Kissing Cousins

by Joan Smith

  Miss Donaldson watched and listened in growing confusion. Just exactly what had been the sleeping arrangements at Mr. Sykes’s house? When had Samantha begun treating Cousin Edward in this familiar way? And where had she learned he used to be called Lord Salty? That ancient history was buried long before. It seemed this trip had revived a little something of Lord Salty.

  When they had finished a cold nuncheon of bread, ham, and cheese, Samantha said, “You should run along and pay your call on Lady Louise, Edward. We want to be back from Tunbridge Wells before dark.”

  “Perhaps I shall just write Louise a note, as Miss Donaldson suggested.”

  “Afraid to show your face with that darkened daylight?” she asked pertly.

  "I wouldn’t want to risk giving the lady a disgust of me,” he replied. “I’ll write from my own house, and make a fresh toilette while I’m there. I should be back within the hour. We’ll reach Tunbridge Wells before dinnertime.”

  Suddenly Miss Donaldson wasn’t so sure Samantha was safe with her cousin.

  “Perhaps I should go with you,” she said, looking at him with a more critical eye than before.

  Salverton hesitated only a moment before replying, “Perhaps that would be best.”

  It was Samantha who balked at the notion. She was only half done with her job of reforming Edward, if turning him from the path of such rectitude could be called reforming. Miss Donaldson would undo all her work.

  “What if Darren comes back while we’re gone?” Samantha said. “Someone should be here to keep a rein on him. We shan’t be staying overnight, if that is what you’re worried about,” she added baldly. It was Miss Donaldson who blushed. “We’ve already stayed at Mr. Sykes’s place in Brighton.”

  “What sort of a place is it? Was there a chaperon?”

  Samantha took a deep breath and said, “Of course there was. Mr. Sykes’s aunt was there, Miss Mabel Sykes. A very respectable woman. And I can assure you, Edward was a perfect gentleman.”

  “I’m sure he was,” Miss Donaldson said, her fears diminishing. “I would like to be here if Darren comes. How long do you think you’ll be gone, Cousin?”

  “I’ll take my curricle,” Edward said at once. “Twenty-five miles both ways. That’s four hours. And another hour at most to straighten out Darren. Five hours. The sun sets late in May. We’ll be back before dark.”

  “I suppose it will be all right.” It occurred to her that Cousin Edward could go alone. But as she noticed the gleam in his eye when he looked at Samantha, she wondered if it was a good idea to interfere.

  What an excellent parti for her! Better than they could have hoped for. He had made a point of saying he was not engaged yet. While Salverton seemed to be relaxing a little on his high morals, he would never think of harming a maiden. That, at least, Lord Salty had never done.

  She said, “Why don’t you go to Cousin Edward’s house with him now, Samantha? It will save his coming back to Upper Grosvenor Square to collect you.”

  “A good idea,” Edward said. “But before we leave, perhaps you would change your bonnet, Samantha.”

  “Tyrant!” she said, her chin in the air. But Miss Donaldson noticed she hopped off to exchange the bonnet. When she rejoined them, she carried her blue poke bonnet in her hand, and had tamed her tousle of curls. Her bangs had been pulled back and held in place with a pair of combs. She looked more like her old self.

  Edward tilted his head to one side and examined her. “You didn’t have to go that far,” he said. “What have you done to your curls?”

  Samantha put the bonnet on with the combs still in place. “There’s no pleasing you,” she scolded. “Pretty fussy for a man in a dirty shirt and a black eye.”

  She turned to her chaperon and gave her a hug. “Don’t worry, Miss Donny. We’ll have the culprit back safe and sound. Edward will lend Darren a thousand pounds to repay Sir Geoffrey. He thinks he can bribe Sir Geoffrey to withdraw the charges. These M.P’s know all the shady tricks.”

  At this left-handed compliment, Lord Salverton smiled blandly and made his adieus to Miss Donaldson, who sat on in the saloon alone for the next hour, wondering if she had done the right thing to let Samantha go with him. It was a calculated risk, but the prize was so grand that she didn’t see how she could in good conscience have denied Samantha her chance at such a good title and fortune.

