“R-Really? And you c-can find any year you l-like?”
“If Papa wrote a journal for that year, yes.” As much as Tony’s interest had been piqued by the mention of Justice a year before his father’s death and made him desire to continue combing through the volumes, he realized that to Geordan the search might be dull and uninteresting. So he shunted aside his own desires and closing the volume, grinned across the desk top at the earl. “This is dull work for you, is it not, rascal? I would not think it very entertaining to watch my brother skitter through pages of ink markings. It was a good idea you had, however, and I shall pursue it another time. Now, what would you like to do, Geord?”
“I sh-should like to h-hear about the t-time Papa brought my g-goat home,” the earl said quietly. “If you c-can f-find it by, by knowing the year?”
“Do you remember the year, Geord?”
“N-No, b-but it was the s-same year that Mama w-went to s-stay with Uncle James because Aunt L-Lucy g-got so very ill.”
Tony’s eyes darkened a bit, remembering. His aunt’s death was not something he was like to forget. “That was in 1802, Geord. That is almost twelve years.”
“Y-Yes,” the earl nodded. “I remember, b-because Mama was g-gone so l-long and Papa b-bought H-Henry to keep me c-company.”
“Was that his name? Henry? I don’t think I ever knew for sure. Papa always used to call him ‘that wretched animal’ and Mama called him ‘the scourge.’”
“Y-Yes, but his real n-name was H-Henry, and he was a very f-fine g-goat.”
Talbot laughed, recalling some of the things that very fine goat had taken a bite out of, including one of the tapestries in the hall. Triumphantly he rose from his knees with a volume in hand. “It’s here, Geord. Now we shall see if Papa thought Henry worth mentioning. Do you remember what time of the year it was?”
“Autumn,” the earl declared confidently.
“Autumn it is,” Talbot grinned, paging through the later part of the journal. Finding the passages, he settled back again with his boots on the desk top and began to read. “‘Lucille grows worse and the physicians see little hope for her. Cecily writes that she will stay in London until all is done that may be done. Geordan and I are growing dull from missing her. To ease Geordan’s loneliness, I have purchased a small goat from Mr. Beresford at Bright Acres. It is a puny little thing, but Geordan has taken it under his wing, and I fear that it will grow to the size of a cow if he does not stop feeding it. He has named it Henry. For what reason we shall never know, but it does not look like much of a Henry to me. It was such a shy little fellow when I carried it home, but Geord has turned it into a little monster. Henry butts anyone who dares to turn their back on him. Though I know I shall insist that Geordie somehow teach the creature not to do so, I cannot help but roar with laughter when I see Martin, or Thompson, or one of the stable boys leaping forward at Henry’s instigation.” Tony stopped reading and scanned down the page. “That is all, Geord. The rest, apparently, is about Aunt Lucy.”
“Is there anything on the n-next p-page?”
Tony glanced through the writings. “No, scoundrel, nothing.”
“H-How about the n-next p-page?”
Talbot grinned and shook his head, resigned to flipping through the rest of the journal until Henry should be mentioned again. Five pages beyond the first reference to the animal, he froze, staring at the handwriting before him in some amazement.
“What d-did you f-find, Tony?” the earl asked after a few moments. “R-Read it t-to me.”
Talbot opened his mouth, closed it again, and stared at his brother. At last his eyes returned to the journal, and he read his father’s words. “‘Justice has come thundering into Westerley under cover of night. He is wounded and seeks a place to go to ground. I have taken him to Geord’s cave, for it will not do should one of the staff lay eyes upon him in such condition. He will have no surgeon, stubborn man, but requires my assistance. I must leave immediately for London.’” Tony set the journal flat upon the desk top. “Twelve years ago?” he murmured to himself. “And he had known the man even before then?” A thought struck him, and he gazed with a good deal of puzzlement at the earl. “Geord,” he asked very quietly, “did you suspect that Justice might be mentioned in the journals just around the time Father bought Henry? Do you know about this man who came to Westerley injured?”
The earl gazed at him innocently and shook his head. “D-Do you s-still think he is the m-man who m-murdered Papa, Tony?”
“Yes, Geord, I do. And Bear and Coffee are helping me to fine him, so you must not worry. You do not remember there being a strange man in your cave?”
“N-No,” answered the earl succinctly.
