Too Dangerous For a Lady

by Jo Beverley

  “They wouldn’t be suited to wet days,” Hermione said.

  “But grand for dry ones.”

  “I don’t have a gown to suit them,”

  “Perhaps it’s time you had new gowns, milady.”

  “I don’t have the money for them, Nolly.”

  “Mr. Peake’s your great-uncle, milady. Surely one day you’ll have what’s his.”

  “I hope that will be a long time away.”

  “But he wouldn’t begrudge you new boots. They’re very pretty.”

  They were, but she wouldn’t be tempted. She still didn’t know how much money Edgar had, but regardless, it was his money and not to be spent on indulgences for herself, or in providing for a rascally husband.

  Or even a noble one, serving his country in the most dangerous way.

  She walked on, having to accept that the latter was more likely. She couldn’t truly say she knew Thayne’s nature from evidence except that he’d once been an enthusiastic and idealistic military officer, but her sense of him was so powerful that it made base thievery impossible.

  Money wouldn’t turn him from such a cause, but in that vulnerable moment she passed a shop where lottery tickets were sold. She had three shillings in her purse that were her own. She went in and purchased a share of a ticket. People won large sums in the lottery and surely with money of her own she could do something. However, she left feeling ashamed of the waste of the shillings and weighed down by lack of hope.

  Perhaps they would find Dr. Grammaticus, and perhaps his cure would work, but Thayne would still be in danger and out of reach. Grammaticus would probably turn out to be exactly the sort of quack they suspected and Edgar could be dead within months. Which would mean . . .

  Horrified by the direction of her thoughts, Hermione hurried back to the inn, doubly determined to do everything possible to make him well. As if to emphasize her wickedness, it started to rain. Her hat and shoulders were soaked and her hem was muddy by the time she dashed in. She had to change before going to Edgar.

  “I was hoping to take you around London, but the rain’s spoiled that plan.” She noticed that he’d put the newspapers aside. “Shall I read to you?”

  “No. No news from the Green Man?”

  “Not yet.”

  He hunched down. “I’ve a headache from all this racket. Go away.”

  It was particularly noisy at the moment, and his room showed nothing but the wall opposite. Very well, that was something she could do. She sat in the parlor to consult her guide to London. Nolly sat nearby stitching a shift. Rain splattered against the window and clouds had gathered to such an extent that they both needed candles. Alas, the inn didn’t have the ingenious reflector Hermione had used in Riverview House.

  The book was little use. It listed all the principal hotels and inns but with no indication of their nature. Was she going to have to inspect them all? Moreover, she still hadn’t done anything about selling the coach and had no idea how to go about it. She felt a headache of her own coming on and could easily become as blue-deviled as Edgar.

  Someone knocked at the door and Nolly hurried to open it.

  “A gentleman for Lady Hermione,” a maid said, and handed a card.

  Nolly brought it over.

  The Honorable Nicholas Delaney. The name seemed slightly familiar, but Hermione couldn’t pin down the connection. She turned the card, and on the back was written, The Curious Creatures.

  Thank heavens. Something was turning out right.

  “Send him up,” she told the inn servant, and went to the mirror to be sure she was neat. Prepared, she turned to greet the visitor and had a moment of surprise. This was no eccentric natural philosopher. Of course not. He was an honorable. He must be the son of an aristocratic family. But he wasn’t typical of that sort, either. There was an easy, relaxed grace to him, and his jacket, breeches, and boots looked comfortably well-worn. His blond hair was a little long and his complexion accustomed to the outdoors. With a pang, she realized he reminded her a little of Ned Granger. But he’d come about the Curious Creatures.

  “Mr. Delaney, thank you for coming. Won’t you be seated?” She took her chair near the fire and he sat in the one opposite.

  “I could hardly resist,” he said with a smile. “Being a curious creature.”

  His manner unsettled her. It seemed overly familiar. She wasn’t accustomed to being nervous in men’s company, but she was glad Nolly was present as chaperone. “You’re a member, sir?” she asked.

