by Joan Smith
“This is more like it!” he said when the steaming coffee arrived. The waiter lifted the lids from plates of bacon and eggs. A rack of toast was placed on the table. Pots of marmalade and jam were offered, and they enjoyed a civilized breakfast.
“Does the bruised eye hurt, Edward?” Samantha asked.
“Only my pride. You will recall I was outnumbered last night. I can usually handle myself pretty well in a brawl.”
“I noticed you weren’t backward about starting the fight.”
Salverton was pleased to see no sign of disapproval. He was happy to show her he wasn’t just a stiff-rumped worthy, but the sort of gentleman who could pitch himself into a brawl when necessary.
“How will you explain the eye to Lady Louise?” she asked. “Bumped into a door, I believe, is the usual explanation.”
“Just so. At least I shan’t have to explain this shirt and soiled cravat. I’ll change before I call on her. Just a brief visit, and a quick trip to Berkeley Square. I must speak to my secretary, then we'll go on to Tunbridge Wells.”
“You got the address of Sir Geoffrey’s house from Sykes?”
Salverton’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth. “I thought you had it.”
“No, I thought you got it when you spoke to him this morning. I know only that the cottage is in Tunbridge Wells.”
“Damnation! I’ll send my groom back to Sykes’s place to get directions.”
They were interrupted by a tap at the door. Salverton’s face froze. If one of Lady Louise’s friends had seen him come in here with Samantha—
Before he had time to think of a story to account for it, the door opened and Jonathon Sykes came striding into the parlor. Jonathon had had no problem with his toilette. He wore a decent blue jacket, a clean shirt and cravat, and a freshly shaved face, and looked, as Salverton was acutely aware, better than himself.
Samantha immediately invited him to join them for coffee. “You think of everything, Jonathon,” she said. “My cousin was just telling me he forgot to get the address of Sir Geoffrey’s house in Tunbridge Wells.”
Jonathon pulled up a chair and handed her a sheet of paper. “I got the directions from Amy this morning, but that’s not the only reason I’m here.”
Salverton directed a cold stare at him. “How much? I assume this trip has diverted you from some vastly lucrative enterprise.”
“Nay, you’ve paid me handsomely, melord—unless you want to add a pourboire for what I’m about to tell you.”
“What is it?” Samantha asked.
“The fellow I warned you about last night. He’s still on your tail. I thought it wise to follow you to make sure. He didn’t follow you from my place, but he’s out front now, keeping an eye on your rig. I figure he went to the stable, knowing you’d collect your rattler and prads before going any farther. He’s changed his donkey for a mount, but it’s the same lad right enough.”
“Who can he be?” Samantha said, looking from Sykes to Salverton.
It was Salverton who answered. “Bow Street, obviously.”
Jonathon said, “I could have a dab jostle him. I know a gallows bird would do it for next to nothing.”
Salverton began to explain to Samantha. “What Sykes means is that he knows a pickpocket who—”
“I know that, Edward. I’m not a complete flat. You forget my association with Wanda. The man must be from Bow Street, don’t you think?” she said, addressing herself to Sykes.
“Of course he is. Who else could he possibly be?” Salverton said. “No need to hire the gallows bird. The officer obviously followed us from London in the hope that we’d lead him to Miss Claridge and Darren. When he sees us return to London, he'll assume we’ve failed.”
“Still, it might be worth checking,” Sykes said. “Better safe than sorry.”
Salverton assumed Sykes was interested only in further incursions into his purse, and declined the offer.
“It’s up to you,” Sykes said, “but now that I got a closer look at the fellow, I’m not so sure he’s from Bow Street. It’s not one of the lads Townsend usually sends to Brighton. I know the regulars to see them. This one’s a big, husky brute.”
“A good try, Sykes, but I’ll stick by my decision,” Salverton said. “Thank you. You may leave us now.”
Samantha thought Edward had been rather curt and said, “You’ve been very helpful, Jonathon. Perhaps we’ll meet again sometime. If I’m ever in trouble in this part of the country, I shall know whom to call on.”
