by Lynn Messina
“Your grace, there is a…uh-hem…gentleman waiting to see you in the parlor, by the name of Squibbs. I told him you were away from home, but he insisted on waiting.”
“Good job, Caruthers,” the duke said, smiling. “Just the man I wanted to see.” He took Vinnie’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “Mr. Squibbs is an associate of your sister’s. Good or bad, he’ll know something.”
Mr. Squibbs stood when he heard the door opening, and as soon as he saw Miss Harlow, he said defensively, “Now, miss, don’t get angry at me. I told you I’d send word. I made a promise.”
The duke approached the large, tall man with his arm extended and a wide smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Squibbs, this is the other Miss Harlow. They are twins, you see.”
“You mean there are two of them?” he asked, appalled by the very idea.
“Not quite,” answered Vinnie. “We are alike only on the surface.”
“What she means to say,” explained the duke, “is that she doesn’t go down to the docks to learn how to crack safes.” At Vinnie’s astonished look, Trent said, “I’ll fill you in later. In the meantime, meet Mr. Archibald Squibb. He is, as I said, an associate of your sister’s. I made his acquaintance little more than a week ago, and at that time, he promised to let me know if your sister visited the docks again. I can only assume that his presence means she has. Have faith, Vinnie, we are about to learn what happened to Emma.”
“She was at the docks again but alone this time. She didn’t bring that hulking giant with her.”
“Hulking giant?” asked Lavinia.
The duke flashed her a quick look. “Sylvester.”
“Ah.”
“Like I said, she came down alone. I think it was an unplanned visit, because she didn’t have her pistol on her, and when one of the men grabbed her, she had to use the knife on the table to free herself.”
“One of the men grabbed her?” the duke said in a deceptively calm voice.
Squibbs was not fooled. “Yeah, he did, but she handled herself like a regular goer. She had a knife at his throat quicker than you could say Johnny Jacksaw. I was damn proud of the lass. But anyway, she was there following a man and soon as the trouble was over, we went upstairs to find him. He and a confederate were in a room talking so I gave her one of my special listening devices and she eavesdropped on the conversation. I don’t know what they were talking about but whatever it was, it got her all riled up. And when the man came out suddenly, she ki— She hid. Then she waited for him to leave and got back into her hired cab.”
“Is that all? Think, man, did she say anything at all that revealed her plan?”
“Nothing, your grace. She thanked me and said that England thanked me, which made no sense. Then she was off. I came straight here to tell you. The man at the door tried to convince me you was out of town, but I knew better. Archibald Squibbs isn’t taken in so easily.”
“Thank God,” said the duke, thinking that Archibald Squibbs would be rewarded handsomely for his tenacity.
“This man she was following,” said Lavinia. “Did you get a look at him?”
Squibbs nodded. “Medium height, round build, mole on his cheek.”
“Beady eyes? Impossibly small lips?” she added.
“Yes, never seen a blighter with lips that small. How does he eat?”
She looked at Trent. “Sounds like Sir Waldo. It would make sense. She’s convinced he’s a villain.”
Perhaps he is, thought the duke, recollecting Emma’s thanks on behalf of the country. Could it be? “Are you positive she said nothing else—a destination perhaps? When she was listening at the door, did she say anything? Did she tell you what the conversation was about?”
“No, she didn’t say— Wait, she muttered something when she was listening. What was it?” Squibbs closed his eyes and concentrated. It had sounded like clover. “She might have said Dover, your grace.”
“Dover,” he repeated, trying to make sense of this riddle. If what he suspected was true, then Dover would fit. But the idea was almost too ridiculous to consider. Sir Waldo Windbag a French spy? Trent tried to imagine the little round man conspiring against England, but the image was too amusing and he smiled. No, if anyone was up to no good it was Emma, who had come to the outrageous conclusion because she wanted to. Surely she had misunderstood what she heard from a willingness to believe the worst of her sister’s fiancé. He had to admit that French spy was pretty good. If the man were rotting in Newgate then he would not be able to marry her sister.
