by Joan Smith
They were interrupted by a tap at the door. Nessie poked her head in. “Lord Castlereagh to see you, John. He’s waiting in the saloon.”
“I’ll be right there. We’ll talk later, Lydia.” He left.
“Beaumont is here as well,” Nessie said, twinkling a smile at Lydia. “Has he come to speak to your papa?”
“No! Don’t get your hopes up, Nessie.”
Nessie just continued smiling. All was well with her world. Castlereagh had invited her and John to an intimate dinner party on the weekend. Before John’s promotion, they had been invited only to the Foreign Secretary’s large parties. They were now part of the inner circle that ruled the country.
When they went into the saloon, Beaumont was just offering Sir John his congratulations.
Castlereagh, who had an eye for young ladies, said a few words to Lydia; then Sir John led him down the hall to his study, and Nessie returned to her correspondence.
“Did you come for any special reason, Beau?” Lydia asked when they were alone. She feared he would have some unpleasant news regarding Dooley.
“You certainly know how to make a fellow feel welcome! And after you asked me particularly last night if I would not be calling this morning.”
“Did I? I don’t remember.” Last night seemed a year ago. But she was glad he was here. She felt the need of someone to share her troubles, and Beau had been a friend for as long as she could remember. “Since you’re here, we might as well go out.”
“I am underwhelmed by your enthusiasm. And I am wearing a new jacket, too.”
“It’s very nice,” she said, just glancing at it. Beau was always so well dressed that she hadn’t noticed it was new.
“No one will ever accuse you of flattery, Lydia. Well, as your mind is on business, did you speak with Sir John?”
“We’ll talk outside.”
She got her bonnet, and they escaped into the sunshine.
“You might have warned me your papa is here,” Beaumont said, as he helped her into his carriage. “I believe he expected me to crop out into an offer, coming at such an early hour of the day.”
“Never mind that. We have more important things to discuss. Prissie did not give Papa the plates.” She repeated to him what she had learned from Sir John. “We must get busy and find them before Dooley does. He is so determined to get them, I’m sure we can think of some way to catch him if we have the plates for a lure.”
“When I first suggested that clever idea last night, you had no interest in it.”
“Well, I have now. He isn’t going to get off scot-free with killing Prissie. And we have to do something about Richie as well, Beau.”
“He is your papa’s son, then?”
“I was about to ask when Papa decided to mount his high horse and deliver me a scold. As he has been Prissie’s patron for a decade, however, it looks as if I have a half brother. And by the by, Papa thinks you are the one who has been doing all the investigating.”
“Why, thank you for that. I’m sure it has raised his opinion of me no end, particularly that I went running to pour the tale into his daughter’s shell-like ear. Such a finely tuned sense of discretion will do my reputation no end of good.”
“Don’t be so selfish,” she scolded. “What should we do about Richie? Papa didn’t show an iota of surprise or confusion when I mentioned him. Richie must be his by-blow. An illegitimate son, imagine!”
“These things happen, even in the best-regulated families. Even the royal family. En effet, especially in the royal family. Do you have a destination in mind, or are we just driving?”
“St. John’s Wood. That is where Richie is being raised, with some people called the Nevils. I’ll know to look at him whether he is my brother. And if he is, I shall adopt him.”
Beaumont just stared. “Will you also adopt a papa to go with him? Children are usually adopted by a set of parents, not a spinster.”
“In that case, I shall make Papa adopt him.”
“How will you do that?”
“I have learned a few tricks from my new friends. I shall threaten Papa with revealing his shameful behavior to Mama. Don’t laugh at me, Beaumont. I am serious!”
“A reformer shouldn’t be so pretty,” he said. “And so headstrong. Would it not be advisable to discuss this adoption with Sir John before visiting this soi-disant half brother, who may be no kin to you whatsoever? There is your mother to consider in the matter as well.”
“Yes, she must be kept in the dark. Perhaps we can claim he is one of Nessie’s orphans. Would you like to talk to Papa for me, Beau?” she asked. “He will only scold at me and tell me it is none of my concern. He thinks you’re a man of the world. He’ll speak more freely to you.”
