by Wendy Vella
“Did you fight for your country, my lord?”
He nodded.
“Was it horrid?”
“Extremely.”
“I often wondered,” Poppy said. “We hear stories of glory days and battles won, but I have seen those who walk about the streets with dull eyes and injured bodies.”
He nodded, but said nothing further.
“I'm sorry if you suffered, my lord. But grateful to you and the others for what you did for us.”
Her words had surprised him, Poppy saw. Had no one thanked him before?
“Thank you, Miss March.”
The young lady returned then, barely acknowledging Poppy, her eyes focused on Lord Dangerous. She lowered several plates laden with scones and cakes to the table, and a large pot of tea.
“Thank you, we shall see to the rest.” He dismissed her with a smile, which flooded color into the woman's cheeks.
Before she could stop the sound leaving her lips, Poppy tsked.
“What appears to be the problem now, Miss March?”
“No problem.”
“You just tsked, which would indicate there is.”
“Do you ever tire of all the fawning and ‘yes, my lord, no, my lord’?”
“My birth is not my fault, Miss March, as yours is not your fault. Now please, at least while I attempt to nourish myself, can you not hold your tongue?”
Poppy found a smile. “I shall try.” She looked over the laden plates before them. “Are you expecting someone else, my lord?”
“No, but I have a large appetite, and know how excellent the scones are here. Will you help me with this, Miss March?”
She studied him, but his face held no expression. Had he ordered such a large quantity of food because he knew she was hungry, or because he was hungry?
“I don't need you to feed me, my lord.”
“Fine, I will eat and you can watch.”
“I shall leave, if there is nothing further to discuss.”
He sighed, loud enough so that the two tables beside them heard.
“You, Miss March, are a difficult woman.”
Poppy smiled again. “Thank you.”
He barked out a laugh. “Eat, Miss March, for pity’s sake.”
He opened his mouth and took a large bite of a scone laden with jam. Poppy's mouth watered.
“You know you want to.”
She did, but pride kept her hands in her lap. She hoped he had not heard the rumble of her stomach.
“I have called a meeting with the other lords,” he said after he had washed the scone down with hot tea that he had added three lumps of sugar to. “We will meet this afternoon and discuss this matter before anyone leaves London.”
“Are you all lords?”
“All nobility, yes.”
Poppy had a horrible feeling she would start drooling soon if she did not eat. Peeling off her gloves, she took a scone. Her stomach rumbled as she bit into the doughy delight. Closing her eyes, she remembered her grandmother's scones. They had tasted like this. A wave of homesickness washed over her.
“Miss March, are you all right?”
She nodded, and took another bite.
“My grandmother’s friend Lady Carver, who is friendly with Lady Revel, is still in London—”
“Oh yes, she is a wonderful lady.”
“She is, and I will send word to her and see when last she spoke with her friend.”
“My fear is that he is starving her. Nigel, the footman you saw this morning, told me he had tried Lady Revel's door again last night, and still it was locked. When he knocked, she did not answer. Plus, he, that heinous man, has someone sitting beside Lady Revel’s door to ensure no one enters.”
“We will get to the bottom of this, Miss March.”
Poppy took a cake this time. It was delicious, and as she had not eaten anything yet today, her stomach was happy. She would eat until she was full, and then not need to eat again until the morning.
“I tried to climb up to her window the other day but—”
“Isn't her room on the third floor?”
Poppy nodded, and swallowed the last bite. She shot him a look; had she just eaten that cake too quickly? Glancing right and left, she wondered if anyone had noticed.
“How did you think you could reach her room?”
“There is a ladder, I had thought to use that, but then I did not want to frighten Lady Revel by appearing suddenly, so I decided not to.”
“We can be thankful for that small mercy at least then.”
“I was worried,” Poppy said.
“Well, now you have someone to share your worry, therefore you need take no more risks.”
Dare she take another scone? There were three left on the plate, which would leave him two.
“May I also suggest you have a care, as whoever tried to dispose of you will still be out there somewhere.”
And just like that her appetite fled.
Chapter Four
Jacob had never met a woman like Miss March before. She was a complex mix of people. The prim vicar's daughter, the fiery, independent woman, and the girl who was hungry and struggling to survive in this city that could be a cruel place to those without money and support.
“More tea?”
“I can pour.” She reached for the pot, but as he had it in his hand, he lifted it out of her reach.
“As can I.”
She allowed him to fill her cup, but he could see that she was not comfortable with him serving her. She added sugar, and lifted the cup and sipped. She seemed to savor every mouthful she took, of either the tea or the food. Jacob did not like to think of this woman going hungry, and he was not entirely sure why, as he had seen many people who did, and other than a flash of sympathy, he did not suffer unduly. Did that make him cold? Possibly, but after the things he had seen, that was the only way he could cope.
He was still reeling from the fact that she had thanked him for fighting for his country. No one had ever done that before. Most people avoided the subject and refused to acknowledge the men who walked among them with blank stares and missing limbs, as Miss March had said.
