For the Earl's Pleasure

by Anne Mallory

  Abigail was sure that before Stagen had stepped in he was going to challenge Gregory to something far more dangerous.

  Gregory smirked. “You are a glutton for punishment, Campbell. My choice is easy. My stake will be in Brockwell’s contraption.”

  Phillip shifted nervously as all eyes turned his way, but held his place.

  “Excellent. I look forward to grinding you both to the dust. I’ll let you know my choice by courier tomorrow.” Campbell slapped his hand against his trousers, sending up another cloud of dust and strode away. Stagen gave the crowd an encompassing look and set off after his friend.

  Basil’s brows pulled together, but he didn’t go after his housemate. He turned to Abigail. “Well, exciting as that was, I must apologize for how the afternoon has turned. Shall we leave, Miss Smart?”

  Valerian straightened. “I will go see if I can catch Campbell and Stagen on the way and then hurry over to the carriage.”

  Abigail nodded at Basil. “That would be quite acceptable, Lord Basil. And do not fret over the events—I daresay the gossip hive will be abuzz with the happenings this afternoon.”

  Mrs. Browning was more than pleased to be on their way. It took another five minutes to disengage themselves from the gossiping crowd, but they finally headed back to the parked carriage. Abigail walked with Basil, while her mother and Mrs. Browning trailed behind at a respectable ten paces.

  “You’ll have to forgive Campbell, Miss Smart. He tends to be hotheaded.”

  She smoothed her skirt. “He seems to have been up enough to challenge Mr. Penshard to another race.”

  “Yes, and a foolish wager that was too.”

  She peered at Basil. “What do you mean?”

  “Brockwell’s balloon is solid—revolutionary even. He will win easily.”

  “Foolish wagers seem to abound these days.”

  “That they do.” He cast a side glance her way. She returned the glance.

  “Why did you ask me on this outing, Lord Basil?”

  “Curiosity, Miss Smart. And fondness for an old acquaintance and a friend of Rainewood’s.”

  She stiffened. “We are hardly friends.”

  “My brother sometimes suffers from the same hotheadedness that Campbell does, but should Lord Rainewood desire to grace us with his presence once more, perhaps you should look more deeply.”

  “What do you mean, grace us with his presence once more?” she asked, smoothing nervous hands along her skirt as they walked. “Why would he not?”

  “I don’t know, Miss Smart.” Basil gave her a long look. “Do you?”

  She laughed wanly. “As if Lord Rainewood would tell me his plans.” She saw in the distance that Valerian was hurrying back toward her. The flesh and blood Rainewood would never confide in her nor hurry back.

  “I would be less surprised by other things.”

  She looked at Basil sharply. “Your brother and I are quite at odds, Lord Basil. You know that perhaps better than anyone else.”

  “Are you?” They reached the carriage as Valerian appeared back at her side. Basil held a hand out to help her up. “I’ve always wondered at that myself.”

  She took his hand and allowed him to seat her before he helped her mother and Mrs. Browning.

  “There is little at which to wonder. He has made it very clear.”

  “Ah, but that is only when you look at the surface. You should know by now that though society as a whole does just that, many of the individuals see far more.”

  Valerian was hardly paying attention as he concentrated on entering the carriage. It seemed to be getting harder for him, but he was still able to do so as long as she was there.

  She was glad that he was otherwise occupied.

  “They see the deeper well of animosity, I’m sure.”

  “Mmmm,” was all he answered.

  Valerian successfully entered the carriage and sighed as he slipped onto Mrs. Browning. She could see the woman shudder from the corner of her eye.

  Valerian leaned forward until his lips were almost at her ear. “There’s something that Campbell is hiding. Something more than what we already think. And he is living with Basil. We have to search there.” He tapped a finger on the back of the seat. “Leave something behind, if you can.”

