Mischief by Amanda Quick
Another silence descended. Imogen allowed herself only a moment more to wallow in despair. Oddly soothed by the feel of his powerful hands in her hair, she composed herself and turned her attention in a more productive direction. She had to devise a plan to stop the duel.
But before she could conceive of anything clever enough to be effective, her thoughts were distracted by something even more pressing.
“Good heavens, I almost forgot.” She straightened so quickly that the top of her head collided with Matthias’s jaw. “Ouch.”
“Vanneck never really stood a chance, did he?” Matthias winced and rubbed his jaw. “If you had not brained him with the picture frame, I’m sure you would have found another way to save yourself.”
“Sir, I am so sorry. I did not mean to hurt you.”
“I know.” His teeth flashed in a brief, startlingly playful grin. “Now then, what was it that you suddenly recalled?”
“Patricia. Where is she?”
“Patricia is safe and sound with Horatia. I saw them both just before I went upstairs to the picture gallery to find you. I shall send the carriage back for them after I get you safely home.”
“Your sister is with my aunt?”
“Yes.”
A grim realization dawned on Imogen. “Sir, how did you know to search for me in the picture gallery?”
“Patricia told me that she had noticed you going upstairs to view the paintings.”
“I see,” Imogen whispered.
She mulled that over as the carriage rumbled through the streets. There was nothing to be gained by confiding her new suspicions to Matthias. He had enough to concern him at the moment. It would only overset his already strained nerves to learn that his sister had very likely conspired with Vanneck to lead her into the picture gallery.
Imogen leaned against Matthias and stared out the carriage window, her thoughts in fresh turmoil. She decided to make one more attempt to talk Matthias out of the duel.
“Sir, promise me that you will reconsider this ill-conceived notion of meeting Lord Vanneck. I comprehend that some gentlemen feel that a duel is the only way for men to resolve a point of honor, but I believe it to be the height of idiocy. And you are surely no idiot. Therefore—”
“Enough, Imogen,” he said very quietly. “The business is settled. Furthermore, you are not to speak of this to anyone, do you understand?”
“But—”
“This is a matter for men. The gentlemen involved are obligated to keep the entire thing a secret. You are not to turn it into a tidbit of gossip for the ton.”
Imogen was appalled. “I would not dream of gossiping about such a … a featherbrained, addlepated, nonsensical piece of masculine stupidity.”
“Excellent.” He wound his fist into her tumbled hair. “I knew I could rely upon you to keep your mouth closed, my dear.”
“Imogen, must you pace so?” Horatia poured tea into two cups. “I vow, you make me quite dizzy.”
“What else am I to do?” Imogen reached the window of her study and paused to gaze moodily out into the small, rainswept garden. “I feel as if I were a bundle of fireworks about to explode over Vauxhall Gardens. It is a dreadful sensation.”
“Nerves, my dear. Your first real case of overwrought nerves, I suspect.”
“Rubbish. You know very well that I am not prone to nervous weakness.”
“You have never before faced the prospect of marriage.” Horatia made a tut-tutting noise. “I do not know why his lordship is insisting upon going about things in this hurried fashion, but I suppose, given the situation, he feels it’s for the best.”
“Situation?” Imogen got out in a strangled voice. For a moment she wondered if Horatia knew about the duel. “What do you mean?”
“No offense, my dear, but one does not plan a large, fashionable wedding under these circumstances. And his lordship is not much interested in such social affairs, in any event.”
Imogen relaxed slightly. “No, he is not.”
She continued to gaze out into the garden. The entire world seemed to have turned gray overnight. A heavy fog had blanketed the streets at dawn. Her fitful sleep had been shattered by another of the disturbing dreams that plagued her of late. In it she had been attempting to save Matthias from some unseen peril, but time had run out. She had found him in the stone sarcophagus. There had been blood everywhere.
Panic nibbled at the edges of her brain as she studied the mist-shrouded garden. She had less than a day to find a way to stop the madness.
“Imogen?”
“I beg your pardon?” Imogen glanced at her aunt over her shoulder. “What did you say?”
“I asked if you had instructed your maid to see to the packing.”
“I must have said something to her. I’m sure I did.” Imogen scowled. “But, in truth, I have been thinking of other things. Now that you mention it, I am not certain that I told her that I would be moving into Colchester’s town house this evening.”
Horatia gave her a reassuring smile as she got to her feet. “Sit down and have your tea, dear. I shall go upstairs and deal with the maid.”
“Thank you.” Imogen went across the room to where the tea waited on a small table. She seized the cup and took a large, fortifying swallow.
The door closed behind Horatia, leaving Imogen alone in the study. The ticking of the tall clock was very loud in the quiet room. When Imogen could not abide the sound any longer, she started to pace again.
Over the years she had heard occasional rumors of duels. She had not paid much attention, having had no reason to concern herself with the subject. She was fairly certain that there were a number of people involved in addition to the two principals. The gentlemen’s seconds and sometimes a doctor were present, according to one account Imogen had heard. And there had to be others, she thought. The men who drove the carriages. Perhaps a groom or two. Gentlemen rarely did anything alone in Society. They were always accompanied by coachmen and grooms and one or two close friends.
