How To Catch An Earl With Ten Lies (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  “Quite so. Well, now I know it is there. I suppose something must be done, even though I rarely have occasion to visit their rooms. Do keep an eye on things. I will pen a note to Edith. She simply must find a home for that cat.”

  “I’ll bring your writing materials to your study, My Lord.”

  Horace sat in the chair at his desk, feeling his nose passages and his throat close back up. He breathed through his mouth for a few minutes, then waved the minty ammoniac mixture under his nose again. He gagged, coughed, then spat the phlegm into his handkerchief. He examined the result briefly. No blood. His doctor had assured him that it was not tuberculosis, but his lungs felt as if they were on fire.

  When Marpole returned, he not only had a bottle of ink and two or three freshly sharpened pens, he also had a steaming pot of tea that exuded a lovely mint aroma. “Your special tea, My Lord,” he announced, as if he were delivering a fine brandy. Well he might, for the stuff was not only garden mint, but a blend that included an exotic leaf from the Australian protectorate.

  Marpole poured a cup for Horace, and sat it before him. Steam curled up from the cup and wreathed around his face as he lifted it to take a sip. The flavor was strongly medicinal, but he felt his throat begin to relax and found that he could take a deep breath. Another sip, and he felt the muscles in his chest begin to relax. “Thank you, Marpole. You always know what is needed.”

  “Will you be well enough for your appointment, My Lord? Or should I send young Jace around with a note?”

  “I should be well enough, Marpole. But I will write a note that I shall be late. You can send him with that, and have the phaeton put to. I won’t want a driver, but I shall want my tiger so he can walk the horses while I am there.”

  “Very good, My Lord. I shall see to it at once.”

  Horace put pen to paper and wrote,

  My dearest Edith,

  I am so sorry, but you simply cannot keep the kitten. You must find a home for it. Ask among your friends. You may have a day or two to find the small creature new lodgings, but it MUST go.

  Lovingly,

  Your Uncle Horace

  Horace was just finishing the second note when long-legged Jace, the junior footman tapped lightly at the door. With the young footman dispatched with the note, Horace sipped at the tea.

  In the final analysis, I suppose I cannot blame young women for not wishing to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. But I am not jockeying for fame or fortune for myself, or even for the estate. I simply want the girls to be well established in homes of their own while I am still well enough to make sure of it. Why is it so dashed difficult to make this come about?

  Chapter 16

  Penelope hurried inside the townhouse, grateful that she did not meet anyone on the stairs as she climbed to the third floor where she and her sister shared rooms. Upon entering, the first thing she noticed was that the rooms were strangely silent. Not even Stella was in evidence.

  Next Penelope noticed that the door to her dressing room was open. Where was the plagued cat? If it got out, Uncle Horace was going to have a fit. She rang for Stella. Perhaps her maid would know what had happened, because Edith wasn’t in evidence either.

  Quickly stripping off her muddy gown, Penelope continued to look about for signs of the black kitten. Where had Indigo gotten to? She rummaged in her closet, and came up with one of her older day gowns. This one buttoned down the front, so she could easily get into it without assistance. She peeled out of her wet stockings, picked up her shoes to put out for cleaning, and padded barefoot into the drawing room.

  Still no sign of the cat or Edith. What was going on? There was an unfolded letter on the worktable. A quick scan of the lines gave Penelope a better idea of what was going on. “My fault,” she said aloud. “All my fault. If I had only accepted any one of the dozen or more gentlemen Uncle Horace brought to my attention, we would not be in the fix we are in now.”

  Just as she made this utterance, Stella entered the room. “Oh, no, Miss Penelope. I do not believe anything of the kind. You found the letter from your uncle, I see.”

  “Yes. Where is Edith? And the cat? It isn’t loose in the house, is it?”

  “I believe that Miss Edith has gone off with Miss Lola and taken the kitten with her,” Stella said. “James says that he saw her leave more than an hour ago, with Miss Lola’s footman carrying a picnic basket and holding it out away from him as if it had grown briars.”

  “Oh, and no doubt it had if they stuffed Indigo into it! Stella, which way did they go? I need to find Edith before she does something desperate.”

  “I can’t see how you going off after her will make it better, Miss Penelope. Did you not run out this very morning without taking me or James with you? Keep that up, Miss, and you will be thought a very fast woman with loose morals. Then where will you be?”

  “Scarcely worse off than I am now, Stella. What a tangle this is! What if Edith runs into Lord Newhorn? Lola will have no idea why he addresses her as ‘Miss Penelope.’ She might even be meeting with Alfred, since she says that the cat is a gift for him.”

  “She’ll catch a cold at that, Miss Penelope. Mr. Alfred is no doubt in lodgings, which will not allow a cat at all.”

  “An even better reason for catching up with them. There is no telling what those three will hatch between them.”

  “Quite so, Miss.”

  “Oh, Stella, please do not cut up stiff with me. Tell me, instead, how is my Uncle? I had hoped to have the cat out of the house before he noticed it.”

