Chapter Nine
“Tell me, Lucy.” Lady Dunwell, Beryl, sat on the sofa in the Channing House parlor and sipped her tea. “Are you familiar with Cadwallender’s Daily Messenger?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Lucy thought for a moment. “Although I have become quite fond of Cadwallender’s Weekly Ladies World since I’ve been in England.”
Beryl had called on Lucy shortly after Clara had left on an errand. Her visit was a welcome respite from Lucy’s constant perusal of the street outside Channing House in a futile search for a tall, dashing figure lurking in the shadows. If Cameron was there, his skills in surveillance had vastly improved, although she doubted it. It was already afternoon and she had fully expected him to make an appearance before now, hat in hand, well-phrased apology on his lips. Or baring that, lurking outside in the shadowed doorways and stairwells that lined the street.
“Is it a newspaper?”
“It is.” Beryl nodded. “And a most salacious one at that. Full of gossip and scandal and innuendo. In spite of that, no because of that”—Beryl smiled in a wicked manner—“I simply adore the Messenger and read it every morning. It’s most entertaining as well as informative and a far more interesting way to start the day than with the Times.”
“I can well imagine,” Lucy said absently. As much as Lucy was fascinated by Jackson’s cousin and did want to know her better, it was hard to keep her attention from straying.
One would think Cameron would have seen the error of his arrogant ways after a night’s rest, but perhaps the man needed more time. Men were such an unreasonable lot.
“It also runs the most compelling fictional stories.”
“I shall have to read it then.” Lucy smiled politely.
“Yes, you should.” Beryl studied her closely. “Especially since I believe a current series of stories is about you.”
“Me?” Lucy stared. “What on earth do you mean?”
“I could be wrong, of course.” Beryl pulled a handful of clippings from her bag and handed them to Lucy. “Before he left, Jackson told me there were things a relative had regretted not doing in her life that you were now determined to do.”
“I don’t know what that has to do with this.” Lucy paged through the clippings. “The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress?” She glanced up at Beryl and grinned. “I would like to be a runaway heiress having daring exploits, but why do you think this is about me?”
“For one thing the heiress is American, from Philadelphia, I believe.”
“But I’m from New York.”
Beryl waved away the comment. “Goodness, dear, here in London no one cares where in America she is from, nor will anyone note it. The only pertinent fact is that she is American.”
“Still, I’m sure I’m not the only American heiress in England at the moment.”
“I doubt there are many others on a quest.”
“What kind of quest?” Lucy asked slowly.
“It’s something of a hunt, really. Miss Mercy Heartley—that’s the heroine’s name—must find a series of objects detailed in the will of a late relative. Once she retrieves all the objects, she will earn the right to her inheritance and she can then be independent.” Beryl’s brow drew together. “I’m not sure I have all the details right, the plot does seem overly complicated, but it’s something like that.”
Lucy stared for a moment, then laughed. “That’s not at all what I’m doing.”
Beryl reached over and tapped the clippings with her finger. “But there are distinct similarities.”
“Well, yes, I suppose there are. Both the fictional Miss Heartley and myself are from America and we are both trying to accomplish something here, but her purpose is to achieve her inheritance. I am already financially independent. Nor have I run away.” She ignored the thought that her family might think differently, but really she hadn’t run away. She’d already been in England when she had decided to make up for her great-aunt’s regrets. “Beyond that, there are very few people who know of my plans and those who do can be trusted to be discreet.” She shrugged. “I really don’t think it’s anything more than coincidence.”
“Possibly.” Beryl heaved a disappointed sigh. “Then you’re not having daring exploits?”
Lucy laughed. “I’m afraid not.” She paused. “But I am having some interesting adventures.”
“Interesting adventures does not sound nearly as much fun as daring exploits, but I suppose one takes what one can. Do these interesting adventures have to do with your great-aunt’s regrets?” she asked casually.
“Jackson didn’t tell you what was on her list of regrets, did he?”
“No, the blasted man did not.” Beryl’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “While he did tell me about the list—he did have to make my role as erstwhile guardian palatable after all—he said he couldn’t remember the exact details.”
Lucy laughed. “He didn’t tell you because he didn’t know.”
“He certainly concealed that pertinent fact. In spite of his lack of knowledge, or perhaps because of it, he was concerned about your becoming embroiled in scandal or worse. I told him it was really none of his business, and certainly none of mine. Still, I did agree to be here should you need me.”
“And for that you have my gratitude.” Lucy stood up and crossed the room to fetch the list of Lucinda’s desires from the drawer in the side table, then returned to her seat. “Would you like to see the list?”
Beryl scoffed. “Of course I would. It’s been all I could do to keep from asking outright. One does try to be polite, you know.” Beryl accepted the list from Lucy and studied it. “I assume the check marks are for those you have already accomplished.” She looked up, her eyes wide. “Dare I ask which gentlemen’s club you managed to breach?”
Lucy grinned. “It’s probably best that I not disclose that.”
