AllFreeNovel
Share Us
As she considered her options, she again spied the jesters with their pink ribbons. She thought of Guy’s bare, muscular forearm and the contents of her reticule.
Within a minute, Arabella had a plan.
* * *
Yet another fellowwas babbling at Guy about something, another of his late father’s cronies hoping the son would pick up where the father had left off. How adorable they were, the way they clucked at him about their corrupt schemes, like so many eager hens. And how amusing, the way their clucking grew more insistent the longer that Guy acted obtuse.
But at least while this chap clucked on, no one else approached, so Guy let him talk while he scanned the carnival party for Freddie, hoping he would recognize her; there would be a big difference between the eleven-year-old girl he had left behind and the nineteen-year-old lady she would have become. Fiendishly clever of them, to put everyone in costumes, thus making the game of Find-My-Sister-In-A-Crowd-Of-Thousands that bit trickier.
“Does that not strike you as ridiculous, my lord?” the man was saying, with a chortle.
Guy glanced at him. Speaking of ridiculous: The fellow, a politician of some description, had inexplicably chosen to wear a badger costume, although, to be fair, it went nicely with his thick white hair. His deceptively boyish face was bright with conspiratorial glee, as if certain of Guy’s agreement.
“What strikes me as ridiculous is your conviction that I wish to pass this evening discussing your petty politics,” Guy replied.
“Ha ha, how droll you are! Quite right, quite right.” The politician nodded enthusiastically, apparently undeterred. “Let’s discuss it next week at my club. Over a bottle of the finest Burgundy.”
This bit of nonsense made Guy snort. “Even six bottles of the finest Burgundy would not make your notions appealing.”
“Please, my lord. Have you no interest in the fate of our nation?”
“In the fate of our nation, yes. In the fate of your corrupt schemes, no.”
“I would not call them that!”
“Of course you wouldn’t, you naughty little rascal. But I would.”
His companion’s mouth opened and closed as he spluttered his outrage. Guy couldn’t help laughing. Never had he expected politics to be such fun.
The man rallied fast, although if he wanted to appear dignified, he really should not have dressed as a badger.
“This scheme benefits you too, my lord,” he hissed. “I would expect you to appreciate my assistance, given that your late father bequeathed to your sisters every bit of property that wasn’t entailed. Why, I hear he did not even make you their guardian, so you haven’t the benefit of managing their trusts.”
No, indeed. That “benefit” went to Sir Walter Treadgold, an obscure knight whose sister had married Guy’s father a few years earlier. The law stood firmly on the side of his father’s will; according to Guy’s solicitors, the Court of Chancery would overturn the will only if Sir Walter was found to be mismanaging his wards’ trusts. Evidence of that should be easy to find: Any intimate of the late marquess was almost certainly corrupt.
“Your concern is touching, dear sir,” Guy said lightly. “But fortunately for me, the entailed property generates enough income to provide all I desire from life, namely several pairs of comfortable boots and a supply of hot buttered toast.” His gaze snagged on a pair of young ladies dressed as flowers, heads together in intimate conversation. Their bright eyes and fond smiles aroused a pang of nostalgia for something he had never had. “Oh, and a bride.”
“Is it true, my lord, that your bride will not be Arabella Larke? An alliance with Miss Larke would bring you considerable wealth.”
An alliance with Arabella would also bring him considerable indigestion, if she was still the bossy, quarrelsome know-it-all that he recalled.
“True,” he conceded. “But Miss Larke was my father’s choice, and it’s so much more sporting to choose one’s own wife, don’t you think?”
The man steepled his fingers. “Now you mention it, I recall that I have a niece.”
Guy laughed. Heads turned. Among them, he spied a pair of jesters, pink ribbons dangling menacingly from their hands. The young ladies dressed as flowers exchanged a mischievous glance and drew closer. A tempting diversion, but Guy could not be distracted by a merry game of courtship tonight; first he must find Freddie, before Sir Walter played another of his tricks and whisked her away again.
He casually sidled away from the jesters, his latest hen clucking along beside him.
“Of course you have a niece,” Guy said, still searching the crowd. “And if you didn’t have a niece, you’d have a daughter or a sister or a cousin. During my absence, everyone in Britain has developed a female relative of marriageable age.” He spread his arms expansively, taking in the hubbub of the costumed, perfumed crowd. “May everyone send them all my way, and let the games begin.”
“If I might be so bold, my lord, my wife is planning a dinner party. You could meet my niece and we could discuss—”
Guy clapped the man on the shoulder. “I admire your persistence, old chap, but you have nothing else to recommend you. Here’s an idea: Come up with an honest scheme, one that doesn’t involve lining your pockets at the expense of the good people of Britain, and I shall happily attend all your dinner parties and meet everyone’s nieces. But for now, do me a kindness and toddle off. Go. Begone. Shoo.”
With that, Guy wheeled about.
Only to nearly collide with a Minerva.
