When You Wish

by Alexandra Ivy

Rigid with fury, she flashed her father a speaking glare. “Mrs. Surton was just leaving.”

  “Before we have been introduced?” Solomon protested with a wicked grin. “Mon Dieu, it shall not be.” Turning, he offered the startled visitor a lavish bow. “Allow me, madam. I am Monsieur Valmere, Miss Cresswell’s uncle, recently come to London from Paris.”

  Sarah held her breath, awaiting Mrs. Surton to pronounce him as the Devilish Dandy, or at the very least protest at being forced into an introduction with a member of Sarah’s less than respectable family. But, shockingly, the tatar appeared as flustered as a schoolgirl by the attentions of the flamboyant Frenchman. There was even the faintest hint of a blush on the angular cheekbones.

  “Oh ... I did not realize that Miss Cresswell possessed French relations,” she simpered.

  “Only through marriage. I was wed to her father’s sister.”

  Seeming to have forgotten Sarah, the older woman batted her stubby lashes. “I see.”

  “Unfortunately, my dearest wife passed some years ago. To relieve my loneliness, I sought the companionship of Sarah. She has kindly agreed to introduce me to her friends—although I did not realize her friends would be quite so lovely.”

  Sarah blinked in amazement as Mrs. Surton uttered a shrill giggle. Before this moment, she would have bet every quid she possessed that Mrs. Surton did not even know how to giggle.

  “Uncle Pierre,” she gritted out through a stiff smile, “Mrs. Surton and I are rather occupied at the moment.”

  “Nonsense,” Mrs. Surton interrupted, her gaze never leaving the Devilish Dandy’s countenance.

  Sarah smothered a sigh. She had witnessed that bemused expression on too many occasions not to recognize the symptoms of yet another female felled by the dashing charm of Solomon Cresswell. Egads, Mrs. Surton did not even seem to mind the waxed mustache and absurd eye patch.

  “We can easily postpone our discussion until later.”

  “Bien, allow me to escort you to the salon. Far more comfortable than this drafty hall.” With exquisite care, he placed Mrs. Surton’s hand upon his arm and began leading her up the stairs. At the same moment, Watts appeared on the landing. “Ah, Watts, you will kindly bring your best ratafia.”

  “At once, monsieur.”

  Stone-faced, Watts headed down the stairs, pausing at Sarah’s side as she glared at her father’s retreating back.

  “There shall be no need for a noose, Watts,” she muttered. “I shall strangle him myself.”

  * * *

  After leaving Miss Cresswell’s, Lord Chance had enjoyed a busy day. He had called on his tailor, stepped into his club, attended a private lecture on Egyptian artifacts, and devoted a few hours to a charming musicale. But while the activities had been pleasurable enough, he could not deny his thoughts had been persistently occupied with meeting the Devilish Dandy’s daughter.

  Perhaps not surprising, he had forced himself to concede. She was without a doubt the most unusual woman he had ever encountered. Not once had she giggled or blushed beneath his piercing regard, and certainly there had been nothing remotely flirtatious in her manner. Indeed, she had met him stare for stare and thrust for thrust. Not once had he felt he held the upper hand in the encounter. A most unusual situation.

  With an odd sense of anticipation, Chance arose from his bed the next morning and attired himself in a warm coat of dark burgundy and a silver waistcoat. He even took special pains with his cravat before daring the chilled November air. It was still quite early when he made his way up the stairs of Miss Cresswell’s home, but the door was readily pulled open and he was allowed to enter the foyer uncontested. “Good morning, Watts,” he murmured as he handed over his coat and hat.

  “Good morning, my lord. Miss Cresswell is in the salon.”

  “I shall see myself in.”

  Climbing the stairs, he pushed open the door to the salon and entered the room. He had expected to discover Miss Cresswell once again seated on the sofa awaiting his arrival. He discovered instead a young lad attired in one of his own groom’s uniforms.

  Just for a moment, Chance gazed at the stranger with a suspicious frown. Then, with a sharp stab of disbelief, he realized beneath the heavy uniform and powered wig was not a young servant, but Miss Cresswell. “Good gads,” he muttered, a frown forming on his wide brow.

