Lord Devere's Ward

by Sue Swift

  He had sent a gift to his niece Pauline to celebrate her first visit to the theatre, but nothing for Kate, not even a message to assuage her concerns. She would have been jealous but for her own fondness for the spritely dark creature. Kate admired Louisa, but Kate and Pauline were birds of a feather. They shared the same impish sense of humor and love of languages, especially street cant.

  She could not understand what act or word had led to the peculiarity of mood which had swept over him. Had she had somehow displeased Quinn? It would be a very uncomfortable evening unless he’d recovered his usual sunny demeanor.

  Her maid tossed the white crinkled silk gown over Kate’s head, then adjusted its blue velvet bodice.

  The ruched silk set off Kate’s figure while the blue trim drew attention to her eyes. Kate wore matching blue slippers and, later, would don gloves. She sat still while Bettina arranged her hair into an artful chignon. Short crops were more fashionable, but Kate preferred her hair long. Bettina pinned blue velvet flowers into the chignon. The flowers matched those which trimmed the double flounce edging the dress at Kate’s ankles.

  Dinner was elaborate, far beyond the light meal Anna blithely proposed. A tasty lobster bisque was followed by plaice, delicately bathed in lemon cream sauce. The fish course preceded squabs roasted with blackcurrant glaze, and the savory was accompanied by an assortment of tarts and syllabubs. Numerous removes, including a ham and a roast beef, sat on the buffet.

  As delicious as dinner was, Kate found the emotional undercurrents present at the table more interesting than the food. While his heart might be engaged to another, Sir Willoughby’s manners left nothing to be desired. She was, for the first time, favorably impressed by Wicked Willy. That she now knew his sobriquet infused their conversation with rather more sparkle than the gentleman expected or desired. But he covered any discomfiture admirably, and even flirted a little. She was cheerfully diverted from her preoccupation with Quinn.

  Because she had no designs on the baronet, she didn’t understand why Louisa glowered at them from down the table. During a lull in her conversation with Hawkes, Kate looked down the table at her hostess.

  Lady Anna chatted with Quinn about the latest gossip. Next to her uncle, Pauline visibly reveled in her first adult party. Dressed in pink muslin with cream lace trim, she took unabashed pleasure in the occasion. Although he could not be diverted by a fourteen year-old, Kate knew that Bryan St. Wills possessed sufficient address to engage his young dinner partner in such conversation as would put her at ease.

  Later, on the way to the theatre, Pauline amused Kate by flirting with her fan. The elegant trifle of silver sticks and pink silk had been sent to her by her uncle Devere for this occasion, her first trip to the theatre.

  She hid her eyes behind the widespread fan, then batted them at her uncle, who sat opposite. He smiled, recognizing the silent message: I love you. His grin broadened as she closed her fan, and touched it to her left ear: do not betray our secret. Watching them, Kate’s lips twitched. Pauline’s eyes darted quickly from one to the other, and she tapped her fan to her lips. Be quiet, we are overheard! Both Quinn and Kate burst out laughing as the carriage drew up in front of the Drury Lane Theatre.

  The great Kean, still popular, had drawn a crowd.

  The pit was jammed with dandies and bucks of all description, many of whom turned their opera glasses on the ladies in the boxes, rather than on the stage.

  The Tyndale family maintained a large box and Pauline, since this was her special treat, sat at the front. Bryan St. Wills, her escort, had a chair next to her. Anna placed Kate and Louisa in the front also, the better to keep her eye on her eldest daughter.

  Anna kept Sir Willoughby close by her and entertained him with the latest on dits which she’d learned from Quinn at dinner.

  The play began, entrancing Kate. While she was well educated, she’d never had the opportunity to attend the theatre in London. As she watched the witches on the heath, Katherine wondered if she could cast a spell to ensorcel Quinn. She sighed as she remembered the predictions of the gipsy, who had seemed so enlightened, were only fake and flummery.

  No. If she wanted something, she’d best reach out and take it.

  She examined Quinn under cover of the darkness of the theatre. He was seated on the other side of the box, dressed in his usual immaculate evening clothes.

