Ryan stood for a long while after in the middle of the street, staring after the young man who’d just ridden off, the same young man he’d seen the previous evening. He’d hoped to ask him a few questions to find out what he was up to so late. What sort of errands was Lady Steepleton sending him on, and were they related to the letter she’d received? One thing was for sure: the emissary hadn’t wanted to stop for a chat.
He glanced at Lady Steepleton’s house, wishing he could talk to her and perhaps find out more. Damn. There was more to it than his desire to keep her safe; he was merely looking for an excuse to see her again. Ryan raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. God help him if he wasn’t falling for the woman. He’d do well to keep this growing fancy under control, especially since she appeared to be far more trouble than he ever would have imagined. She certainly wasn’t as demure as he’d initially thought her to be. He reflected on that for a moment. Would he really care for the companionship of a sedate woman? Absolutely not, although he was hoping for someone a little less willful and unruly than his sister. He grinned at the very thought of it: the Marchioness of Steepleton dressed in a shirt and breeches, gallivanting about like the hoydenish Alexandra.
Not bloody likely.
Lady Steepleton might have a sharp tongue on her, but she wasn’t at all the hoydenish type. Still, something was awry, and he intended to get to the bottom of it as quickly as possible.
“Not very astute, are you, Mr. Summersby?” a dry voice asked from behind his left shoulder.
Ryan turned to find the Messenger standing but a few paces away from him. In fact, with just one step, he could probably have reached out and touched him. His eyes narrowed with irritation. “What do you mean?”
“You haven’t figured out who it is that keeps leaving Lady Steepleton’s house in the middle of the night, running errands that are still as elusive to you as the rider’s identity.”
Ryan glared back at the black-hooded figure. “And what do you know of it?”
“Enough to tell you that Lady Steepleton is finding it difficult to do as she is told.”
“Meaning?” If only they weren’t standing on a public street in the middle of London, he’d take much pleasure in wringing this man’s neck, no matter whom he might turn out to be.
“Meaning that, if I were you, Mr. Summersby, I would tell Lady Steepleton that if it is a hobby she is looking for, she ought to pick something less likely to draw awareness.”
The sound of hooves clicking on the cobbles nearby drew Ryan’s attention for the briefest of moments. When he looked back, the Messenger was gone.
Damn!
He needed someone to talk to, not to mention a stiff drink to calm his mood. Picking up his pace, he headed down David Street, toward Berkeley Square. He knew exactly where he wanted to go.
“Can I offer you some more claret?” Alexandra asked as she regarded her brother closely. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him so out of sorts.
Ryan nodded, taking the bottle from his sister and filling his glass. He took a long sip. “I need your opinion on something,” he finally said after a lengthy moment of silence. “Percy came to me a few days ago, asking that I keep an eye on Lady Steepleton.”
“The marchioness that everyone has been so busy talking about?”
“The very one.” Ryan sighed. He then went on to tell Alexandra about his conversation with Percy and about the hooded stranger he’d encountered in the street.
“And what about Lady Steepleton herself?” Alexandra asked. “Has she not given you any clue as to what might be going on?”
Ryan shook his head somewhat sheepishly, forcing a troubled sigh from his sister. She knew that he’d always felt less suited for a career in intelligence than she and William. Not that he couldn’t hold his own when it came to fighting or thinking on his feet, but he just didn’t have the same feel for uncovering information that had come so naturally to both William and herself. It was one of the key factors in his decision to give up on a career in the Foreign Office and continue with his studies instead. What irked Alexandra was that he seemed to consider the lack of this quality a shortcoming. On the contrary, she’d give anything for the ability to soak up knowledge the way Ryan did.
“All right,” Alexandra said thoughtfully. “Let us consider everything that we know so far. You say that her father was a physician and that he was killed at Waterloo. We also know that she received a letter, which appears to have alarmed her in some way, and that upon having read it, she went to meet with Lord Woodbridge, who, by the way, also happens to be the Master of the Royal College of Surgeons. If you ask me, Ryan, whatever it is that your marchioness may be involved in, I am strongly inclined to believe that it is medically related.”
“I have to agree, but I just fail to see why that would pose a threat to her in any way.”
Alexandra was quiet for a moment. An idea had begun to manifest itself in her head, but it was only a guess, and to verify it, she would have to meet Lady Steepleton in person and take a good look at her. “What if I accompany you on your next visit to the marchioness?” she suggested with a bright smile. “I have a feeling that the two of us will get along famously.”
“That is an excellent idea, Alex. I was planning on going over there tomorrow afternoon for tea, but if you are coming along, then perhaps we might take Lady Steepleton shopping. There are a multitude of balls this season, and she is in dire need of some proper gowns to wear.”
Alexandra made a sour face, as if she’d just bitten into a lemon.
“Actually,” Ryan continued, shifting nervously in his seat, “I thought you might perhaps be able to act as our chaperone.”
Alexandra flashed her brother a cheeky grin. “Why, Ryan, I do believe her ladyship has you smitten!”
