The Singular Mr. Sinclair

by Mia Marlowe

  “The countess?” Lawrence doubted Lady Chatham had ever shopped for baked goods in her life.

  “No, o’ course not. Her Ladyship is at home receiving calls this time of day. It’s the young lady of the house I’m meaning. Lady Caroline.”

  “Are there no bakeries near St. James Square? What’s Lady Caroline doing in that one?”

  “Buying scones and biscuits, near as I can guess.” Sedgewick shrugged and scratched his balding head. “If you want my opinion, young sir, never try to figure out why a woman does anything. May as well ask the wind why it blows.”

  “That has the ring of truth and the sting of experience, my friend,” Lawrence said, giving the draft horse a pat on the neck. “I shall take it under advisement.”

  Just then, the door to the bakery flew open. A lad with a disreputable-looking cap pulled down so the brim hid his face scrambled out of the shop, turned up the street, and disappeared down a narrow alley as if his knickers were ablaze.

  “Help! Oh, help!” Alice appeared in the doorway of the shop. “Help, someone! Murder!”

  Murder? Lawrence bolted across the street. “What’s happened? Is Caroline all right?”

  Alice lifted a brow at him. “Lady Caroline is fine,” she said, correcting him with a withering tone for failing to use her mistress’s title.

  “But you cried murder.”

  “Well, maybe it wasn’t murder, but that horrid boy stole my lady’s reticule right enough. And half a dozen scones to boot.”

  “You’re sure she’s all right?”

  “Yes, yes. She just took a fright,” Alice said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in nervousness. “Hurry! He’s getting away.”

  “Wait here.” Lawrence raced down the alley and spied the lad as he turned onto a cross street. Lawrence put on some speed and closed the distance, managing to keep the boy in sight as he dodged through a tangled rabbit warren of alleys and lanes. The youngster might have lost him in a sprint, but a half-starved urchin was no match for a well-fed man in his prime on a long run. Lawrence caught up to the lad, grabbed him by the collar, and swung him around, lifting his feet off the ground.

  “What’s this?” Lawrence demanded, an intense burst of energy still flooding his veins. But he decided to temper his tone when he saw the boy was even younger than he’d first thought. “Thievery in broad daylight.” He made a tsking sound and lowered his captive until his feet touched the ground, but he didn’t release his hold on the boy’s collar. “A respectable footpad waits for night to cover his ill deeds.”

  “A bloke gets hungry in the daytime same as the night, don’t he?”

  “I expect you’ve the right of it there. Give me back the lady’s purse. You can keep the scones.”

  The boy fished the small beaded reticule from his pocket. The laces had been cleanly slashed.

  “Let me go, will ya?” The boy struggled, trying to free himself from Lawrence’s grip to no avail. “Don’t nobody despise a thief if he steals when he’s hungry. Says so in the Bible.”

  “And what would you know about the Bible?”

  “I sneaks into church sometimes. ’Specially if it’s rainin’.”

  “And while you’re there, no doubt you help yourself to the poor box when no one’s looking.”

  The boy spread his arms wide. “Who’s poorer than me, I asks ye?”

  “I’ll give you that, but you should go to the vicar if you’re in need of alms.”

  The lad squirmed, trying to break free again with no success. “A thief I may be, but I ain’t no beggar. I do for me and mine.”

  Against his better judgment, Lawrence felt a grudging admiration for the lad’s twisted set of ethics. Not begging showed he still had a bit of dignity under that sorry excuse for a hat.

  “You and yours, you say. Who is it you steal for?” Lawrence had heard there were gangs of street children run by thuggish types who took most of the boys’ ill-gotten gains. Then they coerced the youngsters into stealing more in exchange for a roof over their heads and a few beans from a communal pot. If this boy was in thrall to a boss of some sort, Lawrence wouldn’t rest until he gave the man responsible a good thrashing and hauled him before a magistrate. “Does someone force you to steal?”

