“Excellent claret, this.” Robert Anbel lounged in a leather chair across from Tyrell.
Tyrell swirled the ruby liquid in his glass. “Yes. Well, the least I could do was bring a bottle, since I planned to consume most of it myself.”
They were ensconced in Robert’s comfortable rooms, surrounded by piles of books, outdated copies of The Scourge and various other newspapers were strewn across the floor and tables. Two mismatched hounds lay snoring on the hearth.
“Ungodly mess you have here, Anbel.”
“I know. Wonderful, isn’t it. I’d shoot my man if he were to touch a thing. So, of course, the sensible chap leaves it alone.”
That almost won a chuckle out of his surly visitor.
“Stop brooding, Ty. Lady Alameda’s household can’t be as bad as you say it is.”
“Oh, can’t it?” Tyrell glared at him. “It’s bedlam, pure and simple. No, I’m wrong. It certainly isn’t pure, and it isn’t simple either. It’s depraved and chaotic, certainly not a fit home for a young lady. The countess lacks any moral character whatsoever. Then there is her salacious stepson. Madness. Did I tell you she invited Cumberland to her soirée?”
“Yes. You mentioned the duke, two or three times.”
“Well, I ask you, what kind of woman allows that vile old lecher in to a gathering where her own niece will be in attendance? Not to mention letting loose Byron’s would-be-cronies.”
Tyrell slammed his empty glass down on the end table. “The lady had the audacity to ring a peal over my head about my behavior. Oh, and what an interesting peal it was. I cannot fathom her offering me carte blanche with Fiona. Make up your mind, the insane countess commands. But under no circumstances am I to continue confusing the chit. Take her to bed, says she, or court her properly and marry her.”
Robert choked and nearly sputtered his claret. “Good heavens, man! You didn’t mention that before.” He regained his composure and mopped up his spilled wine. “Knowing your strong predisposition against marriage, as I do. I wonder what will your decision be? Have you decided to ruin the lovely Lady Fiasco, or have done with her?”
Tyrell cast him a murderous frown. “Don’t be an ass. I plan to get her away from that asylum she’s living in.”
Robert ignored Tyrell’s thunderous expression and smirked. “Ah, I see. And how will you accomplish this feat?”
“I don’t know. I had planned to write a letter to her father, but the mad countess only gave me two days before she lets Marcus have a go at Fiona if I don’t come up to snuff. The post will never get back and forth from Spain in so short a time.”
“Alameda? Good God. The woman is deranged.”
“It gets worse. This morning, I was astonished to receive an invitation from Lady Hawthorn, Fiona’s stepmother. She’s giving a ball for her daughter, Emeline. So, obviously they’re in town.”
“Then what could be simpler? You need only remove the chit from the madwoman and place her in the bosom of her family.”
“That’s the rub. Fiona doesn’t know they’re here. When I told her she ought not be under the same roof with Alameda, she claimed she had nowhere else to go, just as if she had no notion they here in London. Further to the point, she didn’t mention the Hawthorn ball.”
“Surely, she’s had an invitation to her own family’s ball. It would be socially damning to not invite their own daughter.”
“Exactly.” Tyrell lifted the crystal decanter and poured more liquid into his glass. “Think how Fiona will feel when she finds out.”
“Rubbish. They wouldn’t intentionally exclude her. Just isn’t done.” Robert tapped the side of his cup. “Unless she had a falling out with them. In that case, she might be prepared for the slight.”
“Slight? It’s a back-handed slap in the face.”
“You’re jumping to conclusions, my rash friend.”
“We shall see. I’m taking her riding tomorrow morning. I intend to find out more about it then.”
“Riding, eh?” The corners of Robert’s mouth twitched in silent mirth, as he added, “Decided to pay court, did you?”
Tyrell frowned at him. “Don’t be daft. The countess ordered me to do it.”
“So, naturally, you must obey.”
“No choice.”
“Hmm.”