“Probably. I might be tempted to mention it when I find some member of said club says something annoying in the course of casual conversation at some event or other.” Beryl’s attention returned to the list. “One can see why Jackson thought it was necessary to have someone watch over you,” she said under her breath. “I knew the man was smarter than he appeared.” Beryl continued to study the page before her.
“Well?” Lucy held her breath.
“Well . . .” Beryl looked up, her eyes twinkling. “These are delightful, simply delightful. What a perfect excuse for improper behavior. I should have thought of it myself. Do you intend to accomplish all of these?”
Lucy nodded. “As many as I can before I am forced to return home.”
“You do realize some of them will be impossible? At this time of year, frolicking in a fountain or swimming naked in the moonlight is extremely ill advised.”
Lucy grinned. “Those may have to wait until spring.”
“Do you plan to take a lover then?”
“Well . . .” Lucy still wasn’t certain how she felt about that particular regret along with the one about a romantic liaison. “I don’t plan not to. After all, I am nearly twenty-four and the likelihood of marriage does grow slimmer. That is to say I’m not especially opposed to taking a lover.” Good Lord, it was hard to sound like a woman of the world when one wasn’t.
Beryl’s brow arched. “You’ve never had a lover, have you?”
“Not exactly.”
“My dear girl, there is no not exactly about it. Either you have or you haven’t.” Beryl eyed her knowingly. “And I would wager you haven’t. Nor, would I imagine, do you have a great deal of experience with men.”
“I have been kissed.” Lucy grimaced. “But no, I’ve never had a lover and I’m not sure how I would go about finding one suitable or even if I want one, really.” She leaned toward Beryl and lowered her voice in a confidential manner. “It does seem that is a door that once walked through, cannot be walked through again.”
“Indeed.” Beryl’s tone was somber but there was a definite gleam of amusement in her eyes. “Therefore one sho
uld hesitate, or at least give due consideration, before crossing that particular threshold.”
“Absolutely.” Lucy nodded. “And I did learn my lesson from kissing a stranger. That sort of thing can’t be planned. I mean you can’t simply point at a man and say, ‘He’ll do.’ ”
“I do know all sorts of gentlemen who would be more than willing . . .” Beryl wrinkled her nose. “Although, I suppose that is not at all what Jackson had in mind when he requested my looking out for you.”
Lucy laughed. “I would think not.”
“However, I can help you with some of these if you like. For one thing, you are supposed to dance with a prince. I know several princes and more than a few pretenders.” She thought for a moment. “It is a dreadfully slow time of year unfortunately, but there is a ball the day after tomorrow given by the ambassador of some tiny little country in the Balkans, I think, and I am fairly certain an Austrian prince I am acquainted with will be in attendance.”
“That would be perfect.” Lucy beamed.
“Excellent. Now then, as for some of these other items . . .”
By the time Beryl took her leave, she and Lucy had come up with several good ideas and quite a few that were completely absurd. Even so, Beryl’s visit did serve to take Lucy’s mind off Cameron’s absence.
It was entirely possible the man had taken her at her word and was not going to return. It was for the best, really. Nip this thing—whatever it was—right in the bud before it went any further. After all, it was no more than some amusing conversation, a few shared adventures, and two mere kisses, one of which was no more than adequate. The other . . . She could still feel the press of his lips against hers, the tingle that suffused her at his touch, and the heretofore unknown desire that had curled her very toes. She couldn’t wipe the memory of that kiss, or the memory of his smile and his laugh and even the way he sputtered in indignation, from her thoughts. The annoying man had invaded her every waking moment and most of her dreams as well. Dreams that were far more intimate than her waking life had ever been.
No, it was definitely for the best that this end before it went too far. Before she did something terribly ill advised. Before she let all these new feelings he aroused in her overcome her good judgment. Before she did something really foolish.
Before she fell in love.
“. . . and now I don’t know how to proceed.” Cam paced the floor of Phineas’s flat, not as easy as it had been on his last visit. Phineas was apparently taking advantage of Miss West’s absence to return to his beloved state of disorder. “I tell you I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, and I can hardly think well enough to put pen to paper.”
“As this only happened last night”—Phineas chuckled—“I can hardly wait to see your state a week from now.”
“A week?” Cam scoffed. “I shall surely be mad in a week. I cannot allow this to continue. I must do something.”
“I see.” Phineas studied his friend silently.
“I could use more than that.” Cam glared at the other man. “A bit of advice from a disinterested bystander would be appreciated.”
“I’m not the least bit disinterested.” Phineas smiled. “In fact, I find this all most amusing.”
“I’m glad someone is amused,” Cam snapped.
“Very well then. In gratitude for that amusement I will give you the benefit of my opinion on this matter.” Phineas settled deeper in the wing chair and considered the question. “But I’m not sure you’re going to like it.”
“I rarely do,” he said sharply. “Go on.”
“It seems to me that you have all you need from Miss Merryweather.”
Cam stopped in midstep. “All I need?”
“Your original purpose was to use her as your inspiration for your stories for the Messenger and the compilation of those stories into a book. You now know about the list of her late relative’s regrets, you’ve witnessed firsthand her attempts to rectify some of those, and you’ve taken that information and spun it into stories loosely based on your observations.” He chuckled. “And might I add, I do appreciate the name of your fictional heiress. Miss Mercy Heartley is very nearly an anagram for Miss Lucy Merryweather.”
