You’ll be out of your clothes at my command, soon enough, Miss Moreland.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Galen alighted without waiting for the footmen to bother with the door. They moved aside without question, long used to the unconventional habits of their employer’s friends.
He headed directly upstairs, briskly taking two risers at a time. Muted voices from a room above assured him that at least a few of the others had also sought out the oasis of West’s library. Reaching the ornate doors, Galen felt a familiar wash of comfort at the sight of his friends.
“Hastings said you weren’t coming this evening,” Rowan said from his seat by the fireplace. “Some nonsense about attending a party at Bascombe’s,” he added with a wry grin.
“At which point, I believe, the good Dr. West was kind enough to suggest that Josiah had lost his sanity.” Ashe straightened from his chair to extend a welcoming hand. “Come take my seat and help me win my wager.”
Galen shook his head. “I’ll stand for a bit.” He crossed over to the long side table where a few refreshments were laid out. He reached for a decanter of lemon water, ritually ignoring the slight tremor of his hands. The hour was late and fatigue fueled the weakness in his extremities. “So what is this wager, Mr. Blackwell?”
“That despite Rowan’s firm belief that you would rather be flayed alive than cross a gilt room in evening clothes with that social set, I had a strange feeling that it was just unexpected enough to be true.” Ashe resettled with an easy grace, stretching out his long legs in front of him. “You never do what’s expected, Galen.”
“Then I’m a predictable bore!” Galen put the glass down before turning, unwilling to risk dropping it in front of the others. “But in this instance, it’s Josiah’s honor and apparently, his sanity I have to defend. I did attend Bascombe’s.”
“Whatever for?” Ashe asked. “And don’t tell me for stimulating conversation! I’ve met Rand Bascombe.”
“I had my reasons.” Galen was in no mood to share.
“Careful, then,” Rowan said, his tone diplomatic and calm. “Bascombe and his cronies have strong ties to the East India Company. It may not be wise to draw too much attention just now.”
“It’s too late for that.” Ashe broke off the lecture with a wave of his hand. “Come, let’s ask him how the mothers of the Ton reacted to his social debut.”
“Oh, please!” Galen cracked a smile at last. “As usual, they have a tendency to pull their girls out of my path as quickly as they can, thank God!”
“Poor Galen, the curse of a handsome second son!” Ashe sighed theatrically, one hand over his heart. “No fresh flowers falling at your feet, but if your peers knew how plump your accounts have grown, I don’t think you could take ten steps without some desperate mother shoving her daughter into your arms.”
“They don’t know anything of me, Blackwell, that I don’t wish them to.” Galen’s irritation was compounded by the memory of Josiah’s cavalier enjoyment of their group’s notoriety. “And I couldn’t care less about some simpering debutantes wrangling for their next victim.”
“Leave him be, Ashe. Hawke is right.” Rowan leaned forward, the amber in his eyes warming with the sincerity of his tone. “You can certainly attend any party you wish, old friend, without explaining yourself to the likes of us!”
Ashe shrugged. “I’m just cross because I suspect I’ve lost my favorite chaperone.”
Rowan laughed. “Oh, yes! There’s a position to aspire to! Chasing your worrisome carcass all over London and yanking you out of harm’s way!”
“Hastings might volunteer for it,” Galen said, instantly aware of the disastrous mischief the two wildest men in their company might achieve if left to their own devices. “Josiah might enjoy playing the overseer, for once.”
Ashe shook his head quickly and downed the whiskey he was holding. “Lucifer would make a better guardian.”
“I think the devil already has his hands full,” Rowan countered, still laughing. “What about Darius, then? If you can pry him from his books, he could offer you a bit of scholarly balance, I’d guess.”
“Thorne’s out of town, again! Some nonsense about tracking down some rare first edition volumes. . . . How much can a man’s head hold of all those dry philosophies and dreary bits of science before suffering an apoplectic fit?”
