“No. I couldn’t possibly keep imposing on Lady Hackwell’s hospitality. I’m sure I’m a burden for the Lewises as well. And for you, Jenny.”
“No, my lady.” Jenny fastened the last hook and tugged Jane’s skirts into place. “I’ll deliver your note to Shaldon House myself. His lordship knows we’re both here, and I doubt he’ll clap me in irons. Are you visiting the modiste today? I’ll bring whatever gown Lady Sirena chooses to you there.”
While the maid went for a paper and quill, Jane twisted her hair into a knot.
Chapter 12
Shaldon’s valet had just finished shaving him when Kincaid appeared in his doorway. With one look from Shaldon’s old friend, the servant left, closing the door on the two men.
“Charley and Grace arrived in the wee hours,” Kincaid said. “You weren’t here to receive them, but I was.”
Shaldon ignored the dig. “I’ve been informed.” Graciela was anxious to see her father as soon as possible when the man stepped onto English soil.
“And?” Kincaid tossed him the shirt spread out on the bed.
What did you learn last night? Shaldon heard the implied question and dropped the shirt over his head, hiding his annoyance. Kincaid was an insistent bastard at times.
But they had long ago learned to put aside their irritations with each other. “Lady Jane and Jenny are staying at Lady Hackwell’s old home on Gerrard Street. She has the painting, or rather she took it and had it.” Kincaid threw back his head and roared out a laugh that made him wince.
“And did I not say that she would bolt?” Kincaid’s gaze narrowed. “Placid and proper, and you were missing all the night. Have you found a way to take charge of the lady and that painting?”
He tucked his shirt in and reached for his waistcoat. “It wasn’t amongst her things when I searched. Did you check La Fanelles’s?”
“Did I go into the lioness’s den? No. And I don’t believe it’s there. My best guess is it’s with Henri Guignard.”
Shaldon frowned. “He’s still alive?”
Guignard had been gray-haired some twenty-odd years earlier when he’d slipped out of Paris before Robespierre could nab him.
“Living quietly, plying his trade on the outskirts of London. He was at the shop yesterday. He’s Marie’s cousin.”
His head snapped up. They had worked with Guignard on a few occasions, and Kincaid had never shared the connection to Marie. “Where would he keep it?”
“I don’t know.” Kincaid rubbed his chin. “He’s old, but he’s no fool. It will be in a safe place. He’ll know the value of it. Besides which, the newspaper had a visit from a mustachioed gent wearing a sword who meets the description of our Major. After that, the paper was broken in to, files tossed. Read today’s notices—the publisher is withdrawing from receiving the bids for the painting.”
He found a fresh linen cloth and twisted it around his neck. Jane had snatched the painting away not only from him, but from someone else who wanted it desperately. That could only be the Duque.
“Did we have a traitor in our ranks?” he mused. Upon hearing the news that their men carrying the painting to Cransdall had been set upon, he and Kincaid had discussed the question at length. “Have you thought more upon the subject?”
“I’ve talked to our men here. The painting’s discovery was no secret. Word spread quickly and any one of the locals—or even the soldiers—could have passed the news. It was a small step to watch the departures from Gorse Point Cottage and notice three men going north with a package.”
Dear God—Jane and the maid might have also been targeted on the road.
“Did the newspaper office have Guignard’s name?”
“Possibly, though Henri would be clever enough to give them a false address.”
“He may be in danger. La Fanelle—and her partner and seamstresses—might be as well,” Shaldon said.
“And Lady Jane. Can you convince her to move back here?”
After tupping her? He’d awoken with renewed desire and a sure conviction that he must leave her bed immediately or else risk spending the whole day there.
She’d been firm in her refusal to wed him. That would change. He would see to it.
He hadn’t felt so unsettled about a woman since Bink’s mother, when he himself had been a mere pup.
He shook off the sensation. It was his duty to protect Jane, and he’d find a way.
He picked up his coat. “Help me with this.” The tight-fitting coats so in vogue were hard to get into without assistance.