  He’d cut his hair short. She’d heard Roman styles for males were back in vogue; was his crop a Caesar, or a Trajan? She didn’t know, but the mode emphasized his expressive eyes and generous mouth. She licked her lips as she wondered if his kisses were as fiery sweet as she imagined. Her glance traveled to his long, elegant hands. Her breath quickened as she remembered how those fingers felt caressing her palm. She couldn’t believe she’d thought he looked like a setter dog when they’d met. She bit down on her lower lip. There was no profit to this line of thought.

  During the interval she again glanced at Quinn.

  Leaning in his chair, he balanced precariously on its two back legs. “Hi-ho,” he said casually. “I say, Willy, who’s that dandy in the pit ogling Louisa?” Two heads turned as both Anna and Sir

  Willoughby sat up straighter. Hawkes moved to peer over the rail of the box.

  “That’s no dandy, that’s cousin Ambrose Blakeney.” Louisa sniffed.

  “Cousin Ambrose? I haven’t seen him forever and a day,” said Pauline.

  “Yes, you have,” contradicted her sister. “He was at Lady Ursula’s party, don’t you remember?”

  “No. In any event, why would he be staring at you?”

  Louisa blushed, for Ambrose was one of The Fairy’s admirers. Kate stifled a laugh as Sir Willoughby glowered down into the pit.

  “He’s probably not ogling Miss Penrose,” said Bryan. “He’s a friend of mine, also.”

  Quinn raised his brows. “Please do not say he is ogling you.”

  “What’s that creature near to him?” asked Hawkes.

  “Which one?” Kate wanted to know.

  “That tough, in the black.”

  Kate scrutinized the crowd carefully, as did they all. “I’m afraid I don’t know who you mean, Sir Willoughby. Would you like a better view? I’m quite willing to change places,” she added, giving her

  “cousin” a sly look. She’d noted Louisa’s blue mood, and, with a view to her own self-interest, hoped to improve her temper. A happy Louisa was easy to live with; Louisa, moody, cast a pall over the entire house.

  “Yes, thank you,” he said, as he slid into Kate’s seat. To her surprise, Hawkes did not use the closer proximity to Louisa’s person to flirt. He seemed intent upon the scene below.

  “Who’s that lady staring at us, Uncle Quinn?” Louisa nodded across the pit to a box, where a petite red-head dressed in apple-green held court, surrounded by a group of bucks and fops of varying age. Kate saw the flame-haired lady raise her head to rake their box with a long, cool glare. Kate knew that arrogant redhead, perched on her chair as though she sat on a throne. Staveley.

  Kate sat straighter in her chair and adjusted her gloves, feigning unconcern. She’d never imitate Lady Bertha’s shabby manners.

  Both Quinn and Hawkes looked over. Quinn turned away from the sight, looking comically embarrassed. “Er—old friend! Didn’t expect to see her here!” He looked at Hawkes and grimaced.

  “Better go over and do the pretty, Devere, or there’ll be the devil to pay,” Hawkes murmured.

  “The devil to pay… Why, what could you mean, Sir Willoughby?” Louisa asked.

  He didn’t answer, but Quinn abruptly left and emerged a few minutes later in the box opposite.

  While Kate continued her conversation with Anna and Pen, she kept an eye on Quinn, who made his bow over Lady Bertha’s hand, sipped from a glass of champagne, then returned. For all of her stares, the lady paid little or no attention to Quinn once he was within her orbit. Kate thought the entire scene a bit odd.

  A footman came round with glasses of

/>   champagne on a tray. Pauline politely refused the champagne, asking the footman, “Could you please bring me a glass of lemonade? Thank you so much.” She smiled up at the lad, flirting with her dark eyes.

  As the bedazzled young footman turned to leave the box, he stumbled over his feet and smacked his head against the doorpost.

  Pauline’s parents winced.

  “Paul, you’re a caution, and no mistake,” said her father. “We’d best get you back to Kent before you land in serious trouble.”

  “Oh, Papa, no! I have still not been to Vauxhall Gardens.”

  Pen frowned. “Vauxhall? Everyone knows young ladies could get into all sorts of scrapes at Vauxhall at night.”

  “And Hampton Court Palace,” Pauline said. “It is historical, is it not? I should not miss Hampton Court.

  I’m sure Uncle Devere can get us entree.”