Mrs. Vine knocked once and opened the door. “There be a lady to see you, Miss Waterstone.”
Imogen swung around so quickly that tea sloshed over the edge of the cup into the saucer. “Who is it?”
“Lady Patricia Marshall, she calls herself, ma’am.”
Imogen put down her cup with a bang. “Send her in at once, Mrs. Vine.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Mrs. Vine heaved a sigh and took herself off.
A moment later Patricia appeared. She hovered in the doorway, looking very different from the vivacious young lady she had been last night. Her pretty face was drawn taut with tension. Her gray eyes were filled with anxiety. She was obviously close to tears.
“I must speak with you,” Patricia whispered as Mrs. Vine closed the study door.
“Sit down,” Imogen said brusquely. She went behind her desk and sank into her own chair. She folded her hands on the polished mahogany and regarded Patricia closely. “What is it you wish to say?”
“Matthias told me at breakfast that he is going to marry you today.”
“Did he?”
“Yes. And tomorrow morning he intends to risk his life in a duel.” Patricia’s voice broke on a sob. She groped for a hankie in her small reticule. “It was not supposed to happen like that.”
Imogen was dumbfounded. “How did you learn of the duel?”
“I have just come from Lady Lyndhurst’s house.” Patricia sniffed into the hankie. “She told me that the news is all over Town.”
So much for the supposed ability of the gentlemen involved to keep their ridiculous secrets, Imogen thought. Someone had obviously talked. Perhaps one of the seconds, whose task it was to arrange the details of the dawn appointment.
“And they have the gall to complain that women are inclined to gossip,” Imogen muttered.
Patricia gave her a quizzical look. “I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind. Patricia, since you seem to be fully apprised of the dire straits in which we find
Patricia flinched. Then a resentful anger pinched the corners of her mouth. “I was only trying to save my brother from your clutches. But it all went wrong somehow.”
“Ah.” Imogen closed her eyes and sagged back in her chair. “I wondered if that might have been your goal. It all begins to fall into place now.”
“Lady Lyndhurst said that if Colchester discovered you in a compromising position with another man, he would have grounds to end the engagement. She said it would be simple to arrange.”
“Indeed. So this was Lady Lyndhurst’s notion?”
Patricia blew into her hankie and then raised furious eyes to meet Imogen’s gaze. “I did precisely as I was instructed. I knew you would follow me from the ballroom up to the gallery. You are always attempting to play the chaperone even though you yourself have no more notion of proper behavior than a … a flea.”
“A flea?”
“I led you to the gallery and then made my way back to the ballroom with Lady Lyndhurst. When Matthias arrived and inquired after you, I told him you were viewing the pictures. He went in search of you. Lady Lyndhurst said that everything transpired just as we planned it.” Patricia’s voice rose. “But Matthias did not end the engagement as she said he would.”
“You silly twit.” Imogen shot to her feet and slammed her palms flat on the desk. “Have you any idea of the harm you have done?”
“But I was only trying to save him.” Fresh tears flowed down Patricia’s cheeks. “I did not want him to suffer the same fate that Papa suffered. I did not want him to ruin his life.”
“I trust you are satisfied with the damage you have wrought.” Imogen came around the edge of the desk. “It would appear that your good friend Lady Lyndhurst must share a large portion of the blame.”
“She was only trying to help me.”
“Rubbish. Something tells me that Lady Lyndhurst is not the type to go out of her way to help anyone but herself. She is playing some game.”
“That is not true. She has been most kind to me. I consider her a true friend.”
“She has certainly proved herself to be a very unusual sort of friend.” Imogen pondered the implications. “I wonder what there is in this to interest her. Perhaps she, too, is after the seal.”
“I have no notion of what you are muttering about,” Patricia said petulantly. “But you must do something. What if Matthias is killed in the duel with Lord Vanneck?”
“Calm yourself, Patricia. I will think of a plan.”
Patricia hesitated. “You could refuse to marry my brother. I realize that people would talk, but I do not see how jilting him could do any more damage to the reputation of a lady who is already known as Immodest Imogen.”
“You may be correct, but I assure you that my refusal to go through with the marriage would not stop Colchester from meeting Vanneck.”
“Why would he fight a duel over a lady who has refused to wed him?”
“You do not know your brother very well, do you?” Imogen said. “Believe me, he intends to proceed with the duel regardless of the circumstances. He has committed himself. His sense of honor will ensure that he meets Vanneck. In any event, I have given him my word that I will marry him today. It was Colchester’s only request. I could not deny him.”
“Lady Lyndhurst said that you would do anything to gain the title,” Patricia blurted out.
Imogen shot her a fulminating glance. “The next time you are tempted to quote Lady Lyndhurst’s opinions, you might recall that she is the one who got us all into this tangle.”
Patricia stared at her, briefly speechless. She found her voice on another sob. “No, that is not true. She never intended this result. She wished only to help me.”
“I do not have the time to argue the matter. Lady Lyndhurst will have to wait. I have more important things to attend to at the moment.” Imogen went to the door, opened it, and called down the hall. “Mrs. Vine? Would you please come here at once?”