“Your humble servant, Miss Oakleigh.”
He bowed, then spoiled the handsome gesture with a broad wink, and left.
“Definitely an original,” Samantha said.
Salverton picked up the paper holding the directions to Sir Geoffrey’s house in Tunbridge Wells and glanced at it.
“Just this side of Rusthall Common, half a mile north of town,” he said. “Sir Geoffrey calls this cottage The Laurels as well. I wonder how many of these Laurels he has scattered about the countryside.” He slipped the paper into his pocket. “Shall we go now?”
Samantha picked up her reticule. As Salverton helped her on with her pelisse, a light, flowery scent assailed his nostrils. A pleasant smell, calling to mind wild flowers and meadows—fresh and wholesome. Lady Louise used nothing but French perfume with a heavy, musky scent.
Salverton was relieved to get into his own well-sprung carriage, and especially he was happy to have seen the back of Jonathon Sykes. As they bowled along toward London, he settled in for a friendly chat with Samantha. He decided he should, after all, apologize for barging into her room that morning.
“When I didn’t hear a sound,” he explained, “I took the notion you had gone tearing off with Sykes again. I’m sorry I caught you en déshabille.”
She gave him a pert look. “Are you, Edward? I took the notion you were far from unhappy.”
He didn’t blush, but he looked disconcerted. “I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it. Merely I am sorry if I discommoded you.”
“You didn’t. I wasn’t exactly naked, after all.”
A small but reckless smile curved his lips. “Not quite,” he murmured as a memory of that diaphanous nightgown wafted through his mind.
A spontaneous bubble of laughter erupted from her ripe lips. “I think you ought to get yourself another Esmée, Edward. If you leer at the other ladies the way you leered at me, your fiancée will be disgusted with you.”
“Leer! I didn’t leer! Any man would take a second look at such a— Well, you ain’t exactly an antidote, Samantha.”
“Why, thank you, Edward. Are you always so effulgent in your compliments to the ladies?”
“What sort of compliments do your other—your beaus offer?”
“Oh, I shan’t tell you. It would smack of conceit to say Mr. Abercrombie called me an Incomparable, and Sir Lawrence Chiswick said I was the finest-looking filly that ever walked on two legs.”
His lips twitched. “High praise indeed. I see I must step up my flattery if I hope to get anywhere with you.”
“I think you mean with Lady Louise,” she said demurely.
“Is that what I mean?” he murmured.
“Edward!” She pinned him with a sapient eye. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”
“So it seems. Am I so out of practice that you didn’t even recognize it?”
She gave the matter a moment’s consideration. “Well, it did sound rather like flirtation, but when I considered the source, I thought perhaps you were being satirical. I’m sure you’ll do better when you’re with someone other than your cousin.”
Samantha felt she had dropped Edward the hint that he was ignoring his body’s needs and suggested they play bury all your horses to pass the time.
“I haven’t played that since I was in short coats. A white horse counts for two points, if memory serves, and any other color for one.”
“A white horse is three points—and the other player must bury all his horses and begin counting
over again. Whoever gets a hundred horses first wins.”
“What’s the prize?” he asked. His glinting smile still held a touch of flirtation.
“We shall play for pennies.” He lowered his brow at her. “Or do you not approve of gambling?” she asked, refusing to be the butt of his flirtation. “No matter, we—”
He allowed his gaze to roam over her face, settling on her lips. When he spoke, his voice had again that velvety sound of intimacy. “Let us make it interesting and play for—”
“Edward!”
“Shillings,” he said, chewing a grin.
“I couldn’t possibly afford it.”
“Then I shall just have to think of some forfeit,” he said with a rakish grin.
“And to think, Miss Donaldson said I should be perfectly safe with you. She meant it as a compliment, I promise you,” she added when he failed to appear pleased with this commendation.
“You are perfectly safe with me, Samantha. No lady ever died of flirtation.”
“Unless perhaps of a broken heart when the cruel gentleman was using her only for practice.” She raised her hands to her eyes and emitted a few loud, burlesque sniffs. Then she said, “I am only funning, Cousin. I know I am as safe as if I were in church. Safer. Mr. Abercrombie pinched my bottom on the way out of church last month.”