  “One week, Pauline, one week only,” said Pen.

  “Don’t you miss your brothers and sister?” Pauline looked mutinous. She appealed to her uncle. “Uncle Quinn, you’ll take me to Hampton Court? And to Vauxhall?”

  Quinn kept his expression blank, but said, “Ah, er, I am not sure we should be discussing this in front of our guests.”

  “Well, I am sure they would like to come. We’ll have loads of fun. There’s a maze, and everything.” Pauline glanced at Kate. “Cousin Kay can ask her new friend, what was her name? Sylvia?”

  “Sybilla Farland. That’s a very generous idea, Pauline,” Kate continued gently, “but you must first ask your parents if your scheme meets with their approval.”

  Anna sighed. “Very well, Pauline, but you must understand your presence in Town is but temporary.

  Hampton Court and Vauxhall Gardens only, then back to Kent with your father. No protests or whining, do you understand?”

  * * *

  The crowd leaving the theatre was even thicker than at their arrival. Members of the ton cared little for culture but they certainly cultivated their reputations. As a result, many members of the audience sauntered in just before the first interval in order to be seen. However, everyone wanted to leave at the same time.

  Having been put on guard by the sight of oglers in the pit, Hawkes was mindful of the toughs he had observed at Astley’s Amphitheatre watching the Penroses, and looked about alertly as the party waited for their carriage to arrive to pick them up. He knew the swells jamming the sidewalk were fair game for the assorted pickpockets, canters, and buzmen which populated London, and that the bus-nappers, however worthy the constables might be, were no match for the spawn of St. Giles which plagued the honest Londoner.

  He noticed St. Wills had the lively Miss Pauline well in hand, while Pen and Anna surrounded the Fairy; Louisa pointedly ignored the bucks who jostled to see her as she stood in the portal of the theatre. Sir Willoughby kept Kate’s arm tucked in his as Quinn went for their coach.

  As he made inconsequential conversation with Kate, Hawkes scrutinized the throngs which flooded the sidewalk like a flock of many-colored birds. Most were unimportant, hangers-on and minor members of Society. He knew many of them, and introduced Kate to such notables as came their way. She acknowledged Lord Fribble and Lady Snuggle; yes, Countess Whozits was positively charming! The carriage arrived, and Sir Willoughby handed the Penrose ladies up into it with a rush of relief. He had felt unaccountably tense since he had espied that odd personage in the crowd in the pit at the theatre.

  He lingered with Devere on the sidewalk as Pen climbed up into the carriage. “Walk, Devere?” Hawkes’ invitation sounded more like a command.

  “You won’t come back to Bruton Street for late supper?” asked Lady Anna, poking her head out of the barouche.

  “We think not, but thank you,” said Sir Willoughby, jabbing Quinn with his hawk-headed cane. Hawkes resolved to send Lady Anna, who had been unfailingly gracious, a gift of some sort as thanks for a delightful evening. He knew he was taking himself off in a manner which bordered on discourtesy, but felt an urgent need to engage in a serious discussion with the Earl of Devere.

  As the gentlemen set forth westward, a light drizzle began to fall. Quinn shrugged himself more closely into his evening cloak and scrutinized his friend.

  Hawkes’ pewter eyes glinted coldly as Sir Willoughby glowered at Quinn. “Well, Devere, are you going to tell me what this is all about?” Quinn kept his voice light and noncommittal.

  “Can’t say what you mean, old man.”

  “I’ll show you precisely what I mean.” Hawkes grasped Devere’s arm and swung him around. Quinn would have taken offense, but Hawkes pointed with his cane at the toughest customer Devere had yet seen. Sturdily built, he wore a battered greatcoat, and a tricorne concealed his face but exposed a cauliflower ear. Altogether, he looked like a refugee from the ring. He stared down the street at the back of the Penrose barouche.

  “A boxer? Good God!” Devere started toward the personage, who immediately ran down an alley.

  Devere whistled, and a fellow with a red vest concealed beneath his overcoat trotted up out of a side street.

  “A Bow Street Runner?” Hawkes gaped.

  “Milord?” The man saluted with two fingers touched to his hat.

  “Did you see a large person, greatcoat, tricorne?” Devere pointed.

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Follow him.”