“No, I would not like to.” She gave a sulky, accusing look, like a child who has been denied a sugarplum. Her lower lip protruded; then she bit it with her little white teeth. “But I might do it, if you ask me very nicely.”
He watched in fascination as her sulky expression transformed into a smile. She cocked her head at a flirtatious angle, batted her long eyelashes, and turned up her lips softly. “Please. Pretty please,” she said in a wheedling way that made him smile in spite of knowing he was being managed. Was it only a few days ago he had thought she didn’t know how to deal with men?
He gazed at her a long moment. He could almost think she was literally growing up before his very eyes. A moment ago she had seemed a child. But she had a fully mature sense of duty. And now, with that teasing smile lifting her lips and her eyes laughing at him (she knew he would do it for her) she was all woman, and a very tantalizing woman.
“Do you know, Lydia Trevelyn, you are becoming amazingly coquettish for a spinster. Very well, I’ll do it... for you. But I may demand some payment.”
“You can count on me to help you out of any difficulty when your future wife discovers your mistress,” she said.
“Thank you, Miss Trevelyn, for that reading of my character.” He was ready to mount his high horse, until he saw the laughter in her eyes. “And I shall reciprocate by providing you an alibi when you begin to deceive your husband.”
“You forget, I am going to be a spinster,” she said, and laughed.
Chapter Fourteen
They went for a drive through Hyde Park to enjoy the beauty of spring, but with so much on her mind, Lydia could not appreciate the blue sky and golden sunshine, the whispering trees and the gleaming water of the Serpentine,
“Let us go back to Grosvenor Square for that talk with Papa,” she suggested.
“Business before pleasure, eh? Very well.”
When they reached Grosvenor Square, Nessie told them Sir John had left for Whitehall with Castlereagh and did not expect to be back before dinner. She was surrounded by half a dozen ladies, come to congratulate the new rising star of political hostesses. The Countess deLieven, Princess Esterhazy, Lady Jersey—the very cream of society were there welcoming her to their charmed circle.
The ladies raised their eyebrows in speculation when Beaumont and Lydia came in together. A delightful new on dit would soon be making the rounds. Lord Beaumont and Sir John’s daughter were about to make a match! He was running tame at Grosvenor Square. Beaumont was subjected to some good-natured bantering by the outspoken Countess deLieven.
“No grass growing under your feet, Beaumont. You do your courting early in the day. Beating the crowd to Miss Trevelyn’s door, sly dog!”
“Had I known you were up so early, ma’am, I would have invited you to join us,” Beaumont replied flirtatiously. “Miss Trevelyn would have had formidable competition.”
“A flirt!” She laughed in delight. “You don’t want to let this sly rogue loose in female company until you have the ring on your finger, Miss Trevelyn.” She glanced to see if Lydia wore an engagement ring.
“You are perfectly welcome to him, milady,” Lydia said, joining in the game. “I have no use for flirts.”
“There, you see, Beaumont!” Lady deLi
even said. “Fair warning. She is not interested in flirting. Run for your life if you are not interested in marriage.”
“Only if Miss Trevelyn will run with me,” he said, and taking Lydia’s hand, he escaped from the room.
“Why did you say that?” Lydia scolded, when they were away from prying ears. “You only encourage her to start spreading gossip.”
“My sweet ninnyhammer, this particular piece of gossip is a fait accompli. You had best begin planning either a wedding or a jilting. Bearing in mind that I am the innocent party, you must be at pains not to sully my reputation in the process.”
“You have only to go about looking morose after I return to the Hall, and the whole will be dumped in my dish.” She drew a deep sigh. “I can’t think of anything useful to do at the moment. You might as well go, Beau.”
“Giving me my conge so soon? What will you do for the rest of the day?”
“I shall go back to Maddox Street and see if Sally has anything new to say. We didn’t ask her specifically about a small, heavyish parcel. Prissie might have left it with her for safekeeping.”
