The Second Shot (The Dueling Pistols) (21 page)

"Who is your father?" Meg asked faintly.

Charles flattened his lips. "I 'spect it's Major Sheridan, but they won't tell me."

Meg supposed she might feel disappointment if it weren't for the fact that she wasn't likely to marry anyone if she was going to be swinging from a scaffold. She put her hand to her throat. At least she wasn't in France and likely to be separated from her head by a guillotine. With that cold comfort in mind, she urged Charles to his feet and shuffled him back to the nursery.

"If I knew, I would tell you," she said, and earned a beatific smile and Charles's compliance. She wasn't even sure if it was a lie.

Still, if they were discussing her possible involvement in Diana's death, Meg preferred to state that she hadn't killed the girl—just hadn't reported her death from illness—before their opinions were too deeply set to be changed. After settling Charles back into the third-floor nursery with his sleeping nanny, Meg leaned on the railing and gathered her courage. Once she felt brave enough, she would descend the stairs and confront her accusers.

* * *

Felicity sputtered.
How many of them could she put up?
Tony looked at her, his expression innocent. That rotter.

"I say, I should hardly need to move out of my brother's house." Randy stood and crossed the room for a plate of food. "They'll be up to town in the next few days, and we'll be filled to overflowing. It's just about the corner, anyway."

"If you have the room"—Tony looked around the green drawing room as if to mark the size of her house, which was on the large side for a London—"then there can be no impropriety, as your parents are still in residence. Besides, we shan't want the news that we are staying here made known. That would defeat the whole purpose."

"I'm sure I don't mean to impose," said Bedford. He drew up in front of the food and filled a plate to overflowing with sliced beef and ham, bread, pickles, and two of the four scones and three dried apricots. "Whatever you decide shall be fine with me. Although it does seem a rather handy solution."

"A word with you, sir." Glaring at Tony, Felicity stood and marched toward the doors connecting with the rose drawing room.

Bedford took a hasty gulp of his food.

Tony followed her. Once she had shut the door, she turned. "Did it occur to you that you should consult with me before offering my home and hospitality to you and your friends?"

"No. I wanted it harder for you to refuse." Tony took a sip of his tea. "If you are going to stand, do you mind if I sit?"

If he was trying to not-so-subtly remind her he was a wounded veteran, it wouldn't wash. She waved impatiently at a chair.

What was she going to say to his suggestion, anyway? No, she would look like the cruelest of the cruel. On the other hand, she had her son's and her niece's safety to think on. "What about Charles and Diana? What advantage is there to bringing the danger of a murderer's intended victims into my household? What about our safety?"

"The object would be to keep it secret that we're staying here."

"And you think that is feasible in London, during the season, when I'm launching my niece into society?" He was missing the larger point that he hadn't even considered her wishes on the matter. He was just like every other male in the world who had decided women couldn't think or make decisions for themselves.

"This won't go on forever. We will catch this killer. A few weeks, mayhap."

Felicity rubbed her forehead. "I don't like you deciding you want things your way and putting me in an untenable position."

Tony set down his teacup and saucer. He moved over beside her. "Felicity, there are some real advantages. It will give me a chance to get to know Charles without raising suspicions. I suppose he is about the age where fathers start teaching their sons to ride and shoot."

"Tony," Felicity began on an exasperated note. Why was it that he only thought as far as what
he
wanted.

He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers—his long, elegant, and far too talented fingers.

She shied away from him. "Don't do that. I can't think when you do that."

"Then I shall endeavor to do it more."

She stalked out of his range. One good thing about his limp: it meant she could quickly outdistance him. She had no doubt he would catch her if he had a mind to, but at least for a moment she could have a bit of space. "Tell me what are the advantages to me, if I were to have you and Mr. Bedford stay here."

Tony blinked his pale blue eyes, as if the thought had never occurred to him. It most likely hadn't. He was quick to answer, though. She had to grant him that. "Ready escorts for you and your niece to any event you wish to attend. Protection—I am a crack shot."