“I wager you didn’t let him off with it.”
“Certainly not. I turned around and stepped hard on his toe. He knew I did it on purpose. You should have seen his face. He was scarlet with shame. And so he should have been.”
When they fell into a short silence, Edward thought over the various things Samantha had said during their adventure. He was appalled at the way she, and probably all the world away from Whitehall, saw him. A man of overweening ambition, a tame man with whom a lady was “perfectly safe” in a carriage, a man who frowned on a bit of innocent gambling. He used to be a wild and reckless buck—and better liked, by and large, than he was now. He had shoals of friends in those days. Now his “friends” were really political cohorts and relatives who approached him only when they wanted a favor.
He sat for some minutes, reviewing his life. Surely he had done the right thing to abandon his licentious ways, to make a career for himself? Lady Louise would never have spared a second glance at the old Lord Salverton. Lord Salty, his friends used to call him. He had soon convinced himself this present mood of dissatisfaction would pass as soon as he found Darren and straightened out the business with Sir Geoffrey and Bow Street. This interval was merely a fling, a little interruption in his usually worthy life.
Samantha was a charming and lovely girl, but a deep-dyed provincial when all was said and done. Not the sort of lady who would make a fitting prime minister’s wife, and the prime ministership was his ultimate goal.
Samantha saw she had given him something to think about and didn’t disturb him. It was lunch-time when they reached London.
“Would you mind dropping me off at Upper Grosvenor Square?” she said. “Miss Donaldson will be on nettles to know what is happening. I can take a hansom cab back to your place after you’ve visited Lady Louise.”
“Yes, certainly. I should pay my respects to Miss Donaldson. And I shall pick you up after. I don’t like to see you taking public conveyances.”
Samantha just shook her head. “Trying to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, Cousin? You’ll catch cold at that.”
He didn’t argue or banter, but just repeated, “I shall call for you, Samantha.”
“Perhaps Darren will be home, and our adventure will be over,” she said, hoping to please him.
She was surprised when a frown creased his brow. Was it possible Edward was enjoying this escapade? Perhaps he was coming to realize there was more to life than work, and a marriage of convenience to a duke’s eldest daughter.
Chapter Ten
In the flat on Upper Grosvenor Square, Miss Donaldson had been on vigil since dawn, waiting in vain for some sign of either Darren or his sister. She was vastly relieved when Salverton’s crested carriage came bowling along, and astonished to see Edward himself assist Samantha down. She had hoped he’d lend Samantha his rig, but that he went with her himself was condescension of a high order. Her worries were not over, but they were greatly diminished. She was at the door to welcome them.
“Samantha! And Cousin Edward—so excessively kind of you. Have you any word—”
Lord Salverton bowed formally. “Nice to see you again, Miss Donaldson. We haven’t found the miscreants yet, but we are hot on their trail.”
“But if they weren’t in Brighton—”
“It was a horrid take-in,” Samantha said with a touch of asperity, then turned and said familiarly to Edward, “Come on into the saloon, Edward. Let us not stand in the hall like tradesmen.”
“Do come in,” Miss Donaldson added.
The hallway was dim. In the stronger light of the saloon she noticed that Salverton was wearing evening toilette. It was not in the pristine condition she would have expected, either. And was that the makings of a black eye? She was on thorns to hear their story.
Once settled in the modest saloon, Samantha opened her budget.
“Darren and Wanda didn’t go to Sir Geoffrey’s cottage in Brighton at all. There was another couple in the cottage. Fortunately Edward knew them, and Mrs. Abercrombie—”
“What on earth was she doing there?” Miss Donaldson exclaimed.
“Not the Mrs. Abercrombie from Milford, Auntie. This one was from London, some kin to a bishop. She was extremely sorry she had her footman hit Edward with the poker. Of course, it was only to be expected when Mr. Sykes picked the lock practically in the middle of the night and frightened the poor souls half to death.”