  Salverton’s carriage soon drew up in front of the familiar mansion on Berkeley Square. Lord Salverton’s butler stared with disbelief at his master’s discolored eye and wilting shirt points. His gimlet eye slewed to Miss Oakleigh, whom he suspected to be the cause of this wanton disarray.

  “Shall I call your valet, your lordship?” Luten inquired.

  “Later. For the present, you may call Plimpton for me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Who’s Plimpton?” Samantha asked as they went to his study.

  “My secretary.”

  “I hope he is less daunting than your butler. I don’t know how you can stand having that Friday-faced creature scowling at you every time you enter your own house. It would be enough to give me the megrims.”

  “You never get the megrims. You told me so yourself. Luten is an excellent butler.”

  He held the door and Samantha went into the study, to see a handsome young fellow sitting at Lord Salverton’s desk, apparently rifling his drawers.

  “Miss Oakleigh, allow me to present my secretary, Mr. Plimpton,” Edward said.

  Plimpton leapt to his feet. A pair of twinkling blue eyes opened wider upon first viewing Miss Oakleigh. “Oh, I say! How do you do, ma’am.” In his astonishment, he forgot to bow.

  “Anything important in the mail?” Salverton asked.

  “Oodles of notes from Whitehall. Er, what happened to you, Salverton? Bumped into a door?”

  “Just so. May I know why you’ve usurped my office during my absence?”

  “I was just looking for that letter from the chancellor. It was to be answered by today. I have your notes. I was going to write it up and send it off.”

  Salverton turned to Samantha. “My secretary is also excellent. I am hardly required here at all.” He turned back to Plimpton. “I shall need a couple of hundred pounds, Peter. I’ll be leaving almost immediately. Would you please write a note to Lady Louise telling her I shan’t be able to accompany her to the opera, but shall call later if I’m back in time.”

  “You’ll sign it yourself?”

  “Yes, leave it on my desk.”

  “What excuse shall I give her?”

  “The reason is an urgent family matter that requires my attention.”

  “I’m sorry to delay you, Salverton, but there’s also that report that requires your immediate attention.”

  “Quite. Come upstairs with me while I make a toilette. Bring your notebook. We’ll discuss it there.”

  Plimpton darted into the next room and returned with a stack of papers and a notebook.

  “I shan’t be a moment, Samantha,” Salverton said. “Help yourself to a glass of wine. If you require anything else, call Luten. He won’t bite you—if he knows what is good for him. I have no doubt you’d bite back.”

  On that speech, Salverton strode from the room. Plimpton cast one questioning glance on Miss Oakleigh before darting off after his employer. He was familiar enough with Salverton to know something unusual was afoot. Miss Oakleigh was very different from the cousins who usually came begging at the door, and Salverton was treating her differently, too. Very odd, that. Salverton didn’t usually have any use for those pert girls. Mind you, she was dashed pretty.

  Chapter Eleven

  While Salverton’s fresh toilette was proceeding above stairs, his secretary discussed the correspondence with him and took notes on how various matters were to be handled. The last item was for Plimpton to discover Sir Geoffrey Bayne’s address and call on him personally to repay the purloined thousand pounds.

  “I’ll write you a check on my bank. Give him cash, but get a
receipt promising he’ll drop the charge. I want the only record of this arrangement in my own pocket. If he turns rusty, you can hint at some future perk. I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  The gentlemen then returned to the study, where Samantha had made herself at home. She was writing a note to her friend at Milford.

  “I wanted to show off your crested stationery,” she explained artlessly.

  “Be sure to have me frank it before you send it off,” Salverton said, chewing back a smile. “Receiving it without expense is more likely to impress your friend than the crest.”

  “I wanted to ask you, but was afraid you’d cut up stiff,” she said.

  “You will be giving Plimpton a strange notion of my character, Cousin.”

  “A regular tartar,” Plimpton said, smiling in a bold way that belied the statement.

  Salverton called for his curricle while Plimpton got cash from the safe.

  When this was done, Salverton said, “Write the note to Lady Louise first, Plimpton. I want to sign it before I leave. You can sign for me on the other matters.” Then he turned to his guest. “Samantha, a glass of wine while we wait?”

