The Gentle Art of Fortune Hunting

by KJ Charles

  “Aston Clinton, and the roses are a garden. And I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Marnie. It’s not up for debate.”

  “It bloody well is. How selfish do you think I am?”

  He retrieved the gin. He needed it now. “I know you aren’t, and that you want me to be happy, but I can’t be if you’re not. If I’m afraid for you, if you’re alone— No.”

  “Robin, I’m a grown woman with a double handful of emeralds. And you’ve got a chance for a home and safety and someone who loves you. I could never be happy if I took that away from you, so if you care about me at all, you’ll go with Hart.”

  “I’m not letting you down. It’s the one thing I said I’d never do. I won’t.”

  “You never could, idiot. Go to your brewer.” Marianne plucked the bottle from his hand. “Get your hops and roses.”

  “He’ll be with his family. I’ll stay here tonight.” He snatched it back. “We’ve got a lot of gin to finish.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The next morning was exactly the sort of morning you might expect if you’d burned all the bridges and drunk all the gin. Robin dragged himself out of bed at a knock on the door, had a handful of letters thrust at him by the landlady, and was informed in no uncertain terms that she’d been up and down with messages all morning and would thank him to collect them from the hall.

  He woke Marianne, dressed while she remembered the eighteen thousand a year and screamed into her mattress, and crawled out to buy something for breakfast. When he returned, she was curled on the settle in a litter of papers.

  “Anything good?”

  “Three anonymous notes calling me a bitch and whore, two proposals of marriage, five invitations to come over and tell them all about it, and this.” She waved a note. “Mrs. Blaine would like us to call.”

  “We should do that.” He looked at Marianne, all tangled hair, red eyes, and dark circles. “When you’ve primped a bit.”

  “Speak for yourself. You look like the Fall of Man.”

  They rendered themselves acceptable for polite society, which involved a lot of coffee and Robin putting his head under the pump, and set off walking, since the day was bright with the promise of spring. Excessively so, for Robin’s sore eyeballs. They saw a couple of acquaintances and nodded, but didn’t stop.

  “If anyone speaks to me with my head in this state, I won’t be responsible for my actions,” Marianne muttered. “What are you going to do?”

  “Stand back and watch. Sod ’em.”

  “Not that, fool. Hart.”

  “I told you yesterday.”

  “And I told you. Rob, I love you, and you love him, and if you spoil this, I will never forgive myself. Which I’ll make you regret for the rest of your life, so consider yourself warned. Oh God, it’s Florence Jocelyn. Look the other way. Oh no.”

  Miss Jocelyn and Mowbray approached, faces full of concern. They hadn’t been at the ball, but word of the scandal was doubtless spreading like the clap. Robin forced his mouth into a smile and agreed that it was true, it was most distressing for Marianne, they didn’t greatly want to discuss it, and they had yet to decide whether to return home to Nottinghamshire. Marianne adopted the bearing of a plaintive nun for the duration of the conversation, but as they walked on, she said, “I am leaving.”

  “What, London?”

  “I’ll have to. For one thing, I’ve used my chance. For another, I don’t like the sympathy, but I’ll like the malice even less.”

  “Will there be malice?”

  “People do love to see an ambitious woman fall. And Tachbrook will be malicious, I’m sure of that. I have no doubt he’ll put his side forward.”

  “He did that to Hart,” Robin said. “When he was estranged from his mother because of her behaviour, Tachbrook made sure her story was the one people heard.”

  “I’m not in the least surprised.”

  They made it to Mrs. Blaine’s without further incident, and were admitted to the sitting room, to find not just her but Alice and Hart. They all stood as the Loxleighs entered.

  Robin hadn’t set foot in the house since being exposed as a fortune hunter, and certainly not during the period where Alice was threatening to elope with him. He felt a sudden, belated, and very well deserved spasm of embarrassment. “Uh—”

  “Robin!” Alice shrieked, and hurled herself at him, hugging him more like a child than a grown-up mathematician. “You were wonderful. Thank you, thank you.”

