Regency Scandals and Scoundrels: A Regency Historical Romance Collection

by Scarlett Scott

  “Very well.” Ariadne wasn’t pleased. There was a hint of ice in her voice, though that vanished when she added. “By the by, don’t worry if you hear conversation in here later on. I am expecting a… guest.”

  Frances cast her a glance of half-impatient amusement. “A man? Did you make an assignation, Ari?”

  “I might have. But don’t worry. I’ll kick him out before morning.”

  “You are a wicked woman,” Frances drawled and closed the door.

  Ari would tell her, she knew, that she should have made just such an assignation with the gentleman in the scarlet domino. But in truth, Frances only played at sophistication. Not through innate morality, but because until tonight, the only man she had ever wanted was Alan. And attraction, however sweet, just could not measure up to love.

  She fell asleep with Jamie still in her arms, which was possibly why she woke at first light, a little stiff and uncomfortable. Jamie opened his eyes as she sat up, and smiled at her.

  She smiled back. “Good morning, little man.”

  After feeding him, she washed and dressed them both quickly, and quietly left the chamber, carrying Jamie in her arms. Since a gentleman’s somewhat worn coat lay over the back of the sofa, she assumed Ariadne’s guest was still with her. Lawson stuck her head out of her own door.

  “I’m just going for a walk,” Frances told her. “I’ll be back for breakfast.”

  “Very good, ma’am. Shall I take him?” Despite her initial disapproval of being used as a nurse, Lawson had quickly become one of Jamie’s most devoted followers.

  “No, thank you. I think the fresh air will do us both good.”

  It did. In a brisk walk up to the harbor and along the sand to Blackhaven Cove, Jamie gurgled and smiled at everything. Gradually, the breeze seemed to blow the clouds of uncertainty from Frances’s mind, and the sunshine to light her way. It would be difficult, but she knew exactly what she had to do.

  *

  “I’m going back to Torridon,” Frances told Ariadne. She stood with her back to the window, while her friend sat on the sofa, her lips curved into a smile of vaguely contemptuous amusement. Ariadne’s companion had left before Frances returned from her walk.

  “I didn’t know you had left him,” Ariadne drawled.

  “You know perfectly well I have not. I meant I am going back to Scotland, to Torridon House. No more wagers, no more silly games. I’ve already bespoken a vehicle for tomorrow morning, and I’m going to the castle this afternoon to call on my family.” In particular, she needed to talk to Maria.

  “I’m glad you have everything sorted out,” Ariadne said, as though she did not care.

  Frances took a step toward her. “What will you do?”

  Ariadne shrugged. “Return to London, I suppose.”

  “Have you the means?” Frances asked bluntly.

  Ariadne cast her a mocking glance. “My dear, I always have the means.”

  “We might come down for part of the season, I don’t know. Or he might cast me off.”

  “For wagering the rubies?”

  Frances smiled unhappily. “For taking our son and bolting. At least I did not lose the rubies.”

  “No. Actually…” Ariadne stood and paced around the room as though forcing herself to say or do something. “Actually, you won my diamonds.”

  Frances frowned. “I did? When?”

  “Last night. Your brother called me Mrs. Marshall—quite politely, but he must have known perfectly well I was not invited.”

  “Then he knows I am here, too…”

  “Why should you be? We do not come as an inevitable pair. He certainly did not mention you to me. And I kept quiet about it because I thought we could continue the wager. But…” A faint smile crossed her lips. “Play or pay. You won’t play, so I must pay.”

  She went into her own chamber and emerged almost at once with her jewel case.

  For Frances, there was no pleasure in winning. She knew well that the diamonds were one of the few valuable possessions Ari had left.

  “We’ll dine in the restaurant tonight,” Frances said lightly. “Or in the castle if we are invited. And I shall wear your diamonds before returning them.”

  “You don’t need to do that.”

  “It’s only fair when we already agreed it for the rubies.”

  Ariadne regarded her with a hint of hauteur.

  “The stakes were never equal since the rubies are not mine,” Frances said. “The diamonds are yours.”

