Falconer's Heart

by Janice Bennett

  “It couldn’t have been your uncle following us, you know. The idea, as you said, is absurd.”

  “It does seem unreasonable. Yet he arrived a bare hour before we did, and in weather that normally would have kept him safe at home. And I especially do not like the number of people who appear to have been cognizant of my journey to Portugal.”

  “Only your brother-in-law, your friend and your uncle. Secrets have a way of being talked about, you know, especially within a family.”

  He looked down at her, his dark eyes barely discernible beneath half-lidded eyes. “Some coincidences I believe in. Others I do not. Julian ‘just happened’ to encounter my sister, who ‘just happened’ to mention my whereabouts after her husband had been sworn to secrecy. My dear Uncle Sylvester ‘just happened’ to drop by Whitehall, which I might add he has done only once before in the two years I have worked there. Next I suppose you will tell me we ‘just happened’ to be followed on the road by a carriage that ‘just happened’ to behave strangely?”

  Chapter Eight

  Riki shook her head. “I don’t know about the other ‘coincidences’ but I believe your uncle’s visit to Whitehall—and subsequent journey here in a storm when he found you gone—can be explained quite easily. He was in somewhat urgent need of a loan, wasn’t he?”

  Belmont’s lip twitched wryly. “He is always at fiddlestick’s end. That would make an excellent excuse though, would it not, to call at the War Office?”

  Riki regarded Belmont uncertainly. “Are you accusing your uncle of having some surreptitious purpose?”

  Belmont ran a hand through his already disordered hair. “No.” He sounded tired. “I don’t seem to have been thinking clearly since I was shipwrecked on your island. Whoever is talking freely will get the finest trimming of his life though, of that you may be certain.”

  “Perhaps—” Riki broke off.

  A motherly woman of comfortable proportions approached from a side corridor and Belmont introduced his housekeeper, Mrs. Wicking. He handed Riki into her charge, hesitated for a moment, then followed the route so recently taken by his uncle toward the nether regions of the house.

  Mrs. Wicking and her maids had been busy, Riki noted as soon as she stepped into the large, airy apartment on the second floor at the back of the vast, rambling mansion. Four triple branches of candles stood on polished tables about the room and a large fire crackled merrily in the hearth. A pitcher stood before it and steam spiraled from the hot water within.

  “There, miss, you’ll be wanting to change, I make no doubt.” She went to the valise, which rested on a mahogany Sheraton chair.

  “There’s nothing in there.” With a quick movement, Riki stopped her. She didn’t feel up to explaining about jeans and zippers at the moment.

  The woman drew herself up, the suspicion of a frown forming between her brows. Apparently, Riki reflected ruefully, luggage was another necessity for a lady of this time period. No wonder Belmont had been loath to take her to London. On the whole, she was surprised he had dared to bring her to his home under the circumstances.

  She went to the fire, extending her hands to it as she threw a disarming smile over her shoulder at the affronted Mrs. Wicking. “Did Lord Belmont not explain? Our boat sank in the Channel and we were lucky to be rescued at all in that dreadful storm.”

  “Shipwrecked?” The woman clucked her tongue and her comfortable warmth returned. “There now, miss, what a dreadful time you must have been having, to be sure. It was very right of Master Gil—his lordship, I should say—to carry you straight to his mama’s charge. If you’ll let me help you out of that gown, I’ll see it’s brushed and pressed at once.”

  Already she was working on the two small buttons that fastened the neckline at the back. In a trice she dragged the gray maid’s gown over Riki’s head, leaving her in the borrowed chemise. Riki shoved down her bra straps, hoping the dark green color wouldn’t attract the housekeeper’s attention. Mrs. Wicking, though, seemed not to notice. Stopping only to pour hot water into the china basin, she hurried from the room, muttering under her breath about the “poor miss” and the “unsuitable dress”.

  Riki availed herself of the washing facilities, then with regret removed her bra and tucked it into the valise. With resignation she pulled out the corset and tossed it on the bed. Then she strolled about the room while she waited for her gown to be returned. It felt good to move again after so many hours of jostling in the carriage. Her muscles still hadn’t recovered from the swimming—or the carrying of the brandy kegs.