  “Don’t nobody tell me what to do.” The boy’s lips settled in a tight line. “It’s just…well, I got sort of a sister what I take care of by giving her a bit of coin when I can.”

  The boy’s clothes were thin, but they were fairly clean for someone who lived on the street, and Lawrence noticed more than one neat patch in the boy’s shirt. He ran a finger over the fine stitching on the boy’s forearm.

  “I suspect this ‘sort of sister’ takes care of you.”

  The boy sighed. “All right, then. She sees to a few of us what ain’t got nobody else. You know, a loaf here and there. A bit of sewin’ and scrubbin’ when we needs it. She even gives me tuppence when she has it to spare. Lord knows, she’s got little enough herself.” The boy frowned. “I don’t got no way to pay her back for all she does for us. But that don’t mean I can’t try to do somethin’ nice for her once in a while, do it?”

  “You stole so you could do something nice for someone. That’s the most original moral code I’ve heard in a long time,” Lawrence said. “Do you think this sister of yours would approve of your methods?”

  He kicked at the cobbles. “No. Me methods don’t work so well, do they? You got the purse and I got a handful of fingers.”

  Lawrence shook his head. “What I mean is someone who cares enough to mend your clothes might take offense at thievery done in her honor.”

  The boy pulled a face. “Well, when you put it like that, I s’pose she might take it wrong.”

  “Who is this sort of sister of yours?” Lawrence had in mind giving the lady a few quid to help with her street lads.

  “Oh, no. You’ll peach on me to her.”

  The boy hadn’t begged Lawrence not to turn him over to the magistrate, but he definitely didn’t want this sister to know he’d been lifting a lady’s purse. That bit of shame saved him. Lawrence decided to help the lad.

  “I won’t tell your benefactress what you’ve been doing,” he promised.

  “My bene-what?”

  “Your sort of sister. I will not tell her about this unfortunate incident,” Lawrence said. “Now, you and I have a few more things to discuss. If I turn you loose, will you promise not to run again?”

  The boy squinted at him. “Even if I did promise, who’d believe the likes of me?”

  “I would,” Lawrence assured him. “You’d be giving me your word, you see. And a man’s word is sacred.”

  The boy stood straighter. “You have me word.”

  “Then I accept your parole,” Lawrence said with the formal courtesy a military officer would give to a defeated foe. “And I’ll also have the knife you used in your crime.”

  “Aw, gov’nor, not me knife,” he whined. “I needs that.”

  “In order to steal more efficiently, I warrant.”

  “No, truly, kind sir. I needs it for protection,” the boy insisted. “You don’t know how rough it can be on the likes of me without I have a stinger in me pocket.”

  “Then will you give me your word you won’t use the knife to slash the laces on another lady’s purse?”

  The boy nodded. “I swears.”

  “On the name of your sister.”

  “On me sister, Mary Woodyard, I—” The boy clapped a hand over his mouth when he realized Lawrence had tricked him into revealing her name.

  “Ah, yes! Mary Woodyard. I believe I have met the young woman. She is apprenticed to Madame Fournier, is she not?”

  Lawrence remembered the beleaguered dressmaker’s apprentice from that unfortunate time when he’d come to collect Caroline and her friends at the shop. Madame Fournier
’s bugged-out eyes and tight lips had betrayed her quiet fury with her paying customers. Lawrence suspected her poor apprentice had suffered in their stead once the Quality Folk left the shop.

  “Yes, Mary works in a dress shop, but don’t you go peachin’ on me, sir.” The boy wrung his cap in his hands, as contrite as a puppy that had just piddled on the rug. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

  “And I am a man of my word, too.” Lawrence extended his hand. “Mr. Lawrence Sinclair. And you are?”

  “Billy Two Toes.” The boy shook his hand gravely.

  “That’s not your proper name.”

  “It’s all the name I got.”

  “All right. Why Two Toes?”

  “On account of I froze a couple off last winter, sir. That’s when me mates started callin’ me that.”