A slight tap on the study door interrupted whatever conversation might have followed. The countess floated elegantly into the room. “I have need of your assistance, my dears,” she smiled sweetly. “Do you have time to help me?”
“Certainly, ma’am,” nodded Tony.
“You too, Geordan?”
“Y-Yes, Mama.”
“Good, because I have decided to give a party, and I should like to know the names of the people you wish me to invite.”
“A party, ma’am? Here?”
“Well, it is to begin here, Tony. We shall all have breakfast together very early in the morning, and then we shall travel to Westerley to enjoy the day and lunch al fresco amid the forest. And in the evening we shall have dinner and music and be very merry indeed.”
“I hope you are planning on a small party, ma’am,” Tony smiled. “Any more than twelve people besides ourselves and we shall be at a standstill to put them up. Or were you thinking of returning to town at the end of the evening?”
“No, Tony, I was not. And it shall be a small party, very exclusive. Now, who is it I must invite?”
“M-Miss Mapleton,” the earl offered with amazing speed. “And Miss Clinton, p-please.”
The countess’s eyes rose a bit. “But darling, you are barely acquainted with Miss Clinton, and I cannot think she will like Westerley much. It is a very wild place, you know, and she is much more suited to ballrooms and musicales.”
It was time for Tony’s eyebrows to rise as he glanced up into his mother’s face. She frowned quickly at him, a signal that he had learned early meant he was not to give voice to what he thought until Geordan had left the room. He shrugged his shoulders at her and grinned. His mother, he knew, was nothing if not devious. She disdained to do anything in a forthright manner that could be accomplished by plots and plans instead. It was an attribute his father had often teased her about and one which from time to time had gotten her into distressing situations. Tony now suspected that his mother had become as immediately aware of the earl’s tendre for Miss Lydia as had Miss Mapleton, and that the strange party was part of her plot to bring a sudden halt to Geordan’s admiration of the pretty little chit.
“Of course, if you really think she would like to attend, I shall be most happy to invite her. Is there anyone else?”
“Bear.”
“No, my dear. Bear may not come, nor Coffee. They would be very ill at ease amongst so many swells.”
Tony laughed at that and the earl’s eyes twinkled. “Am I a s-swell too, Mama?”
“Oh, my goodness, yes!” exclaimed that lady in a very dramatic tone. “You are one of the swellest of us. Can you think of anyone else, Geord?”
“R-Robert and Lord B-Bristol and K-Kit and D-David.”
“Are there, perchance, any young ladies to whom those gentlemen are particularly drawn, Tony?” the countess asked.
“Who, me? I beg your pardon, ma’am, but how do you suppose I would know?”“I ask again, Anthony, without comment if you please, which of the young ladies I ought to invite on their behalf.”
Talbot sighed and leaned his head on the chairback. “Alright, let me think. Robert’s Angelique is in Paris, so she cannot be counted upon. There are Miss Sonnesby and Miss Thackett, who are close friends of Ameli—Mi
ss Mapleton, and there is the elder Miss Clinton if you are to invite the younger one.”
“One more Miss Somebody, Tony, please,” the countess grinned, noting the names upon a sheet of paper.
“I cannot think,” protested Tony with a snicker. “They are all so very much alike.”
“Aunt Jeanie!” Geordan declared loudly and with a great deal of enthusiasm.
“What? Aunt Theckla?” The countess and Tony both laughed. “And which of the gentlemen would your Aunt Theckla be meant to entertain, Geordie?” chuckled the countess.
“R-Robert! And then he will n-not pine for Angelique, because Aunt Jeanie is v-very f-funny.”
“An excellent idea,” Tony observed dryly, “and serves Robert right for getting so seriously attached. Do it, Mama, please?”
“Yes,” she chuckled, “I will. And I shall invited Catherine and Max as well, to provide your Uncle James and I with some company of our own age. Now, let me see. Yes, that is twelve exactly. Thank you, my dears. I shall send the invitations at once, and we shall all proceed upon an excellent adventure.”
BEAR and Coffee felt as if they had proceeded on an excellent adventure themselves. They had been attempting to locate Justice long enough for Tony to speak with the man. “Oncet Tony talks with ’im, that’ll be the end o’ it,” Coffee mused for the eighth or ninth time. “They ben’t no one could suspec’ Justice o’ bein’ a murderin’ villain oncet they met ’im.”
“No,” Bear agreed, “that’s true enough. But he keeps a dodgin’ away from us, Coffee? Why d’ye ‘spect that is?”