  “Yes, milord.” The man turned and headed in the direction of Macklin Street.

  “Wait! Where is the current location of Badham and his spawn?” Devere asked.

  The man stopped. “Still stayin’ at Limmer’s, milord, talkin’ of an evening in the vicinity of Covent Garden.”

  Devere winced and watched Hawkes roll his eyes. The worst hells and whorehouses were located there. Even if Quinn’s affections had not been bestowed elsewhere, he’d never endanger his health with a Covent Garden Miss. He knew Hawkes to be equally fastidious.

  “Very well. You may be off.” Quinn gestured.

  “Full report tomorrow afternoon.”

  Alone, the males eyed each other.

  Hawkes broke the silence. “Devere, how long have you known me?”

  “Since Brasenose College, Oxford,” responded Quinn promptly. “M’first year. Caught you in the buttery with that maid, what was her name?”

  “Alice, or was it Angelique? Either way, she was an angel to me.”

  “To you and anyone else with a Yellow Boy or two.” Quinn laughed and started down the lane.

  “Have I ever given you cause to distrust me?” Devere’s brow wrinkled. “‘Course not. You’re a gentleman, Hawkes, for all of your rackety ways.”

  “I’m rackety? I beg your pardon, but I could take lessons from you, Devere.” Hawkes’ cane tapped on the pavement as he walked.

  “Nonsense. I learned my games at your knee, Will.”

  “I suppose we could concede we egged each other on. But back to my point. Devere, there’s something devilish strange going on with your family, and I want to know what it is.”

  “With all respect, old man, how might it affect you?”

  Hawkes paused.

  Quinn stopped and looked at his friend, who wore an extremely serious expression.

  “I have been given hope,” Hawkes said.

  “Aha.”

  “I was pleased to be one of the party tonight.

  Surprised and pleased.”

  “Given the way you left, such a signal honor may not be repeated.” Quinn continued down the street.

  “Rest assured, Lady Anna’s sensibilities will be soothed.”

  “Hmph. M’sister ain’t easily gulled, Hawkes.”

  “I won’t even try. The lady is clearly awake on all suits. Devere, between ourselves, I mean to offer for Miss Penrose when the time is right—when I feel she’s ready.”

  Quinn didn’t hesitate. “Hawkes, between ourselves, are you truly ready to marry? My niece deserves a loyal husband, not Wicked Willy.” The older man flushed. “I am quite aware of the romanti
cal notions which fill the hearts of young girls. I must admit that, until I met your niece, I had never desired to become leg-shackled to anyone with such illusions. But Louisa…Louisa has changed everything.”

  “Hmph.”

  “But you understand my interest when I observe strange personages loitering about your family.”

  “Hmph.”

  “I have noted persons of a lower order lingering on not one, but two occasions.”

  “Hmph?”

  “Two rather unattractive characters at Astley’s, and again tonight.”

  “What of these rascals at the circus?” This was new news to Quinn.

  Hawkes shrugged and tapped his stick against the curb of Great Queen Street. They crossed, walking at a brisk pace. “Two scurvy looking rogues, talking thieves’ cant about a ‘dark-haired tib’ accompanying a certain lord.”

  “Damn and blast!”

  “I am glad you have engaged the Bow Street Runners. But what has any of this to do with the new Earl of Badham?”

  “Hmph. Well, you seem to be more than halfway to discovering this business for yourself. I am well aware that a few guineas in the right quarter would reveal all to you in any event. You have become acquainted with my ward, Lady Katherine Scoville.”

  “No, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Yes, you have. She was your dinner partner tonight, using the name of Kay Tyndale.”

  “Good Lord. I suppose she has a reason for such an outrageous imposture?”

  Hawkes and Quinn crossed Russell Street.

  “It was my idea,” said Quinn, somewhat affronted.

  “She is the granddaughter of old Badham, is she not? And she is going about in society using a false name? Scandalous, Devere.”

  “Scandalous is better than dead, Hawkes, and I’ll thank you for keeping my trust.”

  “Oh, no problem with that, milord.” Hawkes waved his stick in the air. “What do you mean, better than dead?”

  Quinn told him the whole story, ending with the shot which had been fired at the landau in Regent’s Park.