“It seems that my father might very well be yours as well,” Bennet said now to the child. “We have similar eyes, you know.”
“But mine are brown.” Will frowned. “The shape, he means,” Harry said. “Oh.” Will thought about that for a bit, then peeked at him. “What about Harry? Am I his brother, too?”
“We don’t know,” Harry said quietly. “But since we don’t, we might as well say we are. If you don’t mind. Do you?”
Will vigorously shook his head. “Good,” Bennet said. “Now that’s settled, I’m sure Will is as concerned as I am about your impending nuptials.”
“What?” Harry lost the smile that had begun to form on his lips.
“The thing is, Lady Georgina is the Earl of Maitland’s sister.” Bennet pursed his lips. “And if she decides to dig in her heels… might be a problem, the two of us going up against an earl.”
“Huh,” Harry said. It hadn’t occurred to him before that he might have to go through his lady’s brothers in order to speak to her. But if she was well and truly mad at him… “Damn.”
“Exactly.” Bennet nodded. “It’d help if we could send word ahead to someone in London when we reach the next town. Have them reconnoiter, so to speak. Especially if it takes a while to get you a fresh horse.” Bennet looked at the mare, who was definitely lagging.
“Aye.”
“Not to mention, it would be nice to have someone at our back when we confront Maitland,” Bennet continued. “I know a couple of blokes in London, of course. Might be up for it, if we can convince them it’s a sort of lark.” His brow furrowed. “They aren’t usually sober, but if I impress upon them the seriousness—”
“I have some friends,” Harry said. “Who?” “Edward de Raaf and Simon Iddesleigh.” “The Earl of Swartingham?” Bennet’s eyes widened. “And Iddesleigh’s titled, too, isn’t he?”
“He’s Viscount Iddesleigh.” “How the hell do you know them?” “Met through the Agrarian Society.” “The Agrarians?” Bennet wrinkled his nose as if at a bad smell. “Don’t they debate turnips?”
Harry’s mouth quirked. “It’s for gentlemen interested in agriculture, yes.”
“I suppose it takes all kinds.” Bennet still looked dubious. “Christ, Harry, I had no idea. If you have friends like that, why the hell are you playing around with me and Will?”
“You two are my brothers, aren’t you?” “Aye!” Will shouted. “So we are.” Bennet’s face broke into a broad smile. And then he tipped back his head and laughed into the rain.
“THIS BLUE IS VERY NICE, my lady.” Tiggle held up the gown in question, spreading the skirts over her arm.
George glanced at the frock so enticingly displayed and tried to muster some enthusiasm. Or at the very least care one way or the other. It was her wedding day. She and Tiggle were in her bedroom in her London town house, which was presently strewn with the bright colors of rejected frocks. George was having a hard time convincing herself the wedding was real. It was only a scant week since she and her brothers had talked to Cecil, and now she was readying herself to marry him. Her life had taken on the aspect of one of those horrid dreams where a ghastly doom was inevitable and nobody could hear the screams.
“My lady?” Tiggle prompted.
If she screamed now, would anyone hear? George shrugged. “I don’t know. The neckline doesn’t really suit me, does it?”
Tiggle pursed her lips and set aside the blue. “Then what about the yellow brocade? The neckline is square and quite low, but we could put in a lace fichu, if you like.”
George wrinkled her nose without looking. “I don’t fancy all the ruffles about the bottom of the skirt. Makes me look like a cake with too much marzipan decoration.”
What she really ought to wear was black. Black with a black veil. She looked down at her vanity and touched with one finger the little carved horse standing on it. The swan and the eel sat to either side of the horse. They looked rather forlorn without the leopard to guard them, but she’d left him behind for Harry.
“You’ll have to decide soon, my lady,” Tiggle said from behind her. “You’re to be wed in less than two hours.”
George sighed. Tiggle was being awfully kind to her. Normally, a bit of vinegar would have shown through her lady’s maid façade by now. And she was right. It was no use holding on to dreams. Soon she would have a baby. Its welfare was of far greater importance than the silly fantasies of a woman who liked to collect fairy tales.
“I think the green, the one embroidered with lilies,” she said. “It isn’t as new as the others, but it’s rather fine and I’ve always felt it became me.”
Tiggle gave a sigh of what sounded like relief. “A good choice, my lady. I’ll get it out.”
George nodded. She pulled out one of the shallow drawers at the top of her vanity. Inside was a plain wooden box. She opened the box and carefully laid the horse, the swan, and the eel inside.
“My lady?” Tiggle was waiting with the gown. George closed the box and the drawer and turned to prepare for her wedding.
“THIS IS WHERE THE AGRARIANS MEET?” Bennet looked incredulously at the low-slung entrance to the coffee-house. It was on the bottom floor—really the cellar—of a half-timbered building in a narrow back lane. “The place isn’t going to fall, is it?” He eyed the second floor looming over the lane.
“It hasn’t yet.” Harry ducked and entered the smoky room, Will sticking close to his side. He’d asked de Raaf to meet him here.
Behind him, he heard Bennet swear as he caught his head on the lintel. “The coffee had better be good.”
“It is.” “Harry!” A large, pockmarked man hailed him from a table.
“Lord Swartingham.” Harry made his way to the table. “Thank you for coming, my lord. May I present my brothers, Bennet Granville and Will?”
Edward de Raaf, fifth Earl of Swartingham, frowned. “I’ve told you to call me Edward or de Raaf. This my lord stuff is ridiculous.”
Harry merely smiled and turned to the second man at the table. “Lord Iddesleigh. I hadn’t expected you. Bennet, Will, this is Simon Iddesleigh.”