I believe I’m rather more angry with you than I’m frightened for what Ferdie is planning. What do you intend to do about that?”

“At the moment? Nothing.”

“Nothing? How—how can you say that?”

“Dany, it’s not my secret to tell, only mine to keep. Besides, Ferdie may be bluffing. He certainly didn’t have the thing correct in the chapbooks, thank God.”

“The signet ring.” She nodded her understanding. “And not the woman? I know what you said, but I feel compelled to ask again.”

“I had rather thought you would. I’ve been putting some thought to that. He seems bent on condemning me as a rotter with women, which is a far cry from the truth of the matter. The more I consider the thing, the more I really think he’s been bluffing about knowing something havey-cavey about Quatre Bras, and just made a lucky guess on that end, probably so that I’m disgraced in the eyes of the Crown that, remember, showered me with a title and estate. Not that I wouldn’t be destroyed, in either case, not to mention imagining my head on the block if he did somehow know the entire truth.” He stood up, and held out his hands to assist her to her feet. “Come on, we’ll take a walk. This might be easier if you’re not looking directly at me.”

Dany quickly complied. She was getting what she wanted. Now to see if she might have been better off not knowing. “Do you want me to put my bonnet on again, to act as blinders?”

He slipped an arm around her waist, and she returned the favor. “No, you’re short enough. As long as you don’t raise your head and skewer me with those resolve-melting eyes of yours,” he joked, planting a kiss on her hair.

She couldn’t be bothered with feeling happy about his clear admiration of her eyes. “Just tell me one thing before you begin. Have you told Darby and Rigby the truth? Anyone?”

“I’ve been lying, hopefully convincingly, to anyone who asks, mixing fact with a bit of fiction. I don’t think I’ve given the same answer twice, so that I’m even confused from time to time as to which lie I told last. To know the whole truth would put them in danger. I also feel the truth doesn’t show me in the best of lights, I’m afraid. Are you sure you still want to know?”

“I’m not going to have anyone drive me around Mayfair, shouting out the truth to anyone, so yes, I think I’ll be safe enough, thank you. Besides, men usually don’t tell women anything important, do they?”

Coop laughed. “Would you like an abbreviated listing of the empires that have fallen, just on that mistaken assumption? Oh, and notice that I’m telling you something important, and have been, since the day we met.”

Dany sighed. “Yes, but I’m very persuasive.” Then she lowered her head to cover her blush, as the true import of what she’d just said struck home.

They walked along the bank of the stream, Dany ignoring the beauty of their surroundings, barely able to contain herself as Coop apparently searched for a way to tell her about that day at Quatre Bras.

“You know that we were in Brussels, awaiting Bonaparte, hoping he’d lag behind Blücher’s arrival, as we were very possibly outnumbered. Plus, it was Bonaparte, the acknowledged master of military strategy. Wellington had his victories, but he’d never before faced the emperor.”

“May I nod, indicating I do know that?”

“Yes, you may nod,” he agreed, dropping another kiss on the top of her head.

“Good. You may also take that nod as meaning please get to the point.”

“I’m more used to giving orders, you know. But I will attempt to be brief. Bonaparte was on the loose, and gathering support at an alarming rate. This less than a year after the Peace Celebrations and Prinny acting cock of the walk as the man who’d bested the upstart Napoleon. Our Prince Regent apparently was curled up under the covers in his bed, fearing the English populace might rise in support of the common man. Remember, our returning soldiers had not come home to a land suddenly running with milk and honey, but to half pay and soaring prices, and were quickly forgotten. The French had to be soundly defeated in Belgium, once and for all, and Bonaparte put in a cage he could not possibly escape. Wellington and our allies were a strong force to be reckoned with but, rather like Ned Givens, Prinny didn’t quite like the odds. He, or probably his advisers, decided to even those odds.”

“That was fairly concise, thank you. Go on.”

“I suppose I should release you from your vow of silence, since you seem beyond adhering to it, anyway. Very well. Bonaparte had one weakness. Two actually. His wife, the Empress Marie Louise, and his son, Napoleon the Second, born the King of Rome, among other titles. Both had fled France and were safely ensconced in Austria, where the empress supposedly formally renounced her husband as a criminal, opening the door for all of Europe to capture and cage him.”

Dany nodded again, and then again. She was aware of the story, and had wondered how much influence the empress’s family had exerted on her to brand the father of her child a criminal.

“Bonaparte was desperate to be reunited with his wife and child. Prinny and his advisers...well, it appears they decided to give him that opportunity. If not them precisely, somehow or other Prinny had to be in on the plot up to his third chin, or else I never would have been declared the hero of anything, let alone named a baron.”

“The woman in the field. That was the empress?” Dany quickly lowered her head, and apologized. “Forgive me. Go on. But please hurry.”

“I don’t know who the woman was—we didn’t exchange introductions—but she could curse like a fishmonger, in both French and German, and gifted me with a few nasty scratches on my cheek. Once I got her safely into the trees and stood her up, and her cloak fell away, I was immediately struck by her resemblance to the empress. I’d seen portraits, you understand, not that I wasn’t helped by the fact that she was wearing what appeared to be diamonds, and had Bonaparte’s seal embroidered on the bodice of her gown.

“The children, as I found out once the woman promised the truth in return for her release, were local orphans, most all of them the same age as the Prince of Rome. They—the they to always remain a mystery to me—had been deciding which orphan best resembled the boy, and had all of them stashed in a cottage, presumably safe while they went off to negotiate with one of Bonaparte’s marshals. She heard the sounds of approaching soldiers, the servants ran off, leaving them behind, and she decided it would be safer to follow the servants’ lead than find herself trapped behind the stone wall. At any rate, the Grande Armée surrenders, all the marshals are given pardons and Bonaparte is generously allowed to meet with his wife and heir one last time. Oh, and with the son officially named heir to the throne of France. He would never get close enough to realize he wasn’t seeing his true wife and son, of course. They’d simply be displayed, from a distance.”

“Would his marshals have agreed, would Bonaparte? Again, I apologize. But it sounds so far-fetched.”

He stopped, turned her about and they began retracing their steps to the gazebo.

“Again, we’ll never know. Bonaparte’s love for his son, and his own legacy, could have been the deciding factors. He had to know, in his heart, that his cause was lost. But regardless of the possible outcome, the world could not know that England had even attempted such a dishonorable scheme, especially if it failed. I let the woman go—or should I say she ran off the moment I released her arm—and took the orphans back to camp with me.

“I believe she must have met up with her employers and told them what happened, and they would have immediately realized I’d seen the woman, spoken with the woman, seen the crest embroidered on her gown. Directly after Bonaparte fled the field that last day, since I hadn’t conveniently died in battle, I was scooped up and whisked back to England, to meet with the Prince Regent and his cronies. You know the rest.”