Wicked With the Scoundrel

by Elizabeth Bright

  “How many live here now?” he asked.

  “Just five, all told, now that Martha has gone to live with her brother,” came the response. “Her eyesight is too poor to sew anymore.”

  Five! Claire’s rapidly recalculated her opinion of the small house. Cozy became cramped.

  Meg cleared her throat. “I’ll see about getting some provisions for the rest of our journey, shall I?”

  “Yes, Meg.” Claire handed over her purse. “And some extra things to be delivered here this afternoon, from Mr. Smith.”

  “Very good, my lady.”

  The maid was gone by the time Colin and Mrs. Smith returned with the tea. Claire explained her absence and then claimed one of the uncomfortable chairs. Mrs. Smith served the tea and then remained standing, hands clasped before her. She had not given herself a cup, Claire realized. Colin likewise remained standing, although he, at least, had tea. Perhaps the chairs were not meant to be sat upon?

  Oh, dear.

  Claire rose slowly.

  Mrs. Smith stepped forward. “Oh, must you leave so soon? You haven’t finished your tea, my lady.”

  She sat again. When Mrs. Smith did not do likewise, Claire gave her a hopeful smile. “Won’t you take the other chair, please? I don’t like to sit alone.”

  She took a sip of weak tea. Likely the leaves had been used previously, perhaps more than once.

  “Do you know,” she said. “I’ve met quite a lot of people by the name of Smith. Ninety-seven, to be exact. The first was when I was four, and a footman named Smith delivered a note to my mother from Lady Downton. I met the second Smith on the following Monday. She was a lovely lady walking a sweet white dog, which she allowed me to pet. The third—” She broke off abruptly as Mrs. Smith sent a bemused look to her son. Oh, dear. “I beg your pardon. It is hard to stop once I begin, and my maid is not here to pinch me.”

  “Your maid pinches you?” Mrs. Smith asked in horrified tones.

  “It is for my own good.”

  “I should like to hear about all ninety-seven Smiths,” Colin said idly, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall. “But as this is Mother’s only free morning this week and she wouldn’t like to be late to work, we haven’t the time. Perhaps you could just tell us about the second Smith.”

  Her only free morning! Claire lowered her gaze to her teacup. And of course Mrs. Smith had meant to spend it with her son, whom she hadn’t seen in several years. Colin had arranged for that quite purposefully, and Claire had thwarted him. Oh, she had ruined everything—accidentally, to be sure, but what did that matter? The result was the same.

  She couldn’t change it now, but she might still make it better. She would stay quiet as a church mouse so that Colin and his mother might converse freely without her annoying lists.

  “Then what happened?” Colin asked, interrupting her thoughts.

  Claire looked up from her tea, forgetting her oath. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The following Monday, when you met Mrs. Smith and the white dog. What happened after you played with the dog?”

  “Oh. My father found me and took me home.”

  “You were lost, then?” His tone was one of casual curiosity as he lifted his cup to his lips.

  “Oh, yes, in Hyde Park. Someone had tried to murder the king, you see, but had shot another man instead. I was separated from my father in all the commotion, but the lady was very kind to me and let me pet her dog until my father found me.”

  Colin stared at Claire from over the rim of his cup, which remained hovering at his mouth.

  “Small wonder,” Mrs. Smith said, “you remember your second Smith and her white dog, after such excitement, though you were but a small child. Although, I don’t see how you remember the footman or any of the others.”

  Claire lifted her shoulders. “I remember everything, although most of it is not worth the trouble. Occasionally something exciting happens—not to me, of course. I am always merely a witness.”

  “Be grateful for that, my lady. Exciting things have a way of bringing heartbreak with them.” Mrs. Smith twisted her bony fingers in her lap. “My son wrote that you are hunting treasure. Perhaps that will give you some excitement without any heartbreak.”

  Claire laughed. “I do hope so!”