  “Founding member. I happened to be in Town, so Tenby of the Green Man sent to me to deal with what he saw as a troubling enquiry.”

  “Troubling?”

  “We do have women in the Curious Creatures, but not many, so he thinks of it as a gentlemen’s club. An enquiry from a lady—in both meanings of the word—alarmed him. No matter. How may I help you?”

  He seemed to have settled to a more normal manner, so she relaxed. “I read a reference to a meeting of the Curious Creatures, sir, where a Dr. Grammaticus spoke on the subject of antimony in the treatment of a disease called kala-azar.”

  His brows rose a little. “Intriguing. What’s kala-azar?”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I must have missed that meeting.”

  “It’s a tropical disease caused by miasma, but it’s not malaria, so doesn’t respond to the bark. A relative of mine is afflicted.”

  “When did Grammaticus address the Curious Creatures?”

  “January 1815.”

  “I wasn’t in Town then, but we do keep records, if that’s what you seek.”

  “I seek Dr. Grammaticus himself, sir. He claimed to have made the antimonial treatment more effective by addition of a fungus, but he refused to reveal which one.”

  “I see. Have you enquired at Newbery’s for it?”

  “You know of them?”

  “They’re quite famous.”

  “So if it existed, they’d have it?”

  “Yes.”

  The directness of it made her sigh. “You hold out no hope?”

  He smiled. “There’s always hope. Grammaticus might not have made his cure available for purchase, but he could have set up a hospital to provide the treatment at a high price. Whoever you spoke to at Newbery’s might not have known that, or might even have been unwilling to share the information.”

  “Rivalry. The clerk there had a very low opinion of the Curious Creatures.”

  “There you are, then.”

  Hermione considered his suggestion. “I doubt he’s set up a hospital in Britain. The disease is contracted in the tropics and sufferers don’t generally live long enough to travel home.”

  “Ah. Then I suspect he hoped to interest the government for use in India. If he’s set up a hospital, it will be there.”

  “India! A letter would take months. That will be too late. I think my great-uncle has only been kept alive this long by taking antimony alone.”

  Delaney lit with sparkling curiosity. “Intriguing. Perhaps you’d allow me to make enquiries for you—being a Curious Creature of some expertise. If Grammaticus has interested the government, someone at the Foreign Office might know more. Or someone with the East India Company.”

  His light manner made her uncertain, but she needed help, especially from one who knew London. “Thank you, sir. That’s very generous.”

  “On the contrary, it’s obligatory. You don’t recognize my name, do you?”

  Clearly she should. Hampshire? Yorkshire? “My apologies, sir . . .”

  “I was at school with your brother Roger.”

  “Oh. That was some time ago, and Roger is dead.”

  “Yes, I know. I wrote to your parents, though it was delayed, as I was abroad in 1810.”

  He remembered the date. “You were good friends? I was five years younger th
an he, so I don’t know much about his school days.”

  “We were good friends,” he agreed. “We were part of a group who called themselves the Company of Rogues.”

  “I remember that,” she said, spun back to a moment in the past. “We were in the garden and Roger was talking about some jape ‘the Rogues’ had been involved in and Mother said he was keeping disreputable company. He fell into a tiff, declaring the Company of Rogues the best of good fellows, and wouldn’t stand down from that. He and our parents were at odds for days.” Tears escaped at the memory and she pulled out a handkerchief to dab at them.

  “That sounds like Roger,” Delaney said with a wry smile. “Once he embraced a cause, it was his . . .” She knew he’d been about to say “to the death,” but had collected himself in time. “The Rogues still exist,” he continued, “though down from twelve to ten, and we assist one another as necessary. You’ve inherited Roger’s right to aid, which is why I said my assistance is obligatory.”

  “Not on me, I hope,” she said, suddenly prickly. She remembered all those condolence letters that had seemed inappropriately phrased, coming as they did from strangers. All from “Rogues”?