Jacob rarely acknowledged, even to himself, that he still suffered from his days spent fighting for his country.
“Would you care for another scone?”
She shook her head after looking longingly at the plate he tapped.
“Why will you not eat it when you obviously want it?” She frustrated him because she continually challenged his word. The woman was without funds or a position, in fact she was more than likely struggling for survival, and yet she refused to acknowledge that or take the help he offered. Jacob had to admire her spirit, no matter how misguided it was.
“I am quite full, thank you.”
“Patience?”
She shook her head.
“Penelope?”
“No, now please excuse me, my lord, I have somewhere to be.”
“Where?” Jacob liked to watch her, as she seemed to constantly be moving. Her eyes, hands, lips, which were surprisingly full and pink. He wondered what they'd taste like.
“I hardly think that concerns you, my lord.”
Jacob took out his handkerchief, which was clean, and wrapped up the last two scones, then got to his feet as she prepared to rise.
“I was simply being polite and interested, Miss March. You should try it sometime,” he said, lowering some money to the table before ushering her out the door.
“That is far too much money!”
“And it's mine to give.”
She huffed out something that Jacob missed, but knew would be uncomplimentary, and then sailed out the door, chin raised like a bloody countess. The temperature had dropped, and the day darkened as he stepped onto the street.
“Come, I shall take you home.”
“Thank you, but there is no need.”
It was freezing now, snow fluttering about in the air, which would soon start falling in earnest. Miss March's
coat did not look as if it would keep her warm and dry for long.
“And on that matter, please do not send your driver out in the cold again to pick me up from my employment, my lord. I am more than capable of seeing myself home. Now, I have already furnished you with my address, so please send word when you have information regarding Lady Revel.”
She was certainly good at both dismissing him and giving orders.
“Why do you find it so hard to accept offerings from people, namely me?”
She was already shivering, her feet lifting and lowering as she tried to keep warm.
“I don't need any help, thank you.”
Jacob felt it again, the rush of frustrated anger that she'd produced in him last night.
“So you would walk about in freezing conditions with some madman intent on harming you still at large, instead of a seeking my protection from the elements!”
She took a step back at his angry words.
“I—ah... no.”
“Good, then get in the carriage.”
“No, I meant that I have no problem with you, only that I can see my own way home.”
“God’s blood, you are a trying woman.”
“My father said that often, and while I—”
Jacob was done talking, so he simply placed his hands on either side of her waist and carried her to the carriage. Hamley had the door open, and closed it firmly behind them.
“I'm sure your father had plenty more words to describe you, Miss March.”
Her mouth opened and closed before she regained the power of speech.
“I can't believe you did that.”
“I am not a biddable man, Miss March, no matter what others may believe. When I need to take action, then I will do so, no matter whom it annoys.”
She shot him a nervous look, then looked out the window and back again.
“Yes, well, I am not someone who likes it when people take control, my lord.”
“Hence the action I took, or we would have been standing in the freezing wind for several hours discussing the matter.”
Her lips twitched as she turned to face the window once more. “Thank you.”
The words were softly spoken, but she meant them. At last, Jacob thought, the woman is seeing reason. Last night he’d thought her beautiful, and nothing he had seen today had changed that opinion. She was that and so much more, her skin soft and pale, eyes alive with intelligence, and her mouth would tempt a saint. Too slender, which he concluded was because of circumstance, as she'd certainly enjoyed the scones enough to suggest she did not lack an appetite.
He did not speak again, simply watched her as she continued to stare out the window, until the carriage stopped.
“Here, take these.” Jacob passed her the wrapped scones as the carriage slowed.
“I don't want them.”
“Yes,” Jacob said, laying the package in her lap, “you do.”
Not giving her a chance to argue, he stepped down first and held out his hand. She placed hers inside, and he helped her down.
“Thank you.”
“There now, that wasn't so hard.”
She snuffled out a laugh.
“No, it was not, and please do not think me churlish, it is just that independence and pride are sometimes all a person has to make them strong.”
“No one would doubt your strength, Miss March.” Jacob did not release her hand; instead he held it tight as he pulled her closer, until it was pressed to his chest.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Hell if I know,” Jacob whispered before kissing her. It was a brief touch, nothing more, and he had no idea why he’d needed to feel her mouth against his, but right at that moment the need had been an urgent one. When he lifted his head, her eyes were closed, long lashes resting on her pale cheeks.
“Miss March... I'm sorry, I should not—”
Her eyes sprung open, and she stepped back quickly, tearing her fingers from his. Jacob followed.
“Miss March, forgive me, I should not have done that.”
“I-I understand.”
“Understand what?”
“About noblemen.”
On those ominous words, she then turned and fled down the road, and turned up a path that lead to a house. Seconds later she had disappeared.
“Not your finest work, Jacob,” he said, heading back to his carriage. “Night Street, Hamley.”