  “Well enough, I believe. Mr. Marpole brought to him his vinaigrette, and a cup of medicinal tea. Your uncle has gone out, to an appointment of some sort, I think. He was late. That long-legged and loose-lipped young footman went around to his man of business with a message for him.”

  “It is my fault. But he upset me so at breakfast! If I had not … if I had been here …”

  “Done is done, Miss Penelope. But what will you do now?”

  “I’ll take James with me, and go look for her. What else can I do? Sitting here at home, cooling my heels and worrying will do no good at all. Perhaps I can catch sight of her. Both she and Lola like going to the open-air market. That is where she found the cat in the first place.”

  “Then let me take those shoes and put them out, then fetch your walking boots and a fresh pair of stockings. I suppose the dress you were wearing is in your room.”

  Penelope nodded, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “What a dreadful mess. Stella, thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me, Miss Penelope. Just get your sister back home in one piece. It is a tangle, make no mistake about that!”

  In short order, Stella had the boots put out, shoes and stockings on Penelope’s feet, and had rung for James. Soon Penelope and James were out-of-doors, hurrying toward the open-air market.

  As luck would have it, they were walking down past the many colorful stalls and small shops just in time to see a tall, fair youth, Lola, and Edith expelled from the front door of a stable. When they caught sight of Penelope bearing down upon them, Edith looked panicked, and the youth looked as if he would like to bolt. But with great presence of mind, Lola caught hold of both their sleeves and called out, “Miss Chapman! How good to see you.”

  “I should think so,” Penelope said coming up to them. “No, no, Edith, do not start crying. I do not think I could bear it. This is quite all my fault, for I upset Uncle Horace this morning. Had I not left the house, he would never have gone to our rooms.”

  “Will he be all right?” Edith asked.

  “I believe so. The attack made him late for his morning appointment, but Stella says that Marpole knew what he needed and that he had a medicinal draught before he left the house. But truly, we cannot take Indigo back to the townhouse.”

  “What then,” asked the tall young man, “shall we do? For I live in lodgings, and my roommate would be extremely wroth to have a dirty little cat messing up his linens.”

&nb
sp; “Don’t call Indigo a dirty little cat!” Edith snapped at him.

  “At the moment, he is a very dirty cat since he soiled the basket,” the youth said. “I am Alfred Harrington, second son of Sir Harrington, who is a partner in Bastion, Bastion and Harrington.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Harrington. You have changed a great deal since our schoolroom days.”

  The youth colored up to his hairline. “Pray, do not remind me! It is a very good thing that Father insisted that I go away to school.”

  “I assure you, the change is for the better,” Penelope said. “I understand you are reading with your father’s firm?”

  “I am,” Mr. Harrington said proudly. “In four years, if Edith can wait that long, I hope to have an establishment of my own and to ask Edith to be my wife.”

  Now it was Edith’s turn to blush. Penelope and Lola exchanged glances. “That could be a problem,” Penelope admitted. “But let’s work on the one more immediately at hand. We can’t take the cat home, and I know better than to ask if you could just turn him loose back where you found him. Therefore, we must find a situation for him somewhere that he will be loved and cared for.”

  “Oh, Penny,” Edith cried worshipfully, “I knew you would think of a solution. Where can we find him a home?”

  “That is the question,” Penelope replied. “If we could even hire a place for him . . .”

  “The perfect idea!” Mr. Harrington exclaimed. “My father is in charge of the cleaning and housekeeping staff for his office. He uses Mrs. Albright’s All-household Agency. He says that there isn’t a job anywhere for anything that she can’t find.”

  “Then let’s go see her,” Penelope said.

  The group of young people hurried down the street, following Mr. Harrington, with the two footmen and Lola’s maid trailing along behind. Several streets, and a good many plaintive meows later, they came to a respectable brick building. On one side was a school yard. Two swings hung from the limbs of a large oak that shaded a good-sized play yard. Three wooden planks were placed over round sections of log to form see-saws. A group of little girls were skipping rope, while a group of boys were engaged in an obscure circle game that seemed to involve a leather ball. Both groups were dressed in trim, but simple, uniforms.

  On the other side of the building, a frame structure with shiplap siding seemed to have been added as an afterthought. The modest sign above the door read “Mrs. Albright’s Agency.”

  The group hastened up to the door, and Mr. Harrington tapped on it. The door was opened by a tall man with dark skin. He was dressed in a fanciful costume that involved a lot of red velvet, gold braid, and shiny brass buttons. On his head, he wore a tall turban, with a feather at the front. “How might I serve you?” he asked. The fellow’s accent fell strangely on Penelope’s ears. He spoke perfect English, but the vowels were oddly rounded and the consonants softened.

  “We need to hire someone to board a cat,” she blurted out. “Mr. Harrington suggested that your establishment might be able to help.”

  “Of course,” the attendant, doorman or whatever he was, said. “Mrs. Albright is at home, but she is currently with a client. Perhaps you would care to wait?”