  “No obligation to receive,” he said equably, “but if your need is as serious and urgent as you claim, you’d be unwise to refuse assistance. Despite the dire predictions of our masters at Harrow, who often said we’d all end on the gallows, today the Rogues command a wide range of expertise and considerable social power.”

  Hermione felt as if she’d been swept up into something without any say, but she must remember Edgar. If there was any chance of a cure, he must have it.

  “Very well, Mr. Delaney. I’m happy to accept your assistance. And I thank you for it.”

  He rose. “Excellent. I’m about to go even further beyond the line, but—are you quite satisfied by this location for an invalid?”

  She’d risen, too. “I’ll accept help there gladly. I do want to move, but I don’t know where will be best.”

  “I’ll see to it.” He bowed. “Good day, Lady Hermione. I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance.”

  He left, and Hermione sat down feeling surprisingly shaky.

  “Are you all right, milady?” Nolly asked.

  “Yes, but it’s unsettling to discover that a stranger feels he has the right to intervene.”

  “Intervene to good purpose, milady. Seems just the type to get things done.”

  Whether I want them done or not, Hermione thought, rankled by that “I’ll see to it,” as if he would pick the place and move them, willy-nilly. She kept such ungracious thoughts to herself and went to tell Edgar the good news, omitting the speculation that Grammaticus might have traveled to India.

  He did brighten, but then said, “Should have brought this Delaney in to talk to me.”

  “I thought you had a headache.”

  “It’s gone. Would have enjoyed talking to a gentleman. You probably chattered nonsense to him.”

  Hermione left before her temper escaped and ate lunch on her own, brooding on men and the way they treated women. Oddly, despite Thayne’s overturning of her life and occasional attempts to order her around, he never treated her as a feeble idiot. He’d been annoyed with her decisions, but he’d listened to reason. No other man had ever done that. But would she ever see him again?

  He could be dead and she’d not know it.

  The rain had stopped. Before she fell into a complete fit of the blue devils, she’d go out to buy one of the day’s newspapers. The air was still cool and damp, and she had to be careful of puddles, but fresh air did raise her spirits. She purchased the newspaper; then on the way back to the Cross Keys she came across a lad tempting purchasers on a street corner to buy one of the broadsheets draped over his arm.

  “Family poisoned in Shoreditch! Honest damsel snatched off the streets! Gentleman found murdered in the Thames!”

  Nolly said, “Oooh!” which made Hermione think Edgar might be amused by such lurid tales, so she bought a copy of the roughly printed paper. There was even an illustration on the front, presumably of the honest damsel being snatched, already half out of her clothes.

  Hermione entered the Cross Keys looking forward to sharing the treat with Edgar, but she heard the innkeeper say, “Ah, here’s Lady Hermione now, my lady.”

  A woman turned to her. She was only a little older than herself and quite plainly dressed, but Hermione recognized the finest quality from the curl of the brim of her black bonnet to her gleaming kid half boots. The quality was underlined by the liveried footman attending her. She had even features and fine eyes that Hermione thought suggested a good brain, but people probably described her as handsome rather than beautiful.

  The woman came forward, smiling. “Good day, Lady Hermione. I’m Lady Arden, sent to assist by Nicholas Delaney.” Hermione must have reacted, because Lady Arden chuckled. “I know, he can sweep along, can’t he? But with the best intentions.”

  “The road to hell . . . ,” Hermione murmured, but then grimaced. “I do apologize, Lady Arden. Won’t you come up? Would you like tea or some other refreshment?”

  “No refreshments, thank you,” Lady Arden said, and they went up the stairs to Hermione’s parlor. Once they were there, she said, “I can see why the Cross Keys is not quite suitable for an invalid.”

  “It’s not just the noise,” Hermione said, as they sat. “There’s nothing for Edgar to see but the wall opposite. He likes people to call him Edgar, but he’s my great-uncle, Edgar Peake.”