  The door knocker sounded as Plimpton was leaving. Salverton gave a tsk of annoyance and said to his secretary, “Tell Luten I’m not in—unless it’s the P.M.”

  Samantha felt a little thrill to consider that she might be about to meet this eminent worthy. They both listened as Luten spoke to the caller. It was Plimpton who appeared first at the study door. His face wore a harassed expression.

  “It’s Lady Louise!” he said in a strangled whisper. “Luten’s let her in.”

  “Damn the man!” Salverton growled.

  Samantha knew she was the cause of his discomfiture. Lady Louise would dislike that her fiancée (nearly) was involving himself in such low doings for a female cousin who was not precisely an antidote. Naturally the lady would be jealous if she had any affection at all for Edward.

  Samantha felt instinctively that if she could allay the lady’s jealousy, all would be well. She thought Edward was making a mistake to marry the duke’s daughter, but he must see the light for himself. She would not be the cause of his losing out on her, if that was what he truly wanted. She waited eagerly to see this lady, who had recently been featuring largely in her thoughts.

  The lady who came striding into the study was obviously from the very top of the tallest tree in the country. She was elegantly outfitted in a blue walking suit and dashing high poke bonnet. Pride and arrogance deprived a handsome face of its beauty.

  The physical requirements of an Incomparable were all there—glossy black hair, fine white skin, dark and lustrous eyes, and a well-shaped nose. What was lacking was that spark of amiability. The lips were held in a thin line. The eyes glittered in vexation.

  “Salverton, why did you not call this morning?” she demanded in a strident tone. Then she looked around and spotted Samantha sitting at his desk, holding his pen, looking as if she owned the place, and her lips grew thinner.

  Salverton said, “Louise, allow me to introduce my cousin, Miss—”

  Samantha leapt from the chair as if it had grown spikes. “I’m Mrs. Oakleigh,” she said, advancing to Lady Louise and curtsying low. “And you, I take it, are Lady Louise. Such an honor to meet you. Lord Salverton has spoken of you, milady.”

  Samantha didn’t risk a glance at Edward, but she could sense his astonishment.

  “Mrs. Oakleigh, you say?” Lady Louise said. Her annoyance lessened a degree.

  “Married to Lord Salverton’s cousin, Darren Oakleigh,” Samantha invented. “When my Darren fell into a hobble, I didn’t know where to turn, so I asked Lord Salverton to lend a hand. He is always so helpful in family matters. I am extremely sorry it caused him to miss your tea party. He was most distressed.”

  Lady Louise was sufficiently mollified to inquire the nature of Mr. Oakleigh’s hobble.

  With one glare at Samantha, Salverton spoke up swiftly to forestall talk of lightskirts and stolen money. “He’s disappeared,” he said. “I am trying to find him. I’m afraid, Louise, that I may not be able to attend the opera this evening. I was just about to—”

  “Salverton was just going to call on you,” Samantha said, feeling this would be more flattering than to have his secretary write a letter.

  “Your first trip to London, Mrs. Oakleigh?” Lady Louise inquired with a careful examination of the lady’s toilette.

  “Indeed, yes, milady, and I hope it may be our last, for I fear London is too big and wicked for Darren and me. I wager he has been caught up in some card game, like a regular flat.”

  “If you are fortunate, it may be no more than that. You ought to check out the hospitals, Salverton, and the morgue. The city is full of cutthroat bandits.”

  On this speech, Job’s Comforter turned toward the door. “If you find him in time, do come to the opera this evening, Salverton. I shan’t give anyone else your seat. We were to attend with Mama and Papa, so I shan’t be alone. Good day, Mrs. Oakleigh.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Samantha said in a chastened voice.

  Salverton accompanied Lady Louise to the front door. “Pity,” the lady said to him. “Could you not send Plimpton to look for this Darren person?”

  “A family matter,” Salverton murmured vaguely. “I felt I ought to lend a hand.”

  “You’re too generous by half, Salverton. You can’t forsake your job at Whitehall for every provincial cousin who falls into a hobble. They’re debating the budget in the House today. You ought to be there. Why don’t people like that stay in the country, where they belong?”