  She tucked her wrap into the folds of the carriage seat when Basil was occupied with driving. It was tucked in just enough so that Basil wouldn’t notice it upon her exit, but so that someone would find it upon inspecting the carriage. It would give her an excuse to call upon him at Number Eighteen. She exited behind Mrs. Browning and her mother.

  “Thank you for the lovely afternoon, Lord Basil,” she said. “It was truly a pleasure to see the hobbyhorse races.”

  “It was my pleasure, Miss Smart.” He smiled at her, but there was a watchfulness to his eyes. “Perhaps we can meet again?”

  She saw her mother watching her closely—likely trying to see if she would capture the opportunity or let it slip past in retribution. “I would like that,” she answered.

  Mrs. Browning frowned, but nodded to Basil. “Good day, Lord Basil.”

  As soon as they were in the house, Mrs. Browning spoke. “I wish to speak with you both.”

  Abigail dutifully followed into the front parlor, Valerian behind her. Mrs. Browning shut the door.

  “Though I do not entirely approve of Mr. Penshard, either he or Mr. Campbell would make solid choices and they seem interested despite their poor display of temper there at the end. I believe that you should better extend your efforts to those that will make you an offer, Miss Smart.”

  Abigail raised a brow at the implication and obvious reasoning behind the statements. “Are you saying that Lord Basil will not?”

  “You know that he won’t”—silly girl, went unsaid—“the Duchess of Palmbury won’t have it.”

  “If Abigail likes Lord Basil, then I do not see the harm in allowing him to pursue her,” her mother said softly.

  Abigail looked at her mother, who looked steadily back. Abigail tilted her head in acknowledgment.

  Mrs. Browning smoothed her dress at the challenge to her absolute authority. “Yes, well, as I said, I think we’d do well to focus our efforts on those with whom there is a real chance. It is nice to have a multitude of choices, but let us be realistic.”

  “And I say that it is Abigail’s choice.”

  Mrs. Browning’s lips disappeared before smoothing. “You hired me for my advice, Mrs. Smart.”

  “That I did.”

  Abigail held her breath as Mrs. Browning’s eyes narrowed on the calm choice of words—the way that her mother had just told their paid companion that for the first time her advice would not necessarily be followed.

  “Very well.” Mrs. Browning smiled—a sharp smile similar to those that Valerian’s grandmother had perfected. “Shall we look over the guest list for the ball tonight?”

  The ball had been tedious. There was too much excitement strumming through her to manage everything that had been thrown her way. Campbell had apologized to her for not winning the race and shown her that he still sported her ribbon favor prominently.

  That had set tongues to wagging. Valerian had been grumpy and proprietary the entire night, making dire threats and wishes against all parts of Campbell’s body and heritage.

  And now it was closer to dawn than midnight, and once more she was sneaking into a house with only a ghost for a lookout. Telly would never forgive her if she found out—Abigail having slipped out after the household was asleep. Then again, if at this point Telly discovered her absence, it was likely that others would too and Abigail would be in much deeper trouble.

  She ascended the stairs with the help of Valerian and found herself on a clean and orderly second floor. Voices punctuated the air further up. Valerian pointed to a room at the right. “Your wrap is likely to be in there, as will Basil’s personal documents. You search. Retrieving your wrap will obviously not work as an excuse, should you be found, but at least w
e can work with it somehow. I’ll go up and keep an eye on those two.” There was something dark in his eyes before he turned.

  Basil’s study was extremely organized, but in a way that made it seem as if he was purposefully trying to put off someone who would be snooping. Things weren’t in the exact place that a person might normally put them, but instead grouped in peculiar order. Still, once she found a pile or drawer she was able to figure out at least what she was looking at.

  Chief amongst the papers was a detailed accounting of Valerian’s whereabouts prior to his disappearance. A pit settled in her stomach, but then she uncovered another folder. One with reports from three different Bow Street Runners and two other investigators—all looking into where Valerian could be.