He was no clearer on why he had kissed Miss March as the carriage pulled up outside the offices he and his friends had set up as the front for their investigative services. Pushing the matter aside as temporary insanity, he left his carriage and entered the small gray stone building using his key.
The narrow hallway opened into a reception area that held four chairs and a desk, behind which Perkins sat. He was their front man, and his neat appearance and round spectacles calmed people when they first entered. Although on closer inspection, the man had a harried air about him today.
“Is everything all right, Perkins?”
“I am somewhat behind, Lord Hatherton.”
Jacob watched as he took off his spectacles and rubbed the glass briskly with a cloth he drew from his pocket.
“In what?”
“’Tis not a matter to concern yourself with, my lord, I shall catch up.”
Perkins was always organized, so Jacob had never given much thought to what the man actually did. It was a surprise to see him agitated.
“I’m sure you will,” Jacob said, not knowing what else to add. “Are the others here already?”
“Indeed they are, Lord Hatherton.”
Moving deeper into the house, Jacob passed two rooms they had set up for if a client needed privacy. He then opened another door and took the stairs down to the basement. Their voices were a soft rumble as he grew nearer, and he soon saw his three friends seated at their round table. They spent many hours in that position, discussing cases.
The fifth Earl of Attwood, Nick, had dark hair and eyes. His nickname from long ago when they were boys was Gallant. To his right sat Marcus, Viscount Needly, the tallest of their group. Blond with blue eyes, he was known as Valiant. On his right sat Leo, Marquis of Vereton. He had eyes the color of midnight and hair to match; his nickname was Noble.
“Valorous,” they all greeted him. Finding the spare seat, he fell into it.
“Bloody cold out there.”
“Exactly, so why are we here and not at home?” Nick said. “Grace is trying to ready the staff to leave in three days’ time, and me leaving the house hardly found favor.”
Only two of them were married, and thankfully Jacob liked Nick’s and Marcus's wives.
“You all know Lady Revel,” Jacob said, and his friends nodded.
“Sharp wit and equally sharp tongue,” Leo drawled.
“Her companion was dismissed without reference, for no reason, and then forbidden to see her.”
“Hardly unusual, Jacob.”
“I know that, Leo, but Lady Revel had a fall and hurt her leg and has been bedridden since. The companion, Miss March, said that when she called to see the staff to enquire after Lady Revel, one of the housemaids said she saw a vial of poison in Lord Revel's room.”
Jacob then went on to tell his friends the rest of the story, and Miss March's genuine fears for her employer.
“So the old tartar controls her own finances, good for her,” Nick said. “But if it is true that her husband said her wealth would go to the heir upon her death, that could give validity to the companion’s claim.”
“And it was the companion who contacted us, and you went to the Hen and Duck to meet?” Marcus asked.
“Yes, and today when I paid a call on Lady Revel to see if I could speak with her, under the guise of handing over a gift from my grandmother, she was there, lurking in the lavender.”
“I beg your pardon?” Marcus looked shocked.
“Miss March, the companion, she was there snooping, but I intercepted her and bundled her into
my carriage. My driver then took her to a tea shop to wait for me.”
Jacob wished he hadn't said those last words, as Nick narrowed his eyes.
“Why would you do that?”
“She just lost her job, has had people attempting to kill her, and is a long way from home. It was the least I could do.” He shrugged.
“Where is she from?”
“Kent. Her father is a vicar and she is one of nine children.”
“You know a great deal about her,” Leo said. “How many times have you met with her?”
“Twice.”
“In two days?”
“Is that a problem?” Jacob said the words in his coolest tone. But all it did was make his friends laugh.
“Ho, I smell a pretty woman,” Leo crowed.
“No, she is simply desperate, as Lord Revel turned her off without references.” And beautiful, with the softest lips.
“There are many in just such dire circumstances,” Leo added, the smile falling from his lips. “Sometimes I am not proud of those I walk among.”
They all nodded, very aware of just what their fellow noblemen were capable of.
“Three times someone has tried to silence her,” Jacob said into the quiet, “and Miss March believes the attempts on her life were because of her interference and that Lord Revel is behind them.”
“Good God,” Marcus said.
“Someone threw her in the Thames.” Jacob felt his anger again over whoever was behind the threat to Miss March. “Another time she was pushed under a carriage.”
“And she survived?”
“She is most resourceful. Apparently she was raised to look after herself.”
“She sounds an interesting woman. Is she able to read and write? Do you trust her, Jacob?”
He nodded, not sure where Nick was going with his questions.
“Have any of you noticed that Perkins is harried at the moment? His wife has been unwell, and he has fallen behind in his work.”
“I spoke to him about it when I arrived,” Marcus said. “He looked flustered, and I offered my services but he looked horrified, so I left him to it.”
“His wife is unwell?” Jacob said.
“She had a fall, but I believe is now recovering,” Leo added.
