‘Good. You, Jim, will demand to see Lord Eglemont, or, failing him, her ladyship. You’ll tell them Lord Fanshawe will arrive before morning with Cecily Darent. He’ll explain when he arrives. You’re then to ride to Hazelmere and speak to the Dowager. You’ll tell her that I’ll arrive before morning with Miss Darent. Again, I’ll explain when I arrive.’ Suddenly grinning, he added, ‘It’s probably just as well you won’t know the whole story, so you can deny knowledge with a clear conscience.’
Jim, knowing the Marquis’s mother well, grinned back. Hazelmere nodded a dismissal.
Fanshawe had worked out some of the plan in his friend’s head and was grinning. Hazelmere refused to meet his eye, and instead turned back to Lady Merion and Ferdie. ‘I’ll only go through this once. We don’t have time for repeat performances. Listen well and, if you see any points I’ve missed, say so. We have to ensure the story is watertight.’
Satisfied he had their attention, he started, ‘Some time much earlier in the Season I unwisely described to Dorothea the beauties of seeing Hazelmere Water at sunrise. Dorothea told Cecily, and between them they made my life and yours, Tony, unbearable until we agreed to organise an excursion to see this wonder. With the aid of our respective parents, a plan was hatched. It’s best to see this spectacle on a clear morning, and because none of us wished to spend a week or more in the country waiting for such an opportunity it was agreed that on the first clear moonlit night we would drive down in the carriage, view the Water at dawn, visit Hazelmere and Eglemont and return to town later.’ With a nod at Lady Merion he added, ‘The party was to include your ladyship. Tonight is a clear moonlit night with the promise of a fine morning to follow. Perfect for our projected expedition. Did you say something, Tony?’
Fanshawe had put his head on his arms with an audible groan. Looking up, he said, ‘All very well to save their reputations, but what about ours?’
Hazelmere grinned. ‘I don’t expect this story to fool our friends. It’s the rest of the ton I’m concerned about.’ He paused. ‘Console yourself with imagining how grateful Cecily is bound to be when you tell her of your sacrifice to preserve her reputation.’
Lady Merion snorted. She wondered if Hazelmere expected Dorothea to be grateful. Then he was speaking again.
‘To continue. It was arranged that Lady Merion and the Misses Darent would decide on the most appropriate night and then contact the two of us. At the Rothwells’ party the girls realised tonight was the most suitable in weeks. So they excused themselves from the party on the pretext that Dorothea was ill and returned to Merion House. They sent a message to us at White’s. Ferdie helped with that. And all the gaming-room saw me get the letter, and then we both left to return to Cavendish Square. So far, all’s well. Then, after we arrived and agreed tonight was suitable, Ferdie went to fetch Lady Merion. What excuse did you give for summoning her ladyship, Ferdie?’
‘That Dorothea was ill.’
‘So that fits too. However, when you arrived home, Lady Merion, it was you who felt truly unwell. Sufficiently unwell, at least, to baulk at a night drive down to Hazelmere. But rather than postpone the outing, and seeing that as of this afternoon Dorothea and I are betrothed…’
Hazelmere broke off, seeing the sensation this announcement had caused. ‘No,’ he continued in a weary tone, ‘I haven’t asked her yet, but I do have horrible Herbert’s blessing and she’s not going to get the chance to refuse, so we will be by the time we return to London.’
He paused but, when no one made any comment, continued, ‘Where was I? Oh, yes! In these circumstances, you suggested the maid Betsy could go in your stead. We left immediately. Dorothea and I went down in the curricle with Jim and Tony, and Cecily followed in the carriage with Betsy. We had decided that, as the Season is somewhat flat at the moment, we would all spend a few days in the country. So that is exactly what has happened and is going to happen.’
A pause ensued while they considered the tale. Lady Merion’s mind was reeling as she considered the possible outcomes when Hazelmere calmly informed Dorothea that she was to marry him. She wished she could be there to see it. But it would do Marc Henry the world of good to meet some opposition for a change. She had little doubt he would succeed in overcoming it. So, an expectant smile curving her lips, she remained silent.
Then Hazelmere spoke again. ‘Now for the loose ends. You and I, Tony, are shortly to leave for Tadworth to remove the young ladies from Buchanan’s hands and from there we’ll proceed to Hazelmere and Eglemont. Lady Merion, you remain here and ensure we have no more rumours. Ferdie, you are the final player and you’ve probably got the most vital role.’