Ryan sent his sister a scowl, but it made very little difference to her. Not once in all her life could she recall having seen her brother blush, yet there he was, as red as a ripe tomato and looking more uncomfortable than a fish out of water. “Not to worry,” she told him kindly. “I promise to be on my very best behavior. I simply cannot wait to meet her.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
* * *
By the time the clock in the hallway struck two on the following afternoon, Mary had managed to convince herself that Mr. Summersby simply must have recognized her the previous evening, and that, as a consequence, he would never want to call on her again. She’d also managed to drive herself half mad, worrying about whom he might have spoken to regarding what he’d seen. In all truth, she scarcely knew the man, and judging by the way in which gossip tended to spread like wildfire among the ton, it wouldn’t take much to ruin her reputation, even if he hadn’t recognized her. All it would take was a good imagination on his part, and if that was the case, then she might very well have to face the possibility of never touching a scalpel again.
So when Thornton came to announce the arrival of Mr. Summersby and the Countess of Trenton, she was so startled that all she could do was stare in befuddlement at her two visitors for a good three seconds.
“I do apologize for coming unannounced like this,” Mr. Summersby said as he strode toward her with his sister in tow. “Apparently, it seems to have become a habit of mine.”
“There is no need for you to apologize,” Mary stammered, desperately trying to get her fluttering heart under control. What on earth was the matter with her? “In truth, you are most welcome.”
“Thank you, my lady. You are too kind.” He moved aside to make way for his sister. “May I present to you my sister, formally known as her ladyship, the Countess of Trenton.”
“Good heavens, Ryan,” Lady Trenton exclaimed as she stepped forward, brushing him aside in the process. “There is no need for all that.” She graced Mary with a big smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Steepleton. My brother has told me so much about you.”
“Has he?” Mary asked warily.
And just what exactly had he t
old her? That he’d seen her ride off last night, disguised as a man? She studied Mr. Summersby who looked to be in a wonderful mood, not as though he’d just discovered her greatest secret. Was it possible that he hadn’t? She began to relax a little. “May I offer you some tea?” she asked.
“Actually, we were rather hoping to take you shopping,” Lady Trenton said. “I understand that you might be in need of a gown for the Glendale ball on Friday.”
“Is that so?” Mary asked in a clipped tone as she turned a frosty gaze on Mr. Summersby. Apparently, he’d shared his opinion on her attire with the remarkably fashionable countess. What could possibly make her feel grimmer than that?
“Please do not take offense,” Mr. Summersby told her, picking up on her discomfort. “We are only trying to help, and I do assure you that we have your best interests at heart.”
Mary let out a quiet sigh of defeat. She nodded slowly as she shifted her gaze from one sibling to the other. “If you’ll please wait a moment, I’ll just go and fetch my reticule.”
They visited three different fabric shops before finally arriving at one on Fleet Street, where Mary’s breath was taken away by the most beautiful selection of fabrics, lace, and ribbons she’d ever seen. Bolts of shimmering silks and satins were neatly arranged in two wide mahogany cabinets that loomed like the Pillars of Hercules from behind the counter. Rolls of the finest muslins and linens were neatly stacked on shelves running from floor to ceiling along one wall, while the plushest velvets lined another.
Mary stepped gingerly forward as if in a daze, her fingers reaching out on their own accord to skim across a piece of abandoned satin that had been left out on the cutting table. She drew a breath and turned her bright eyes on her two companions. “I never imagined that such fabrics existed,” she said as she continued to gaze about in wonder.
“Come,” Lady Trenton told her gently, taking her by the arm and leading her farther into the shop, while Mr. Summersby followed behind in their wake. “Let’s start by looking over here.”
It took Mary all of fifteen minutes to decide upon a light blue silk and an overlay of lace that met the approval of both the countess and Mr. Summersby. Once this was done, she and Lady Trenton were rapidly swept through to a private sitting room, where the modiste handed them each a large pile of fashion plates.
“Take your time, ladies,” Mr. Summersby told them with a smile as he put on his hat. “I am just going to run a quick errand.”
As soon as he had left, Mary and Lady Trenton settled to their task and began leafing through the fashion plates. “I know it seems daunting,” the countess said, “but after a while, you decide on the styles that you like, and then it goes much quicker.”
“I don’t have the faintest idea of what sort of gown might suit me.” Mary shook her head, completely overwhelmed by the task at hand. “I never imagined that there might be so many ways in which to fashion a gown.”
Lady Trenton grinned. “I know precisely how you feel. A little over a year ago I owned only two dresses, and I certainly didn’t have much interest in what they looked like. They were more of a requirement than anything else.”
Mary raised her eyes and looked at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “I don’t understand; you are so fashionable and elegant.”
“That was not the case before my husband came along, you know. In fact, I have always favored a white shirt and a pair of breeches to the restraining garments that women are encouraged to wear. Not only were they more practical in a swordfight—after all, long gowns do have a tendency to get in the way—but they were just so much more comfortable.
“However, when I met Ashford, and I wanted to draw his attention—you know, open his eyes a little to the feminine side of me—well, let’s just say that there’s much to be said for a bit of lace and a low décolletage.”
Mary looked at Lady Trenton in dumbfounded dismay. “You know how to handle a sword?”