  Her name jumped from the page as a suspect in his disappearance. Following that was a note that nothing had been found in her room or house. She saw the signature of the dowager duchess at the bottom authorizing the action. She gripped the page for a moment before smoothing it again. So now she knew why their house had been searched and by whom.

  Her fingers encountered smooth leather and she pulled out a green book hidden between two stacks. Templing’s ledger. She swallowed.

  All of it explained Basil’s sudden interest in her, which had started after she had repeated things only Valerian would know. The dowager had probably given her name as a suspect from the first, hating her as she did.

  Basil was looking for his brother. He wasn’t responsible for his disappearance.

  She smoothed her fingers over the leather surface again. She wanted to take it. Destroy it.

  One finger wrapped around the edge of the front cover. One peek. Just to see. To know if her fear was justified.

  She pulled the cover back. Names and dates jumped out. Notes and notations. She flipped a page, skimming, trying not to absorb the scandalous writings and the temptation such knowledge might give her in a future moment of anger.

  One page turned to two, and then three until she reached blank parchment.

  Her name wasn’t there. Relief crashed through her and she stared at the book for a moment before tucking it back in its spot. The weight of the secret still sat upon her shoulders, held for another day.

  Her wrap rested by the door, but she left it there. It would be completely obvious were it to disappear.

  She walked up the steps to collect Valerian and saw him leaning against the doorframe, looking inside the room, his fists curled into balls underneath his crossed arms.

  “Raine will kill me,” Campbell said drunkenly from inside.

  She moved closer so that she could peer around Valerian and see inside.

  “He hasn’t shown any inclination to doing anything other than towing the family line, Campbell.” Basil refilled Campbell’s glass. “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “The night of the Malcolm’s fete.” Campbell drained half of the glass.

  “What was he doing when you last observed him?”

  “What the bloody hell does it matter now? If he ever returns, I’m dead.”

  “Perhaps his state of disappearance can tell us if that is true.”

  “You speak as if that matters. What matters is that I’m after his bird. They’ve been together, Danforth, I’m telling you. Have you seen the looks when they think no one is aware?” He tilted his head back against his chair, drunkenly. “Have you?”

  “Yes,” Basil said softly, but much more calmly. “But there is nothing there and never will be.”

  Campbell pointed a finger at him. “You can’t know that.”

  “Oh, I can be reasonably sure.” Basil topped Campbell’s glass.

  Abigail watched, lips pressed together as the reality of the conversation penetrated.

  “He will be engaged to the Malcolm girl soon. Valerian knows his duty.”

  “He will still kill me.”

  “Do you deserve it, Campbell?” Basil watched the other man closely. As much as the conversation bothered her, she couldn’t help but thinking that Basil was doing a damn good job of trying to discover the information about Valerian’s disappearance. “There are men after you, are there not?”

  Campbell waved his hand. “A few debts. A pittance, that is all. It will be taken care of soon enough.”

  “How is that?”

  “No need to worry, friend.”

  “I learned early in life not to worry unduly, Campbell. Too many things out of one’s control. But I find myself curious.”

  “Made a deal.” Campbell put his fingers over his eyes and heavily wiped across. “All taken care of. Think I could use a nap now, Danforth.”

  It wasn’t more than a few seconds before Campbell was nearly snoring, head tilted back on the chair, mouth open.

  Basil observed him. “Fool,” he said softly and rose.

  Abigail stepped to the side to avoid being seen as Basil disappeared into a connecting room. Her action in the sudden silence turned Valerian’s attention on her. He motioned her into a different side room and she slipped inside. Footsteps ascended the stairs, indicating Basil had retired above.

  “Basil is trying to locate you.” She wasted no time before whispering her findings about the documents, the search, and Templing’s ledger. “He can’t be the one responsible. And it sounds like he would help us. His questions to Campbell…I—” She swallowed. “I could tell Basil about you.”

  “No.” The word was short and crisp.

  “You wanted me to—”

  “That was before.” He grabbed her arms. “Before I knew what happened. You are to say nothing now, do you understand?”