At these words Ferdie looked highly suspicious. Long acquaintance with his cousin made him wary of such pronouncements. ‘What am I to do?’
‘First, I want you to place a notice of my betrothal to Dorothea in tomorrow’s Gazette. There should be time. Then you must very subtly ensure the story of our romantic escapade is broadcast throughout the ton.’
‘No!’ groaned Fanshawe, pain writ large on his countenance. ‘We’ll never be able to show our faces at White’s again!’
Hazelmere’s smile broadened. ‘Even so. If everyone is exclaiming over our idiotic behaviour they’re unlikely to go looking for other explanations of tonight’s doings.’ Turning back to Ferdie, he asked, ‘Have I missed anything vital?’
Ferdie was running the whole tale over in his mind. He brought his gaze back to his cousin’s face, his eyes alight. ‘It’s good. No gaps. I think I’ll drop in on Ginger Gordon tomorrow. Haven’t seen him in ages.’
This was greeted by another moan from Fanshawe. Sir ‘Ginger’ Gordon was an inveterate gossip, Sir Barnaby Ruscombe’s chief rival. Even a few words in his ear could be counted on to go a very long way.
‘Good! That’s settled.’ Hazelmere glanced at the clock and rose. ‘Come on, Tony. We’d better go.’ Taking Lady Merion’s hand, he smiled confidently down at her. ‘Don’t fret. We’ll bring them off without harm.’
Turning to Ferdie, Hazelmere noted the smile of pleasant anticipation on his face. ‘Don’t get too carried away, Ferdie. I do wish to live in London, you know.’
Startled out of his reverie, Ferdie hastened to reassure his cousin that everything would be most subtly handled. As Fanshawe had finished taking his leave, Hazelmere merely threw him a sceptical glance as he moved to the door.
The friends strode rapidly across Cavendish Square. As they reached Hazelmere House Fanshawe said, ‘I’ll go and get changed. Pick me up when you’re ready?’
Hazelmere nodded and entered his house. Moments later his servants were flying to do his bidding, and inside ten minutes, attired more suitably for driving about the country at night, he mounted his curricle behind the restive greys and swept out of the square. Taking Fanshawe up at his lodgings, they made good time through the deserted city streets. Once clear of the suburbs, Hazelmere allowed the horses their heads and the curricle bounded forward.
* * *
Edward Buchanan’s master plan began to hiccup from the start. The first phase was the abduction of Cecily Darent from Vauxhall Gardens. Having assumed that she was no different from the usual débutante, he was unprepared for the spirited resistance she put up when he grabbed her on one of the shadowy paths. Assisted by his valet, he had secured her hands and gagged her, but she had managed to kick him on the shin before they had bundled her into the carriage. Thus warned, he had kept her bound and gagged until he had been able to release her into the parlour, the only one in the Cas
tle Inn, and lock the stout oak door on her.
The Castle Inn was a small hostelry. Not far from the major roads, it was sufficiently removed to make interruption by unexpected guests unlikely. The front door gave directly on to the taproom. Edward Buchanan stayed by the fire in the low-ceilinged room, sipping a mug of ale and smugly considering the future. It had finally dawned on him that the desirable Miss Darent, she of the Grange, Hampshire, as nice a little property as any he had seen, had ripened like a plum and was about to fall into the hand of the Marquis of Hazelmere. And his lordship didn’t even need the money. It was grossly unfair. So he had set about rectifying the error of fate. But Miss Darent seemed possessed of an uncanny ability to side-step his snares. His attempts at the masquerade and the picnic had both come to naught. This time, however, he prided himself he had her measure. To save her young sister, she would, he was certain, deliver herself, and her tidy little fortune, into his hands. Her fight with Hazelmere and his lordship’s absence from town had relieved his horizon of its only cloud. He smiled into the flames. Then, bored with his own company, he rose and stretched. Miss Cecily had been alone for nearly an hour. It should, therefore, be safe to venture in and discuss the beauties of the future with his prospective sister-in-law.
Opening the door of the parlour, he sauntered in. A vase of flowers flew at his head. He ducked just in time and the vase crashed against the door.