* * *
While Tyrell and Robert lounged in Anbel’s cluttered apartments, Fiona and Maria stood in front of a Dr. Meredith’s town house, screwing up their courage to knock. Behind them, the maid, Lorraine, scuffed nervously at the sidewalk, obviously unhappy with her young mistress’s actions.
Fiona took a deep breath, grasped the brass knocker, and rapped briskly. “Chin up, Maria. I have it on the best authority that this doctor knows the very latest medical techniques. He teaches at the university. There are rumors he might even receive a knighthood for his extraordinary service to wounded soldiers. I’m certain he can do something for you.”
“What if Mama finds out? She’ll murder me.”
Just then, a young maid opened the door. Fiona looped arms with Maria and used her haughtiest voice to say, “The Misses Hawthor–er”—she hadn’t thought of a false name. The smell of baking ham wafted to her nose—“Hawthornham, here to see Dr. Meredith.”
“Yes, miss.” The maid curtsied and showed them up the stairs.
Dr. Meredith was younger than Fiona had anticipated, and he was a trifle too handsome to fit his distinguished reputation. She sat beside Maria, in front of his cluttered ink-stained oak desk, while Lorraine hovered in the back of the room like a fretful specter.
He smiled patiently. “It is customary, Miss Hawthornham, to send round for an appointment. You’re fortunate that I was not with another patient or at hospital.”
She shifted uneasily in her chair. “My apologies, but we’ve come on a matter of the utmost importance, an emergency, of sorts.”
The doctor pinched his lips between his teeth, as if trying not to betray hidden amusement. Brushing an errant lock of black hair away from his forehead, he cleared his throat. “What is the exact nature of your emergency?”
Maria and Fiona exchanged anxious looks. Fiona straightened her shoulders. “It’s my sister, sir. Something must be done for her mouth. She has some rotten teeth, a foul odor, and terribly sore gums.”
Dr. Meredith looked them both over carefully. “For sisters, you are not much alike.”
Fiona smiled confidently. She had anticipated this line of questioning. “Maria takes after our dear departed mother, and I am more like Father.” She drooped her head to the side and added in a mournful timbre, “More like Father was.”
“Oh, I see. Both of your parents have passed on?”
Fiona nodded. “Yes. I, alone, must care for dear little Maria. Please, doctor. I’ve heard from several of my friends that you are the best surgeon in London. Won’t you do something about her teeth? I’m prepared to pay you twice your normal fee.” She extracted a small stack of coins from her handbag and set it on the corner of his desk.
He frowned. “Put your money away. You ought to have taken your sister to a dentist.”
“A tooth-puller? You don’t understand—it’s far more than a few a rotten teeth. Her gums are dreadfully sore. Indeed, her whole mouth is in a very painful state. A dentist simply isn’t knowledgeable enough for this job.”
He shrugged. “Very well. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to look at the problem.” Then he added in a wry tone, “Have dear little Maria come sit in this chair under my lamp.”
Maria dutifully trod over to his examining chair. Fiona thought her friend looked like a beautiful martyr walking courageously to her execution. She noted Dr. Meredith’s reaction. He flushed slightly and ran his finger nervously around his collar before stammering a reassurance to his patient. “There’s nothing to fear, miss. If you will just open—”
He flinched when pungent gases fluxed out. He stepped back shortly, cleared his throat, took a deep breath and bent over Maria with a metal instrument, not unlike a long thin spoon. He pushed and prodded, thoroughly examining her mouth, throat and cheeks.
“Good grief!” He exhaled and tossed the probe onto a steel tray. The clatter made Maria jump.
“What has been done to your mouth?” he demanded. “Your gums are hashed up like dog meat.”
Maria blinked up at him. Her chin began to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. Fiona tapped the surgeon’s shoulder. “You mustn’t speak to her in that manner. It isn’t her fault. Our family physician set leeches on her gums. He even seared them with hot irons.”
Dr. Meredith turned a steely glare onto Fiona. “How could you allow those barbaric treatments? Such practices may be common among the poor. But you are obviously quality and at least somewhat educated, how could you stand by and watch your sister being tortured with primitive cures?”
