She was so very small, not much over five feet, he guessed, and the side of her forehead was beginning to show signs of swelling. She’d have a nasty bruise in a few more hours, and if it wasn’t directly his fault, he was, at the very least, partially to blame for her injury.
Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away from the woman in his arms to peer at the older woman sitting across from him. He was surprised and, for some unaccountable reason, a little annoyed that Mrs. Summers had not insisted he set her charge down at once. Wasn’t she responsible for the girl?
She didn’t appear particularly concerned. In fact, she was eyeing him steadily with unabashed interest in a way that immediately put him on edge. He could practically hear the wheels turning in her head.
“Will she be all right?” he asked to distract her from her current train of thoughts.
Mrs. Summers blinked once before answering. “Oh, she’ll recover. The injury is not serious, leastwise not for her.”
Alex would have liked to ask what she meant, but the carriage was coming to a stop in front of a small but stylish town house.
“Ah, we were closer than I realized,” Mrs. Summers remarked. “If you will be so kind as to set Sophie on the cushions now, I’m sure one of Lord Loudor’s men can see to her.”
Apparently, by this particular chaperone’s standards at any rate, what was acceptable behavior in a public hackney was not permissible in the general public.
Alex relinquished his hold on the girl with some reluctance. He assisted Mrs. Summers down and watched her follow Mr. Wang into the house before turning a skeptical eye on the servants as they came forward. There were several able-bodied men in the group; one of them was actually quite massive. But then, large men could be clumsy, or worse, stupid.
He looked back at the unconscious Miss Everton. Maybe he should just…
“It’s no good, Alex.”
Whit walked the few remaining steps from the stables to lean against the carriage and offered Alex the lopsided grin that had made him the darling of the ton and the bane of Alex’s existence.
“You can’t very well endear yourself to Loudor by entangling his cousin in a scandal her first day in London, now can you?”
Alex nearly groaned. Whit was right, of course; he was behaving like an idiot. What the devil was wrong with him? He shot his friend a nasty scowl for the sake of principle— no good ever came from telling Whit he was right about something—and gave an order to one of the footmen to care for Miss Everton.
Three
A thin older man with a sour expression, which Alex guessed had more to do with the man’s nature than the day’s unfortunate events, ushered Alex and Whit into the front parlor and furnished them with drinks.
“His Lordship left several hours ago to meet Miss Everton and her party at the docks. Four men have been dispatched to ascertain his whereabouts. I shall inform him of your presence upon his arrival.” With that, the butler excused himself and closed the parlor doors behind him.
“Friendly, isn’t he?” Alex remarked, taking a drink of his brandy and looking over their surroundings. With dark ugly colors, the scent of old cigars, and an astounding amount of leather, the room positively screamed of bachelorhood. More, it screamed of a bachelor with exceedingly poor taste.
Whit was likewise eyeing the decor. “Good Lord, if this is the front parlor, what do you suppose the study looks like?”
“With any luck, we’ll find out.”
“At the moment, I’m a little tempted to botch the mission on purpose. This room is dreadful.”
“It smells like a third-rate club,” Alex added.
“By God, you’re right. I was wondering why the stench seemed familiar. Reminds me of our salad days.” Whit thought about this for a moment. “Believe I’ll open a window.” He set down his drink and held back the thick gray drapes while eyeing the window frame dubiously. “Shouldn’t there be some sort of hook or tieback for these things?”
“One would think,” Alex remarked casually.
With his free hand Whit unlocked the window and attempted to push it up and open. It wouldn’t budge. From his seat, Alex watched with increasing amusement. Whittaker Cole, the Earl of Thurston, was struggling mightily with a set of wool curtains and a parlor window.
“Why am I the only one who witnesses these things?” Alex mused aloud before standing up to lend his poor beleaguered friend a hand. “Would you like some help?”
“Bugger off,” Whit snapped, taking a step back from the window.