She tapped her foot. "I'm sure the list of disadvantages is greater."

"Ah, well, you shall have me around to ensure you don't think too much."

"I like to think. I don't want to not think."

"That was a jest, Felicity." He limped toward her, closing the distance between them. "I'd be here to deflect your father's interest in your affairs."

That could be an advantage. "You wouldn't expect to take it over? It should be just as bad for me if you decide
you
should run the businesses."

"No, I wouldn't want to take it over." His words were slow, as if he were thinking it out as he spoke. "If you want my help, I should be happy to assist."

"Let me be clear. Your help is not required."

He grinned mirthlessly. "I understand."

"I don't want that gigantic dog in the house. He can stay in the stables, if you must bring him."

"Phys is housebroken."

Felicity sighed. "I just had a battle with Charles about not having a dog. You cannot undermine my authority."

"Why can't he have a dog?"

"Tony!"

He caught her shoulders. "I'm just asking your reasoning, madam. If you don't want Phys in the house, I'm sure he will eventually forgive you for it."

"Which he?"

"Phys, of course. He is a very good-natured beast." Tony rubbed his hands down her arms and tugged her closer. "I don't intend to undermine you, but please try to understand. Lots of boys have dogs."

"He has several at home. It's not really about dogs. It's that I'm trying to avoid spoiling him. He has so much money, and my father keeps telling him he can afford anything he wants. I hardly think it can be good for him to get everything he asks for, so I had resolved to say no to his next request." She shrugged. "It was for a dog."

"I see."

"Do you? Because I had rather been thinking of getting a small lap-dog before he asked. Of course, I can't now."

Tony rather looked like he was laughing at her.

"Only I live in deathly fear that my parents will go out and buy one for him. So you understand, don't you?"

"Felicity."

"What?"

"Thank you."

Somebody had tried to murder Mr. Bedford tonight, and she was nattering about raising Charles. "Oh, heavens, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Bedford will be grateful for Phys's banishment." He steered her toward the door to the green drawing room. "Shall we see if they have eaten everything yet?"

"No, I'm chattering about nonsense, and people have been shot at." Likely she would have agreed to let the men stay if he'd presented his case to her before hand, but it didn't excuse his behavior.

"Raising Charles to be a decent man isn't nonsense."

Charles was a little boy. She might want him mannerly, but manly was not in her plan. Oh, God, maybe her son did need a stepfather. Or Tony. Or not Tony who didn't keep his promises when they interfered with what he wanted.

Chapter Thirteen

Meg's resolve faltered. Her palms were sweating. She didn't think she'd been this hen-hearted when she'd dragged Diana's body to the ship's railing. She clenched her fists and made herself race down the stairs.

She threw back the door and said, "I didn't kill her!"

The room was empty.

Her heart thundered in her chest. All that angst for naught. She almost laughed at herself. The rose drawing was empty, and the green drawing room was never used. She'd never even been in a house with a drawing room before moving in with Felicity, and this one had two.

Meg backed out of the room and considered her next move. She might as well pursue her original plan and see if there was a book in the library that could help her go on. The long case clock in the front hall chimed half past one, and she moved toward the stairs.

As she crossed in front of the green drawing room doors, they slid back. She leaped back and pressed against the wall. They
were
here! Something between a whimper and a squeal left her lips.

Four pairs of eyes fastened on her: two pairs brown, one pale blue, and one set of brilliant jewel-toned eyes that looked every bit as startled as she felt.

"Diana!" Felicity's expression changed from surprise to consternation.

"I told you I heard something," said Mr. Bedford.

Meg tried to catch her breath. Instead, tears welled up in her eyes. "Blimey, you gave me a fright."

They weren't calling her by her real name, or some dismissing non-name like "you miss." They all looked shocked to see her, but Meg didn't sense any animosity or suspicion in their gazes. Likely, they hadn't realized the body pulled from the Thames was the real Diana. Likely, Charles had a lively imagination. Murder, indeed. Still, it was hard to will back the panic.