“I?” Caught off guard, Fiona gasped. “I didn’t, sir. I wouldn’t. How could you suggest such a thing?” Then she collected herself and lapsed back into their ruse. “You don’t understand. It was, um, our mother. God rest her soul. She doted on that horrible old quack. There was nothing I could do to stop them. Nothing.”
Fiona noted the skeptical set of his brow. She stamped her foot. “Don’t you see? The damage is already done. Now, it’s up to you to help her. Surely, you can do something?”
He stared pensively at Maria. Tears shimmered in her enormous blue eyes. He shook his head. “I cannot understand why anyone would do such things to so beautiful a creature.” Meredith picked up his instruments. “Open your mouth. Let us see what can be repaired.”
When Fiona and Maria left Dr. Meredith’s surgery, Maria’s mouth was packed with cotton wadding. She tried to speak. Translating her garbled speech, Fiona ascertained that Maria did not think it a good idea to go directly to her home with her cheeks puffed out like a fat walrus.
“I quite agree. We’ll go to Alison Hall and perhaps the swelling will go down before long.”
Maria rolled her eyes, skeptically.
Lorraine scuffled along behind them and contributed her opinion. “I wager a chunk or two of ice on them gums might help. When we get home, I’ll go straight down to the kitchen an’ chisel some nice pieces of ice for you. May I say, miss, you were that brave, you were. I near fainted, what with that doctor prying them teeth out. But you, you never even flinched. Ooo, all that blood—”
Fiona cast Lorraine a quelling frown. “Now, Maria, you must remember to apply Dr. Meredith’s salve to your gums every night, and to use this special tooth powder exactly as he directed. No more musk tablets. Truly, they do not improve mouth odor. I know many members of the ton use them, but I think they create an even worse stench.”
Fiona fell comfortably into her role of older sister and lectured Maria all the way home. They arrived at Alison Hall with Maria mumbling about a head-splitting megrim, and a fear she might lose the contents of her stomach.
“Whatever have you done to the child?” Honore asked her niece. “She looks ghastly.”
Fiona led Maria to a divan and propped a pillow under her head. After settling her patient, she turned to her aunt, “I quite like your new hair color, Aunt Honore. I do believe it is the loveliest shade of auburn I have ever seen.”
Honore smiled and put a hand up to her new dark tresses. “Thank you, dearest. Monsieur Renellé was here this morning. I’m pleased with it.” Honore checked the mirror and twisted one of the short curls surrounding her face back into submission.
Then she clucked her tongue. “Clever diversion, Fiona. You haven’t answered my question. What ails Maria? Looks as if her jaw has been bludgeoned with a hammer. Where have you two been all morning?”
Maria moaned and cast her eyes heavenward.
Fiona squared her shoulders. “I took Maria to a proper surgeon to have something done about her dreadful mouth.”
“Did you?” Honore crossed her arms and regarded her niece from under a cocked eyebrow. “Did you, indeed?”
“Yes.” Fiona’s face remained impassive. “It needed doing. She deserves better than a mouth full of rotting teeth and festering gums.”
“I suppose Lady Haversburg approved of this excursion?”
“No. No, she did not. When she discovers what I have done, no doubt she’ll turn quite livid. I offer no defense for my actions.”
“Humph. You had better devise a defense, my girl. When Louise finds out what you’ve done, she won’t turn livid. She’ll eat your liver for breakfast.”
“I don’t care. I could not sit idly by while Maria’s life was ruined by her mother’s misplaced confidence in a cruel old charlatan she calls a doctor. What he has done to her, under the guise of practicing medicine, is criminal. He ought to be horsewhipped. I am not sorry. Nor, will I pretend to be.” Fiona folded her arms across her chest and waited for Honore’s wrath to fall.
Honore surprised her by clapping her hands and laughing. “Bless me, child! You do have a backbone. I knew it all along. You’ve got gumption, my child, just like me.”