  Try as she might, she could not help from looking at Colin as she spoke.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Lady Claire had a habit of always saying what Colin least expected. Although, how could any man possibly have expected her to list all of Bath’s circulating libraries and when they closed, or however many Smiths she had met during her lifetime? The orderliness of her mind was astounding.

  Of course, Colin had no interest in any number of Smiths—except himself and his mother—but he did not mind hearing about them. He rather liked the sound of Lady Claire’s voice. The up-down, up-down rhythm was soothing, like the rocking of a ship on the ocean’s waves. And then, just when he was lulled into a sleepy dreamlike state, she would throw in a lightning bolt. “The king was almost murdered,” or, “alligators don’t chew.”

  Most surprising of all was that she looked quite happy to be saying unexpected things to a poor seamstress while drinking embarrassingly weak tea in the shoddy side of town. Not dangerous, exactly. He would never have taken her somewhere truly dangerous. Just…shoddy.

  Here she sat in his mother’s room. Her fine red traveling costume had likely cost a sum that could feed his mother and her companions for a fortnight. Or two. Suddenly, he was angry. Angry that she had paid a ridiculous amount for a dress she would wear only a handful of times before replacing. Angry that she had not paid enough to allow the seamstress, a woman like his mother, to live in a home of her own rather than sharing it with four other women.

  “Colin!”

  His mother’s sharp tone cut through his thoughts. Good God, how long had he been scowling at Lady Claire? She was regarding him warily with wide brown eyes, as though she expected his censure at any moment.

  “Pardon. What were you saying?” he said sheepishly.

  His mother narrowed her gaze and frowned.

  “It’s all right,” Lady Claire said. “He always scowls when I speak of the emerald. He thinks I am very silly about it. Isn’t that right, Mr. Smith? He doesn’t want me to get my hopes up, since I’ll only be disappointed.”

  Ah, yes. Cleopatra’s Emerald. The jewel they would certainly not find. In fact, they would not find any treasure in the caves, unless Chatwell had performed a bloody miracle, since it had been buried at Scipio’s old homestead. But she would have her adventure, as her father required. And then Colin would have his money to return to Egypt.

  Except…

  Could they find the emerald? Was the notion really so absurd as all that? On the one hand, yes, there were two thousand years and hundreds of fortune hunters not in their favor. On the other hand, Lady Claire believed they would find the treasure. He would almost call that a balancing of the scales.

  But he wouldn’t tell her so, and risk her disappointment.

  “We won’t find the emerald,” he said firmly. “But there will be other jewels to revive your spirits, and you will simply have to make do with those.” How he would manage that was a problem for tomorrow.

  She just laughed, to his consternation.

  There was a dull knock at the door, and Meg entered. “Provisions are in the carriage, my lady. All is as you requested.”

  Lady Claire nodded. “Thank you, Meg.”

  “We must take our leave, I’m afraid.” Colin gathered the tea tray, aware that Lady Claire watched his every movement. Why did she look at him so? Surely, she was not surprised that his mother kept no servants. “We hope to be in Cheddar long before sundown.”

  Lady Claire rose to her feet. “Thank you for the tea, Mrs. Smith. It was so lovely after being in the carriage for two hours.”

  “I am glad to have met you, my lady.” His mother actually sounded like she meant it. “Will you stop here again
upon your return? I should like to hear if the venture is successful.”

  “Of course.” Lady Claire smiled.

  Colin touched her arm, then dropped his hand quickly when his mother’s gaze sharpened. “Lady Claire, would you mind waiting in the carriage while I say goodbye? I will only be a moment, and the driver will see you are safe.”

  “We will not be harmed. Meg carries a pistol when we travel. She is an excellent shot.”

  Good lord. Astonished, he had no idea what to say to that.

  When Lady Claire had exited with her maid, he turned to his mother and found her regarding him with a fierce frown.

  “What?” he asked. “What have I done now? I wrote to you from India and Egypt. It is not my fault if the letters did not always make it to England.”

  “It is not the letters, Colin. It is the lady.”

  He sighed. “What of her?”

  “She does not belong in your world. Treasure hunting is a dangerous business. You have broken bones—”

  “Only my nose,” he protested.