  A light tap sounded on the door and she opened it at once. It was not a maid carrying her newly cleaned dress who entered, though, but a petite brunette with large, laughing eyes as dark as Belmont’s. She tripped into the room, cast one last peek down the hall, closed the door and turned to Riki with all the air of one engaged on a delightful and slightly reprehensible lark. Riki had no doubts as to her identity.

  “I’m Belmont’s sister, Felicity.” She held out her hand, suddenly shy. “Oh, don’t disapprove of me, please. I know I shouldn’t have come to your room like this, but it would be just like Belmont, in that odious elder brother way of his, not to let me meet you.”

  Riki blinked. “Why ever not?”

  “Because you’re an agent,” she breathed in awed accents. “I heard him telling Mama. Please don’t send me away. The moment I heard you were here, I knew I had to meet you. Belmont is so dreadfully stuffy, he never introduces me to any interesting people.”

  “I’m not so very interesting,” Riki said, but knew her words fell on deaf ears as the tiny hand clung to hers. “If Belmont would rather we didn’t meet—”

  “Oh, that’s just his nonsensical notions of propriety! He is forever trying to hold me in leading strings. I don’t know why he never wants me to have any fun. He doesn’t kick up a dust when Hillary goes off on some spree. And Hil’s two years younger than I am, and I’m already out!”

  “Are you?” Riki wondered if she sounded as bemused as she felt. It was no wonder Belmont had sobered before his years if he’d been left in charge of this lively young lady. Hillary must prove a constant worry as well. And hadn’t there been mention of a second brother? Her respect for Belmont’s patience soared.

  “Yes! This will be my second season,” Felicity rattled merrily on. “And Belmont really is a dear, though so fusty at times. He’s not pressing me to marry at all, which I must say is very kind of him.”

  “You don’t want to?” Riki felt her way with care. She had always thought young ladies in earlier times wanted to be married before they were twenty.

  “No, why should I? I may not be an heiress, but I am quite comfortably situated. And I am having far too much fun to become leg-shackled. Have you been an agent for long?” She rushed on to the new topic without pausing for breath.

  “No, not very,” Riki answered truthfully.

  Felicity sighed. “Oh, how brave you must be. I wish Belmont would let me help. Was it dreadfully difficult to persuade him?”

  “Yes, it was rather. But he had no choice.”

  Felicity giggled. “Belmont always has a choice. No one ever forces his hand.”

  “Don’t they?” Somehow she could believe that. Yet here she was, when he hadn’t wanted her with him in his time. Or had he? That proved an intriguing thought.

  “Did you lose everything when your boat sank?” Felicity regarded her with wonder in her wide, clear dark eyes. “Have you not even a change of gown?”

  Riki cast an uncertain glance at the flimsy folds of the chemise she wore. “My…my own things were utterly ruined. What I am wearing now once belonged to one of Sir Julian Taggart’s maids.”

  “Sir Julian? He knows about your adventure?” Felicity’s marvelous eyes grew even wider. “I must say, it is the outside of enough if Belmont is going to let a simpering fop like Sir Julian help but not his own sister! Well, I can do as well as he can.” She cast a considering glance over Riki’s petite figure. “You a
re only slightly smaller than I am. Stay right here—I’ll be back in a trice.”

  Before Riki could protest, Felicity darted out the door and ran down the carpeted hall with a most unladylike gait. Sighing, Riki returned to her contemplation of the crackling fire. She had the distinct feeling Belmont was not going to be pleased with whatever his lively young sister had in mind.

  Apparently Felicity intercepted Mrs. Wicking and the maid’s uniform, for they returned to Riki’s room together, accompanied by a stern-featured woman of middle age garbed in sober black. In the arms of all three were an assortment of gowns in a variety of colors and fabrics. These the women laid down on the bed, except for a simple creation of dull gold silk that Felicity clutched.

  “I had this made up at the beginning of the little season, but Mama won’t let me wear it. She says it’s not proper.” The girl made a face, conveying the message that she, for one, did not agree, but after all what could one do in the face of silly parental vetoes? “It would look beautiful on you,” she added with a touch of envy.