“Don’t know. Could be as he’s real busy like accommodatin’ Mr. Zachariah Wolfe these days.”
“Aye,” nodded Bear, pouring them both a cup of tea, “but why is that, do ye suppose? We been ta three gatherin’s since Tony asked fer our assistance, an’ Justice ain’t been to one o’ ’em.”
“No, Bear, but neither has Wolfe. He’s been off in Manchester. Likely Justice been off there, too.”
“Well, if ’e ’as put himself to Wolfe’s service, then then he’ll be at th’gatherin’ on the morrow, an’ we’ll snabble ’im then. Only thin’ is that Tony won’t be there.”
“Won’t?” Coffee asked in surprise. “Where will ‘e be, then?”
“Well now, do ye remember that pretty young lady what be sitting next of ‘im at dinner that night?”
“Aye,” Coffee nodded, a smile roving about his lips. “Right lovely bit she were.”
“Tomorrow night there’s ta be a fancy ball in her honour. Makin’ her debut inta society, Tony says. Says he an’ th’earl are ‘bliged ta attend, an’ th’thin’ won’t prob’ly end till way after th’gatherin’s over. Ye be wantin’ another cuppa tea?”
Coffee shook his head and stood away from the little kitchen table. “Kin I ask ye something, Bear?”
“O’ course ye kin. Since when do ye got ta got permission?”
“I jus’ wondered. Molly, she’s workin’ fer the earl’s mama now, ain’t she?”
“Aye, and blessin’ that lovely lady every time she comes ‘ome ta see us. Bringin’ thin’s with her, too, what I wouldn’t ordinarily approve of, ye know. But Tony, ‘e keeps a tellin’ of her that it’s stuff what’s meant ta pay me fer tryin’ ta got hold a Justice, so I takes it. Most o’ it’s fer th’children. And oncet or twice a little somethin’ fer me.”
“Good,” Coffee sighed, as if he had been relieved of some great worry. Bear’s eyebrow cocked questioningly in his friend’s direction. “Well an’ I didn’t know what to make o’ it meself,” Coffee stammered. “First I answers me door an’ there be so fine a man all prissied up like a swell astandin’ there with a basket on ‘is arm an’ a coach awaitin’ behind him all filled with stuff. An’ I don’t know wha’ ta think, Bear. An’ then this fella, ‘e looks me straight in me eye and asks me if I be th’ Mr. Coffee that be helpin’ the earl when ‘e got lost. An’ when I says I be th’same, why ‘e comes a’waltzin’ through me door an’ sets that basket upon me table, an’ then ‘e starts to unloadin’ that coach o’ boxes and bags. An’ I’m a’tellin’ ye, Bear, I ain’t never seen such a mess o’ food an’ clothes an’ candles an’ such. I reckoned I ought ta be sendin’ it back, but I dont’ see as ‘ow I’m goin’ ta manage it. Still, if it be in payment for assistin’ Tony, why I‘d not feel a’guilty of takin’ it.”
“Aye, Coffee. That feller’d be the man what Molly spoke of. A footman name o’ Donovan. Oliver Donovan. Molly said th’last time she come that he be goin’ ta bring ye some stuff from tha ‘ouse, jus’ like she be bringin’ stuff ‘ere. From Tony it come, bein’ tol’ we weren’t willin’ ta take no blunt fer our services. ‘Don’t be asendin’ it back,’ says she. ‘Ye’ll ‘urt th’poor man’s feelin’s. He’s only tryin’ ta be o’ service ta us in return,’ she tells me, ‘an’ it’s our Christian duty to let ’im.”
