by Joan Smith
“No, you don’t.”
“She’s a grand girl. You don’t want to let her get away.”
“You used to call her Samantha. Why so formal, Jonathon?”
“I figured, for a few hours there, that she might have me if her brother turned out a murderer and thief, but that was just daydreaming. I always had an eye above my station where the ladies are concerned.”
“We all dream.”
“We’ll be in touch soon, melord.”
“We will. Thanks, Jonathon, more than I can say.”
“My pleasure.”
Salverton left, a wiser and a humbler man, and Jonathon returned to his shaved cards to fleece his cellmates.
Salverton kept an eye out for someone following him as he returned to O’Toole’s. He couldn’t see anyone, but he discerned, or imagined, an occasional soft footstep or rustle in the shadows. He didn’t reach for his pistol. Jonathon said Fletch was following him in hopes of finding Darren, and that effectual gentleman would know.
Gentleman? Well, one of Nature’s gentlemen. Samantha, with a woman’s intuition, had sensed it from the first. What a politician he would have made if only he had been born to a higher position in society. Sharp as a bodkin, and not overly burdened with principles.
Before long, Salverton was tapping at Samantha’s door. It opened immediately and she beckoned him in.
“How is Jonathon?” she asked.
“Happy as a cow in clover, enjoying a wet and a lucrative game of cards.”
“What does he suggest we do?”
“Return to London.”
“We can’t abandon him, Edward.”
“We’re not abandoning him. We’re now in charge of solving the case. Grab your shawl. We’ll hire fresh horses and a driver and be on our way back to London. I’ll explain as we go.”
Anything could be bought or had if enough money was offered. Within half an hour a driver and team of four swift horses had been hired and they were on their way to London. As they sped through the black night, Salverton outlined his discussion with Sykes, and told her what he planned to do.
“I see you’ve come to appreciate Jonathon,” she said.
“I expect I would have sooner if—well, never mind that.”
Samantha had an inkling of his meaning. “You won’t want Bow Street hanging about your house,” she said. “Send them to Upper Grosvenor Square.”
“The influx of my footmen might be noticed. We don’t want to tip Fletch the clue. If it’s a choice between catching him or letting him go free, I’d gladly invite Bow Street to sit down at my table. This is no time to stand on dignity.”
“It’s very kind of you, and certainly we must help Jonathon in any way we can, but—” A frown puckered her brow.
“What is it, my dear?”
“But it still doesn’t help us find Darren.”
“It keeps him alive. We'll find him. Once Wanda learns Fletch has been captured and Sir Geoffrey is dead, she'll feel safe to return to her old haunts again. Darren will turn up.”
“That’s true. Now that Sir Geoffrey is dead, will the case against Wanda and Darren be dropped?”
“I expect so. Sir Geoffrey can’t give evidence that there was any money in his safe to be stolen. They won’t take such an uncertain case as that to court. If the Crown does decide to prosecute, which I don’t think likely, a sharp lawyer won’t have any trouble getting them off. Who is to say the servants didn’t take the money?”
The time passed quickly, with so much to discuss. It was after midnight when they reached Seven Oaks. Despite frequent peeks out the window to check for signs of Fletcher, they had not spotted him, but Jonathon said he would be there, and they took it for gospel that he was.
“We’ll stop here to give Fletch time to catch us up,” Salverton said. “A bite of dinner wouldn’t go amiss. That tea and a sandwich several hours ago have worn off.”
Seven Oaks was a pleasant little town noted for its fine gardens and Perpendicular Church, but the place of interest to them was an inn. They chose the Royal Crown. Before going in, Salverton had a word with his coachman.
“Keep an eye out for anyone who drives in before we leave, or is loitering about. A big man, dark hair. He might be mounted or in a carriage. Don’t accost him, but just let me know if he shows up.”
“Right you are, sir.”
In the inn, Salverton requested a private parlor. A gray-haired gentleman and his wife were leaving as they were led to the room.