  Some mates. It made Lawrence even more determined to help the boy. “If you’re willing to leave your life of crime, Mr. Two Toes, I should like to hire you.”

  The boy blinked in disbelief. “To do what?”

  What indeed? Lawrence had already convinced himself he couldn’t afford a servant. So far, young Billy had only shown an aptitude for petty crime. And a fondness for scones.

  “Come to Rathbone Street off Oxford, second house on the left, around teatime.”

  The boy removed his cap and scratched a headful of carrot-colored hair. “When’s that?”

  “When the church bells ring five. I’m lodged at the home of Mrs. Abernathy. Ask to be shown to the first-floor apartment and I shall have a task for you by then.” He planned to also have a plate or two of biscuits for the boy. Lawrence had no idea what sort of job he might offer Billy, but surely he’d think of something to occupy the boy besides lifting wallets. If he continued his career as a cutpurse, Billy was well on his way to Newgate. “Off you go now. And no more thievery. That is an unconditional requirement of your employment with me.”

  The boy sketched a deep, elaborate bow. “Right-o, your worshipfulness.”

  “Mr. Sinclair will do.”

  Billy gave him a gap-toothed grin. Lawrence hoped he was young enough to be missing his baby teeth but suspected they might have been knocked out. Life for a street urchin could be rough indeed.

  Lawrence sprinted back toward the bakery, where he saw Caroline waiting at the door to the shop. By her side, a distraught Alice was still swaying and fidgeting with her hands.

  Foot traffic in the neighborhood had picked up. Surrounded by folk of the middling sort going about their daily business, Lady Caroline was a goldfinch amid a flock of wrens. The Leicester Square neighborhood was perfectly respectable, but it might as well have been on a foreign continent compared to the rarified air of St. James. That was where she belonged, amid luxury and splendor.

  And safety.

  Lawrence, however, had to accept a place with the wrens. He was a gentleman of chancy prospects. She was the daughter of an earl. He had nothing to offer her.

  Nothing but my very breath. Nothing but my heart’s blood. Nothing but my adoration until I’m laid in the dust.

  It was all he had, but it wasn’t enough. He knew that now. It took getting out of Lovell House for him to see the world for what it was.

  And his place in it. But he’d give ten years of his life if only he’d kissed her last night.

  Chapter 13

  The Orient, the Gorgeous East, exotic islands…how shall I count my life well-spent unless I see them with my own eyes? I must concentrate on that which I want most of all. Trade winds, fragrant spices, dark eyes, a smoky baritone—dash it all! That man invades even the sanctum of my diary!

  —from the diary of Lady Caroline Lovell

  “Here he comes, my lady. Looks like he got your reticule back, too,” Alice said, giving a little clap. “I told you Mr. Sinclair would see to things.”

  “I’m more concerned he’ll see that we’ve been following him since he left Lovell House this morning,” Caroline hissed. It was one thing to trail Lawrence to see where he went. It was quite another to be caught doing it.

  “Well, we can say you’re shopping, but a lady such as yourself patronizing a bakery in this neighborhood might strike a body as odd, you must admit.” Alice waved hugely to Lawrence as if he wasn’t already headed their way.

  “Stop that!” Caroline was feeling exposed enough. “You’re making a spectacle of us.”

  Chastised, Alice dropped her hand. “Truth to tell, I didn’t think old Sedgewick could make the carriage go so slowly or head down so many stray side lanes without us losing Mr. Sinclair entire.”

  Caroline had been afraid she’d already lost him. Once Lawrence disappeared into that house on Rathbone for better than half an hour, she realized she had pushed him away for good. He was doing as he’d said he would. He’d found other lodgings.

  “My lady.” Lawrence gave her one of his nodding bows as he drew near. “I trust you were unharmed during this unfortunate incident.”

  “I’m fine.” She tried to keep her tone light, but that lump of tenderness inside her felt as if it weighed the earth. “Just surprised by the theft, I think.”

  “I understand perfectly. Such things don’t happen in St. James Park.”