“Is that what happened to your eye, Cousin?” Miss Donaldson asked him.
“No,” Samantha said for him, “that happened at Mike Skelton’s gaming hell last night. I am coming to that.”
Miss Donaldson stared as if listening to a performance in Greek. “You mentioned a Mr. Sykes ...”
“Yes, Jonathon Sykes. He isn’t really a groom, but he was kind enough to drive the carriage for us, in case Edward’s own coachman should be recognized. Edward was concerned lest his fiancée, Lady Louise St. John, should see him out with me.” She turned to Edward. “Do you think Lord Carnford will tell her?”
“Oh, you are engaged, Cousin! I hadn’t heard it,” Miss Donaldson said. This took precedence even over his being hit with the poker.
“It is not an engagement yet,” he said, and added without undue concern, “God knows whether she’ll have me if word of all this gets about.”
Mary chose this moment to inform her mistress that luncheon was served.
“I hope you will take lunch with us, Cousin?” Miss Donaldson said. It seemed the least she could do.
“Edward wants to call on Lady Louise, Miss Donaldson,” Samantha said. “He was to accompany her to the opera this evening, but it isn’t likely he’ll be back in time. I shall fill you in on all the details of Brighton while we eat.”
“Cousin Edward has to eat as well. There is plenty of food here. You know we were wondering what to do with that ham, Samantha, and I sent Mary out for fresh bread, as ours was gone. Do stay, Cousin. Couldn’t you write a note to Lady Louise and explain?”
“I’ll be happy to join you,” Edward said.
While Mary set the extra places at table, Salverton undertook a proper explanation of their doings over the past twenty-odd hours. Miss Donaldson assumed that Mr. Sykes was a friend of Salverton’s who had provided them well-chaperoned sleeping arrangements. The explanations and future plans were so long and complicated that they continued through luncheon, along, of course, with a multitude of questions as to where Darren could be, and whether he would escape without major damage to his reputation.
“At least we needn’t fear he’ll marry her, Auntie,” Samantha said. “Darren would never be fool enough to marry a woman with a daughter nearly as o
ld as herself.”
“Married as well as carrying on with Sir Geoffrey! Is there no end to the woman’s treachery!”
“Well, there seems some doubt she is married, actually,” Samantha said. Miss Donaldson began to fan herself with the corner of her napkin.
“I don’t mean to disparage your chaperonage, Miss Donaldson,” Salverton said, “but how did you come to let Samantha and Darren caper about the city so freely with this Wanda female?”
Samantha flared up in defense of her chaperon. “Darren is no longer a minor. He can do as he likes. Miss Donaldson tried a dozen times to slow him down, but he would have none of it, and neither would I. If you want to scold someone, scold me. We didn’t know Wanda was so—”
She tossed up her hands in exasperation. “We were complete greenhorns, Edward. We mistook her fast ways and broad talk for smart London manners. How should we know the difference?”
“You might have called on me sooner,” Edward said.
“You cannot lay that in Miss Donaldson’s dish, either,” Samantha shot back. “She was forever hounding us to call on you, until we were tired of hearing it. I was the one who didn’t want to go.” She gave Edward a very familiar smile and added, “I thought at the time, you see, that you were a dead bore, Edward.”
Edward, whom Miss Donaldson expected to freeze them on the spot with some quelling set-down, said, “I haven’t quite the dash of Mr. Sykes, to be sure,” and they both laughed.
What was afoot here? Miss Donaldson sensed more than a few shared hours looking for Darren. The way they looked at each other was closer to flirtation than anything else. Cousin Edward flirting? She would as soon expect to see the Pope saying Mass in St. Paul’s Cathedral. Mind you, he had been a bit of a lad in his day.
When Edward caught the dame’s questioning look, he said, “Your charge has developed a tendre for that scape-gallows Sykes.”
“But who is he? Is he not a gentleman?”
Samantha said, “Nearly,” at the same moment as Edward gave a snorting, “Hardly!”
“I was joking,” Samantha explained, and added an aside to Edward, “Mind your tongue, Lord Salty!”