Alex didn’t feel the need to respond, mostly because he wasn’t sure whether it was directed at him or the window. Stepping over, he took the drapes with both hands and held them off to the side. He motioned Whit forward. “Perhaps, if you use two hands….”
Whit just grunted and took his place in front of the window. After several minutes of groaning and swearing, it finally slid up a meager two inches.
Whit eyed the gap resentfully. “Splendid.”
Alex gave him a jovial clap on the back. “Well done. Care to have a go at the other?”
“I don’t think my pride could take it,” Whit grumbled, still glaring at the window. “Do you know I’m actually winded? How humiliating.”
They stared at the window for a while in silence. Finally, without turning his head, Whit quietly said, “If you are a true and loyal friend, Alex, you will keep this little episode to yourself.”
Alex nodded somberly. “If I were a true and loyal friend, I would indeed.”
“A good man, a decent man—”
“Would keep his mouth closed. I’m almost sure of it.”
Their conversation was cut short by a commotion in the front hall accompanied by a loud, angry male voice.
“Loudor,” Alex supplied.
Instantly serious, both men found their respective drinks and chairs in time to see a rather disheveled looking man in his midfifties enter through the French doors. Alex estimated him to be of average height and build, with muscular arms but a slightly rounded belly that spoke of overindulgence and too much time sitting in clubs and card halls.
Whit made the introductions, while Loudor shrugged off his coat and loosened his cravat. “Don’t mind, do you? Had a devil of a time just now. Accident outside Hyde Park. Some nasty business with a fruit vendor. Traffic backed up for blocks and my driver tremendously stupid. I missed Miss Everton at the docks and had to come all the way back here. Perfectly horrid way to spend the afternoon.”
Loudor poured himself a drink and dispensed with half the glass in one long and rather loud swallow. Alex half expected him to smack his lips and wipe them across the back of his sleeve. He couldn’t help noticing that Loudor had not yet asked after the welfare of his cousin.
“Chit’s upstairs is she? Heard she took a bit of a tumble.”
That, Alex decided, did not count. He cleared his throat in an effort to hide his annoyance. “Miss Everton’s carriage lost a wheel on the way here. Whit and I were fortunate enough to be nearby and able to offer some assistance.”
“Awful good of you. In your debt….” Loudor waved the remainder of the sentence away with a flourish of his hand, polished off his drink, then poured another. “Both in town for the season?”
“We are,” Alex answered in a tone he hoped sounded casual. Really, the man was an ass. “The country can get a bit dull this time of year with everyone in London. I believe Whit has some family business that will keep him in town for at least several weeks.”
“Quite so,” Whit replied.
“Nothing serious, I hope?”
“Not at all. Just an annoying tangle of paperwork. Shouldn’t take too much effort actually, but I intend to drag it out as long as possible. I mean to spend an appalling amount of time at the clubs and races.”
“That’s the spirit.” Loudor toasted Whit’s entirely fabricated speech with another long drink. “But what of the rest of London’s attractions?”
Alex shrugged. “Certainly duty requires a
ttendance to some of the more staid events. Wouldn’t care to insult the wives of our old school chums.”
“Or my mother,” Whit offered.
“Or your mother’s friends,” finished Alex with a genuine wince.
Loudor chuckled—an oddly tittering sort of sound that tore at Alex’s nerves. “Not looking to be leg shackled then?”
Since his mission was to woo Miss Everton, Alex’s immediate inclination was to reply that he was indeed on the lookout for a Duchess of Rockeforte, but something in the way Loudor had asked the question gave him pause. The man looked too concerned, too hopeful by half, and Alex went with his instincts.
“I’m determined to remain a bachelor for several more years at the very least, and Whit has decided to postpone matrimonial bliss until the age of four-and-thirty.”
Loudor turned to Whit, looking well pleased. “An excellent decision. Why relinquish freedom while you’re still young enough to enjoy it, eh? Chose the age of forty myself. Now I keep the wife and heir tucked neatly away up north.”