“You can’t go there alone!” he exclaimed.
“Now don’t you start acting like Papa. I thought you were different.”
“Not that different!” He lowered his brows at her. He knew she resented Sir John’s authority, and was unhappy to be put in the same boat with him, but still he could not let a young lady wander alone into such questionable purlieus as Maddox Street. “I don’t plan to be left out of the investigation,” he prevaricated. “Let us go together. And Lydia—”
“Yes?”
“Ask Blake to tell your aunt you aren’t sure when you’ll be back. We don’t know what we might find there. That will leave us free to follow where our noses take us.”
“Nessie is so caught up in Papa’s promotion, she wouldn’t notice if I disappeared into the ether.” But still it was nice to have the freedom of movement a male escort allowed. If she had gone alone, Nessie would be worried. Just another example of how unfair society was.
She got her bonnet and left the message with Blake, and they returned to Beaumont’s waiting carriage for the drive to Maddox Street. Halfway there, Lydia realized Beaumont was staring at her in a disapproving way.
“What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Your toilette. It’s all wrong.”
Lydia, who had formerly disdained any interest in fancy toilette, felt a sting of anger. She had noticed how well dressed the ladies calling on Nessie were. She had felt like a country bumpkin beside them. “I don’t claim to be a lady of fashion,” she said.
“I am well aware of it, but that was not my meaning. You look like a lady, even if not a lady of fashion. A lightskirt would not be caught dead in that bonnet. When you visited Sally yesterday, your head was bare. You were wearing that old gown of Prissie’s.”
“I’ll change when we get there.”
“Why bother? A garish bonnet will serve the purpose. We’ll pick one up at one of the inferior milliners on the fringe of New Bond Street.”
“I see you are familiar with where the lightskirts buy their bonnets.” She sniffed.
“Any bonnet I purchased for a woman would be from Mademoiselle Fancot’s—tip of the ton. But that is not where Prissie and her friends buy theirs. I happen to have heard of another establishment.”
She gave him a rebukeful look but did not rise to the bait. “I hope you treat your women better than Papa did. He should have taken better care of Prissie when he knew Dooley was harassing her. Expensive bonnets are all well and good, but they don’t last. And furthermore, I do not need a new bonnet. A bunch of flowers attached to this one will serve the purpose as well.”
“I shall agree with you, before you inform me ‘a penny saved is a penny earned.’ “ He drew the check string and told the driver to deliver them to New Bond Street. They dismounted and strolled along, looking for a shop that sold novelties. Lydia was struck again by how elegant the ladies looked—and how friendly they were to Beaumont. It seemed everyone they met spoke to him. Some tried to stop for a chat.
When they found the shop they wanted, they went in and scanned the artificial flowers.
“This is rather nice,” Lydia said, picking up a discreet bunch of lilacs.
“For a maiden aunt. Try this.” He handed her a large cluster of scarlet poppies.
“I can’t wear that! I’ll look like a— Oh, very well. I’ll need a box of pins as well.”
When Beaumont drew out his purse, she gave him a damping look and handed the clerk the money herself.
“All set for Maddox Street?” Beaumont said, when they left the shop.
“No, I want to buy a present for Richie. I wonder what a little boy would like.”
“Toy soldiers, a ball, a toy sailing boat, if he has access to water,” he suggested, thinking back to his own youth.
“Prissie bought him a sailor suit. I’ll buy him a toy boat. There’s bound to be a pond or creek nearby.”
They strolled along, looking for a children’s toy store. The store had only two models of sailing vessels: one small, cheap boat and a beautiful scale model replica of the Princess Margaret, two feet long, fully rigged and painted, that cost three pounds.
“I’ll take this one,” she said, smiling softly. “Poor Richie deserves a few treats at this sad time. I wonder if he knows yet....”
When Beaumont, watching her, saw the tears well in her eyes, he felt a strong urge to take her in his arms and comfort her. Where had he got the idea Lydia Trevelyn was made of granite? Her heart was as soft as cotton wool. And all this for a boy she had never met, or heard of, until yesterday. How much more deeply hurt she must have felt when she considered her father’s betrayal.