  There was a distinct sparkle in her blue eyes. “Welcome, my lord.”

  “Where the blazes did you get my groom’s uniform?”

  “No questions, my lord,” she reminded him.

  Chance discovered himself strangely discomposed. He had expected Miss Cresswell to be less than conventional, but he certainly hadn’t expected this. At the moment, he could not decide whether to be furious at her audacity or admire her cunning. In the end, he could not prevent a rather wry smile. “May I at least inquire why you are attired as my groom?”

  “Certainly,” she graciously conceded. “I desire you to drive to your brother’s home so you might gather a list of those who knew he possessed the diamonds. ”

  Chance was quite certain there was something far more devious to her plan than a simple visit to his brother’s.

  “Surely that does not require you to be my groom?”

  “Of course it does.” Moving forward, she managed to capture the loose-limbed gait of a young lad. Chance felt a prick of admiration at her skill. Had he not known with absolute certainty there was a very fine female form beneath that uniform, he might have been fooled himself. “While you are distracting your brother and the various servants who must attend to a guest, I shall make my appearance in the kitchen and distract the remaining staff. At that point, Lucky will search the servant’s quarters for the missing diamonds.”

  Chance was almost afraid to inquire. “Lucky?”

  Without warning, a thin urchin with a shock of black hair and dark eyes stepped away from the wall. Chance silently cursed his inattention. He had never even noticed the lad. With a narrowed gaze, he watched as the child of thirteen or fourteen strolled to Miss Cresswell’s side.

  “My father won him in a card game,” Miss Cresswell explained. Then, as Chance’s features predictably tightened, she gave a low chuckle. “Oh, you needn’t look so pious. His previous employer was a reprehensible brute, and Lucky was quite happy to become a member of our household. My father claimed he brought us a good deal of fortune, and so his name.”

  Chance gave a slow shake of his head, wondering if Miss Cresswell weren’t a bit mad. “Surely you do not propose to have a mere boy search my brother’s home?” he demanded.

  Miss Cresswell reached out to place a slender hand on the urchin’s shoulder. “Of course. Lucky is extraordinarily talented in slipping about unnoted, besides which he possesses a sharp wit that is never rattled. I haven’t the least doubt he shall someday make his fortune upon the ’Change.”

  Chance did not doubt the boy’s ability. He possessed an odd maturity for one so young and there was a decided glint of intelligence in the dark eyes. Still, that did not ease his concern in involving a mere child in such a dangerous scheme. “That is all very well, but what if he is caught?”

  Lucky abruptly stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, sir, but no one can catch me unless I wish to be caught,” he said with unshakable confidence.

  “He is quite right,” Miss Cresswell concurred, her lips twitching with a hint of humor. “How else could I possess this uniform?”

  Chance felt himself stiffen. Miss Cresswell possessed the audacity to have this child break into his own home? The woman was beyond impertinent. She was . . . Words failed him as his own sense of humor thrust aside his initial irritation. He was not such a poor sport that he could not appreciate being bested, even by a chit who was far too clever for her own good.

  “I hope he did not help himself to any other of my belongings,” he drawled.

  “No, sir,” Lucky protested in indignant tones.

  “That was quite unworthy, my lord.” Miss Cresswell offered him a c
hastising glance. “Lucky is a fine boy and was only following my directions.”

  Chance was far from contrite. He was beginning to wonder just what he had gotten himself into. “Did it occur to you that you had only to ask me to acquire the uniform?”

  That twinkle returned to her blue eyes. “Yes, it occurred to me. It also occurred to me your natural instinct would have you conveniently forgetting to bring it with you today.”

  He wasn’t about to admit she was absolutely right. It was quite disturbing enough to have been surprised by her transformation. Had he been given the opportunity to consider her scheme, he would certainly have put a firm end to it. Now he could merely shrug. “What a poor opinion you have of me, my dear.”

  “Then you have no objections to my plan?”

  A wry smile touched his lips. “Several, but I am quickly becoming of the opinion that I should only be wasting my breath.”