  “And suffering from an oriental disease, I gather. Is it infectious?”

  “It seems not,” Hermione said. “Edgar knows the disease from the East, and he assures me it’s caught from tropical air like malaria, not from people. Also, no one he’s been in contact with has caught it.”

  “Then can I persuade you to come to stay with us at Belcraven House while the Grammaticus cure is sought? We have an absurd amount of space, especially as only I and my husband and child are there at the moment.”

  Belcraven House. Hermione recognized then that this woman was the wife of the Marquess of Arden, the heir to the Duke of Belcraven. She wasn’t awestruck by a ducal family, but she was feeling swept up again and by greater power. “It’s very kind of you, Lady Arden, but we are strangers.”

  “It must seem so,” Lady Arden said, showing no offense, “but you’re part of the Rogues. You won’t escape their cloak even if you refuse my hospitality. Don’t worry, I understand your resistance—completely.”

  The “completely” made Hermione wonder about Lady Arden’s introduction to that world, but she had other concerns. “I’m not sure a ducal mansion would be suitable.”

  “You’re a marquess’s daughter.”

  “But my great-uncle is a simple man. No, not simple, but he’s been an adventurer all his life. And I’m the daughter of the Moneyless Marquess. We never lived in grand style.”

  “And I was a schoolteacher, so neither of us need weigh our precedence.” With a charming smile, Lady Arden said, “Do please come. I’ll enjoy your company, your great-uncle can have the best care and a room that looks out over Marlborough Square, and our servants will enjoy having more to do.”

  Despite the apparent sincerity, Hermione had to object to that. “Coming it too brown there, I think.”

  “I promise you, it’s true. The duchy has great wealth. We dispense huge amounts to charity, but we also employ as many as we can squeeze in, both in Town and in the country. Honest, healthy people prefer employment to alms, but they also prefer to feel useful, not in a sinecure. We entertain as much as possible for the same reason.”

  Hermione had been about to agree to the plan, but the last sentence made it impossible. “I haven’t any clothes. I mean, I only took essentials to Tranmere, without any expectation of traveling to London. I’ve nothing fancy or fashionable with me.”

>   Out of pride she didn’t say that she didn’t own anything fancy or fashionable enough for Lady Arden’s world.

  Lady Arden eyed her. “I think we’re close in size.”

  “You can’t lend me your gowns, my lady.”

  “I believe I can, and don’t fear that others will know. To provide employment, I order new garments generously. All British materials, of course. No French silk or lace. However, when I particularly like a gown or outfit, I prefer to wear it again and again, despite what fashion commands. The result is that I’ve any number that I’ve only worn once, or even never. You’ll be preventing a shameful waste.”

  Hermione couldn’t help but laugh. “I assure you, Lady Arden, I’m not quibbling out of a Puritan inclination.”

  “Excellent. If any small alterations are necessary, we employ seamstresses for such work. Will you come?”

  Hermione’s pride wanted to resist, but that would be idiotic. “Yes, and thank you.”

  “Excellent. How many are in your party?”

  “Only myself, Edgar, Edgar’s man, and my maid.”

  “I’ll send a carriage.” She rose. “I’ll leave and put everything in hand.”

  Mention of a carriage reminded Hermione. “We have a carriage. Edgar bought it for our journey here. The plan was to sell it, but I’ve no idea how.”

  “Nor have I, but I’ll make the arrangements. It’s probably too large for Town use, so use mine.” She took a paper out of her reticule. “I prepared this for you. Knowledge is power.” With that, Lady Arden made her good-byes and departed, showing herself out.

  Hermione unfolded the sheet of paper.

  The Company of Rogues

  Nicholas Delaney, brother to the Earl of Stainsbridge

  Lucien de Vaux, Marquess of Arden, heir to Belcraven

  Leander Knollis, Earl of Charrington. Ex-diplomat

  Lord Darius Debenham, younger son of the Duke of Yeovil

  Frances Haile, Viscount Middlethorpe, gentle man