The ship proved so difficult to wrap that Beaumont carried it unwrapped to the carriage, encountering many curious stares and a few jibes from acquaintances as he went. The ship was placed carefully on the banquette, with Beaumont sitting beside it, holding it in place while Lydia tended to her bonnet. Beaumont’s lips moved in silent amusement as she bent over the task, frowning as intently as if she were solving a difficult problem in algebra.
When she had the poppies pinned in place, she put the bonnet on and said, “How does it look?”
“You look wretched, like a little girl who was let loose in a milliner’s shop.”
“I didn’t say how do I look. I know I look a quiz beside the other ladies. Especially Lady Jersey. What I want to know is how the bonnet looks.”
“Suitably awful.”
“Good, then we can go to Maddox Street now.”
“Don’t put your head to the window,” he said. “You’ll destroy my reputation if you’re seen in my rig wearing that flower garden.”
“Vain creature! You’re the one who wanted poppies,” she scolded, and leaned closer to the window to annoy him, unaware that he was biting back a grin.
They continued on to Maddox Street, where Beaumont told the coachman to keep the carriage waiting while they went into Prissie’s flat.
“You wait here in her parlor,” she said. “I’ll call on Sally. She’ll speak more freely if we’re alone.”
Before he sat down, there was a tap at the door and Sally let herself in.
* * * *
“Nancy!” she cried. “I’ve been that worried about you! I’ve called half a dozen times and got no answer. I just heard the door open and came right over. Where were you last night? I saw you leave the Pantheon with Dooley. I hope you’re not with him.” Then she saw Beaumont, who had taken up a seat on the sofa. “Oh, sorry, Nance. I didn’t know you had company.”
Beaumont rose and bowed. Lydia was pleased that he showed this mark of respect for Sally. Sally worked a fan she was carrying and simpered over the top of it. “I am the culprit who spirited Nancy away,” he said.
“Have you set her up?”
“Er—yes.”
Sally found a chair and Beaumont sat down be
side Lydia. He took her hand, to lend an aura of romance to affairs. Sally began batting her fan diligently.
“In better digs than this, I warrant,” she said. “Haven’t you landed in the honeypot, Nancy! Mind you, I can’t complain. My Mr. Warner gave me this fan last night. It’s real ivory! Ever so pretty, isn’t it?” She handed it to Lydia, who praised it until Sally was satisfied, then set it aside. “Have you heard from Prissie?”
“Not yet. I plan to go to St. John’s Wood this afternoon. I’ll let you know what I find there. Sally, did Prissie happen to leave a parcel with you before she left? It would be a smallish, heavy parcel.”
“No, she didn’t.” She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “Why, what’s in it?”
“A present for Richie. I thought I would take it to him this afternoon.”
“If it was for Richie, you can be sure she took it with her. Sure it wasn’t something else?”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because Dooley was around early this morning asking the same question. He asked a lot of questions about you as well, Nance. Had the notion Prissie’s sister had blond hair.” She frowned at Lydia’s raven curls but was soon distracted by the bonnet.
“My hair was lighter when I was young,” Lydia said.
Sally picked up her fan and resumed her fanning. “Dooley searched my flat last night while I was out. Or someone did. Tell the truth now, Nancy. What was he looking for? Was Prissie up to her old tricks?”
“I’m afraid she was,” Lydia said, and listened to hear if Sally knew about the counterfeiting.
“Gorblimey, I hope the law hasn’t caught her with the evidence on her or she’ll swing for sure. It’s a pity she ever learned how to do it, work with them copper plates. She made me swear not to tell a soul. I wasn’t sure if you knew or not.”
“How did she learn?” Lydia asked.
Sally’s eyebrows drew together in a quick, suspicious frown. She studied Lydia’s dark curls. “It’s what she was doing for that artist fellow before she left home, isn’t it? Funny her own sister wouldn’t know that.”