"What are you doing up and about?" Felicity stepped forward and took Meg's arm.

Meg fell back on her original plan. "I couldn't sleep, I thought I'd try the library for a book."

"You shouldn't be wandering about in your nightclothes," Felicity said in a low undertone as she pulled Meg toward the stairs.

Oh, no. She had undoubtedly committed another faux pas. "I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was here."

Did her pretend aunt regularly entertain three gentlemen in the wee hours of the morning? Was that acceptable social behavior? Lord help her, Meg was trying to understand the rules, but there seemed to be more exceptions than not.

Felicity turned back around. "You will excuse us, won't you, gentlemen? If you could see yourselves out."

Meg realized that as Felicity steered her away from the curious gazes of the men, her aunt was trying to keep her body between Meg and the men's line of sight.

Meg glanced down at the lawn nightrail she was wearing, one of Diana's. Since the cut was loose, there was no tightness in the bodice. The material, however, was very fine. Thin. Oh, merciful God, the men could probably see straight through it.

At this point Meg decided she was better commenting on it than not. "Oh, heavens, I hope they didn't see me." Which seemed quite the most noddle-cocked thing she could have said. "Through my nightrail, that is."

"I doubt they had time enough to register the idea."

Not in Meg's experience. The first place most men looked was at a woman's chest. These
gentlemen
might be more discreet about it than ordinary blokes, but she didn't suppose they were all that different.

Now that she'd gotten her out of the men's line of sight, Felicity turned toward Meg. "You don't seem to have any sense of propriety, Diana. Where on earth did you learn to use a word like blimey?"

Meg studied her bare toes poking out under the nightgown. She took a hopeful stab in the dark. "My father used to say it."

She rubbed her foot across the carpet—so plush and rich, she didn't ever want to go back to the bare, splintering wood or jagged flagstone floors of the dozens of cheap cottages of her youth, each more squalid and dismal than the last. "Charles tells me I should get a Pocket Book to tell me how to go on."

"You probably need more than a Pocket Book," muttered Felicity. She pointed up the stairs and said in a firmer tone, "Go to bed, Diana. And a lady is never, ever outside of her bedroom in her nightrail. You must wear a dressing gown or change into day dress. I won't see you out of your room again like this, will I?"

"No, ma'am," said Meg. Too bad she wasn't really a lady. She would have known what to do. Instead, she just cried because she was quite sure that her masquerade was failing and she would never be able to fool a gentleman long enough to induce him to offer marriage. She would get the same kind of offer that she always got, a slip on the shoulder.

To which Felicity reached out and wrapped her arms around Meg, which made Meg feel worse, and she vowed to try harder to act like a lady and get herself married as fast as she could.

* * *

"I say, I wish she would have invited us to stay tonight," said William as they walked down the street.

"We're deuced lucky she invited us to stay at all," said Sheridan.

"She didn't, really," pointed out Randleton. "You forced her hand. I don't know what hold you have over Mrs. Merriwether—"

Sheridan snorted. "She has a hold over me, I'd say."

Randleton gave his major an odd look.

Sheridan stopped walking and leaned against a wrought-iron railing. "Devil a bit, whose place are we closest to?"

"My brother's house," answered Randleton.

"You say the family isn't in residence yet. Can we go there? I need to sit," said the major.

"Your leg?" inquired William.

Sheridan turned in his direction. For a minute William thought he meant to darken his daylights, but Sheridan's fierce expression relented. "Hurts like the devil. I've been standing too long."

Randleton stared at his major. "Let us get a hackney."

Sheridan shook his head.

William held out his walking stick. Sheridan looked at it despairingly for a minute or two before asking, "Do you expect me to use that?"

William was rather fond of his ivory-handled cane. He was afraid he might need to pawn it. "Thought you might want a drink from the flask inside."

Sheridan took the cane and unscrewed the handle. He lifted it up while William winced.

"It's empty."

"Is it?" Bedford said as if he hadn't known. He looked hard at Randleton. "Must have forgotten to refill it."