Galen gave Rowan a sympathetic look, since he and Darius had a shared love of knowledge and books. “Is that the cause of fits, Doctor West?”
“Hardly.” Rowan shook his head then named the final candidate for Ashe’s dilemma. “Should we ask Michael?”
“No!” Ashe held up his hand to stop the game, standing to cross over to the side table to pour himself another drink. “Hell, the reason I preferred Galen is that he hardly ever pays attention to the land of the living to tell a man ‘nay’! Michael never misses a thing, and how the blazes is that supposed to add to the fun?”
“I’d say you’re out of short pants, then.” Galen clapped him on the back.
“Well, I shall just look out for myself—and the rest of you when I can.” Ashe raised his glass in a mock toast. “Not that I expect to have the time when all the delicious ladies of London demand my personal attention.”
The men settled into their chairs, their camaraderie fortified by the light banter and easy conversation of the evening. Galen absorbed it, grateful for the haven of Rowan’s small library—the usual setting for the impromptu gatherings of the Jaded. He’d often marveled at their ability to arrive without prior notice and almost always find another member or two here. Rowan’s wasn’t the finest residence among them, but it seemed to cheerfully ward off the worst of the world outside, and the doctor’s study was a unique haven filled with eclectic touches and distracting comforts that they all had come to cherish. Culled from generations of intrepid adventurers in the West family, the small library’s treasures had more to do with Rowan’s ancestors’ desire for knowledge than any quest for wealth. (A sad clue, Rowan had once confessed, to the reason for the West family never quite achieving more than a footnote here and there in dusty texts. Not that Rowan dismissed intellectual achievement, but poverty could drain scholarly joy from any man and force him into a trade as it had Rowan.) No doubt, it was a nightmare for the maid to dust all the trinkets and sculpted bookends, but every object held a magical story that the men had come to value.
But even here, Galen was distracted by thoughts of red silk and an elusive idea that perhaps the elderly canary Mrs. Shaw could be useful in gaining Miss Moreland’s trust. If Miss Moreland had been unengaged, the older women would have zealously guarded the young woman from his attention. As a rule, any second son without a specified income was too much of a risk for a woman seeking to marry well. But with Miss Moreland’s altered status as a “woman claimed,” the rules were relaxed somewhat, though not entirely forgotten. Hints from Mrs. Bianca that Trumble was eager to rise had proven helpful, and he’d felt no guilt at mentioning his family’s connections to further his cause. Trumble wouldn’t complain if he stayed close, and he would need the man’s ignorant cooperation if he was going to make any headway.
Though it wouldn’t do to get caught too soon, now would it?
“—for a lark, Galen.”
Galen shifted in his chair, embarrassed at his lapse in attention. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
Ashe sighed. “I was attempting to lure you out since there is still time tonight for an amusement or two, but I’d say you were a thousand miles from London, Hawke.”
Galen shook his head, despising the instinct to lie and keep his thoughts to himself. Hell! I don’t need the blessings of the Jaded to see to my own damn business! “A lack of sleep, Ashe, has made me poor company.”
“We are all of us entitled to be poor company now and again.” Rowan’s look was one of calm understanding. The cause of their sleepless nights and restless moods was well known in the group. It was one of the reasons they continued to find themse
lves in the library. There was never any need to explain themselves—one of the unbelievable benefits of sharing the same past. They could offer sympathy, but not tainted by pity and sideways looks as there would be from any other audience.
Ashe set his drink aside and stood. “Well, if you’re not going to sleep, you may as well enjoy yourself. A visit to the ladies of—”
“No, thank you.” Galen held up a hand to ward off any more invitations. “It’s getting late, and that last foray with you proved I’m not made for your brand of entertainment.”
“I shall do my best to make up for your absence!” He made a gallant bow, sparing a wicked wink before heading out the door. “Perhaps the twins are available this evening!”
Rowan and Galen both shook their heads as the door closed behind him. “No one makes an exit like Ashe,” said Rowan.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think Josiah’s entrances would hold their own in comparison.” Galen stood to make his own departure, suddenly anxious to be alone with his thoughts.