The man stopped and lifted his quizzing glass. “Good God, Salverton, is that you?” he exclaimed. His wife, a portly dame in puce crepe, examined first Salverton’s jacket, then Samantha. Her nose pinched in disapproval.
“Lord Urquehart! And Lady Urquehart,” Salverton said, and bowed. “May I present my cousin, Miss Oakleigh. We are just on our way to London.”
“As are we,” Urquehart said, staring at Samantha. “A family funeral at Grinstead,” he added.
After saying this, Lord Urquehart was temporarily bereft of speech. What was Lord Salverton doing at an inn with a lightskirt at midnight, and wearing a jacket that was better suited to a counter jumper? Urquehart’s good lady was not accustomed to being introduced to lightskirts, and walked on with her nose in the air. Her husband hastened after her.
“What ails them?” Salverton asked, genuinely confused.
“From the way the old goat was staring at me, I should think he made the same mistake as Lord Carnford,” Samantha replied. “And that jacket you’re wearing didn’t help, either.”
“Gudgeons,” Salverton said, and went into the private parlor. Was it only two days ago he had actually cared about such things? What an ass Sam must have thought him.
Chapter Seventeen
The private parlor was so cozy, the wine and food so good, and especially the company so enjoyable that Salverton was inclined to linger at the Royal Crown. There had been difficulties enough in the Wanda affair that he felt he had earned an hour’s relaxation with Samantha. They were both in good appetite, and refrained from spoiling dinner by discussing their predicament.
As they finished their meal, Salverton said, “I’d like to take you to Berkeley Square rather than Upper Grosvenor Square when we reach London, Sam.”
“You know perfectly well I can’t stay alone with a bachelor,” she protested, though she was pleased that he wanted to be with her.
“Of course not. Now that we’re returning to civilization, you shall require a chaperon. I’ll bring Miss Donaldson to stay with us. She can’t be comfortable in that pokey flat with only Mary to look after things.”
“I see what it is. You fear Fletcher will decide to stick with me and pester us at Upper Grosvenor Square. I wonder if he will. He might follow you home, since you have the carriage.”
“He’ll monitor the house where Darren lives. Why do you think I want you elsewhere, properly guarded? You’re Darren’s sister. Where is Darren more likely to go? His own house, or mine, when he didn’t see fit to call on me during the whole month of your visit.” This reminder of their dereliction was accompanied by an accusing look.
“We were sadly remiss in the civilities, but Fletcher doesn’t know that.”
“Fletcher won’t do anything tonight, at least. We should reach London around three-thirty. He’ll hire a bed in one of those ‘spots’ Jonathon spoke of, and be at one or the other of our doors early in the morning.”
“You’ll call for me?” Something in his expression revealed his reluctance to do so. “Don’t think you’re going to cut me out just when things are getting exciting. I feel quite sure it’s Upper Grosvenor Fletcher will be watching, in any case. If you wish to lure him to Berkeley Square, you must call on me.”
“It hardly seems worthwhile going home. I could sleep on your sofa?”
She thought he was joking, but when she looked at him, she saw he was awaiting an answer. “If you could see yourself, you would realize you must go home and change. You don’t want
the neighbors to see you in that jacket. You look a perfect quiz, Edward.”
“A suitable escort for you, Miss!”
“Did you see how Lady Urquehart stared!” she said, and could not quite control a gurgle of laughter. “I fear your reputation will be in tatters. I hope she isn’t a bosom bow of Lady Louise’s. I cannot think so; she’s twenty years older.”
Salverton didn’t want to think about Lady Louise. The knowledge that he was expected to propose at the ball that same evening sat like a murky shadow at the back of his mind. He wanted more than anything in the world to marry the beautiful lady beside him. Samantha’s shawl had been put aside once she was in the private parlor. Her enchanting shoulders and the swell of her bosoms had proved a great distraction all through Salverton’s dinner.