  “Actually, they’re yours.” Ariadne thrust the case into her hands.

  “Until tomorrow.” Frances closed her fingers around the box. “I shall enjoy wearing them—to say nothing of winning against you, for once.”

  Something flashed in Ariadne’s eyes, an emotion Frances couldn’t read. Her friend was too used to her own way, and yet she had nothing while Frances had everything… well, she had everything if Torridon ever forgave her for running away. And lying.

  Banishing those thoughts, she took Ariadne’s diamonds into her own bedchamber where Jamie slept. She knelt by the bed and pulled her portmanteau from underneath. Since she hadn’t realized the rubies were in it when she left Torridon, it had seemed sensible to leave them there for safekeeping in the hotel. She thrust Ariadne’s case inside, instinctively feeling for the other jewel case as she did so. Finding nothing, she peered impatiently inside.

  Her heart lurched and seemed to stop. The case containing the ruby set was not there. Dropping the diamonds, she leapt to her feet, opening drawers and cupboards and frantically ransacking the few things within. She even crawled under the bed to see if the case had somehow fallen out of the portmanteau. In desperation, she wrenched open the diamond case, praying Ariadne was playing some trick on her. But no matter how hard she stared at the contents, the diamonds did not turn into rubies.

  “Ari.” She walked into the sitting room where Ariadne was putting on her bonnet to go out. “Ari, please tell me you’ve hidden the rubies, or that you’re playing some other trick on me. I’ll laugh, I promise.”

  “Don’t be silly. You left them in your portmanteau, remember?”

  “Yes, of course, I remember. But they’re not there now! Oh, dear God, what do I do now? Lawson!”

  The maid stuck her head out of Ariadne’s chamber.

  “You didn’t move my jewel case for any reason, did you?” Frances asked hopefully.

  “Oh no, my lady. I wouldn’t touch your things,” Lawson replied, affronted. “Not without your specific instruction.”

  “Of course you would not.” Frances sank into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands. “What am I going to do, Ari?”

  “What you were going to do before. Go home and tell Torridon everything. If he loves you, he won’t care.”

  “Won’t care?” Frances repeated, raising her head to stare at her friends. “How can he love me, how can he believe I love him, when I have stolen his rubies! At best, I’ve lost the family heirloom; at worst, he’ll think I’ve sold it to pay for our little jaunt! Can you really not see that this will confirm his worst suspicions? He will never believe me!”

  Ariadne shrugged. “Then he isn’t worth caring for. Give him my diamonds by way of compensation.”

  Frances closed her eyes, not unaware of her friend’s generosity. “It isn’t the same,” she whispered. She pressed her knuckles to her burning cheeks. “They must have been stolen. Who could have done such a thing?”

  “The chambermaid?” Ariadne said doubtfully. “Or any of the hotel staff, really. They could easily come in when we are all out.”

  “And be dismissed for stealing? Surely they would be the first suspects when I report this?”

  “Yes, but any smart thief would already have got rid of them. They’re too recognizable. He’ll already have sold them on to someone who’ll break them up.”

  “Sold them to whom?” Frances demanded. “Who in Blackhaven buys stolen goods?”

  Even as she spoke the words, s
he knew how to find out. She knew the main haunt of the criminal fraternity. She even knew, suddenly, how to retrieve the rubies.

  She jumped to her feet. “Lawson, go and bring the young porter here, will you?”

  Lawson glanced in alarm at Ariadne, who jerked her head toward the door before going to Frances and seizing her by the wrist. “Wait, though. There is another suspect,” she said reluctantly. “Another person was here, a man I do not know well enough to judge.”

  Frances’s eyes widened. “Your companion of last night? Who was he?”

  Ariadne drew in her breath. “Lord Sylvester Gaunt,” she said ruefully. “Your sister’s brother-in-law. He is wild to a fault and does not have the sweetest reputation. However, I’m sure he would not steal from family.”

  “Why not?” Frances said bleakly. “The other brother did, by all accounts. Besides, he wouldn’t know I was family—unless you told him.”

