Augusta darted another quick look at the gentleman in question. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged. "Oh, you know I much prefer the quiet life of the country. Ludlowe is said to enjoy the pleasures of Town. Word is, he's a bang up horseman, extraordinarily lucky at cards and a convivial host, which no doubt he can well afford to be, considering his expectations. What makes you ask?"
"No real reason," she snapped, unable to hide the pinch of irritation in her voice. Her present mode of investigating was unearthing precious little information of use. She was going to have to resort to some other method, and soon!
Ashord's brow wrinkled in consternation. "Why—" he began, then his own gaze fell on the conversing couple. "Oh, I see. Is the fellow paying particular attention to Marianne, then?"
"No more than half the eligible bachelors in Town, along with a good deal of unsuitable ones as well," she remarked dryly.
Ashford grinned. "Perhaps the Goddess of Greenfield has a new acolyte kneeling at the altar of her beauty."
"Pray, don't let her hear you repeat that moniker lest you wish her to toss a vase filled with her latest offerings at you."
"And well I know how good her aim is! My head has been hit with too many apples to make light of such a threat and so I shall keep a close guard my tongue in The Incomparable's presence." His expression became more thoughtful. "I hadn't heard that Ludlowe was dangling for a wife, but mayhap he is beginning to think of settling down. Come to think of it, I've not seen him pay the least attention to, er, young misses before, but after all, he is well over thirty and must consider the future."
"I should think Marianne would be happier with someone closer to her own age," she mused. "Rather than with an older man who is likely very set in his ways."
"He's hardly in his dotage, and his family and fortune are more than acceptable. In fact, from what I gather, the fellow would be considered quite a prize on the Marriage Mart."
"Hmmm," was all that Augusta said in reply, but the set of her chin made it clear she was not entirely convinced.
Ashford executed one last spin, nearly trodding on both her feet in the process. It took a moment to untangle their steps, and by that time, the music had stopped. "Sorry," he murmured, leading her off to one side of the room. "I have never gotten the knack of that cursed dance. Much too complicated for a fellow to remember all the moves."
Funny, thought Augusta, it hadn't seemed terribly difficult for her partner the last time around.
"Care for a lemonade?" he asked, as he stopped near the set of open french doors leading out to the terraced garden.
"I daresay you have no idea what sort of damage that could lead to. It would be much safer were you to offer plain water. That, at least, leaves no lasting trace ."
Augusta's shoulders stiffened at the sound of the baritone voice behind them and to her chagrin, the color began to rise to her cheeks. Ashford looked at her, a question on his lips.
"That is most unfair of you, sir, to call attention to a past... accident of which you were at least partly to blame."
"I am beginning to think it was no accident," murmured Sheffield, a note of humor still in his voice. His eyes slowly swept over her new gown, taking in the stylishly low cut of the bodice, the snug capped sleeves and the way the lush silk clung to the sinewy curves of her form. "You are looking... very well this evening, Miss Hadley."
"For a shrewish spinster," she replied through gritted teeth.
The Earl's lips repressed a twitch. "Most especially for a shrewish spinster."
Ashford was moved to take another look himself and his eyes widened slightly. "I say, Gus, you do look different." He swallowed hard. "That gown is a vast improvement over your others. You look... well, you look... very well," he finished lamely, his face now nearly as red as hers. The sound of the musicians warming up for the upcoming country dances spared him any further embarrassment. "Lord, I'm promised to Miss Denton for this next set! You'll excuse me if I take my leave, Gus?" Though worded as a question, he didn't wait to hear the reply. With a cursory nod to Sheffield he turned and bolted off.
Augusta repressed the desire to aid his progress through the crowd with a well-placed kick at his backside. How could he leave her alone in the company of the Earl!
As if he could read her thoughts, Sheffield allowed himself a ghost of a smile. "A dull dog indeed," he murmured. His gloved hand came around her elbow and guided her to a quieter spot.
Though feeling in no great charity with her friend at the moment, she felt compelled to come to his defense. "I have no idea what you mean," she said haltingly. "Jamie is a solid, intelligent gentleman, and a loyal friend who— "
"Who appears to be blind as a mole, not to speak of abandoning you for the charms of some undoubtedly flighty young miss."
"We have been friends since childhood." she said stiffly. "He hardly thinks of me in any other sort of way."
"As I said, a fellow of little imagination." He signaled for a nearby footman to approach and took two glasses of champagne from the man's silver tray.
"I was thinking more of rattafia punch, or perhaps a nice claret," she muttered, eyeing the subtle cream on cream stripe of his silk waistcoat as he pressed a glass into her hand.
Sheffield gave a deep chuckle. "What? Plans to assassinate more than my character?" He took a sip of his drink. "You truly dislike me, don't you?"
Her face was turned toward the darkened garden, obscuring her features. It was several moments before she answered him. "As I have said before, sir, it simply seems that we do not rub together well."