“Does she?” The question came from Marcus, who stood in the doorway, flipping open and snapping shut a silver snuffbox.
“Of course she does. Why, only see how she has turned Maria’s life upside down. That’s not the half of it. She’s willing to face Lady Haversburg’s wrath into the bargain.”
“That’s what you call backbone? How very curious.” He sauntered into the room. “The Haversburg chit looks as if she might die. You’re right. Death will certainly turn her life upside down.”
He paused in front of Honore. “You’ve changed your hair again. Too bad. I rather enjoyed the yellow stuff.” Marcus scanned Honore’s sedate morning gown. “Very proper dress, my dear, quite matronly.” Although he smiled, his expression resembled an adder preparing to strike.
“It is eminently suitable for the occasion. My solicitor is coming this afternoon. We’ve serious matters to discuss.” Honore looked fondly over at Fiona, and then snapped her attention back to Marcus. She jutted her chin into the air and marched toward the door. “I’ll be in my study.”
She paused and called over her shoulder. “Fiona, dear, I forgot to mention Lord Wesmont is taking you riding tomorrow morning. He arranged it with me last night.”
Caught off guard, Fiona started, “No, I shan’t—”
“You shall.” Her aunt waved a dismissive hand in the air and pranced out of the room.
Marcus glowered at Honore’s departing back. A puff of air escaped his lips and made a small popping noise. He spun around to Fiona and snapped his snuffbox shut. “That’s that,” he muttered to himself, and flopped into a chair across from Fiona and Maria. “Looks as if you’re the heir apparent for the moment.”
“Pardon?” Fiona glanced at him quizzically, not have heard his mumbled words.
“Nothing.” He waved her question away. “By all means, continue nursing your victim.” He lounged, watching them, stroking a finger back and forth across his lips.
Fiona leaned over her patient and ordered Maria to open her mouth. She removed the cotton wadding and checked inside. “It looks as if the bleeding has stopped.”
With the toe of his boot, Marcus raised the back of Fiona’s skirt. He tilted his head slightly to have a better view of her ankles and calves. “Nicely shaped. I give you that much,” he mumbled, lifting her dress still higher.
Fiona felt the air under her gown and whipped around. “Marcus! What on earth are you doing?” She batted his foot away.
He cocked an eyebrow and grinned wickedly. His leer collapsed into a lazy boyish smile. “Don’t scold me, cousin.” He steepled his fingertips together and raked his eyes over her figure. “It’s your fault, you know. You’re too enticing. You tempt me and tease me, mercilessly.”
“I do not.”
“Yes you do. You tantalize me by your very closeness.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“It’s true.” He protested. “My passion for you is nearly uncontrollable. Every night I thrash in my bed for want of you. I can’t eat. Can’t sleep. I’m beside myself. Marry me, Fiona, or go away someplace where I cannot see you. Someplace, where your presence will not torture me with longing.” Marcus tapped his fingertips together, and in a decidedly different tone continued his speech. “Otherwise, I cannot be responsible for my actions.”
Maria gasped.
“Ignore him, Maria.” Fiona shook her head. “Marcus, stop being absurd. If you are thrashing in bed, it is with some ballet dancer somewhere. I know for a fact, you never arrive home until dawn.”
“You lay awake listening for my return, do you?”
“Heavens no. Everyone at Alison Hall knows when you return. You’re generally so foxed you stagger into the furniture, shout and carry on so loudly you rouse the entire household. The servants must help you to bed. I must hold a pillow over my ears until you are settled.”
“Ah well,”—he brazenly assessed her figure again—“As my wife, you could reform me. Think of it, Fiona. You might devote your life to changing me into a respectable gentleman.”
“That, my dear cousin, would be a life destined for disappointment.” Fiona turned back to Maria who looked quite alarmed. “You mustn’t fret. Lorraine will return soon with some ice. It might help slow the pain and swelling.”
But Maria didn’t relax. She peeked around Fiona at Lord Alameda and her eyes opened even wider in alarm.