  “But—”

  “No. I won’t have that doctor or anyone else coming for you because of this. It’s my final word.” She bristled at the command, and his hand slid down her left arm in a caress. “It is my fate that we are dealing with.”

  He looked away for a moment, a sharp but sad look in his eyes. “I don’t want you punished for the circumstances in my life.”

  Again, hung, understood, at the end of the phrase.

  She swallowed, something in her hopeful yet sad, because she knew it wouldn’t last. She nodded. “What do you wish to do?”

  His hands dropped from her arms. “I don’t know. I don’t want you to search Campbell’s room and risk getting caught or even to go near him. Basil we could handle, but Campbell’s discovery of you would be dire. Besides, if what you say about Basil is true, then he has most likely searched Campbell’s things.”

  Abigail nodded, “I think we need to search O’Malley’s.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “It is the only way.” She turned and opened the door without thinking—without making Valerian look on the other side first—and stopped dead at the sight across the threshold.

  Aidan Campbell leaned against the balustrade, trying to drunkenly maneuver down the hall. His eyes turned toward the door and widened in surprise.

  “This is a most fortunate turn of events.” Campbell smiled crookedly, “I will enjoy being betrothed to you, no matter what Raine says.” He reached out and swayed into her.

  Chapter 18

  She shifted out of the way just in time to avoid the collision. Campbell righted himself and stared at her with glazed eyes. She stared back. The shifting of a floorboard above as Basil paced was the only sound in the room.

  Valerian swore copiously, filling the air for her ears only.

  “Miss Smart?” Campbell’s bleary eyes surveyed her, taking in her too-big trousers and oversized shirt. His eyes lingered upon her chest and then dropped back to her legs.

  She was doomed.

  “I must be dreaming.”

  She blinked. Perhaps salvation was still in her grasp.

  “Though how I could imagine such a thing, I don’t know. Let me see.” He reached out a hand to touch her and salvation slipped through the funnel. If he touched her, it would be over, she was sure.

  She laughed as brightly as she could, though it emerged slightly
hysterical in nature, and took a quick step away. “A Merry Christmas to you, Aidan. We can’t open presents just yet, however. We must have our feast.” She gave a little bow and softly clapped her hands.

  “Abigail,” Valerian warned.

  Campbell’s eyes crossed for a second and he leaned a hand against the wall. “Christmas? But where is the holly?”

  She turned in a forced jig. “The holly boughs are below. You said you wanted turkey feathers above.” She pointed to a strange wreath of feathers attached to the wall. She had no idea what they really were, but all that mattered was convincing the drunk man in front of her that she wasn’t really there. “Aidan, Aidan, Aidan, and his turkey feathers.”

  She would have died of embarrassment at her actions if she weren’t so terrified of what happened if she failed.

  “I didn’t know I liked turkey feathers, but I do like you.” He tried to grab her and she sidestepped him, forcing him to stumble.

  “Not until after the feast.”

  “I think we should have our own feast.” He reached for her again. “Marry me, Abigail Smart. I will give you what Raine does not.”

  She stumbled. Valerian’s fist slashed right through him.

  “Not before the Christmas feast,” she said a little more hysterically, emphasizing the holiday. “The holly boughs await.”

  “If you were really here I would compromise you, force you to marry me. Get one up on Raine finally. Restore the family fortunes and name. Plunder your curves.” He stumbled toward her to do what she could only assume was start said plundering. She danced away, trying to keep in the act and trying not to scream.

  “I’m going to kill him.” The calm low voice came from behind her, but she didn’t turn to see Valerian’s face, too concerned with keeping her eyes on Campbell.

  “No rain on Christmas,” she said, trying to keep her jig going in continuing motions away from him.

  “Not rain. Raine,” Campbell emphasized.

  “Do you enjoy rain?”

  “He needs a comeuppance.”

  She stumbled again, but continued her movement. “And did you give it to him?”