  “Of course I didn’t. I thought our wager was still on. Even though you had won.”

  Frances gave a shaky laugh. “It makes no difference, does it? Even if it was Gaunt, he would have sold it on, too. My one hope is that it hasn’t yet left Blackhaven.”

  The door opened and Lawson returned with her most disapproving face, and the young porter. Frances smiled at him. She had picked on him for two reasons. He wasn’t someone she knew from childhood, and he was about her own height. “Joe, isn’t it? Do you live in here at the hotel?”

  “Yes, ma’am…”

  “Excellent. Then would you be so obliging as to lend me a set of your clothes?”

  The boy’s eyes darted helplessly around the room, as though searching for an ally. “I got nothing suitable, ma’am. Only my working clothes and the old, darned ones I wear when I clean the others.”

  “The old ones will be perfect. And I’ll pay you enough for the loan of them that you can buy yourself a Sunday suit, too. But only if you keep this between us.”

  The boy shut his mouth. “Of course, ma’am,” he said eagerly.

  Chapter Seven

  The only females who frequented the tavern close to the market tended to be entirely unrespectable. Gillie Muir, now Lady Wickenden, had apparently once found her stepmother had taken a room there because it was cheap, and despite the quarrel between them at the time, had instantly brought her home. She had been so shocked, it had forced a reconciliation.

  Certainly, it was not a place Frances would have dreamed of visiting had she not been desperate, but she knew all sorts of criminal types could be found there. In among the sailors, fishermen, and old soldiers, she knew there would be smugglers, thieves, fugitives and, no doubt, receivers of stolen goods.

  Lady Torridon could not be seen in such a place. Even the widowed Mrs. Alan would have drawn far too much attention. And so, with a little help from the reluctant Ariadne, she dressed as a boy in Joe’s old clothes, complete with a slightly greasy cap over her ruthlessly pinned hair.

  “You look like a boy,” Ari allowed, “albeit a very pretty boy. But you walk like a girl. Stride. Swagger. Also, try to speak lower, and your Scottish accent has to be much broader. You sound like the minister’s wife rather than her gardener who ran away to sea.”

  “You are a hard task mistress,” Frances said ruefully. “But quite right.”

  “I think we have to get another set of clothes so that I can come with you.”

  “Two such oddities will be too noticeable,” Frances said. “On the other hand, I don’t want to be murdered in there! If I don’t come back in an hour, perhaps you could find an excuse to send in the watch?”

  “You could be dead several times over in an hour,” Ariadne said brutally. “Let us say half an hour.”

  “That barely gives me time to speak to anyone.”

  “Three quarters of an hour, then.”

  “One hour, Ari. Give me a chance.”

  “I’m trying. Are you sure this is the only way?”

  “Unless you know how else to get the word out.”

  “I could ask Sylvester Gaunt.”

  “He’s only been here two days and I will not involve Serena’s brother-in-law!”

  “Then why not send Joe rather than just using his clothes?”

  “Because I can’t tell him to go looking for stolen rubies, can I? Stop worrying. I’ll be in and out again in no time.”

  “And if you’re not, I’ll send the watch,” Ariadne agreed with obvious reluctance.

  Frances shot her a cheeky grin and swaggered toward the door, where Lawson waited with Jamie. Frances kissed him, and Lawson checked the passage was clear before Frances slipped past her and bolted for the staff staircase which led down to the kitchens and the back door.

  A minute later, she was striding up the high street.

  It was one thing to plan this. It was quite another to shoulder her way between two sailors and a girl dressed in a low cut, ragged gown and, her heart thudding with anxiety, enter the den of iniquity.

  If it hadn’t been for the noise, she would have thought the taproom was closed, for at first, she couldn’t see anyone in it. Tobacco smoke hung like fog in the air, stinging her eyes, blinding her. The stench of stale sweat and old beer almost choked her. She froze just inside the door, wishing she hadn’t been so stupid as to come here.