Kincaid sighed, but obliged. He had more than once played the role of valet, most recently when they were arranging Paulette and Bink’s marriage.
“There you go, your noble lordship,” Kincaid said. “I’ll snoop around, find out where Henri is lodging, send word to you, and then I’ll go face my nemesis and assess the degree of danger to her and her girls. Pray that she doesn’t gut me with her sewing shears this time. And where will you be?”
Penderbrook needed a position, and soon. The steward’s job was a possibility, but the boy’s history of gambling was a concern. A minor bureaucratic spot in the government might be more suitable. “I’ll go have a chat with Farnsworth.” Farnsworth could make discreet inquiries in Penderbrook’s behalf. He might also know more details of Major Payne-Elsdon’s connection to the Duque de San Sebastian. If there was time, perhaps he would pay a visit to Lord Hackwell, who might be persuaded to evict his wife’s tenant. Though he suspected the strong-willed Lady Hackwell might overrule her husband.
Kincaid left, and Shaldon made his way to the breakfast room. As he arrived, he almost bumped into Lady Sirena hastening out.
He remembered his mission for her—to ensure Lady Jane’s presence at the Kennerly musicale.
“A word, Lady Sirena, if you have a moment.”
She blinked, glanced down the corridor toward the servant’s stairs, and smiled.
“Of course, Father. None of the others have come down for breakfast yet.” She dismissed the footman and poured Shaldon a cup of coffee before returning to her own full plate at the table.
She’d left her food to hurry out on some urgent mission. A message from Lady Jane? That would work to his advantage.
His stomach growled, and he filled his own plate.
“I’ve found Lady Jane,” he said.
She sawed at a piece of ham, frowning. “Did you speak to her, my lord?”
“I did.”
“I hope you were kind to her.”
He swallowed a chuckle. No exclamation of surprise or relief. Perhaps Sirena knew he had followed her to Hackwell House the day before.
“I’ve asked her to return to Shaldon House.” He seated himself and pinned her with a look. “I’ve proposed that she and I marry.”
Her head shot up, cutlery crashed, and a grin bloomed on her face.
“Have you indeed?” Her smile faltered. “I do hope you are sincere. Did she agree?”
“I am, and she did not. I should like your help, Sirena. I should like to make sure she attends the Kennerly musicale tonight.”
“I see.” She pressed her lips together. “And what do you mean to have happen there?”
“I should only like to spend a pleasant evening in public with her.”
“You mean to attend?” A laugh escaped her. “Oh, I do beg your pardon. I’ll do my best, I will, providing you remember that Lady Jane has a mind of her own. But if it can be done, I will do it and see that she’s properly turned out.” She fixed him with a stern gaze. “You don’t mean to force her hand in some way, do you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
She rolled her eyes and waved a slim hand. “Drop to your knee during the interval and propose marriage again in front of the ton.”
He looked down his nose at her and watched the color rise in her cheeks.
She wasn’t embarrassed—she was fighting a smirk that bubbled up into a laugh. “Oh, very well. Jenny has come, so I will discuss
the matter of a proper gown with her and make all the arrangements. When Gracie wakes, I’ll solicit her help also. Or…is it a secret you wish me to keep?”
He would do better wishing for a unicorn to appear in the back garden than to expect her to keep news of this sort from the other ladies.
“If you would but kindly tell Graciela to not share the information, I would appreciate it.” Charley’s colonial wife could be trusted. The girl was a locked pirate’s chest full of secrets, some he suspected, she’d not even shared with her new husband.
“Lady Perry might help also. Though I don’t wish to disturb their honeymoon, it has been a few days since the wedding. I’ve been ever so tempted to pay a visit to the townhouse and see how they’re faring.”
“Best not.” The men guarding the honeymoon house reported that the newlyweds had kept mostly to their bedchamber. Another grandchild would be on the way soon. “But do send a note and let them know Charles and Graciela have arrived.”
She pushed back her chair. “I’ll do that immediately. Jenny can wait. She’s probably gossiping and feasting below stairs.”