Rowan walked with him as a courtesy and for one more exchange, this one a quiet inquiry. “Not to push, but may I take this foray of yours back into society as a good sign?”
“I couldn’t say.” Galen did his best to speak as honestly as he could. “But I’m certainly not going to abandon my new social calendar just to keep you from losing any more bets.”
Rowan laughed. “Point well taken!” But the merriment dimmed in his eyes as they reached the main foyer and Galen pulled on his coat. Rowan cleared his throat. “The warning about the East India agents wasn’t an idle one. They are always hungry for treasure, and if they’ve caught sign or scent that we can lead them to more . . .”
It was the Jaded’s ultimate secret that made the East India Company their nemesis. The raja who had gone mad and collected them like chess pieces in his dungeon for a game the Englishmen never understood had also stored a vast treasure in his labyrinth. All hell had broken loose when the raja’s own men had rebelled, and the Englishmen had seized the opportunity to escape, struggling to find their way out of the dark. It was then that they’d accidentally stumbled onto a treasure room. Even in the dim light, they’d seen enough golden ornate boxes of gems and precious metals to give them pause. In the shadowed room, the moral debate had been brief, and they’d filled their ragged pockets and used a coat for a larger bundle to carry what they could—only to secure a passage home or to use for bribes.
When they were safely aboard a ship sailing for home, they’d met in Michael’s cramped stateroom and first realized that they’d managed to crawl out of the jungles of Bengal with far more than they’d thought. It was a startling sight lying out on the wool blanket on the bunk—diamonds, emeralds, sapphires, rubies, and pearls of a size and quality that none of them could deny. It was a breathtaking and unbelievable fortune that they solemnly divided equally amidst their number. But there was almost no celebration. There would be no sympathy or sanctuary offered from either side of the question. Because the raja, if he’d survived the coup, was sure to notice he’d been robbed, and if he didn’t, others might. The natives of India were tired of the greed of England stealing away the riches of their country, and the East India Company was the ruthless engineer of too many crimes to count. Their interest in finding new caches of wealth went beyond benign curiosity, and there wasn’t a man among them who wanted to be drawn back into a dangerous and bloody quest into Bengal. They wanted no part of any further pillaging of their host, no matter what transgressions had transpired. So they’d vowed to keep their silence and the bulk of their newfound wealth as far from the prying eyes and ears of the Company as possible. They trusted each other to spend their shares wisely and protect the secret of their fortune’s origin.
Rowan continued, “Michael hasn’t said much, but he made a point of saying that something was stirring and we should all be on our guard.”
“Then I’ll be on my guard. But let’s see if the safest place to be isn’t in a crowd, shall we?”
“Are you sleeping?”
Galen stiffened defensively. “Are you?”
Rowan crossed his arms and said nothing.
Galen yielded the point and answered the doctor’s question. “Not yet, but I may have found the solution I need to finding some elusive peace.”
“I’m glad. So long as the remedy doesn’t come in a small green bottle, I won’t nag you any further.”
“You’re a good friend, Dr. West.” Galen headed out the door. “And I don’t believe for a moment that anything I say will prevent you from worrying about us to your last breath.”
Rowan waved as his friend climbed back into his carriage and replied almost to himself, “On that you can wager your life, friend.”
Chapter 4
Haley’s long fingers smoothed out the emerald silk she’d cut, and with an eye on the picture she’d propped up on the bureau, she began to pin antique lace to the corsage, moving it from one position to another while her imagination kept pace with her design as it emerged. It was a complex puzzle spread about the floor, but Haley knew where each seam would come together. She welcomed the pleasant calm that came over her whenever she worked on her dresses.
She used what fashion plates she could, or pictures from various fashion journals, as a vague guide, trusting her intuition more than the often imperious opinions of their French sources. Drawing inspiration from her mother’s legacy of dresses, fabrics, and notions, Haley only hoped that Lady Pringley never learned that she was her own couturier.