  But there was no other choice. As her eyes grew more used to the gloom, she made out a counter and a villainous looking individual behind it. She moved toward it, though there was not enough space to stride let alone swagger. No one got out of her way, but on the other hand, no one paid her much attention either.

  The man behind the counter, no doubt the landlord, was listening to the man seated on the other side of it. Frances couldn’t understand a word. But she knew instinctively it would not do to show anxiety or fear in a place like this. Having waited a few moments to be noticed, she interrupted.

  “Ale, if you please,” she growled hoarsely.

  The landlord looked at her while his other customer carried on talking. She slapped her hand on the wet, sticky counter, doubly glad of Joe’s woolen gloves which she’d worn only to hide her soft, white hands.

  The landlord reached up and brought down a mug from the shelf above. It didn’t look terribly clean but he slopped some ale into it and held out his hand for payment. Frances lifted her hand revealing the sovereign beneath, like a ship about to sink into the murky sea of spilled ale and spirits on the counter.

  The landlord raised his eyes from the sovereign to her face.

  “I don’t want change,” she uttered in an accent Glasgow thieves would have been proud of. “If you help me out. I’m looking to buy some jewelry.”

  “There’s a shop in High Street.”

  Frances gave him what she hoped was a cheeky grin. “Cannae afford they prices. If you see what I mean.”

  “You’re twelve years old,” the landlord retorted. “You can’t afford any prices.” All the same, he swept up the sovereign.

  “I’m not,” she said. “And I can. I’ll be sitting over there if you come across someone wanting to sell.”

  With that, she swiped up the heavy mug and took it to a small empty table where she forced herself down on a chair that made her skin crawl. She hadn’t expected to be quite so physically repelled by the place. Her main worry had been its patrons, most of whom, according to Gervaise, would cut their own grandmother’s throats for a shilling. But in fact, singly and in groups, the customers didn’t pay much attention to each other. A question, she supposed, of seeing no evil and hearing no evil. And having the same courtesy extended to oneself. It was honor of a sort. If it worked, which she doubted.

  She did her best to sprawl, and forced herself to drink some ale, which was pretty disgusting. She pretended to take bigger draughts than she did and wiped the back of her glove over her mouth.

  Someone slid onto the stool opposite, a wiry man with darting eyes. “I hear you’re looking for jewelry.”

  “If it’s the right quality and the right price.
What have you got?”

  The man laid his fist on the table and opened his fingers very briefly to reveal an emerald ring and what looked like a bracelet set with diamonds and sapphires.

  “I’m looking for rubies,” Frances said.

  “I can get you rubies.”

  “When?”

  The man thought about it. “A week, maybe.”

  “Too long. But thanks.”

  The man shrugged and stood up. “Please yourself.”

  Surreptitiously, she glanced at the timepiece hidden in Joe’s coat pocket. It had already been half an hour since she had left the hotel. She began to realize that this would not be a quick quest. But she could not stay here all day. Ariadne would send the watch. And she needed to feed Jamie.

  She waited another quarter hour, thinking deeply, but no one approached her. Dissatisfied, she rose and walked back up to the counter.

  “I’ll come back tomorrow morning at ten,” she told the landlord gruffly. “There’s another sovereign for you if you arrange a meeting with anyone who has what I want.” She looked him in the eye. “I like rubies.”

  The landlord just stared at her. But there was nothing else she could do. She made her way through the fog of smoke to the door. Just as she raised her hand to it, it opened. And she looked up into the face of her husband.

  *

  She recognized him this time without any difficulty. Even through the gloom of the taproom, he saw her eyes widen with undisguised horror, and the blood drain from her face, leaving it white and sick.

  It wasn’t the reaction he’d hoped to inspire in his wife when they met again. But then, it had never entered his head that he would meet her at all in such an establishment, let alone dressed like a street urchin in boys’ clothes. He had only come in for a change of scene and a mug of ale to help him think and plan his next move.

  But one could never predict Frances, and she had made the move for him.

  After the first stunned instant, rage overwhelmed him, fed largely by fear for her. And, if he was honest, by that expression of horror in her face. Never had he thought to find such a look directed at him. Not from her.