“Dover?” said Lavinia. “Trent, what is she about?”
Trent decided to keep his thoughts about Windbourne to himself. “I think your sister is on the road to Dover.”
“But how? She did not take the carriage. The horses are all in the stable. Oh, vexing girl. I bet she took the public stage or even went by post. She does like to travel by hack. Do you think she hired one to take—”
“No, my dear. No London hack would take one to Dover. She must have gone by stage.” He returned his attention to Mr. Squibbs, who was nodding in agreement with this statement.
“Ye are right, your grace. She probably took the stage.”
“Mr. Squibbs,” the duke said, extracting a pile of notes from his purse, “do let me reimburse you for your trouble.”
“No trouble, milord, but thank ye anyway.”
“Well then, let me reward you for your help. Miss Harlow here was frantic with worry until moments ago. Surely that’s worth something.” He tried to hand over the money again.
“No reward is necessary. I’m as concerned about the lass as ye are and don’t want to see ’er come to harm.” Mr. Squibbs placed his hat on his head and bowed to the duke. “She’s a spirited one, milord, and ye must keep a close eye on ’er if ye want to keep ’er safe.”
The duke did not need a safecracker from the East End to tell him that. “You say that as if it’s an easy thing, Squibbs. You have no idea what a challenge it is.”
Squibbs bowed. “I suspect ye are up to it, milord duke, I suspect ye are up to it.”
The duke accepted the praise without further comment. He suspected he was up to it as well, but it would mean nothing if he didn’t acquire the right to keep her safe. Emma was not yet his. Indeed, it was only a few days ago that he’d tried to resign himself to the fact that she never would be. Recent events had changed his thinking drastically.
Vinnie regarded the tall, large man who was her sister’s associate. He was a frightening man to behold, with a large bluish yellow bruise on his left cheek, but it had not taken two minutes for her to realize he was a gentle giant. No wonder her sister had turned to him for advice on how to crack a safe. That part made sense. It was why her sister needed to crack a safe in the first place that continued to baffle her. Realizing that Mr. Squibbs visit had saved them hours of possibly fruitless searching, she thanked him profoundly for his help with a soft kiss to his scarred cheek.
Squibbs simpered and blushed and muttered a thanks. Then he was out the door with a request that the duke send word to him when the lass was safely returned to London.
“Now what?” asked Vinnie, watching the duke’s guarded face. He had a plan in mind, that she could tell, but it was unclear whether it included her or not. It would have to include her.
“We give chase. She can’t have gotten far.”
“Can’t have gotten far?” Vinnie was not as complacent as Trent. “You forget who we are talking about. The Harlow Hoyden went from London to Newmarket in under four hours.”
“Yes, but we’ve already decided she’s taken the stage,” he reminded her. “They travel at considerably slower speeds than your sister.”
Vinnie laughed, genuinely amused even though she was still terribly distressed. “Come, your grace, if you really believe they got past Hyde Park before Emma insisted that the coachman hand the reins over to her then you do not know her as well as I thought you did.”
“Vinnie, you devil, I was trying to pu
t a brave face on it. If your sister hasn’t made it to Dover and crossed over to France by now then I should be very surprised.”
This was not something that had occurred to Lavinia, and her face paled as she contemplated the possibility. “You don’t think that even she would be foolish enough to cross into a foreign country.”
Even seeing her white face, the duke could not lie to her. “I would hope not, but I can’t say for certain. Considering how vehemently she feels about Sir Windba—uh, Windbourne, she would confront Napoléon himself if it would prove that he was a villain.”
Vinnie’s shoulders sagged. “I was afraid of that. We should be going, no? The sooner we leave, the sooner we shall find her.”
“Yes, let us depart immediately. Don’t worry, Vinnie,” the duke said, patting her hand in comfort, “we will find her before it’s too late. I have every interest in seeing her returned to us without harm, for I intend to thrash her within an inch of her life for worrying us so.”