He was beginning to think he would speak to Jonathon about his predicament vis-a-vis Lady Louise, after Sykes was out of jail. This seemed the sort of problem he, with his interest in women, would have encountered. No doubt he was adept at evading parson’s mousetrap without offending anyone’s feelings.
“They’re acquaintances, no more,” he replied, and immediately changed the subject. “So I am to deliver you to Miss Donaldson, and call for you early in the morning to take you to Berkeley Square?”
“That would be best. Shall we go now?”
“Let’s have coffee. It will keep our eyes open until we reach London.”
Samantha yawned into her fist. “I’m not accustomed to such late hours. I was planning to have a snooze on the way home,” she said.
It immediately flashed into Salverton’s head that she’d sleep with her head on his shoulder. In the dark intimacy of the carriage, he’d put his arm around her.
“A good idea,” he said at once, and added, “you need your beauty sleep,” for the sole purpose of seeing her delightful moue. He placed some coins on the table and called for his carriage. It was drawn up at the inn door, awaiting them when they went out.
Their coachman showed Samantha into the carriage before having a quiet word with Salverton. “That gent you was asking about, sir. A big hulking fellow rode up on a bay mare shortly after you went inside. He sent the ostler into the taproom to bring him an ale. He left ten minutes ago, heading for London.”
“Excellent.”
“A nasty-looking customer. Are you expecting trouble? If so, I’d ought to try to get hold of a gun.”
“I have a gun, but the man won’t bother us. He’s merely following me in hopes I’ll lead him to his quarry.”
“If you say so, sir.”
Salverton got into the carriage and said to Samantha, “Fletch was here. He went on ahead ten minutes ago. He’s riding. He’ll duck into some shady spot and wait until we pass, then follow us.”
“That’s good news, but it makes my flesh crawl to think of him hounding after us in the dark like that.” She gave an involuntary shiver.
“You were going to rest,” he reminded her.
She peered nervously out the windows. “I’m not sure I can now, knowing he’s out there.”
“You can use my shoulder for a pillow,” he suggested, and moved over to her banquette.
As the carriage lurched into motion, he drew her head onto his shoulder and sat with his arm around her. His quiet smile was invisible in the darkness. Samantha wasn’t smiling, but she looked peaceful. She felt safe and snug with Edward’s strong arm protecting her. She had hoped he might indicate in some manner that he had decided not to offer for Lady Louise. She sensed, as a woman in love does, that he truly cared for herself, but obviously he felt committed to Lady Louise. He was too fine a gentleman to slip off on her if some commitment had been implied by his behavior.
She was visited by a forlorn wish that she had gone to Edward when they first arrived in London. He would have led her and Darren to more worthy companions than they had found by themselves. She would have been spared all this worry over Darren, yet some good had come of it. Edward had been shaken out of his crippling propriety and stuffiness. But would the new Edward be happy with Lady Louise? Eventually, her eyelids fluttered shut and she fell into a light doze.
Salverton enjoyed the drive. His chest swelled in tenderness as his fingers twined in Samantha’s silky curls and stroked the vulnerable nape of her neck. Her shoulders glowed like marble in the wan ray of moonlight that penetrated the carriage. They were not cold and hard like marble when his palms held them, however. They were warm and soft and smooth as velvet. At times he caught a glimpse of her bosoms, rising and falling as she slept. They provided a nearly irresistible temptation.
As he gazed at her sweet face, gentle in repose, he knew this was no mere fascination. He had grown to love his cousin, not in spite of her rusticity and hoydenish ways, but because of them. If society thought he had chosen his bride poorly, then society could go to the devil.
While they drove along, a bulky man with a hat pulled low over his eyes dogged them like a shadow. Fletcher was so accomplished in his chosen trade that they didn’t notice when he rode out from under a stand of willows and began following them. He rode on the very edge of the road, invisible in the shadows of night.
Salverton didn’t awaken Samantha until the carriage stood in front of her house on Upper Grosvenor Square. He was tempted to awaken her with a kiss, but before he had quite made up his mind to it, the coachman was at the door. The sound of the door opening awoke her. She looked all around, blinking in confusion. A tousle of curls framed her sleepy face. This is how she would look when she awoke beside him in the morning.