Alex smothered a smile. Whit had never voiced such an absurd notion. He seemed to be enjoying the interchange with Loudor, however…nodding his head sagely and stroking his chin. “Forty you say? I had considered that myself. A sound age. Young enough to sire an heir but old enough to have sowed one’s share of wild oats. I settled for four-and-thirty with the thought that it might take a couple of years to find a suitable wife, but now that you mention it…. Hell, this is a damnably odd conversation to be having in a front parlor. What say you we retire to White’s?”
By three o’clock the next morning Alex and Whit had deposited a very drunk Lord Loudor back at his town house and were proceeding soberly through the streets of London in a hired hack.
Whit chuckled softly and turned to his friend. “Four-and-thirty? Where on earth did you come up with that?”
“It is the age I once chose for my own foray into matrimony.” Alex shrugged. “Seemed reasonable at the time.”
“When was that?”
“We were twenty. I was in love with that opera singer.”
Whit thought about that for a moment before his eyes lit up. “Marian! I had quite forgotten about her.”
“She’d be sorely disappointed to hear it. She was besotted with you, you know.”
“Was she really? I hadn’t realized…. A shame, she was a lovely girl. What ever became of her?”
“Married a wealthy tradesman some years back, I believe.”
“Good for her.”
“Hmm.” Alex’s mind wasn’t on the lovely Marian but on the mission, and Whit, and the fact that he’d prefer to have the latter completely removed from the former.
Alex had been eight when his mother succumbed to lung fever. It had been agreed that, with a father so often abroad, it would be best for Alex to spend the majority of his time at the Coles’ family estate of Haldon Hall, where the late duchess’s dearest friend, Lady Thurston, could properly supervise his rearing.
He and Whit, already fast friends, had become brothers in everything but name, and Lady Thurston had dealt with Alex accordingly, rejoicing in his accomplishments, encouraging him through failures, fussing over his appearance, scolding him for his transgressions. In short, he had been treated as a well-loved son. He would not repay her kindness now by getting Whit further involved in the miserable business of treachery and espionage.
“I want you to stay out of this,” he said succinctly.
Whit gave him a rueful smile. “You know I won’t. Besides it’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”
“No, you’ve introduced me to Lord Loudor and some of his acquaintances and that’s enough. There’s no reason for your continued involvement.”
“Except, of course, that I want to be involved. In fact, I insist upon it.”
“You have other responsibilities.” Alex insisted. “You’re the head of the family and the Thurston estate requires attention—”
“Do you know much about our earldom?” Whit cut in.
Alex blinked in surprise. “Only that you’ve done a remarkable job thus far, cleaning up the mess your father left.”
“Thank you, but I’m referring to its history. Are you familiar with it at all?”
“No…I can’t say as I’ve ever given it much thought, now that you mention it.”
“Let me enlighten you. We are a pack of liars, thieves, and wastrels, the lot of us.”
Alex thought that unlikely, but held his tongue. The late Lord Thurston certainly fit that description well enough. Whit had spent the four years since his father’s death battling to secure the family’s finances, as well as the family name.
“Do you recall the summer my mother forced me to stay a fortnight at my uncle’s home?” Whit asked.
Alex smiled at the memory. “We were thirteen and you offered your mother every imaginable incentive to let you stay at Haldon Hall. I believe you even made a list.”
“I did, and it was cleverly done, for all the good it did me. Fortunately, Uncle Henry was as pleased to have me for company as I was to be there. He let me spend the entire two weeks hidden away in the library. That is where I discovered a most detailed and disturbing account of my family’s history—no doubt why the recounting was there and not at Haldon. There is not an honestly gained parcel of land in the whole earldom. Every acre, every village was stolen through one reprehensible manner or another. Deceit, blackmail, extortion, all of it. It’s disgusting.”
Alex waited a moment to make sure Whit was quite through before asking, “How long ago?”
“Did we steal the land, do you mean?”
Alex nodded.