Contemplating his passionate words , Vinnie thought again how perfect he was for Emma. “I suspect that thrashing her is the last thing you want to do to my sister,” she said, mischievously.
The duke smiled. “Well, not quite the last thing, but it certainly isn’t the first. Come, there’s no reason to delay. The horses are ready.”
They were walking down the path to the street when a figure cloaked in a black cape approached the duke. “There you are, Trent, been looking all over for you. Keeping close to home, are you?” Pearson said, a glint of humor in his eye. “The clubs haven’t been the same since you stopped coming by. Ealing is an interesting companion when he’s sober, but get a few drinks in him and he becomes deadly dull. He has the devil’s own luck when it comes to cards. It’s awful enough losing your blunt to a sober man but losing to a man who is three sheets to the wind? Not at all amusing, Trent.”
“Sorry, old man, I’ve been out of town on business,” explained the duke, unwilling to linger longer than necessary. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Harlow and I have an important errand that cannot wait. Look for me tomorrow at White’s.”
“Which Miss Harlow are you?” he asked, examining Lavinia for some clue to her identity. “Are you the one who was out riding with Cousin Philip today or the other one?”
“The other one,” said Vinnie, a dimple appearing despite her intentions. His question was rude, but the questioner had such a charming smile and a handsome face she was unable to resist. “But I suspect that doesn’t help you with your identification.”
“True,” said Pearson, “and since you have not stepped into the void to introduce yourself, I will continue to call you the other—”
His speech was cut off abruptly as the Duke of Trent grabbed him by the arms. “Pearson, you saw Emma today out driving with Philip?”
“Yes,” he answered, perplexed by this treatment.
“Around what time was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Think! Was it after one o’clock?”
“Had to be. Took tea with my mama at one. I was there for an hour, perhaps two. I’d say I saw them sometime after three. I assumed they were going to the park, since the hour was fashionable. Now that I think about it, they were going in the wrong direction for the park.”
Trent gave his friend a hearty pat on the back. “Excellent, Pearson, you do not know what a helpful friend you have been. Miss Harlow and I must go now, but could you do me a tremendous favor and look in on Mrs. Sarah Harlow? Tell her that Vinnie and I are going to Dover and all shall be well soon. This is all in strictest confidence, of course, but I know you’re trustworthy.” The duke could tell that his friend was extremely curious as to what was going on. In order to preempt further discussion, he said, “I promise to tell you the whole of it when we return. There is nothing havey-cavey going on, I can assure you of that.”
Pearson bit down further questions and agreed to the duke’s request. It was not often that Trent asked something of him and it was the least he could do. Perhaps Mrs. Harlow could be persuaded to tell him what was going on.
“Very well, Trent. I will see you when you return. And you, the other Miss Harlow.”
As soon as they were in the carriage, Vinnie said, “At least now we know how she travels and that she is not alone.”
The duke gave her a thin smile. “I take little comfort in her choice of traveling companions. I somehow feel that Cousin Philip’s presence complicates the matter rather than simplifies it.”
They were a few miles out of town when Emma insisted Philip stop the coach.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned. “Are you feeling ill? Take a deep breath. I often find that deep breaths calm a disturbed stomach.”
“I am not suffering from a motion ailment like a frail miss,” she insisted, disgusted by the very idea. “I’ve simply had enough of your driving. Give them here.” She stuck out her hands.
“What?”
“You might as well give me your gloves as well. I was in a rush when I left the house and didn’t plan for every contingency.”
“My gloves?” He looked at his hands, large and masculine, and then at her small fingers. “They’ll never fit.”
“They’ll fit well enough. Now give me the reins and your gloves.”
Philip handed both over with great reluctance. It was one thing to have an adventure with the Harlow Hoyden but quite another thing to have a scrap of a girl criticize your driving.
“Now pay attention,” Emma ordered as she took the reins from her hesitant companion. The gloves were large and her fingers were indeed swimming in them, but she made do. One of her best traits was the ease with which she made do with most things. “There’s no reason why you can’t learn a thing or two about driving a team. Now we only have two horses here so there’s really nothing to it. See how I am holding the reins? My fingers are relaxed.”