“Oh, we’re home already. Have you seen Fletcher?” she asked.
“No, but there’s no reason to think we’ve lost him. I expect he’s waiting around the corner.”
“You will call for me in the morning, Edward. Promise! I want to be there when you spring the trap on Fletcher.”
“I’ll call for you at nine.”
“That late? You don’t think—”
“You need a good night’s rest. And so do I.”
He assisted her from the carriage and accompanied her into the house, up to the door of their flat. Samantha had her key and let herself in quietly. She didn’t light any lamps, as she planned to go directly to her bedroom.
“I shan’t waken Auntie,” she whispered. “There’s no reason she must know at what ungodly hour we returned.”
“You might take a look in Darren’s room, in case he came back during our absence.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.”
When he heard the eagerness in her voice, he was sorry he’d said it. Suggesting Darren was at home had been only a ruse to get inside to kiss her good night.
Salverton stepped in. She lit a lamp then and tiptoed silently down the hall to Darren’s room. She could see from the doorway that his bed was empty, and her hopes fell. Her shoulders were sagging when she returned to the hallway.
“He’s not here. I wonder where he’s sleeping tonight. If he has the faintest notion what’s going on, he must be frightened half to death.”
“Wanda might have told him about Fletch, to put him on his guard.”
“I warrant she didn’t mention that he’s her husband. At least there’s no danger of Darren being married to her. Even if she did convince the gudgeon to flee to Gretna Green, the wedding wouldn’t be legal. It would be horrid for him to make such a misalliance, having to live his whole life with a woman who doesn’t suit him, and a bossy, bullying woman besides. He would soon stop loving her.”
She didn’t realize the words might apply equally to Edward and Louise until they were out of her mouth. She came to a conscious pause and looked at him, half apologetically, half questioningly. If he was ever going to declare he had changed his mind about Lady Louise, surely he would do it then.
“A marriage would be a wretched mistake,” he said with warm feelings but with no air of taking the remark personally. “They have nothing in common. She’d run through his fortune within a year. It’s a pity he was ever caught in
her snare, but I’ll say no more about why that happened.”
His quizzing smile, of course, referred to their not calling on him until the damage was done. As Salverton had no intention of marrying Lady Louise, he didn’t see any reference to his own situation in her remark. Just how he was to disentangle himself from Louise was unclear. He took some relief in the knowledge that he had never actually proposed. At least fate had prevented him from that final error. He foresaw a gradual cooling of the relationship and regretted the necessary weeks or months before common decency would allow a marriage to Samantha.
“You had best go now,” she said. “Thank you for everything, Edward. You’ve been so very helpful.”
He studied her unhappy face. His gaze lingered a moment on her shadowed eyes and her full lips before sliding down to her white shoulders. When his arms began to reach for her, Samantha didn’t pull back. It was the way he was looking at her that held her immobile. If that wasn’t love ...
The breath caught in her lungs. Was he going to say it now, that he had changed his mind about Lady Louise? A hush gathered about them. No actual words were spoken, but some vital knowledge seemed to hang in the air.
Into the silence a querulous voice penetrated, shattering the mood.
“Is that you, Samantha?” It was Miss Donaldson. Her head and shoulders appeared around the corner. The shoulders were covered in a blanket.
“Yes, it’s me.”
When Miss Donaldson saw Lord Salverton, all but her head disappeared. It wouldn’t do for Cousin Edward to see her wearing a blanket for a negligee. “You’re very late,” she scolded. “I expected you hours ago.”
"We ran into a deal of—unexpected happenings.”
“Any word on Darren?”
“Edward is just leaving. I’ll tell you all about it. You haven’t heard from Darren?”
“Just a note, delivered by a ragamuffin street lad telling us not to worry. He is all right.”
“A note!” Samantha and Edward exclaimed in unison.
“I’ll be right out to show it to you.”