  “Quite true,” she retorted in firm tones.

  “And a promise is a promise,” he reluctantly forced himself to concede.

  “Very well. Shall we go?”

  * * *

  Although located in an elegant neighborhood, Ben’s town house was rather cramped and sparsely furnished. Ben had little interest and fewer funds to create a showplace. Still, for a gentleman on his own, it was an adequate establishment that was well situated.

  Seated in the library, Lord Chance watched through narrowed lids as his younger brother paced the patterned carpet. He discovered it surprisingly difficult to concentrate on his simple task with the knowledge that Miss Cresswell and Lucky were currently established below stairs. Perhaps not so surprising, he conceded with an inward grimace. A gentleman in his position could hardly be accustomed to young women who readily posed as grooms nor urchins who slipped in and out of homes uninvited. But while he might not approve of such tactics, he could not deny it was a clever scheme.

  Recalling his own small contribution to the plan, he tapped impatient fingers on the arm of his chair. “Think, Ben,” he charged in low tones.

  “I am,” Ben muttered, turning about to retrace his steps. “It was all such a muddle. Goldie and I went to Mother’s to get the jewels . . .”

  “And no servants witnessed you?” Chance interrupted as he thought of Miss Cresswell’s words.

  “No, Goldie was keeping watch. Then we came straight here and put the jewels in the safe . . . Oh, I say.”

  “What is it?” Chance demanded.

  With his brow furrowed Ben struggled to recall the events of the fateful evening.

  “We were putting the jewels in the safe when Moreland and Fritz called.”

  Chance was only vaguely acquainted with the two dandies. From what little he did know the two were much in the same mold as Ben’s friend Lord Goldmar, more affectionately known as Goldie. They all possessed a fashionable lack of intelligence and love for madcap dares. They were also notorious for living well beyond their means.

  “Did they see the jewels?”

  Ben gave an emphatic shake of his head. “No, I went to distract them while Goldie locked the safe. It was still locked when I went to bed that evening.”

  Chance was not nearly so confident. He intended to keep a close guard on Ben’s supposed friends.

  “And you told no one you possessed the jewels?” Chance pressed.

  A rather uncomfortable expression fluttered across Ben’s youthful countenance.

  “I might have mentioned them to Fiona.”

  “Your mistress?” Chance allowed his expression to thin.

  “She did not take them, if that is what you are thinking,” Ben retorted in defensive tones. “I won’t have a word said against her.”

  Chance had many words that he might have said, but he contented himself with adding Fiona’s name to the growing list of suspects. “What of Goldie? Could he have told anyone?”

  Ben stiffened at the accusation. “Good Lord, no. Right as they come.”

  “Someone took the jewels,” Chance pointed out in dry tones.

  “Certainly. Some scandalous thief who broke in while I slept.”

  “A thief who was well aware those jewels were in your possession.”

  It took a long moment for comprehension to dawn in Ben’s eyes. “Oh.”

  Chance gave a humorless smile. “Yes.”

  Clearly disturbed by the realization, Ben gave a sharp shake of his head.

  “Fah. Must be bloody daft to think one of my friends was involved.”

  “But one was,” Chance stated in tones that defied argument.

  “You only say that because you have always disliked my companions,” Ben charged.

  “I do not dislike your companions,” Chance denied, his expression grim. “But I do think they are fribbles with few morals, and I do not doubt for a moment they would stoop to any level if they were desperate enough.”

  A mulish expression descended upon Ben’s face, but before he could voice his arguments, the portly butler entered the room.

  “Pardon me, sir, but Lord Chance’s groom requested I remind him he has an appointment at half past the hour.”

  Chance smoothly rose to his feet. He had to presume Lucky had completed his search and somehow alerted Miss Cresswell.

  “Thank you,” he said toward the butler. Then, as the servant discreetly retreated, he turned back toward his flushed brother. “I wish you to write down a list of everyone who might even have suspected you possessed the Chance diamonds and have it sent to me.” He regarded his brother in his most forbidding manner. “And, Ben, do not allow foolish loyalty to blind you. I want every name.”