"Hmmm." He regarded her over the rim of his glass, swirling the tiny bubbles to even greater effervescence. Augusta suddenly felt his presence doing the same thing to her insides. "I should have thought that one who purports to read Voltaire and Descartes would rely on empirical knowledge, not mere rumor, to pass judgement," he continued in a low voice.
"Ah, but then you don't really believe that a mere female can comprehend such things anyway," she shot back.
"I am relying on my own extensive observations to come to such conclusions," he replied rather dryly.
"It is no wonder, with the sort of female company you obviously keep. In fact, I am amazed that you tolerate any contact with us peabrains at all!"
His eyes drifted down the front of her new gown, which exposed a good deal more flesh than she was used to showing. "Miss Hadley, there are reasons other than discussing philosophy to have, as you say, contact with the opposite sex."
Well aware that her creamy expanse of bosom and bare arms was turning a decided shade of pink, Augusta forgot all her previous charitable thoughts about the Earl and was goaded to further heated words. "And no doubt you are well versed in all of them! You should stick to such frivolous pursuits rather than trying to fool people into thinking you gave a fig for serious matters. What sort of wager did it take to prompt you stand up in Parliament and make a mockery of the plight of working children?"
It was the Earl's turn to feel stung. "Why do you think it impossible for me have an interest in anything meaningful?"
"For the same reason you think it impossible that I can."
That took him aback for a moment. "Well, have you read the books I saw in your arms at Hatchard's?"
"Yes! Would you care to quiz me on them—or perhaps you have not actually looked at them yourself?"
He drew in a sharp breath, then let it out with a reluctant smile. "You are a real firebrand, aren't you," he murmured.
Her eyes grew wide with shock. Ducking her head, she smoothed at the skirt of her gown with slightly trembling finger. "There seems to be little point in continuing this conversation. Good evening, Lord Sheffield." With that, she walked away as quickly as she dared.
A short while later, safely seated next to several of her mother's close friends Augusta found that she was still shaking from her confrontation with the Earl. What was it about the dratted man that made her forget all her resolutions to keep a rein on her to
ngue? Her hands tightened in her lap on recalling his last words.
It was pure coincidence, but she must be more careful in voicing her views, else one of these days she would really land herself in real trouble.
CHAPTER FIVE
".... It is most unsettling to see a jaded buck of the ton such as the Earl of Sheffield make sport with a cause that both of us take so seriously. No doubt it is some mere whim or wager, something akin to betting on which fly shall land in the claret or which raindrop shall reach the bottom of the pane first, that has set his attention in that direction, and in another week or so we will find that he has tired of it and moved on to something else. I should like to know, however, who drafted his speech, for there were many sensible observations contained within it. Now, if only there were truly a gentleman of his stature who felt as we do, and was willing to stand up and speak out in good faith...."
The Earl finished reading, then laid aside the latest letter with a snort of frustration. "The Devil take it," he muttered under his breath. Had he really such a rackety reputation that everyone—from an ill-mannered chit to a venerable scholar like his friend here—thought him incapable of aught but frivolous thought? His hand came up to loosen the carefully knotted cravat at his throat. The damnable thing suddenly felt as constricting as his own former habits. He yanked it off with another oath, this one a trifle louder than before. The fact that a person holding a low opinion of him was not entirely unjustified was still rather hard to swallow, but what bothered him most was what one certain individual thought. His mouth pursed in irritation, for he wanted Firebrand to respect him in person as well as on paper.
To hell with what Edwin Hadley's sister thought.
Well, his own private concerns could wait for later. Right now, he was determined to be of whatever help he could to his friend. He reached for a sheaf of scribbled notes and leafed through them slowly. It had taken over a week, using every resource—reputable and otherwise— to gather such a wealth of interesting information on the six men mentioned in his friend's letter. Why, he never would have guessed that the staid Beckenham would have a stout mistress tucked away in a little cottage in Chiswick, along with a brood of three born on the wrong side of the blanket. Or that the hulking Kendall, who could flatten most any man who stepped into the ring at Gentleman Jackson's, raised delicate orchids.
Both of them had been eliminated in his mind as being capable of any sort of nefarious deed, along with Biddlesworth, who seemed only slightly less vacuous than the pack of slobbering hounds who had run of the once elegant family townhouse. The Earl had to shake his head at that name—it wouldn't be at all surprising to find the fellow gnawing bones if one called at supper time. Even now, he fairly barked when nervous or taken by surprise.
That left three possibilities. Sheffield ran his hand over his lean jaw as he contemplated them. It would help considerably if he knew exactly what wrongdoing they were suspected of. Firebrand had been deliberately vague, hinting only that one of the men was, in all likelihood, guilty of a most dastardly deed. He knew none of them well enough to make a judgement as to whether that was possible, but there were several odd things that had popped up in regard to the second name on the list. To his mind, that was the gentleman who appeared the most likely candidate. Removing a thin cheroot from his desk drawer, the Earl lit it and slowly blew out a series of swirling rings that floated up toward the carved acanthus leaf molding.