“Up until about a hundred years ago, then the wastrels took over.”
“I see.”
“It’s important that you do,” Whit said somberly. “Because I am determined not to add another chapter to that book. I will leave my family a legacy they can be proud of, something they can carry on. I don’t know if it will be akin to your own Rockeforte legacy but…I’ll not let this opportunity pass.”
Alex wanted to argue further. He wanted to point out all the holes in Whit’s logic, all the reasons it was an exceedingly bad idea for him to continue working for the War Department, but he knew it would come to nothing. There were few people who could match Whit for sheer mulishness, and like most stubborn individuals, the more one argued with them, the more determined they became to do as they pleased.
“Your mother will kill me if anything happens to you,” Alex grumbled.
Whit grinned. “Mother loves you too much to kill you. Kate, on the other hand, would surely slit your throat, loyal little sister that she is.”
“God help me.”
Whit chuckled softly for a moment before taking on a more serious expression. “To business,” he insisted. “What do you make of our new friend?”
Alex decided to let the matter of Whit’s involvement drop, for now. “He’s an ass,” he replied.
“Certainly, but do you think he’ll prove an accommodating sort of ass?”
“Loudor gives the appearance of being an overindulgent fop, stupid and conceited enough to brag about his ventures if plied with enough liquor. But if he’s been playing the traitor’s game, then he’s been at it for a while and he hasn’t slipped up yet. Either he has more sense than he lets on, or he’s innocent.”
“I can’t say it’s easy to reconcile myself to either of those options. Perhaps he’s just been lucky.”
“Perhaps.”
“How are you planning to handle Miss Everton?”
Alex ignored his friend’s accentuated use of the word “handle.”
“Loudor made it rather clear this evening that he didn’t want to be bothered by his cousin’s suitors, but I imagine I can find a way around that. I suppose I’ll have to pay her some attention. If Loudor proves tight-lipped, she may be of some use to us.”
“How noble of you,” Whit drawled. “The chit’s a beauty, Alex. Quite stunning, r
eally. If you’d rather, I might be agreeable—”
“You’ll keep a respectable distance,” Alex snapped. “She’s my concern.”
In the face of Whit’s knowing smirk, Alex was forced to admit he’d been concerning himself over Miss Everton a great deal that night. “Bloody hell. Just stick to orders, Whit. Keep your eye on Loudor’s friends, Calmaton and Forent. Loudor, too, when you can. And if your mother gets wind of this, it’s on your head.”
Four
Sophie rose the next morning feeling stiff and sore, but otherwise much her usual self. Once during the night, she had awoken long enough to read the contents of the envelope Mr. Smith had given her. It contained a list of gentlemen she was to “keep her eye trained upon,” as well as the name of the solicitor who would serve as her contact and provide her with any needed funds.
After memorizing the names, she had burned the papers in the fireplace and gone back to bed. Personal experience had taught her that rest was the best medicine for a blow to the head. Or so Mrs. Summers was in the habit of insisting. Having taken a considerably stout blow, she would now have to spend the remainder of the day resting. Sophie heaved a disappointed sigh. Resting was dull under normal circumstances—on her first full day back in England, it was going to be positively torturous. She wondered if she could manage to sneak outside. She wouldn’t go far, of course, and it’d only be for a bit.
Mentally planning her escape, she pulled the bell cord and went to the window to wait for a response. It had been too dark last night to see much beyond shadows. In the light of day, Sophie saw that her bedroom afforded a view of a small but well-kept garden complete with a gravel walking path, several benches, and a garish, oversized fountain she guessed to be a new addition.
A knock at the door signaled the arrival of a plump girl with a head of brilliant red hair neatly tucked up in a chignon. With her freckles, bright blue eyes, and an endearing smile, the girl looked as though she belonged on a three-legged stool in front of a cow. Not that Sophie had ever seen a dairymaid before, mind you, she was just certain the girl fit the bill.
As Luck Would Have It Page 3