  “And you’ve landed yourself in prison. In India!” she added, as though that made it worse. Perhaps it did, but he had no intention of entering an English prison just for comparison’s sake.

  “Mother,” he said with affectionate exasperation, “Lady Claire is not going to end with a broken nose or a prison sentence. This is her treasure hunt. Her father requested that I assist and keep her from harm.” Colin had told his mother as much in his letter, but nothing further. He had not shared Chatwell’s motives, nor that the treasure they were supposed to find was a fraud. The fewer people who knew of the deception, the better.

  “It is not only her welfare I am concerned with. You must be careful, Colin. These lords and ladies, they’re not like us. They don’t see us as people, even. We’re playthings and servants, useful only so long as we amuse and serve them. We are disposable at their slightest whim.”

  Colin stilled. “Lady Claire is not like that, Mother. She is not like the viscount.”

  “She is not purposefully cruel, I am sure. But she is as used to having her whims obeyed as any other of her kind. And I don’t like the way she looks at you.”

  He could not pretend innocence there. He knew how Lady Claire looked at him, as though he was the romantic hero of her every daydream. It was a problem. However, unlike his mother, he could not in all honestly claim to dislike it. That was also a problem.

  “I’ll be careful,” he promised.

  She snorted. “Hmph.”

  He kissed her on the cheek with a promise to return in a week. As he exited the doorway, a man carrying several large packages waylaid him. “Mrs. Susan Smith’s home, is this?”

  Colin paused. “Yes, and I am her son. What is this about?”

  “Good, good.” The man grinned widely, revealing a missing tooth. “Ham and chicken, eggs and bread, sugar and tea. Was to bring them this evening, I was, but thought it best to be done now, as you paid such a fine penny.”

  “Oh, I did, did I?” But of course he hadn’t. This was Lady Claire’s work. It had to be. Meg had placed the order, but she would never have done so without her mistress’s directive.

  “It’s a good son you are.” The man shifted the packages. “I’ll just put them inside, won’t I.”

  Colin jerked a nod toward the door, giving the man permission to enter. Without a word, he strode toward the carriage and the aggravating, audacious woman in it.

  Chapter Twenty

  The carriage ride was exceedingly tense, and Claire was sure she did not know why. Colin had been in a fine mood when she had left him with his mother, but scarcely ten minutes later he had sprung into the carriage, thumped his fist once on the roof, and barked the order “Drive!”

  Now he sat across from her, glowering as though the plush squabs were made of brick.

  He was quite handsome when he glowered, in a pirate-ish sort of way.

  Anyway, there was no reason to allow his foul mood to temper her own happiness. And she was happy. She liked knowing Colin’s mother. It was only fair that they should have met, after all, since Colin knew her father. True, the introductions had not been made with the expectation of courtship, but it still mattered, to be presented to his mother. She felt sure it did.

  She hummed a little to herself as she removed her gloves and bonnet. The day was warm, and she feared it would soon be hot inside the closed-in carriage.

  “You may remove your jacket,” she said, “if it will make you more comfortable.” She hoped he would. Colin in his shirtsleeves was a fine sight to behold.

  To her disappointment, he merely crossed his arms over his chest. A small bead of sweat trickled down his temple. The frown deepened.

  “Suit yourself.” Certainly, she would not insist that he remove his clothing if he did not wish to do so. She draped her gloves on her lap, tugging each finger gently until they lay smooth. A glance out the window assured her that no storms threatened their journey. It was an uncommonly clear day for England, and she would enjoy it. She sighed contentedly.

  Colin continued to glower.

  That, however, would not dissuade her from conversation. “When did you leave Bristol?” she asked. “What age were you?”

  He grunted. She waited patiently. He would not ignore her. For all his moods, he was not a rude man.

  “Fifteen,” he said finally. His glanced to Meg, but the maid was already fast asleep. “I went to London, hoping my father would pay for an apprenticeship aboard a ship.”