  The flush deepened, but Ben was all too aware he was in a precarious position. For the moment, he could only do as Chance commanded him. “Very well.”

  With a last warning glance, Chance left the room and made his way down to the front door. Retrieving his coat and hat from the butler, he stepped into the chill November wind. For a moment he paused as the breeze threatened to tumble his beaver hat from his head. Then, before he could continue his path down the stairs, he was halted by the sight of a maid hurrying from around the house toward his waiting carriage. With a faint sense of surprise, he watched her furtive movements, wondering what she could be about as she halted beside Miss Cresswell, who was holding open the carriage door as a proper groom. It was not until he noted the budding infatuation on the maid’s pretty face that he realized the truth.

  The maid had clearly been smitten by his supposed groom.

  “A moment, Samuel,” the maid pleaded, her voice inviting. “I have brought you a cake.”

  A dark flush stained Miss Cresswell’s features as she awkwardly shook of her head. “Oh, no. I could not.”

  “But I insist,” the maid pleaded.

  “Really, I would rather not.”

  “Please take it ... for me.”

  Clearly trapped, Miss Cresswell reluctantly accepted the small cake. “Thank you.”

  “Perhaps we shall meet again,” the maid persisted. “I have half days on the last Wednesday of the month.”

  “Oh, I don’t think . . .”

  “We could go for a walk, or perhaps have tea.”

  “I ... well . . .”

  Finding an inordinate amount of humor in the situation, Chance swept down the stairs and climbed into the carriage.

  Settling himself on the velvet squabs, Chance peered down his long nose with a smug superiority. “If you have finished seducing the local maids, Samuel, I would appreciate being on our way. I do not care to sit in this frigid air all morning.

  Her blue eyes flashed as the carriage door was snapped shut. Then, as Miss Cresswell climbed next to his rightful groom, Chance tilted back his head to laugh with a great deal of enjoyment.

  Four

  Sarah gritted her teeth as the carriage briskly set off from the town house. She felt a fool.

  Who the blazes would have suspected that her brief charade would cause such an awkward situation? For goodness sakes, the maid
must be daft to even glance in her direction. And then to have Lord Chance fully aware of her predicament . . . Really, it could not be more provoking.

  Then, as swiftly as her annoyance had arisen, it was tempered by her ready sense of the ridiculous.

  In all fairness, it was a humorous situation. Indeed, had the events been reversed, she would certainly have found his discomfort vastly amusing. Not that anyone could ever possibly mistake his shockingly masculine form as that of a woman, even if he were clothed in hoops, she wryly acknowledged.

  Still, she wished the maid had not followed her to the carriage. It had been embarrassing enough to endure her blatant flirtations in the kitchen without having Lord Chance as an audience.

  Her exasperated thoughts were thankfully interrupted as a small lad stepped into the street.

  “Please halt,” she commanded the genuine groom, hastily scrambling down from her perch. With swift movements, she pulled open the carriage door and both she and Lucky tucked themselves inside. Just as swiftly, the carriage was once again on its way. Settled upon the seat, she was reluctantly forced to glance across the carriage to where Lord Chance sat very much at his leisure. Not surprisingly, his dark eyes still harbored a devilish glint. With her usual straightforward manner, Sarah folded her hands in her lap and met his gaze squarely. “I am happy that I could provide you with so much amusement, my lord.”

  “You did indeed,” he readily admitted. “I do not believe I have ever seen a maiden so swiftly smitten.”

  “Cor, yes.” Lucky was anxious to join in the jest, a wide smile splitting his thin face. “You should have seen the goose batting her lashes and plying the Miss with scones and such. It were a proper sight to behold.”

  Sarah struggled to banish the blush that threatened to rise. “Yes, it was all very amusing.”

  Pressing his hands to his chest Lucky fluttered his lashes in an outrageous fashion. “Oh, Samuel, you must have some tea,” he squeaked in a high tone. “And I made these scones myself.”

  Lord Chance tilted back his head to laugh with rich enjoyment. “I am quite in awe of your fatal attractions, my dear. You harbor a potent weapon to the members of the fairer sex.”