  Silently Riki agreed. She couldn’t imagine anything further from her beloved jeans and bulky sweaters, but it might be fun to dress up again. She hadn’t had occasion to put on an evening gown in almost four years, not since that night her mother had entertained the Swedish ambassador and the maid had spilled an entire tray full of caviar and salmon pâté crackers over his white starched shirtfront and cummerbund.

  The dour-faced maid proved to be Miss Bexhill, Felicity’s autocratic and highly paid dresser. Riki, accustomed to the occasional supercilious servant who lorded it over her mother’s household, merely inclined her head and permitted the faintest smile to touch her lips in acknowledgment of Felicity’s sketchy introduction. Bexy, as Felicity called her, regarded Riki with an expression that stated as clearly as words that the woman knew Quality when she saw it, and however outlandish Miss’s appearance and arrival might be, she knew her clear Duty in caring for the needs of a Lady. Miss Bexhill sniffed, helped Riki into the corset then ordered Miss to stand still while she expertly tossed the golden folds of silk over her head and twitched them into place.

  It fit better than Riki would have expected. The tiny puff sleeves that perched on the points of her shoulder might be more fitting to a young deb, or whatever they called them in this time, but the skimpy bodice fit well enough, thanks to Riki’s lack of generous endowment in that department. While Bexhill fastened up the tiny buttons at the back of the low-scooped neckline, Riki examined her reflection in the mirror. The excellent cut of the high-waisted skirt and the dramatic fall of the heavy silk fabric lent her an elegance she had sadly lacked of late.

  “It is beautiful.” Felicity heaved a sigh. “I must say it looks better on you than ever it did on me.”

  Miss Bexhill sniffed again. “Miss stands with her shoulders straight.”

  Felicity made a face at her naggy dresser from behind that worthy’s back. “It doesn’t even need to be altered. Look, the flounce just brushes the tops of your feet. A little long, perhaps, but no one will notice for tonight. Can you do something with her hair, Bexy?”

  Bexy could. After only a few minutes with a curling iron, which Riki regarded with a certain amount of consternation, tiny ringlets surrounded her face. A gold riband threaded through these, drawing back the rest of her thick auburn hair. One gold silk rose added a final touch that pleased even Bexy.

  After ordering Riki not to stir until she came back, Felicity dragged Miss Bexhill away to assist her in completing her own dressing and to collect shawls for them both. She rejoined Riki barely twenty minutes later, dressed now in a white muslin gown Riki suspected had been chosen to show her beleaguered parent how plain she forced her own daughter to appear. The mischievous sparkle in the girl’s eyes confirmed this, and Riki’s sympathy for the still unknown Lady Prudence grew.

  It faded ten minutes later as Felicity ushered her into the drawing room where the family gathered before dinner. On a brocade sofa near the fireplace sat a stately silver-haired dowager who put Riki forcibly in mind of a purple silk stone wall. Riki approached slowly, feeling very much as if she were about to be presented to a Grand Duchess.

  “Mama, this is Miss van Hamel. Gil has told you all about her. My mother, Lady Prudence Randall, the Dowager Viscountess Belmont. She won’t bite,” Felicity added in a voice just loud enough to make certain her mother heard.

  Lady Prudence didn’t so much as bat an eye. She extended a beringed hand, permitting Riki to just touch two fingers. No stranger to haughty society dames, Riki curtsied ever so slightly, implying a respect due to years rather than superior breeding. Lady Prudence apparently noted this, for her dark eyes twinkled in a manner that reminded Riki disturbingly of Belmont.

  “We are pleased to have you with us,” Lady Prudence intoned.

  Whether she employed the royal “we” or referred to her entire family, Riki wasn’t certain. The former, she suspected, and found herself enjoying the formidable matron.

  “It is very kind of you to permit me to visit in such a…a ramshackle fashion.” She hoped that was the correct adjective.

  “It is quite the norm in this family, though I had not expected Belmont to become involved in the sort of escapades normally indulged in by my younger sons.” Lady Prudence regarded her visitor with a mock condescending smile that only served to emphasize her rampant curiosity—and patent approval of anyone who could shake her firstborn out of his respectable and dull rut.