An odd sense of relief filled him. The ladies would not oppose a match between him and Lady Jane, and he doubted his sons would object.
With their help he’d insure Jane’s safety, and with his own resources he’d take care of Penderbrook’s dilemma and deal with that bastard, the Duque de San Sebastian, and his Major. The Duque’s lust for a mere painting would prove a fatal weakness. He was counting on it.
He must pay an immediate visit to Guignard, as soon as he knew the man’s direction.
He sent for his coach and made quick work of his breakfast. As he was pulling on his gloves, the porter handed over a letter that had arrived by messenger.
The handwriting, the scent, the seal, sent a tingle of curiosity through him, but he waited until he was seated against the velvet-upholstered squab to scan the lines of feminine writing.
I would speak to you of your Major. Meet me at half past eleven at the usual place.
He sighed and stowed the note. He would see to the meeting between Lady Jane and her son, but he would have to forgo another night in her bed.
* * *
Jane squeezed between Graciela Everly and Lady Sirena on the gold damask settee in Madame’s small parlor and accepted a glass of sherry. Barton took the other free chair, and Madame La Fanelle seated herself behind her elegant writing table.
The afternoon appearance of Shaldon’s daughters-in-law was unexpected. Happy though she was to see them, their presence would complicate her business with the little Frenchman she’d been waiting half the day for.
Did they know that Shaldon had visited her the night before? Jenny must have suspected and might have told them. The girl was a clever one.
Jane made small talk, inquiring about their husbands and Graciela’s small daughter, their health—both of them being with child—and the travel from Yorkshire.
“I’ve heard you’re to attend the Kennerly musicale tonight,” Sirena said. “I confess, when I looked over your wardrobe, I thought ’twould be better to have Madame give you one of the new gowns waiting here for you. Best to show up in the most current fashion, given that all the talk is of your disappearance. The scandal sheets mention it quite slyly, but you know how quickly the ton matches a name to a story.”
She knew very well—she’d dodged that sort of attention for more than two decades. “Thank you,” she said. “Madame, shall we go to your office?”
Guignard would arrive soon. She didn’t wish to entertain him in front of this gaggle of ladies.
“I think we must,” Madame said.
Barton rose. “I have your new gowns set aside, Lady Jane.”
The door opened a crack and the shop assistant peeked in, her face tense. “A difficult visitor,” the girl whispered.
La Fanelle frowned. “Barton shall be down just now.”
The door floated all the way open. “No need,” a male voice said.
Her heart fell. Kincaid’s bulk filled the doorway.
Madame La Fanelle’s face slipped into an unreadable coldness that matched his demeanor. And both were reaching into pockets.
She jumped in to join Barton between the two of them.
“Is there something we can help you with, Mr. Kincaid?” Barton asked calmly. Barton must have been introduced to the man at Shaldon House before she’d left Jane’s employment.
Or…had Madame confided something about the man to Barton? The hostility between the Scotsman and the Frenchwoman was palpable.
Her nerves crackled at the tension.
He nodded, his gaze fixed on Madame. “You know why I’m here, Marie,” he said.
“I’m the one you want to speak with, Kincaid,” Jane said.
His gaze flitted to her and then back to Madame. “I’m here, Marie, because that painting has put you and Barton and all your staff in danger.”
What Shaldon knew, Kincaid would be told. Of course. She should have expected this.
Jane took a step closer. “It’s not here.”
His gaze narrowed on her. He looked almost quizzical. “Are you so sure?” he asked.
Was she?
“It is not,” Madame said.
“The painting?” Graciela had risen. “You had it, Lady Jane?”
“What did those men on the road take?” Lady Sirena asked.
Her lungs squeezed with anger and panic. All of her efforts would come to naught. Shaldon would take the painting from her, and to get any money to help her son, she’d have to marry the man, and on top of that, she’d have lost the friendship and respect of his children.
