the dark, apparently.
Never mind,” Gideon said, not about to admit his brother was one devilishly
handsome creature, the sort who could cause small riots among the ladies if he
put his mind to it. “What’s the Cyprian’s problem?”
“Other than being ambitious, penniless and of questionable
morals? Transport. I’m simply to find a way to get clever girl and ardent swain
to Gretna, wed over the anvil and all but publicly bedded so there can be no
annulment, all accomplished ahead of any pursuit. You know Trixie. She’s a
romantic.”
“She’s a pernicious troublemaker, and that’s in the best of
times. Who’s to be the gullible groom—and you’ll notice hearing Trixie has
cultivated a whore as bosom chum holds no shock. No, it’s the groom who
interests me.”
Max grinned wickedly. “So you see it, too? I did a bit of
checking. It’s Wickham’s only grandson. Geoffrey something-or-other. Second in
line to the dukedom until his papa, cursed with a spotty liver and still sucking
up gin morning till night, sticks his spoon in the wall. Which will probably
happen any day now according to Trixie, as they’ve already laid straw outside
the man’s door in Grosvenor Square so the invalid isn’t pestered on his sickbed
by the noise of traffic, and called in the Autum bawlers for some final-ditch
prayer vigil. He should be toes cocked up just in time for the new heir—that
would be this Geoffrey fellow—to present his fait
accompli bride to his grandfather, shocking the old fellow to the
point of apoplexy.”
“Two deaths? That’s ambitious, even for our grandmother. She’s
counting on an even pair?”
“Apparently. She’s already had me scribble a wager in the
betting book at White’s. A certain interested party offers
odds of eight-to-five a certain duke W-dot-dot-dot— as if nobody would
know it’s old Wickham— will depart this earthly coil on or
before fifteen June of the current year. Lord Alvanley’s holding the
stakes.”
“Of course it’s Alvanley. The man’s always in need of funds,
and I’m sure Trixie is paying him well. Plus, I think she once had him as a
lover. So. Wickham. It took her long enough,” Gideon said, nodding approvingly.
“Damn near twenty years. I wouldn’t wager against her, or attempt to stop her.
Go with God, Max.”
“I’ll go with most anyone, as well you know. But first—what’s
this about twenty years? This isn’t just her usual mischief? What did old
Wickham do to set her off?”
Gideon leaned back in his chair, mulling the idea that his
brother should be made aware of their grandmother’s motive. After all, Max had
already decided Trixie was up to something. “I suppose it’s time you knew.
Trixie has always felt she had some...scores to settle. One of them is that,
hard on the heels of our family shame, Wickham suggested the Saltwood title and
holdings be dissolved and returned to the Crown, due to the scandal. More than
suggested. The petition grew legs and damn near got as far as to have an airing
in Parliament before it could be squashed. We stood to lose everything.”
“Bastard.”
“He gives bastards a bad name. Self-righteous prig, that’s what
he was, casting stones while setting himself up as some holier-than-thou man of
impeccable morals. And it wasn’t only him. There were three others heading up
the action, until they were shown to be not as moral as they purported
themselves to be, and the petition was withdrawn.”
“And Trixie was the one to point this out?”
“I never said that, but you can draw your own conclusions. One
was discovered at a house party, in bed with the host’s wife—he died in the
inevitable duel. Only weeks later, the second was bankrupted over gaming debts
suddenly being called in by the person who’d bought up his vouchers—he shot
himself rather than face ruin. And the third was actually imprisoned and barely
escaped hanging after it was learned he’d been diddling a family footman, the
pot
Never mind,” Gideon said, not about to admit his brother was one devilishly
handsome creature, the sort who could cause small riots among the ladies if he
put his mind to it. “What’s the Cyprian’s problem?”
“Other than being ambitious, penniless and of questionable
morals? Transport. I’m simply to find a way to get clever girl and ardent swain
to Gretna, wed over the anvil and all but publicly bedded so there can be no
annulment, all accomplished ahead of any pursuit. You know Trixie. She’s a
romantic.”
“She’s a pernicious troublemaker, and that’s in the best of
times. Who’s to be the gullible groom—and you’ll notice hearing Trixie has
cultivated a whore as bosom chum holds no shock. No, it’s the groom who
interests me.”
Max grinned wickedly. “So you see it, too? I did a bit of
checking. It’s Wickham’s only grandson. Geoffrey something-or-other. Second in
line to the dukedom until his papa, cursed with a spotty liver and still sucking
up gin morning till night, sticks his spoon in the wall. Which will probably
happen any day now according to Trixie, as they’ve already laid straw outside
the man’s door in Grosvenor Square so the invalid isn’t pestered on his sickbed
by the noise of traffic, and called in the Autum bawlers for some final-ditch
prayer vigil. He should be toes cocked up just in time for the new heir—that
would be this Geoffrey fellow—to present his fait
accompli bride to his grandfather, shocking the old fellow to the
point of apoplexy.”
“Two deaths? That’s ambitious, even for our grandmother. She’s
counting on an even pair?”
“Apparently. She’s already had me scribble a wager in the
betting book at White’s. A certain interested party offers
odds of eight-to-five a certain duke W-dot-dot-dot— as if nobody would
know it’s old Wickham— will depart this earthly coil on or
before fifteen June of the current year. Lord Alvanley’s holding the
stakes.”
“Of course it’s Alvanley. The man’s always in need of funds,
and I’m sure Trixie is paying him well. Plus, I think she once had him as a
lover. So. Wickham. It took her long enough,” Gideon said, nodding approvingly.
“Damn near twenty years. I wouldn’t wager against her, or attempt to stop her.
Go with God, Max.”
“I’ll go with most anyone, as well you know. But first—what’s
this about twenty years? This isn’t just her usual mischief? What did old
Wickham do to set her off?”
Gideon leaned back in his chair, mulling the idea that his
brother should be made aware of their grandmother’s motive. After all, Max had
already decided Trixie was up to something. “I suppose it’s time you knew.
Trixie has always felt she had some...scores to settle. One of them is that,
hard on the heels of our family shame, Wickham suggested the Saltwood title and
holdings be dissolved and returned to the Crown, due to the scandal. More than
suggested. The petition grew legs and damn near got as far as to have an airing
in Parliament before it could be squashed. We stood to lose everything.”
“Bastard.”
“He gives bastards a bad name. Self-righteous prig, that’s what
he was, casting stones while setting himself up as some holier-than-thou man of
impeccable morals. And it wasn’t only him. There were three others heading up
the action, until they were shown to be not as moral as they purported
themselves to be, and the petition was withdrawn.”
“And Trixie was the one to point this out?”
“I never said that, but you can draw your own conclusions. One
was discovered at a house party, in bed with the host’s wife—he died in the
inevitable duel. Only weeks later, the second was bankrupted over gaming debts
suddenly being called in by the person who’d bought up his vouchers—he shot
himself rather than face ruin. And the third was actually imprisoned and barely
escaped hanging after it was learned he’d been diddling a family footman, the
pot
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