  Robin looked over her head in mild alarm, but Hart was smiling at him, and he now saw Mrs. Blaine was embracing Marianne, rocking her back and forth. “You are the dearest girl,” she said, voice muffled. “Heroic. I am so dreadfully sorry.”

  Alice disengaged herself from Robin and flung her arms around Marianne. Mrs. Blaine held out her hand to him from between them, and Robin took it, feeling somewhat startled. “Thank you so much, Mr. Loxleigh. For you both to step in like that—”

  “It truly was nothing,” Robin said. “Honestly. It was the least we could do, considering.”

  “It wasn’t.” Hart’s voice was very deep. “I can’t tell you what it meant to have a defender just then.”

  “And you were so wonderfully rude.” Alice looked remarkably pretty in her enthusiasm. “It was glorious. Someone should have told that horrible woman off years ago, and Tachbrook with her. I’ve no idea how you had the nerve to do it, but I intend to learn.”

  “Perhaps I should too.” Mrs. Blaine stepped back, wiping her eyes. “Let me ring for tea, and you must tell me, Miss Loxleigh. Is the engagement truly off?”

  “Yes,” Marianne said. “And an exceedingly good thing too. I had made a very stupid mistake.”

  “It is a great deal better to discover your mistake before the wedding rather than after. But what will you do now?”

  Marianne glanced at Robin. Mrs. Blaine coughed gently. “I should say that I had a long talk with Hart last night. I would imagine you find yourself in an awkward position. And Tachbrook is a vindictive man who does not forgive insult.”

  “We were thinking of leaving London,” Robin said. He didn’t, couldn’t, look at Hart as he spoke. He didn’t want to say it and if he looked, he didn’t think he’d be able to get the words out. “I don’t want Marianne exposed to his malice.”

  “I was thinking of leaving,” Marianne said. “Whereas Robin—”

  “We are not having this conversation now,” Robin said through his teeth.

  “Try me.” Marianne gave him a bright smile.

  “If I may.” Hart was still standing, though the rest of them had sat. “Edwina has a suggestion to make.”

  “It was Hart’s thought,” Mrs. Blaine said. “I have been looking for a companion for Alice to go to Heidelberg with her. Someone who I can trust to look after her. A lady with the heart of a lion who I know—I have seen for myself—will take good care of my daughter. I don’t suppose...”

  Robin did look at Hart then, swinging round with his jaw slack. Hart gave him an exceedingly tentative smile. “It was just a thought. But if it appeals to Miss Loxleigh—”

  “But I don’t speak German,” Marianne said blankly. “I’ve never been abroad.”

  “Dr. Trelawney is to go too. And you could learn,” Alice said. “He has been teaching me the language. We thought you could stay with us for a little while and have some lessons, if you liked. It isn’t difficult, truly.”

  “And go to another country?”

  Alice nodded frantically. Marianne’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “We would pay all the passage fees and accommodation, of course, and make the arrangements,” Edwina said. “There’s a great deal you will want to discuss. But I want Alice to have someone with her that I can trust. And I believe I can trust you.”

  Marianne put both hands over her face at that. Robin touched her shoulder, feeling it heave, and shook his head at Mrs. Blaine’s worried expression with a smile. “Oh,
love. Of course you should, if you want to. It sounds wonderful. Try not to upset the Elector Palatine.”

  “Who’s he?” Marianne asked through her palms.

  “Some fellow who lives round there.”

  “The Electoral Palatinate has been disestablished for some years now, so you need not worry unduly on that front,” Hart said. “If you would like time to think—”

  “No,” Marianne said, lifting her head. “I don’t need to think at all. I should love to, Mrs. Blaine. I really will take care of Alice, I promise you. I’m quite sure I can. I’ve always wanted—so much— Do you really want me to?”

  She looked about eighteen herself, the world-weariness and disappointment and defences washed away. She should not have had to be so much older for so long, Robin thought, feeling his chest constrict with love and pain.

  “Oh goodness. Will you really? Marianne!” Alice grabbed her hand; Marianne squeezed it; Mrs. Blaine positively glowed.