  “It is the Oakleighs’ wedding trip,” he said, and was astonished at the celerity with which this lie occurred to him.

  “Are they prominent in their home riding?”

  “Very influential,” he said, to be rid of her without further squabbling.

  “The fellow is probably drunk in some ditch. Find him quickly, for you must attend my ball tomorrow evening. Papa expects it.” Her meaningful look suggested why this should be so.

  She cast a commanding eye on Luten, who flew to hold the door for her. She swept out. A footman in royal blue with gold lace held the door of an extremely elegant crested carriage that stood at the curb. The lady entered and was carried off without a backward glance.

  Salverton said, “No more callers,” to Luten, and returned to the study to find Samantha and Plimpton enjoying a fit of giggles.

  “You should be on the stage, Miss Oakleigh,” Plimpton said. “Upon my word, you should.”

  “Or in Bridewell,” Salverton added curtly.

  “Surely it is not an indictable offense to tell a little social lie,” Samantha retorted, “even to a duke’s eldest daughter.”

  “You can forget the letter to Lady Louise, Plimpton,” Salverton said, and turned a wrathful eye on his cousin. “May I know the reason for that unnecessary performance? It will be awkward, if you meet Lady Louise again in the future, to explain how your husband has suddenly become your brother.”

  “I was afraid she’d beat the pair of us if she learned the truth. You must be sure not to bring her to Milford after the wedding. You’re a brave man, Edward, to shackle yourself to that tartar. Of course she is very handsome—and well dowered, I should think?”

  “Thirty thousand,” Plimpton said.

  “That much!” Samantha exclaimed. “Well then, you wouldn’t want to risk alienating her by helping me. Carnford may run to her with his story. Only marriage could restore me to respectability, and you to your usual unassailable position of rectitude. From the way she orders you about, I assume the engagement is all but settled?”

  “I have some reason to believe she would accept an offer,” he said, but his mind was dwelling on that “unassailable position of rectitude.” He had thought Samantha realized by now that he was human.

  “Then I wish you well,” she said in a voice that implied he would need all the luck he could find.

 
; They went out to the waiting curricle, drawn by a set of blood grays.

  “It must be lovely to have so many carriages and horses,” Samantha said as he handed her up.

  Before Salverton could join her, a coachman came up to them, shouting. “Here, milord! Wait a moment!”

  “Good Lord!” Salverton moaned. “It’s Sykes! What the devil can he want?”

  Sykes was panting as he approached the curricle. “Glad I caught you in time!”

  “Well, what is it?” Salverton demanded.

  “It’s that fellow who was following us last night. He ain’t a Bow Street runner. I checked him out with my pals. When I learned that, I set out after you. He’s followed you from Brighton. I spotted his rig around the corner on Bruton Street. He’s waiting to follow you again.”

  “I didn’t notice anyone following us,” Salverton said, frowning.

  “You wasn’t looking. He’s there right enough. What does the likes of him want with you and Miss Oakleigh? I thought I’d best let you know.”

  "Thank you, Sykes,” Salverton said, reaching into his pocket for the necessary pourboire.

  Sykes pocketed the money and said jauntily, “Where are we off to, then? Tunbridge Wells, is it?”

  “Miss Oakleigh and I are going to Tunbridge Wells,” Salverton said. “I suggest you return to Brighton.”

  “My nag’s winded from following you. When I saw the villain who’s been dogging your heels stop at Bruton Street, I rode over to Newman’s stable and hired a rig. I was just about to knock on your door, when the duchess came out. Or thinks she’s a duchess anyhow, with her nose in the air.”

  "A duchess’s eldest daughter, actually,” Samantha told him. Then she spoke to Salverton. “About that man following us, Edward. We can’t just ignore him. He may mean to do Darren a mischief.”

  “He’s a rough customer,” Sykes said. “I noticed he carried a pistol. He stopped to wet his whistle at Grinstead. I followed him into the tavern. That’s when I seen it. You don’t want to put the lady in jeopardy, melord. It ain’t seemly. You’d best let me come along with you. We’ll want a closed carriage. I took the liberty of hiring an unmarked one at Newman’s, knowing you wasn’t anxious to have your crest seen before at Brighton.”