“It would have been perfect if not for an extra R and that damn U and W,” Cam muttered.
“But no one else will ever realize it. You’ve gone to great pains to make certain her identity is concealed so she’ll not be harmed by your actions.” Phineas shrugged. “Your stories are practically writing themselves. You were looking for inspiration and you have been inspired. So, as I said, at this point you no longer need her.”
Cam stared.
“Therefore whether she wants you around or not is immaterial. You have what you wanted. I say you extricate yourself from this web of deception you’ve spun while you still can. There’s no need to continue this charade of yours.”
“No need.” Cam snorted. “There’s every need. You don’t know her, Phineas. She’s remarkably stubborn and reckless—”
“And yet still clever enough to have managed quite a few of the items on her great-aunt’s list.”
“Oh, she’s smart, she’s very smart. She has a diabolical mind hidden beneath that blond hair and those sapphire eyes, and all that pleasantry. Her intelligence is not in question, but she’s been lucky thus far. Very lucky.” His jaw clenched. “That luck cannot last forever. She needs someone to watch over her. To make certain this quest of hers does not ruin her life.”
Phineas quirked a brow. “Does she?”
“Without question. The very thought of those things that still remain undone on her great-aunt’s list . . .” Cam shuddered at the thought of romantic interludes and taking a lover. “Left to her own devices she will surely come to ruin. I cannot allow that.”
“Why? She’s not your responsibility.”
“Oh, but she is. At least it feels as if she is.” Cam blew a long breath. “I don’t quite understand it myself, but somewhere along the way this stopped being something I was pretending and became a real obligation. I’m not sure how or why—”
“I have my suspicions,” Phineas murmured.
“But I feel honor bound to make certain Lucy—”
“Lucy is it?”
Cam ignored him. “Comes to no harm.”
“Because?”
“Because that’s what she expects of me.”
“And?”
“And I don’t wish to disappoint her.”
“Because?”
“Because I care for her, damn it!” The import of what he said slammed into him along with equal parts panic and denial. “What I mean to say is that we have become friends. And of course, one has a certain amount of affection for one’s friends.”
“Of course.”
“Do not read more into my words than I intended.”
Phineas scoffed. “Never.”
“She’s a friend, almost a . . . a sister,” Cam said staunchly.
Phineas snorted back a disbelieving laugh. “A sister?”
“A sister,” Cam said firmly. “Nothing more than that.”
“I never imagined otherwise.” The twinkle in his friend’s eyes belied his words. Cam ignored it.
“The question now is how do I get back in her good graces?”
“That’s the question?” Phineas shook his head. “And I thought the real question was why.”
“I have answered that,” Cam said sharply.
“Not to my satisfaction, and I suspect not to yours either.”
Cam opened his mouth to reply but Phineas waved him off. “Regardless as to the why, if you insist on continuing your relationship, such as it is, with Miss Merryweather, you must take the path every man in such a situation has taken from time immemorial.” Phineas paused. “You must apologize, promise to do better and, of course, grovel.”
Cam scoffed. “I’m not going to grovel.”
“Unless you prefer to observe her from a distance and not be privy to her plans and intentions . . .�
� Phineas shrugged. “There is no other way. And you know it as well as I.”
Cam thought for a moment, then blew a long breath. “You’re right. There is no other option.”
“I know I’m right.” Phineas smirked. “I am very nearly always right.” He thought for a moment. “Admittedly, there is one other choice.”
“And what would that be?”
“You could tell her the truth.”
Cam grimaced. “Yes, I suppose I could.” He drew a deep breath. “And I should. I don’t like deceiving her.”
Phineas grinned. “You do like her then.”
“I said I liked her.”
“You more than merely like her.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Cam ran his hand through his hair. And when it came right down to it, wasn’t that really the crux of his dilemma? “Possibly, I suppose. I don’t know.”
“I’ve never seen you unsure about your feelings for a woman before.”
“I’ve never encountered a woman like Lucy Merryweather before.” He shook his head. “I’ve never had the desire to protect a woman before. Nor have I ever had so much as a twinge of conscience at not being completely truthful with a woman. And I’ve certainly never cared whether I disappointed one or not.”
“And now you do.”
“Bloody hell, Phineas.” Cam sank into a chair and stared at his friend. “I do at that.”
A sharp knock, followed immediately by the sound of a key in the lock, caught their attention.
“Oh, this will add to the discussion.” Phineas chuckled.
Cam winced. He didn’t want to see Miss West any more than Phineas did. “Were you expecting her?”
“I am never expecting her. But it’s been more than two weeks since she was last here, so I suppose I should have.” Resignation sounded in his friend’s voice but it didn’t strike Cam as entirely legitimate. Was it possible that Phineas actually missed the woman?
The door opened and Miss West sailed into the room. “Good day, Mr. Chapman.”
Both men rose to their feet.
The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress Page 15