She clenched her fists, and felt heat rising within her. She would have been found out anyway eventually. She would have lost their respect anyway. “The men on the road took a landscape,” she said. “I transported Lady Shaldon’s painting. I’m having it cleaned and reframed.” She lifted her chin. “Lord Shaldon knows I mean to sell it.”
A muffled cry on the stairs had Kincaid shoving the shop girl into the room and drawing a pistol. Madame pushed past Barton and Jane to join him, wielding a wicked pair of shears.
Chapter 13
Kincaid disappeared into the corridor and came back supporting a slight figure.
Jane’s heart dropped. Guignard. He’d lost his hat, and blood poured from his wizened old head, running down his leathery cheek onto a torn neckcloth.
Madame helped him onto a chair, handed Jane the shears, and began dabbing at the blood with a cloth. “Were you followed, Henri?”
“Devil take it, Marie, of course, he was followed.” Kincaid turned on the shop girl. “Go and lock all the doors. Have one of the porters stand by and let only customers in. I’ll be right along.”
Madame nodded, and the girl hurried out.
“Lady Sirena, is your coach waiting outside?” he asked.
“It is.”
“I’ll ask you ladies to stay here for a bit and see to Guignard’s injuries.”
Kincaid vanished down the stairs.
“Some of that sherry,” Jane said, signaling Sirena. She nudged Madame and returned the scissors. “Go see to the shop, Madame. Barton, you too. Send a girl up with water and bandages.”
Sirena held the glass up to Guignard’s lips. “Drink this, sir. Do you have other injuries, besides the gash on your head? There now, don’t answer until you’ve taken another sip. Gracie, Madame keeps a bottle of Bakeley’s best brandy somewhere. Have a look, will you?”
Jane bent close to Guignard, examining his wounds. He had taken a blow to the head, and there were other cuts and bruises around his cheeks and jaw. He favored an arm, clasping a hand to support his elbow.
“I’m so very sorry,” Jane said.
The old man smiled, and she saw that one of his yellowing teeth had been broken. “It will take more than one of the Duque’s bullies to vanquish Henri Guignard. And I was not followed.”
“And what of the painting,” Graciela
asked. “Did they take it?”
He shook his head, a cough rattling up while his face turned red.
“Help me move him to the sofa,” Jane said, “and have someone fetch a surgeon.”
“I’m beginning to think the painting is cursed,” Sirena said.
Her breath caught. “That it might bring bad luck to whoever transported it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s what I told Perry you would say. I fear you may be correct.”
Sirena shook her head fiercely. “Never say it. I’m only a fanciful Irishwoman. We shall find a way to turn any bad luck to good.”
* * *
“I cannot possibly go to the musicale tonight,” Jane said.
Madame removed a pin from her mouth. “You must.”
Noise filtered up from the shop into the empty parlor. Kincaid and Marie had engaged in a heated discussion in rapid French—who knew Kincaid could speak the language so fluently?—in the modiste’s private office, after which he’d sent for more guards, secured the premises, and escorted Lady Sirena and Graciela back to Shaldon House. Lady Sirena left on the promise that Jane would stay put at the shop until the Shaldon carriage came to convey her to the musicale, begging Jane to come home with them later to Shaldon House.
“Put out your arms. Eh bien. You will shine in this gown, my lady. Gros de Naples with embroidered net over it—it is very fashionable now, and the pale rose becomes you.” She pulled on the skirts. “It is important to be out in society and to not show fear. Guignard will recover soon and cease to be mysterious.”
Guignard, who was now reclining in Madame’s bedchamber, following the surgeon’s order to rest, swore that the painting was safe and promised that all would be well.
When asked to give its location, he had fallen into grievous moaning.
“Would he play us false?” she asked.
Madame’s gaze met hers and the dark eyes were enigmatic.
Doubt slithered through her. Who could she really trust? And yet, the die had been rolled. She needed Madame’s and Guignard’s help. “It was probably Kincaid’s presence that made Guignard reluctant to talk.”
Avenging the Earl’s Lady: Book Five, Sons of the Spy Lord Page 11