  With difficulty Riki kept a straight face. Not a doubt of it, Felicity and Hillary took after their mother. Riki could almost pity the late viscount, who had passed his more sober disposition on to his heir—and apparently to none of the others. Lady Prudence, who had obviously regarded her eldest son as a changeling amidst her lively brood, now seemed to see hope for the first time.

  The door opened to admit the Honorable Sylvester Randall, who stopped dead just over the threshold to stare at Riki in blatant admiration. Unconsciously he straightened his cut-away velvet coat and squared his shoulders, every inch the aging roué. He strode forward, a predatory gleam lighting his blue eyes.

  “Miss van Hamel.” He clasped her hand and raised her fingers to his lips for a lingering kiss. His gaze traveled slowly over her borrowed finery and came to rest on the rounded curve of her hips, which filled the skirt more fully than Felicity’s more youthful figure would have. “Delightful, my dear. Delightful.” He patted her hand, which he showed no signs of releasing.

  “It is indeed.” Belmont’s deep voice sounded from the doorway.

  Riki looked up quickly and encountered his quizzical gaze. Slowly, the amusement faded from his eyes to be replaced by a smoldering glow that left her breathless.

  She had found him attractive in a rugged, self-confident way before, even in his bedraggled or ill-fitting clothes. Now, in his own element, dressed with a precision and neatness that had little to do with the fastidiousness of his Uncle Sylvester, she found him overpowering. The long-tailed coat of claret-colored velvet fit to admiration, emphasizing the breadth of shoulder and narrowness of hip. A white waistcoat could be seen beneath. No fobs or chains cluttered his person, his only ornamentation the large signet ring he wore on the middle finger of his left hand. His pantaloons of buff stockinette outlined his muscular thighs. With difficulty, Riki redirected her gaze to the intricate folds of his starched neckcloth.

  He came forward, his regard never wavering from Riki’s slight form. “How did you manage this transformation?”

  Warmth crept into her cheeks at his patent approval. “Your sister—”

  “My sister.” He turned his suddenly amused gaze onto Felicity, who regarded him with a certain amount of trepidation. “Felicity, my dear, you are to be congratulated.”

  “It is a beautiful gown,” the girl pointed out.

  “It is. And far more suitable to Miss van Hamel than to yourself. Remind me to have you order something more appropriate to replace it.”

  Felicity
beamed, obviously having achieved at least part of her intent.

  Newly entered to announce dinner, which had merely been held until the two late arrivals had an opportunity to change. Sylvester made a beeline for Riki, but Belmont forestalled him, offering her his arm and throwing his rakish uncle a challenging glance. Sylvester backed off and instead escorted both his sister-in-law and niece.

  She must be more tired from the journey than she’d realized, Riki reflected. As curious as she was to see his home, it all seemed too much to assimilate. Belmont led her into a spacious, elegant apartment, but she gained merely impressions of a high painted ceiling, huge gilt-framed paintings, rich tapestries and hangings and silver gleaming in the light of a multitude of candles. The heavenly aroma of food surrounded her.

  Belmont seated her at his right, with Felicity on her other side, before taking his place at the head of the long table. As at Sir Julian’s, only one end of this had been set, gathering them all together to make conversation possible in this lofty apartment. Lady Prudence sat opposite Riki but confined her conversation to her son and her brother-in-law, who sat on either side of her.

  During the second course and her third glass of wine, Riki started yawning. As soon as Lady Prudence rose, announcing the end of the meal, Riki gratefully accepted her suggestion that she might like to retire at once. Mrs. Wicking appeared in the hall, almost as if she had expected a summons, and led Riki back to the chamber that awaited her.

  Miss Bexhill had been busy. Across the great bed lay a nightgown and nightcap, undoubtedly purloined from Felicity’s abundant collection. Riki made a mental note to thank the girl as she doffed one borrowed gown to don another, then promptly forgot everything as she tumbled into bed. Her last, hazy thoughts were of comfort and sleep.

  She awoke slowly to the sound of someone moving about her room. Already the green velvet curtains had been drawn back from about her bed and a tray bearing freshly baked rolls and a cup of steaming chocolate rested on the bedside table. A young maid poked at the fire, added another log, then drew the drapes back from the window to expose a snow-covered vista and gray, threatening skies.