There were any number of ways to delve into the fellow's life—and that of the other two men—that he hadn't yet tried. However, for now he would simply send on to Firebrand what information he had gathered and wait for more specific word on what he was looking for.
The reply that arrived the next afternoon was not at all what he expected. Once again, Sheffield was moved to profane language on scanning the contents of the letter. "So I have done quite enough and am to back off and not get any more involved!" he muttered. The paper was balled up and tossed on the carpet, where his polished Hessian gave it a swift boot for good measure. "It might be dangerous, he says," continued the Earl through gritted teeth. "Well, what does the old fellow think he is going to do about it. Dangerous, indeed! I imagine I have a great deal more experience in this sort of thing than he has." Now that his sense of justice had been piqued, he'd be damned if he would abandon something that obviously meant so much to his friend.
Still fuming, he crossed to his desk and took a seat. But instead of giving rein to a flare of emotion and penning a heated answer, he caught himself and let his temper cool down to a low simmer. Perhaps it would be best not to alert Firebrand to the fact that he had no intention of abandoning the matter. No, rather than give away any inkling of what he intended to do, he would simply continue the investigations on his own. Firebrand may have no small skill with books and words, but Sheffield was sure that he would have a great deal more success in learning out what needed to know than his learned friend.
A grim smile of satisfaction spread across his face. Whether Firebrand liked it or not, the Earl was going to help him right whatever wrong had been done.
"Are ye sure, Missy?" Jamison ran his hand through his carrot-colored hair, leaving it standing in spiky disarray. "I cannot say that I like the idea above half."
Augusta slowed her mount to a slow walk so that his horse could draw abreast of hers. It was still rather early and the park was nearly deserted, save for a few gentlemen letting loose with a good gallop on the other side of the Serpentine. "Well, I don't like it above three quarters, but I see no other way to proceed," she answered.
"I could go by meself," ventured big footman, who had replaced her usual groom this morning to ensure the opportunity for a most private conversation.
She eyed his broad shoulders and thick chest. "You would never fit through the opening I have in mind."
Jamison could think of no argument to that. "Sweet Jesus, if Mister Edwin were here, he would like as tan my hide fer allowing ye to think of—"
"Well he isn't and he can't," snapped Augusta. They rode on in silence for a few awkward moments. "Are you going to help me or not?"
His injured expression only deepened. "As if ye have to ask, Missy. Think I'd let ye hare off on this by yerself? Not bloody likely!"
"I knew I could count on you."
"Aye, ‘cause I'm the only one as daft as ye," he grumbled. "What ye need, young lady, is a husband to—"
"Oh, don't you start on that, too!" Under her breathe she added, "The way everyone goes on about it, one would think a female simply can't live without one. If they are so important, then why doesn't the good Lord just pop us out with one already legshackled on?"
Jamison ducked his head so she couldn't see the laughter creasing his leathered face.
She gave a sigh, then returned to the matter at hand. "It may take several days to discover what evening the gentleman is planning to be away from home. Then, we shall—"
The sound of an approaching rider caused her to fall silent. A large black stallion, his coat glistening from exertion, tossed his head in the air, clearly unhappy at being reined to a sedate pace.
"Good morning Miss Hadley." The Earl tipped his curly brimmed beaver hat in greeting.
"Good morning, Lord Sheffield," replied Augusta politely, determined for once not to be uncivil. "It is a pleasant morning for a ride, is it not?"
"Indeed."
"However it looks as though we might get a spot of rain in the afternoon."
He slanted a sideways look at her and chuckled. "It's devilish work, isn't it, trying to be polite on an empty stomach."
Augusta fought to control the twitch of her lips.
"You have an excellent seat," he said after a moment, taking obvious care to follow her lead in mouthing the standard platitudes, though there was a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I take it you enjoy riding?"
She nodded as she watched him control his high strung mount with casual ease. "You appear to be quite at home in the saddle as well, my lord, though it
looks as if your horse is not best pleased at having his exercise curtailed."
A dark brow arched up. "Ah, a subtle hint that I have overstayed my welcome?"
Actually it hadn't been. Augusta looked a bit startled. "I—"
"A shame. We still haven't gotten around to discussing those books yet. But then again, perhaps we should actually get through one encounter without facing off with, say, lemonade at ten paces." He tipped his hat and gave the stallion his head.
Jamison eyed the bruising rider fast disappearing around a bend, then the young lady's face, where a stain of color was fast rising to her cheeks. His own brow arched ever so slightly, for in all his years with the family, he had never seen Augusta affected in the least by any male presence. "Hmmm."
A Lady of Letters Page 7