  Her brow furrowed in confusion. She had assumed his father was dead. “Your father was not in Bristol with your mother?”

  “God, no.” He laughed. “My father lives in a very fine house in St. George. My mother was his wife’s maid, until she found herself with child. He had no use for her then, so he gave her fifty pounds and sent her to Bristol, lest she bear a child who looked too much like himself.”

  Claire felt the blood drain from her face with every word.

  But he continued relentlessly. “My mother was just fifteen when she bore me. She was strong, and her eyesight was good. It wasn’t hard to find a position as seamstress. I was fortunate that she made friends easily to share the burden of home and food, and they never let me go without.”

  “Fifteen,” she whispered. “Who is your father?”

  “Viscount Goderich.”

  She blanched. “But I know him!”

  “Why, then he must be innocent. My mistake.” He turned his attention to the window. A muscle twitched in his cheek.

  “Of course I don’t think you are mistaken. It was a shock, that is all. I hadn’t thought…” Her voice trailed off.

  Heavens. How could she have suspected? Mrs. Smith had born a child at fifteen. Perhaps she had only been fourteen when the viscount had— When he had… But Claire didn’t have words for what he had done. One word sprang to mind, but she shuddered away from it. Yet that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Even if he had not been violent, a maid could not have refused him. She had been barely more than a child, herself.

  “I am sure you know a great many lords who have fathered bastards,” Colin said coolly. “There are hundreds of us running around London, you know.”

  Us. He had called himself a bastard. She bit her lip, troubled. A bastard was a shameful thing. They were not welcome at parties or dinners or, well, anywhere, for that matter.

  And yet, Viscount Goderich was welcome everywhere.

  “Did your father pay for an apprenticeship?” she asked. “Is that how you went to Calcutta?”

  “No. He refused. Said I was nothing, not worth even a farthing. I stowed aboard the ship, and when I was discovered, it was too late to throw me overboard. Well”—he reconsidered—“they could have, I suppose, but I proved myself to be useful. There was an Indian on the crew, and a German, and a Chinese man, and it soon became apparent that I had a gift for languages. I could repeat anything they said perfectly. They thought it a great lark to have me mimic them, as m
ost of the words were profane.” He grinned. “But Kadek, the Indian, was kind. He taught me his language, and when we landed he took me with him and helped me find work.”

  Heavens, Colin Smith was…well, he was simply the most marvelous, wonderful man who had ever lived.

  He stretched his long, muscular legs in front of him and crossed one ankle over the other. “Not bad for the bastard son of a viscount and a lady’s maid, eh?”

  There! He had said it again. He had called himself a bastard.

  But just then Meg stirred, and Claire held her tongue.

  She said no more as they continued their journey. Colin kept his gaze on the window, occasionally scowling again when he caught her watching him. It was a scant thirteen miles to Cheddar, and no more than two hours passed before they arrived at the coaching inn, the word “bastard” still ringing in her ears.

  The inn had plenty of rooms available, much to Claire’s disappointment. If this had been one of Adelaide’s Gothic novels, there would have been only one room and one bed. But no, the innkeeper assured them—there were adjoining rooms available, one large room with two beds for the lady and her maid, and the other with just one bed for— The innkeeper broke off abruptly, clearly unsure what, exactly, Colin was.

  Well, that made two of them.

  “I’ll see to your bags, my lady,” Colin said with a crisp bow to Claire. There was something in his tone she did not like.

  “Come along then, miss.” The housekeeper led the way up the stairs. “This is our best room, and the beds are the most comfortable in the inn. You will sleep like a baby tonight, that you will.” She unlocked the door and handed Claire the key. “Is everything to your liking?”

  It seemed a cozy enough room, so she nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Will you be requiring a bath?” the housekeeper asked.

  Claire nodded. “In an hour, if you please.”

  “Yes, miss.” The housekeeper curtseyed and was gone.

  Claire wandered about the small room. It felt good to move her legs, even if her steps went only in circles. They echoed the words in her head. Bastard, bastard, bastard.