  “And on that, we will leave you ladies to make your plans,” Hart said. “Unless you’ve anything to say, Robin?”

  Robin looked between them. He told Mrs. Blaine, “Thank you,” hugged Marianne hard, and felt Alice put an arm round his shoulder. It took something of an effort not to cry.

  He had to breathe deeply so as not to disgrace himself as they emerged into the street. “Was that your idea?”

  “All of ours together.”

  “Then you’re all marvels,” Robin said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look so happy. We have talked about travelling, but it was always a fantasy. This—”

  “We’ll do it properly. They’ll have everything they need. And Marianne will be away from Tachbrook and London and everything else, and she will probably declare herself Holy Roman Empress but that’s not our problem. It’s a choice for her, Robin. Is it what you wanted?”

  Robin wiped his face, because he couldn’t help it if his eyes were leaking. “It’s all I wanted. She—I couldn’t leave her, not to go off and be happy myself when she had lost everything. You understand, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. I didn’t expect you to.”

  “So you found a way for her to be happy, and it’s perfect.” Robin gave a little hiccuppy laugh. “She’s going to teach Alice to say what she thinks. They’re going to be terrifying.”

  “Unquestionably, but a long way away. Which, by coincidence, is how my rooms feel at this moment. Shall we take a hackney?”

  “Let’s go to my rooms. They’re closer.”

  They took a hack anyway. Robin led the way upstairs, ignoring the now-towering pile of cards and notes on the hall table. He locked the door, and walked into Hart’s arms.

  “You are wonderful.”

  “I am nothing of the kind. You are,” Hart said. “I couldn’t speak last night. The same hatred on her face after all this time—I had thought she might have relented, somehow—the same jabs, the people watching and sneering and blaming us, the knowledge that people would talk. And you drove it away. You did what nobody has done for me in my whole life. You saw I needed defending, and you fought.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to,” Robin admitted. “Actually, to be honest, I didn’t think at all. I lost my temper. Marianne’s not the only one with a temper, you know, I just hide mine better.”

  “An alarming thought, given that display. And she took so much on herself, because nobody will be talking about my mother now, only about her and Tachbrook. I owe her a very great deal, and I am deeply sorry she will have to bear the gossip she spared us.”

  “Don’t overstate it,” Robin said. “She was standing for me and you, yes, but she also needed a way out of that blasted marriage that salved her pride, and she took it when she saw it. Let’s say, it worked for everyone.”

  “She is certainly better off not marrying that fool. Dear God, when he said it was about nothing—”

  “He should have asked for a kick in the balls instead. Quicker and easier.”

  “I have said the wrong thing many times, but I’ve never said anything that stupid in my life.” Hart’s arms tightened on his shoulders. “And you—you were glorious, Robin, striding to my defence. To think I had the gall to offer myself as your protector when you’re mine.”

  “I wish I could be,” Robin said. “I’d like to do something for you because you’ve done everything for me.”

  “I’ve done nothing.”

  “Oh, you have. It’s all different now. You saw me, and believed me, and didn’t stop trying for me.” He sniffed, rather than wiping his nose on Hart’s coat. Not that it was a very nice coat, but there was a principle at stake. “And I really do desperately want to come to Aston Clinton and learn about hops, and I thought I couldn’t, and you’ve made it work—”

  “Robin, Robin.” Hart urged his face up, brushing the tears away. “If I hadn’t found a way, you would have. Or Marianne. Actually I feel certain she would have. She loves you.”

  “I love you,” Robin said. “I’ve been in love with you for I don’t know how long. Since—”

  “—the fishpond—”

  “—yes, the fishpond, and don’t finish my sentences just because you know what I’m going to say.”

  “We have talked about your pernicious habit of making speeches.”

  “This isn’t a speech, it’s a statement. A simple declarative statement. I love you. You thought you were renting me for a month and you have me for life. Buyer beware.”

  “That will teach me.” Hart kissed him. “Robin, my Robin. My incubus, my friend, my defender, and I hope my partner. I love you absurdly. I had no idea my life had enough room for anything so bright and warm and free as you.”