  “Well, no, they don’t seem to,” she admitted, not sure why that was important. “Thank you for your help, Mr. Sinclair.”

  He handed back her ruined reticule. “I regret that the laces have been cut, but the contents appear to be intact.”

  “No doubt Alice can mend it,” she said, handing the bag to her maid. “See if you’ve a needle and thread in the carriage.”

  “My lady, I don’t travel with—oh!” Alice’s eyes widened as she belatedly realized Caroline wanted a word alone with Mr. Sinclair. “Yes. Now that I think on it, I might have brought a bit of something what would be useful. I’ll see to it right away, my lady.”

  The coach was only a few yards distant, but it would give Caroline and Lawrence a bit of privacy to speak while maintaining perfect propriety.

  “So, I gather you apprehended the thief?” she asked.

  “I did.”

  “I hope you didn’t hurt him. He was only a boy.”

  He cocked his head at her. “Do you really think I’m the sort to savage a child?”

  “No, of course not.” Is the man looking for ways to be offended? “I only meant, well, you let him go, didn’t you?”

  “I did. No doubt the magistrate’s docket is full of criminals far more sinister than our young cutpurse.” He clasped his hands behind him, assuming a rigid military stance. His hair had been blown back, and that thin scar at his hairline was exposed. Caroline’s fingers itched to trace its length. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No. I’m glad you showed the boy mercy.” Caroline could use a little herself. She wished he’d smile. He looked so very stern when he didn’t, and she feared he was still cross with her for prying into his past. “After all, the lad wasn’t so very terrifying, even though Alice did scream blue murder when the knife flashed. It all happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to be frightened.”

  “He intended for you not to realize your purse was gone until it was time to pay for your purchase. But the boy is not that good at his job.”

  “His job?”

  “Thievery is how he feeds himself,” Lawrence explained. “I don’t think he’s bad at heart. Only hungry.”

  “Then God be thanked, for I have never been that hungry.”

  “Amen. None of us knows what we might do if we were,” Lawrence said. “But I have to ask, why are you here, my lady?”

  “Even a lady can be mildly hungry from time to time.” She waved vaguely toward the shop behind them. “I understand this is a very fine bakery.”

  “And you passed a dozen or more such establishments between here and Lovell House. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you were fol
lowing me.”

  Her first impulse was to deny it, but when she met his dark eyes, she knew only the truth would serve between them.

  “Very well; if you want me to say it, I will. Yes, we were following you,” she admitted. “But only because I feared you were leaving us.”

  “I told you I would.”

  Caroline sighed. The man was constantly dragging unladylike admissions from her. The words stuck in her teeth, but she had to say them. “I hoped to convince you not to.”

  “Why?”

  Just knowing there was no chance she’d meet him on the stairs or see him across the supper table made her chest tighten. Already there was a hole in her life where he’d been. But she couldn’t very well tell him that.

  “I…my…my brother…he’ll be upset. Your friendship means a good deal to him, you know. Teddy will take it hard…your leaving, I mean.” Drat the man! What is it about him that makes it so difficult for me to construct a coherent sentence? “Did you even tell Bredon good-bye?”

  “I plan to drop him a note of thanks this afternoon and explain my new situation to him,” Lawrence said. “Just because I am no longer enjoying your family’s hospitality, it does not follow that Bredon and I will fail to spend time in each other’s company.”

  It didn’t seem to trouble him that he’d no longer spend any time in hers.

  “But…you didn’t…I mean, if I hadn’t been looking out the parlor window…” Plague take the man! I may as well admit what’s bothering me. “You didn’t say good-bye to me either.”

  “Yes, I did. Last night. After you so kindly instructed me in the waltz.”

  “That wasn’t good-bye. It was…” A dismissal. A set-down. If anyone had been watching, it was a cut direct of monumental proportion. “You very nearly threw me out of my own ballroom.”

  “If I seemed discourteous, I apologize.”

  “You didn’t seem so, you were so.”

  “If I’m such an unpleasant fellow, why are you following me?”