  “We can wait,” Mr. Harrington put in, trying to regain control of the situation. “We will be happy to wait.”

  The tall fellow indicated that they were to sit on a row of chairs that were placed to one side of a large, businesslike desk. In a few minutes, a young woman came out, holding a sheaf of papers and a small satchel. “Thank you, Mrs. Albright,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Any time, Jenny,” a warm alto voice answered. An attractive woman, conservatively dressed in black bombazine followed, and sat down at the desk. “How might I be of service, ladies, gentleman?”

  Mr. Harrington bowed, and said, “We need to hire a residence for a cat.”

  Mrs. Albright’s eyebrows flew up. “A whole residence?”

  “No, not a whole residence,” Penelope hurried to explain. “We took in a kitten, my sister did, that is, but cats make my uncle very ill. We don’t want to get rid of the cat, precisely, but we need to find a situation for him.”

  “And you are?” Mrs. Albright inquired.

  It flashed through Penelope’s mind that having set about a fiction concerning her identity, that prudence would dictate a moderate amount of prevarication. “Miss Chapman, and that young lady is my sister, the other Miss Chapman.”

  Mrs. Albright seemed to take the lack of first names in stride. “And who are the other members of your party?”

  “The young man is Mr. Harrington. He is reading with Bastion, Bastion and Harrington. The other young woman is Miss Harrington, his cousin and my sister’s best friend.” Penelope did not introduce Lola’s maid or the footmen, all of whom stood back awkwardly.

  “I see,” said Mrs. Albright, who, having her ear to the many endits of the Ton, was beginning to see a great deal. “So tell me, how did you acquire this cat?”

  “Mr. Harrington rescued Lola, that is Miss Harrington and I, after she beat off some ruffians with her umbrella.” Edith managed to whisper.

  Penelope turned and looked at her sister. “So the umbrella part was true?”

  Edith nodded, tears starting to come to her eyes, and a mulish set beginning to be visible around her mouth.

  “So,” said the astute Mrs. Albright, who seemed to see the need to steer the conversation back to their present difficulty, “Miss Harrington beat the ruffians tormenting the cat, then Mr. Harrington dealt with the ruffians when they turned on you?”

  Edith nodded, her eyes bright with tears.

  “Why did not Miss Harrington then take the kitten home?”

  “Oh, Mama would never hear of it!” Lola declared. “But Miss Chapman said that she was sure that Pen... that is the other Miss Chapman would know what to do if she took the kitten home.” It seemed that Lola was also quick on the uptake when it came to naming names.

  “I had never intended for my sister to keep the cat,” Penelope explained. “Cats make my uncle first sneeze violently, then his breathing shuts down. The longer he is around the cat, the worse the symptoms become. I would lay it to the cat being black, but truly my Aunt Jane’s white Angora cat was the worst. Uncle didn’t even have to be in the room with the cat; only with Aunt Jane.”

  “How exceptionally interesting,” remarked Mrs. Albright. “I gather that you have the cat with you?” She looked at the basket.

  Penelope nodded.

  Mrs. Albright pushed back from her desk. “Let me see what I can do to solve your problem.”

  Chapter 17

  Timothy Wilde, Earl of Steelfrost, surveyed the fit of his coat in the full-length mirror the tailor had brought out. Even though the fellow had reset the sleeves, it still did not set right. The buttons pinched at the waist, and now the chest seemed too tight.

  “No, it still won’t do,” Timothy said. “I can scarcely breathe now, let alone move.”

  “Perhaps I should take fresh measurements, Lord Steelfrost.”

  For a moment, Timothy considered puffing up and shouting at the man. The coat was made to measure and should have fit. In fact, if he was to be honest, it had fit at Christmastime. He scarcely wanted to admit that several rounds of eggnog, Christmas cake, and generous helpings of roast goose had a great deal to do with why the coat no longer fit. “Yes, yes, by all means,” he said crossly. “Take the measurements, make a new coat, and by all that is holy, make it fit this time. Above all, make sure that it does not make me look fat.”

  “It shall be as you say, My Lord.” The tailor bent his head obsequiously. “I have a fine, grey pinstripe that might serve. With the stripes positioned vertically, it tends to have a slimming appearance.”

  “Do you think,” Timothy began to snarl, then thought better of it, and moderated his tone, “That you can achieve that affect? I have a particular reason for wanting to look especially fine.”

  “Of course, My Lord. My coat
s are second to none.” This statement was not quite true, for there were several better tailors in London, but none who would extend credit to Timothy. It was for this reason that Timothy Wilde, Earl of Steelfrost, found himself being forced to deal with a tailor who was, at best, merely competent.

  Fortunately, the man was at least that. It meant that while the new coat might not be inspired, it would at least be reasonably fashionable and he need not fear embarrassment.

  “We can match it with black trousers, which will emphasize the length of your leg, My Lord.” The tailor rattled on about the costume in question while he moved about Timothy with a knotted string, making notes on a pad of rough foolscap paper.