“Well, I’m a’willin’ ta let ’im,” murmured Coffee. “There’s one pertickular blanket he sent along what I’d be loath ta part with, I don’t mind tellin’ ye. An’ we’ll be sure an’ deserve his payment, Bear. Tomorrow ni’ we be gettin’ our mitts on Justice, an’ we don’t let free o’ him till the lad lays his daylights on him an’ gits th’answers to ’is questions. ’Cause much as I thin’ Justice ben’t th’one what murdered th’lad’s pa, I thin’ jus’ as much that Justice, he got some ripe idea o’ who it were. He’s a deep un, is Justice; don’t play wi’ all his cards on th’table. We’ll git ’im tomorrow, Bear, an’ then it is I’ll breathe easier about that Mr. Donovan an’ ’is carriage load o’ presents.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
MISS Mapleton, her chestnut curls feathered roguishly about hr face with a simple riband of Spanish flu—which precisely matched the deep, dark green of her eyes—threaded temptingly through them, welcome her guests with all the grace and elegance that was expected in a young woman of twenty-two years. Her high-waisted gown of thin white muslin, slit up the front to reveal an undergown of the same Spanish fly as the riband, displayed the height of fashion in its high Vienna lace collar, long, tight sleeves of Vienna lace which buttoned at the wrist, and a wide hem adorned with embroidered leaves and flowers in brilliantly coloured silk threads. She held in one gloved hand a delicate bouquet of baby’s breath and rosebuds given to her by her father, and a sweet pink blush of excitement gave added colour to her cheeks. Lord and Lady Mapleton stood proudly beside her, and forming the remainder of the reception line, Kit and David smiled in their finest evening clothes and bowed most romantically to every young lady, kissing fingertips and murmuring welcomes which brought bright titterings from a great number of them.
The Countess of Rutlidge, always a stickler for punctuality, did not permit her sons to make her more than a half-hour behind the appointed time and ushered them into the reception line with both sporting intricately tied cravats, white waistcoats, and black austerely cut evening clothes. She had coaxed Geordan into patent leather pumps, divested Tony of his snuffbox, and threatened them with instant annihilation should either one of them raise a quizzing glass to his eye. The countess herself wore a vastly fashionable gown of Pomona green, the price of which became the object of much speculation among the ladies for weeks afterward. Her bright copper curls were dressed à la Sappho, and unlike most of the married women, she disdained to wear any ostrich plumes at all in them. Instead, a small tiara winked with the flashing of diamonds at her every movement.
Lady Mapleton took both the countess’s elegantly gloved hands in her own and kissed her cheek in a warm welcome. “You have had such a horrendous welcome back to town Cecily,” she sighed. “But from now on it shall be fun again.”
“Indeed, and you shall join me in every bit of it, will you not, Catherine? You and I shall show these young ladies what it is to enjoy the Season to its utmost.”
Miss Mapleton curtsied to the earl and rose with a wide smile upon her face. “How wonderful you look again, my lord,” she said. “I must learn to consider y
ou a regular dandy, must I not?”
“Y-Yes,” grinned Geordan, “and Tony, too. Mama has f-forced us both to l-look all the c-crack.”
“Is there a name for the style in which your cravat is tied, Geordie?” Amelia asked. “It is most elegant. I do not think even Mr. Brummell could achieve such perfection.”
“I believe it is called the Impatient Countess,” Mr. Talbot said. “Good evening, Miss Mapleton.” He bowed suavely and raised her fingertips to his lips. “May I felicitate you upon your formal entrance into the hazards of the ton. If rumour proves correct, I believe your debut will be blessed this evening by the presence of Prinny himself sometime during the evening.”
“Oh, do not say so, Mr. Talbot,” grinned Amelia. “I should not have the least idea how to deal with such a personage.”
“Why, you smile at him, Miss Mapleton, and he becomes a lamb. He is nothing, you know, but a sheep in wolves’ clothing.”
Miss Mapleton’s delicate eyebrow rose a bit at that; still, she could not help but laugh. Talbot’s lips twitched upward at the charming sound as he moved on down the line.
The earl, who had seen only one ballroom in use in his entire life, his Aunt Theckla’s small one, blinked in the light of three crystal chandeliers that bathed with sparkling light a gleaming dance floor adorned about the edges with white delicately carved chairs and vases of bright spring flowers. The walls had been draped in streamers of softly coloured silk, and the ceiling shone in pastel hues of the same material. From across the ballroom a tall, heavily built gentleman raised a quizzing glass to his eye, surveyed the earl, and lowering it, crossed the floor with an outstretched hand. “You are Rutlidge, I believe. May I congratulate you upon your rescue of Miss Lydia Clinton in the Park. It has bn years since last I saw such horsemanship.”
Geordan took the proffered hand and shook it.
“My lord,” came Beau Brummell’s voice from behind him, “may I introduce Mr. Matthew Lewis. Mr. Lewis, Lord Rutlidge.”
“Do you have the least idea who Mr. Lewis is, Geord?” Talbot asked, shaking that gentleman’s hand himself as Brummell made them known to each other.
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