“My fingers were relaxed,” he muttered under his breath.
“Your fingers were not,” she corrected. “You were clutching the reins as if your life depended on it. That might work in the city, where one never achieves a respectable speed, but here on the open road you must trust your horses to know what’s best. These are Trent’s, are they not?” she asked, admiring his choice in horseflesh.
“Yes,” he answered, reluctantly observing how much more control over the horses she had than he.
“He does know a thing or two, doesn’t he?” she said sadly. Trent not only had his pick of prime horseflesh but females as well.
“Yes,” he said again. “And awful showy about it, too. He is always telling one how to go about it. Philip, do this. Philip, don’t do that. Philip, in civilized society we don’t pick up our dinner rolls and eat with our hands.”
“He can be quite monstrous at times, can’t he?” she asked, taking comfort in this unattractive trait and delving for others. If she could just discover enough disagreeable things about him, then perhaps she could get over this uncomfortable episode. She didn’t have to love him if she didn’t want to.
“Yes, the way he calls me a young puppy and takes me to task for talking about frogs with your sister-in-law, Sarah. In Yorkshire, I went about as I pleased, talking about frogs without anyone protesting.”
Emma had to admit that some of Trent’s criticism were not far off the mark. Philip did have the exuberance of a puppy, and while it might be charming in its own way, it was also exhausting and not at all the thing for society. Emma herself did not care a wit for what the ton thought of her, but she could understand why the duke would want his cousin to have its respect. Philip was a Keswick, after all.
“My cousin is a great showoff,” he continued, warming to his topic. “He is always knocking Gentleman Jackson down. None of the other customers knock down the proprietor, nor do they expend the energy that my cousin does. He’s the only one who works up a sweat. Honestly, Miss Harlow, if I worked up the sweat that he did, he would not doubt tell me that one only sweats in Yorkshire, not in Lo
ndon.”
Miss Harlow was hardly listening to this last charge that he laid at Trent’s feet. She was too distracted by the image of the duke’s sweating muscles. She knew it was hardly the thing to do, but she indulged herself for a few moments. Although she had never seen his bare chest, she had felt enough of it to know it was impressive. And the muscles in his arms. How warm and soft they had been….
“Perhaps we should talk of something else?” she said, wanting to erase the distracting picture from her head.
“Like what?” he asked, reluctantly to abandon a topic that had given him such satisfaction.
“We need a plan. What are we going to do when we catch up with Windbag?”
“That’s simple,” answered Philip. “We knock him on the head with a heavy object like a bottle or a chair; then we tie him up and call the constable.”
Emma examined his plan as she directed the horses around a sharp bend. It was indeed simple, but she knew that sometimes simplicity was what the situation called for. But she could not like the idea of knocking him out and then calling the authorities, for what good would that do? Sir Windbag would only proclaim his innocence and without proof, who would they convince of his treachery? Such a course would slow him down, of course, but with Dover so close, the loss of a few hours—or even half a day—wouldn’t make a difference in the long run. Sir Windbag’s message must not get through, not with the lives of so many Englishmen at stake.
No, she refused to consider the idea of turning him over to a country constable, but knocking him unconscious and tying him up appealed to her. The most important thing was that he did not reach Dover. She and Philip could keep him hostage in their room at a posting house for days, or even a week if necessary. If they put a gag over his mouth to keep him quiet and explained to their host that a traveling companion had taken ill, then nobody would notice anything amiss. This had definite possibilities and would work in a jam, but Emma was more ambitious. It was her goal to bring about Sir Windbag’s downfall. It was not enough that he fail in his evil mission but that he be publicly disgraced. The selling out of his country was a crime, surely, and deserved to be punished as the Crown saw fit. But courting the Harlow Hoyden’s sister with the sole intention of stealing information from her brother was the worse sin by far, and Emma was determined to see him pay. Nobody toyed with her sister. Nobody.