  “You need to stop making me cry,” Robin told him. “I’ll have a red nose, and then you’ll be sorry.”

  “You will still be beautiful with a red nose. I cannot imagine how I have someone so beautiful in my arms. You might need to keep the red nose, in the interests of fairness.”

  “Rubbish. Did Alice tell you about all the sixes?”

  “What?”

  “She said, when you roll dice, any string of numbers is as rare as a string of sixes. People don’t notice the ones that aren’t obvious, but they’re just as precious and special and unique. That’s you. You’re spectacular, and it’s other people’s loss if they’re too stupid to see that. My Archimedes’ constant.”

  “You are going to have to explain that a great deal more clearly, but not now,” Hart said. “Dearest—”

  That led to a great deal of kissing, in the course of which Robin found himself very comfortably settled on Hart’s lap, tongues and limbs tangled. He slid his hands under Hart’s coat and tugged meaningfully at his shirt. Hart pulled away. “Robin?”

  “Mph?”

  “I had a thought. I wondered if we might make another wager.”

  Robin felt a tingle run down his spine. He wasn’t sure where this was leading, but he’d follow the desire straining in Hart’s deep voice anywhere. “Wager?”

  “Our arrangement ended yesterday and, while it was doubtless a very disgraceful business all round, it had some benefits, I think?”

  “I certainly enjoyed it.” It had eased Hart’s way, given him something to hold on to. He was a man who liked things spelled out, after all. “Do you suggest we play again?”

  “If you’d care to. I have liked learning to play with you.”

  “What are the stakes?”

  “Same as last time. The winner to have whatever he wants of the other. Perhaps for a night, rather than a month, this time, but still—what he wants.”

  “You might lose,” Robin said softly.

  Hart met his eyes. “I know.”

  Oooh. Robin liked this. He liked it a lot. He liked it so much that, if Hart chose cards, he intended to cheat to the top of his bent. “I accept the stakes. What game?”

  “Uh...” Hart looked around, and stood swiftly. He went to the wall and scooped a hand along it. “Races.”

&
nbsp; “What?”

  “Racing.” Hart opened his fingers to reveal a couple of beetles. “Pick your horse.”

  “We’re going to race beetles?”

  “Would you rather play a dozen parties of piquet, or wait for beetles to walk six inches?”

  “An excellent point,” Robin said. “What’s the course?”

  Hart cast a glance at the table. “This crack to that water-stain.”

  “Show me the fillies.”

  Hart put the beetles on the table, trapping each with a finger. Robin considered. “The left-hand one has a noble bearing and, I infer, excellent pedigree. He’s mine.”

  “Left it is,” Hart said, with impressive seriousness in the circumstances, and brought the insects level. “Very well, drop the handkerchief.”

  “Ready. Steady. Go.”

  Hart released the beetles. The left-hand one set off at a stately pace, making Robin realise its size might not be an advantage. The right-hand one scurried forward.

  “Damn it, Lefty!”

  “Ha! Come on, you beauty!”

  Hart’s beetle made a sudden bolt sideways. Hart put out a finger to demarcate the lie of the track and stop it fleeing off the table. It veered off the other way, apparently unaware of what was required of it.

  “Your horse is doctored,” Robin said. “Ho, Lefty!” He crowed as his beetle—less nimble, but steadier—made its way past the finishing post. “Victory! I think that could catch on.”

  “Propose it in your club,” Hart suggested.

  “I’ve got more important propositions to make. Because, as you will have noted, I won. Which means, I believe, that I can ask what I want of you for the night.”

  “And have it. Whatever it may be.”

  Hart’s voice had that delicious rasp again. Robin’s chest felt tight with love and lust. “In that case, come here and kiss me while I decide what that is.”

  Hart did so, with sufficient focused determination that Robin found himself half-lying on the little table—he hoped his noble beetle had got out of the way—with Hart’s thigh between his, blood pulsing like a mill-hammer, and a strong urge to beg for satisfaction.

  Which was wrong. He could demand it.