Patricia gazed at her, bewildered. “What are you about?”
“Do not concern yourself,” Imogen snapped, angry and disgusted. “You have caused enough trouble. I suggest you return home and try to stay out of mischief until this is finished.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Begone, Patricia. I have a great deal to accomplish before I marry your brother this afternoon.”
Patricia succumbed to another spate of tears. “If Matthias dies tomorrow morning, you will be an extremely wealthy widow. It is not fair.”
Imogen whirled around and strode back across the room. She grabbed Patricia by her elbows and yanked her to her feet. “Is that what this is all about? Are you worried about your brother only because you fear that if he is killed tomorrow morning I shall inherit his fortune and you will be left penniless?”
Patricia looked stunned. Her eyes widened. “No, that is not what I meant. I do not want anything to happen to my brother because he is all that I have left in the world. I am terrified that he will be killed in the duel.”
“Are you?” Imogen searched her face intently. “Do you truly care about him?”
“If you are asking me if I love him the way a sister ought to love her brother, then I must admit that I do not.” Patricia twisted her hankie between her fingers. Her mouth curved bitterly. “How can I love Matthias when I know that whenever he looks at me he sees his own unhappy past?”
“I’m certain that is not true, Patricia. Perhaps, when you first arrived on his doorstep, he was taken aback, but—”
“You know perfectly well that he took me into his home only because he felt he had to honor the promise he gave Papa. How can I have a deep affection for him when I know that his goal is to marry me off as quickly as possible?”
“He is not going to force you into marriage.”
“Papa always told me that if worse came to worst, Matthias would look after me. But if he dies in a duel I shall be forced to return to my uncle’s house. And … and my dreadful cousin will be there. He will try to touch me and, oh, dear God, I cannot bear to contemplate what will happen.”
“Hmm.” Imogen absently patted Patricia’s shoulder while she tapped one toe on the carpet.
Patricia wiped her eyes. “What are we to do?”
“You will do nothing. I shall handle this. Good day, Patricia.” Imogen gave her a small push toward the door.
Patricia blotted her eyes and walked numbly out into the hall. In spite of the problems she had created, Imogen suddenly felt a twinge of sympathy for her. “Patricia?”
“Yes?” Patricia paused to glance back. She looked utterly wretched.
“When this is over, you and I shall have a very long talk. In the meantime, do not allow your nerves to make you ill. I have trouble enough on my hands.”
Mrs. Vine trudged into view. She dried her hands on her apron and grudgingly ushered Patricia into the hall and out the front door. Then she turned reluctantly toward Imogen.
“Ye wanted me, ma’am?”
“Yes, Mrs. Vine. I want you to send a message to the nearest public stable. Inform the proprietor that I wish to purchase clothing suitable for a groom. Make certain that the garments will fit a person of my size.”
Mrs. Vine gazed at Imogen as if she had gone mad. “Ye want to buy clothing for a stable lad? But we don’t have a stable. Nor any lads, come to that.”
Imogen managed a cool smile. “I plan to attend a masquerade, Mrs. Vine. I thought it would be amusing to go dressed as a stable boy.”
“Well, it’s no worse than the instructions I got from a tenant a couple o’ years back.” Mrs. Vine sounded surprisingly philosophical. “He used to send me out to fetch him ladies’ gowns. He wanted the whole works, fancy shoes, hat, wig. Everything a real lady would wear.”
Imogen was briefly intrigued. “You rented to a gentleman who went to masquerade balls dressed as a lady?”
“
“Indeed.” Imogen considered that for a moment. “Each to his own, I suppose.”
“That’s what I always say. Long as I get me rent, it don’t make no difference to me how a body dresses.” Mrs. Vine shuffled off toward the kitchen.
Matthias heard the door of the library open very quietly. He signed the last of the documents he had had his solicitor prepare earlier in the day and set it on the stack of papers in the center of his desk. “Yes, Ufton? What is it?”
“It’s me,” Imogen said softly. “Not Ufton.”
Matthias put aside the quill. He looked up and saw Imogen leaning back against the door, her hands behind her, gripping the knob. She was dressed in a chintz wrapper and a pair of soft slippers. Her hair was anchored beneath a little white cap. She looked as if she should have been in bed.
The anticipation that had been simmering within him all day suddenly came to the boil. His wife. His Anizamara. She had been his lady for almost four hours, but this was the first opportunity they had had to be alone together since the quiet ceremony. When a man was obliged to prepare for both a wedding and a duel within the same twenty-four-hour period, he found himself astonishingly busy.
Matthias smiled at her. “Go back upstairs, Imogen. I’m almost finished here. I shall join you shortly.”
She ignored him. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of one or two small matters.”
Imogen walked to the desk and glanced down at the pile of papers in front of him. “What sort of matters?”
“The usual. I wrote some instructions to my estate managers. Made a few entries in my journal. Tidied up my will. Nothing of major import.”
“Your will?” Fresh alarm flared in Imogen’s eyes. She clutched the lapels of her robe very tightly. “Dear heaven, Matthias, surely you do not expect to … to …”