Page 54 of Pride & Petticoats

Alex raised an eyebrow but didn’t have a chance to respond as Sebastian came striding between the men. The other spectators were still calling their congratulations, and Sebastian was glowing from his victory and eager to recount the entire fight to Dewhurst.

After several moments of Middleton’s detailed retelling, which bordered on reenactment at times, even the promise of free alcohol ceased to interest Skiffy, and he left to seek grander entertainments with Golden Ball Hughes.

Freddie listened with what patience he had, which was generally not much where his cousin was concerned, and just when Sebastian was relaying the coup de gra^ce, he interrupted: “What can you tell me about our American friend? Has he heard of my wife’s arrival in Society?”

Sebastian sighed. “You could have at least let me finish my crowing, especially as I’ve no word yet.”

“ ’Fraid I find that hard to believe. None of your contacts know of the man?”

“Nary a one.”

Freddie looked contemplative, and Alex, who although not involved in their efforts on behalf of the Foreign Office was still reasonably informed, added, “We’ll know shortly. If Pettigru doesn’t get his hands on the new codes soon, the information he’s passed to the French will be too old to use in deciphering Wellington’s communique´s.”

“How often does Wellington change the cipher?” Freddie asked.

“As needed,” Alex answered. “And if the British codes have changed, Bonaparte will not be pleased. If Pettigru is as determined to contact Charlotte as you say he is, he’ll make a move to contact her tonight or tomorrow.”

“I say we all keep our ears to the ground tonight, and then make every effort to throw Miss—I mean, Lady Dewhurst—in his path tomorrow night at Winterbourne’s ball,” Middleton said.

Freddie sat up straight. “I don’t know that I like the idea of throwing her in anyone’s path.”

“But that’s the reason she’s here,” Sebastian protested. Freddie didn’t respond. His cousin was right, but Freddie didn’t want to be reminded of that fact. Once they apprehended Pettigru, Charlotte would be free to leave. He’d pay her the thousand pounds; she’d be out of his life forever. And perhaps that was for the best.

“Well, I for one have had enough pugilism for a day,” Middleton said. “What do you say we set off for the club? I’ve got a taste for a bit of hazard.”

White’s was crowded and loud with the same men who’d been at Brigham’s ball the night before. The greater part of London’s ton were at their country houses for the summer, and Freddie felt the lack of variety. He wished he’d gone home, but he feared that without copious amounts of alcohol, he would not make it through the evening. He could not endure another night lying in his bed, knowing that Charlotte was sleeping just a few feet away.

The dressing room door he had barely noted before Charlotte’s arrival took on a new significance with her on the other side. So far it had taken monumental resolve not to turn the knob. Freddie feared he was fresh out of resolve tonight, but he had wine, and perhaps if he drank himself senseless, he could forget the red-haired hellion sleeping in his house, playing the part of his wife, in all ways but one.

Freddie was well on his way to entering a drunken stupor when Alvanley and several of his cronies entered White’s gaming room, where Freddie and Alex were drinking and watching Middleton lose a small fortune at the tables.

“Ah, there he is,” Alvanley sneered when he spotted Freddie. “The traitor lover.”

Freddie raised a lopsided brow. “What’s got you chomping at the bit now, Alvanley?”

Alvanley raised a copy of the Times. “Your precious Americans are getting out of hand again, Dewhurst.”

Freddie shrugged. The story of Mad Jack Percival had been in all the papers the day before. Percival was an uneducated American man who’d started his sailing career as a cabin boy. He’d been pressed into British service and even served on HMS Victory before escaping.

Then on July fourth, he’d made an ass out of the British navy. The rumor was that he rounded up thirty-two men and took the American ship Yankee out into the New York harbor. The British were blockading the harbor, and three miles out the Yankee was overtaken by the British ship Beagle. Mad Jack had visibly stocked the Yankee with just the enticements the British would need—fruit, sheep, ducks—and all of it topside. Below were the thirty-two American sailors with their weapons.

It was meant to look like an easy catch, and the thirteen redcoats on the Beagle must have been slapping each other on their backs, until the armed Americans jumped out. Outnumbered and outwitted, the British were forced to surrender. Mad Jack towed the Beagle to the New York battery to the loud cheers of the American crowds celebrating Independence Day.

The Times quoted Percival as saying, “Shucks, we was just having a little fun. We ought to do something to celebrate the Fourth besides listen to a band concert.”

“Looks as though you weren’t the only Englishman bested by an American recently, Alvanley. What’s wrong? Did my wife make you look like a fool last night?”

One of Alvanley’s cronies started forward, but the dandy held up a hand. “You’re the expert on fools, Dewhurst. But I don’t have an American slut spreading her legs for me, making me forget who the real enemy is.”

“Bastard.” Freddie shot out of his chair, tackling Alvanley and sending them both sprawling into a table of gamblers. The men and cards flew in all directions, but before Freddie could regain his feet, one of Alvanley’s thugs caught him and held him as two others took turns pummeling him. Freddie was almost too drunk to feel the full impact of the blows, but he was not so drunk that he didn’t look to Alex for assistance.

Ignoring the remonstrations of White’s civilized gentlemen, Alex pushed his way past chairs, tables, and glasses, scattering men. Freddie used the diversion to land a blow, and Alex pulled one of the other men off him, landing a hard right square on the man’s jaw. Freddie pummeled his opponent in the gut, then looked at Alex and grinned. “I say, well met, Selbourne!”

Alex scowled. “What the devil are you smiling at?”

Freddie didn’t have time to respond as Alvanley was bearing down on him. Alvanley swung and Freddie ducked. Alvanley stumbled and clipped the Duke of York, the Prince Regent’s brother, in the jaw.

There was a long silence as York shook his head and rose. With an oath, he swung at Alvanley, and then White’s erupted into total chaos. Alex grabbed Freddie and hauled him through the mob and into the night. Alex pulled Freddie across the street, and both men collapsed a few doors away.

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