“Indeed, I do. And pistols too, if you must know.”
“But how did you learn?” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I mean, it is completely unheard of for a woman to engage in such things—is it not?”
Lady Trenton looked up from the fashion plate she was presently admiring and fixed Mary with a meaningful look. “Not more so than it is for a woman to practice surgery, Lady Steepleton.”
If Mary was the fainting sort, she would have done so that very instant. Had she heard right, or were her ears deceiving her? Whatever the case, she could barely breathe as she sat there clutching the fashion plates so tightly in her hands that her knuckles had begun to turn white.
“It’s all right,” Lady Trenton assured her as she casually pointed to an illustration of an exquisite gown. “Your secret is safe with me. In fact, I quite admire your efforts. You are a very brave woman, Lady Steepleton.”
“H. . .how did you know?” Mary practically choked on the words as they came out of her mouth. She felt feverish; her whole body was trembling.
“Well, it didn’t take me too long to figure it out. You see, about a year ago, when my brothers and I were passing through Ghent on our way back to England, I stumbled into a young woman at the inn where we were staying. She was looking for her father at the time, and although I failed to notice, my brother William later remarked on how odd it was that she was wearing a surgeon’s badge on her arm. When Ryan mentioned that your father was a surgeon and that he was killed at Waterloo, I thought perhaps you might be the same woman I met in Ghent. Of course, I couldn’t be certain until I saw you in person, but once I did, there really was no mistaking it.”
“But I don’t recognize you at all. You look entirely different from the woman I remember speaking to.”
Lady Trenton smiled. “Yes, I imagine that I do.” She was quiet for a moment, as if deciding on whether or not to broach a delicate topic or not. “Lady Steepleton—”
“Oh, please, call me Mary. I have a feeling that you and I are going to be fast friends, and having you call me Lady Steepleton not only makes me uncomfortable, but it makes me feel positively ancient.”
Alexandra grinned. “Very well, but only if you will call me Alexandra. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Well then, Mary,” Alexandra said, lowering her voice to a whisper, “I have to say that it is impossible for me to dislike you, for I do believe that you and I have very much in common. However, I would like to know if you plan to pursue an attachment with my brother. As it is, I’ve heard rumors that the two of you were spotted in the park together yesterday. I hope you’ll forgive me for the intrusion, but I only wish for him to be happy. I hope you understand.”
As forward as the question was, it didn’t bother Mary in the slightest. After all, she could be quite direct herself and therefore considered the question very seriously for a moment before answering. She hadn’t spent much time analyzing her feelings for Mr. Summersby yet, but she couldn’t help but acknowledge the growing attraction she felt for him. Her heart would start to pound whenever he was near, her stomach flipped whenever he touched her, and when she’d wondered. . .Oh hell, she’d wondered what it might be like to kiss him. Undoubtedly splendid.
“Do you promise not to repeat what I say, even to him?”
“I swear it,” Alexandra told her solemnly.
“Then I must tell you that I had absolutely no intention of encouraging anyone’s advances when I returned to London two weeks ago. I felt—and I still do—that marriage would be the end of my career since it will be impossible for any man to accept a wife who does what I do.
“But then I met your brother, and I would be lying if I were to tell you that I am not drawn to him in a way that I never thought possible. I want to learn everything there is to know about him. I find myself eagerly awaiting his company, and when he’s near, I feel so jittery that I’ve no idea what to do with myself. If he desires to court me, I daresay I’d be unable to resist.”
Alexandra smiled as she wrapped her
arms around Mary and gave her a tight squeeze. “I cannot tell you how happy that makes me. However, it does mean that you will have to tell him the truth about yourself, and, if I may give a suggestion, you should do so quickly, before he has the chance to feel deceived.”
“I know, I just—”
“I realize that you are worried about the way he will react, but you and I are friends now, and I want you to know that you have my full support. We shall work on Ryan together, and, who knows, perhaps the two of you can even find a way in which to collaborate. After all, you both share the same area of expertise.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Mary said, her eyes suddenly sparkling with enthusiasm. “Oh, do you really think that such a thing might be possible? That we might open a practice together? Oh, Alexandra, nothing would thrill me more; really, it wouldn’t.”
“I am glad to see that the two of you are getting along so wonderfully well,” a familiar voice sounded. It was Mr. Summersby who’d just returned and was now casually making his way toward them. “Have you decided on a design for your gown yet?”
“Oh, dear,” Mary muttered. “I completely forgot what we came here for.”
“How about this one?” Alexandra asked, pointing to the same one that she’d pointed at earlier.
“Oh, yes,” Mary said. “That really is quite elegant. A bit risqué at the neckline, perhaps, but I suppose that we can have that altered. Mr. Summersby, what do you think?”
“Well,” Mr. Summersby began hesitantly, “while I do think that this particular model will suit you remarkably well, I will give it my seal of approval only if you promise not to alter the neckline.”
“Good heavens!” Alexandra exclaimed with a wide smile, while her eyes twinkled with delight. “I never pegged you to be such a rogue. You have made poor Mary blush.”
“I do beg your pardon, Lady Steepleton. It was not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable.”
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