She had always made her own clothes at home, out of sheer necessity for economy. But it had become a great solace and something she truly enjoyed. It was as if the fabrics her father had so lovingly bought for her mother brought her spirit closer as Haley reworked them into the dresses of her dreams. And so, even in London, she had decided to keep her own wardrobe and face the Lions of Fashion in her own humble creations.
She leaned back to sit on her heels and eyed the green silk spread around her. Haley had envisioned it as the perfect evening dress for an upcoming concert that Mr. Trumble had invited her to attend. But now, all she could see was that the green was the same distracting shade as a certain gentleman’s eyes.
Did my heart skip a beat because he was so dashing, or because he seemed so dangerous up there in the dark?
Haley gave her shoulders a little shake, trying to push aside thoughts of a man who was most certainly out of bounds. Instead, she began to wonder if there might still be time to make another outfit. Perhaps something in brown that won’t remind me of anything at all!
“You’ll be a vision in that color, dearest.” Aunt Alice came into the room, gingerly taking a seat on a nearby chair. “Something for a ball?”
“For the concert next week. I modified the redingote pattern to make it more of an evening style, and I think the lace will soften the line of the corsage.” She held up the lace for her aunt to see.
“Soften it and draw the eye, I’d say. A lovely choice.”
Haley blushed. “I’m not trying to draw anyone’s eyes.”
“Naturally not.” Alice shook her head, still smiling as if she were in on some secret jest. “I knew a woman who used to sew tiny bells along her décolletage to ensure that not a man within earshot would miss the chance to take a peek.”
“You cannot be serious!” Haley returned to her dress, pinning the lace to the fabric. “I swear you say these things to shock me.”
“Me? I was merely conveying a provocative tale from my youth, and perhaps inspiring you to risk a bell or two of your own.” Alice regally leaned back as if she had announced the need for tea. “They were etched silver and very pretty. I think I still have them in a trinket box in my bureau drawer if you’d like to use them.”
“Aunt Alice!”
“Oh, very well! Another day,” she said in mock disappointment before giving way to a smile. “I think Mr. Hawke may have kept his word. So many calling cards and invitations today! He is so very kind, don
’t you think?”
Haley shook her head. “I don’t see what he stands to gain from all this generosity. Perhaps he desires an investment opportunity in Mr. Trumble’s factories or—”
“Or,” Aunt Alice cut her off, “he is simply being a true gentleman and making good on his promises.”
“An unlikely possibility.” Haley stood to set the emerald pieces aside. “People are rarely kind without cause.”
“Oh, dear! I’m afraid you’ve taken too many of your father’s hardships to heart. Be careful, dearest. Cynicism is unbecoming in a woman.”
“I’m not cynical. I’m just . . . cautious.” At the comical look of disbelief on her aunt’s face, Haley gave in to a smile and decided against further argument. “Very well, then! Mr. Hawke is a veritable saint and I will lay flowers at his feet at our very next meeting. Satisfied?”
“Completely.”
One of the maids knocked discreetly at the open doorway. “Mr. Trumble is downstairs to collect you for the exhibition, Miss Moreland.”
“Thank you, Agnes. I’ll be down directly.” She smoothed out her skirts and reached up to make sure her hair wasn’t awry. “Weren’t you coming, my dear chaperone?”
“For a man who needs bells to find your bosom? I should think not!”
“You are deliberately trying to get me flustered.” Haley crossed to sit next to her aunt, aware of just how stubborn Alice could be. “Please come. It’s supposed to be a lovely outing, something to do with the botanicals of the South American jungles, I believe.”
“My head is pounding already, just thinking about it.” Aunt Alice took Haley’s hand to pat it apologetically. “I’m sure that Mr. Trumble won’t take advantage of my absence, and even if he did, would that not be an improvement? A small hint of relief that his feelings toward you may include a touch of passion after all?”
Revenge Wears Rubies Page 5
