by Brenda Hiatt
"Thus explaining why he never sent the information to Debrett's," Peter concluded. "And this father, he is the connection to the Mountheaths?"
"Yes, my lord. Baron Wragby of Littleport, Cambridgeshire, recently deceased, brother to Lady Mountheath's mother, who was born Agnes Severn."
This was news. "A baron? Are you certain?"
"Quite certain, my lord. I was able to discover little else about him, however, for he was reclusive and ill-natured even before he fell sick, judging by one or two written references."
"Thank you, Holmes. That is extremely useful information."
The valet bowed again and left him, but Peter scarcely noticed, for this revelation had spurred ideas thick and fast. Sarah was indeed a member of his class, granddaughter to a peer, no matter who her father was— though from what she had said earlier, he was not certain she realized that.
In fact, over the past hour, the obstacles separating them seemed to have magically melted away. Peter had no need to consider fortune in a wife. He could rescue her from the Mountheaths, and from a future life of drudgery as a governess. She could live like a duchess —as she deserved.
The pleasant fantasy wavered. To do that, he would have to reveal his fortune, and to more than just Sarah. He would have to pick his way carefully if he was to avoid wounding Sarah's pride and alienating his friends. Somehow, though, he was determined to make that fantasy a reality.
In fact, if the opportunity presented itself, he might well make her an offer this very night.
* * *
Flute unwrapped the heavy parcel and stared at the glittering booty within, giving out a low whistle. "Who did you say gave you this, Renny?" he asked the lad who had delivered it to his lodgings in Seven Dials.
"Paddy, a friend o' mine what works as a crossing sweeper. He wouldn't tell me who give it to 'im, though," said Renny. "Just said it was for you, and asked me to bring it. Do you suppose—?"
"Wait, there's a note." Flute pulled a piece of paper from beneath the jewels. "These should bring enough money to help the Heinrichs, as well as others in need," he read aloud. "More will follow as I have opportunity. It's signed with the Saint's symbol, the seven and halo. I don't recognize the hand."
Renny craned his neck to look at the note. "Then you reckon one o' their lordships sent it? Or do you think someone else has took over as Saint?"
"One or t'other," said Flute, frowning. He hadn't told Renny his plans in that direction —hadn't told anyone except Sarah. Had she somehow put some new gent up to the job to keep him from trying it? He'd have to ask her.
Though he couldn't help feeling disappointed, he was a tiny bit relieved as well. He hadn't told Sarah, of course, but one or two of the Runners now knew him by sight. It made his plan to play the Saint much riskier than he'd let on to her— not that it would have stopped him.
"These look to be good quality. I'll get 'em fenced and see what it comes to," he said. "Feels good to be working for a Saint again, whoever he is."
"Aye, it does that," agreed Renny. "I'll spread the word he's back in business. By tonight, we'll have a whole list o' folks what need his help, I'm thinking."
Flute nodded. "I'll ask around, sift the layabouts from the deserving ones. Then I'll give you the names and you can pass them on to Paddy. You can tell him to see the Saint gets them."
"Good plan. I'm off, then." Renny touched a finger to his head, a show of respect that startled Flute.
Once he was gone, Flute had to grin. So much for Ickle's attempts to lure his lads away! The thief-master, long a rival of Twitchell's, promised the boys a living that Flute hadn't been able to provide, except for those few for whom he'd found honest work. He'd promised Lord Hardwyck, the first Saint, that he wouldn't let the lads go back to thievery, but it had become more and more difficult to convince them as their bellies went empty.
He glanced down at the gems again. Unless he missed his guess, this lot would bring enough to feed all of them for a good long time, even allowing for those families with pressing needs. "Take that, Ickle," he said aloud.
Stuffing the jewels in his pocket, he headed out to convert them into much-needed cash.
* * *
Sarah tugged at her gown, wishing again that she'd had enough tulle to finish out the ruffles. It was the same dress she'd worn her first night in Town, to Lady Driscoll's ridotto, but she had sewn on new sleeves in hopes of disguising it somewhat.
A tap came at her door and she shrugged. This would have to do. If Lady Mountheath was embarrassed, she had only herself to blame. Picking up the rather frayed shawl Fanny had given her, she opened the door.
"Is it time for me to go down?" she asked the maid waiting there —the same scullery maid who had interrupted Lord Mountheath this afternoon.
"Not quite, miss. But there's someone at the kitchen door wants to speak with you." The girl cast a furtive look behind her.
Sarah's heart leaped. It had to be William! "Thank you, Gretchen. I'll come at once."
As she'd guessed, her brother awaited her in the kitchen garden. "What are you doing here?" she whispered as soon as the door closed behind her.
Flute's eyes widened. "Cor! But you clean up nice, Sarah. A real lady, you look."
"I told you not to visit me here," she reminded him. "What if that maid tells Lady Mountheath?"
"She won't," he said with a grin. "I gave her a shilling to keep it quiet. Anyway, I've got good news."
Though Sarah had a pretty good idea what that news would be, she pretended ignorance. "News?"
Flute lowered his voice to match her whisper. "The Saint o' Seven Dials. He's back. I think."
"You think?" she echoed, not sure whether to act delighted or confused.
"A friend o' mine brought me summat to fence, summat he got from a friend o' his. The note inside said it come from the Saint, but he never sent me anything that way before."
"Still, that's good, isn't it?" Sarah asked. "It means you won't have to . . . do what you said."
Flute regarded her shrewdly. "You didn't put some swell up it, did you, Sarah, get him to send me stuff?"
"Of course not!" she responded —quite honestly. "I don't know anyone in London that well yet." She thrust away a sudden vision of Lord Peter's face.
"Aye, well, I knew you'd want to know, worried as you were t'other night."
Though his concern for her came a bit late, considering his disappearance from school seven years ago, Sarah was touched. "Thank you for telling me. I'll sleep better knowing you'll stay safe."
Flute shrugged. "I just hope it's not a one-shot deal. I've already got a dozen names of folks what need help, what with the Saint being gone so long. I'll be sending them on to him tomorrow. Anyways, I'd best not keep you."
"No, I need to get back before I'm missed. But thank you for telling me, William." Sarah gave him a quick hug, ignoring his frown at the name, as well as her own sudden panic.
It appeared her career as Saint of Seven Dials had only just begun.
* * *
From her place near a potted palm, Sarah watched the shifting crowd at the embassy reception. Lady Mountheath had warned her not to stray from this spot, and for once she was happy to obey. Truth to tell, she was more than a bit intimidated by the importance of so many of tonight's guests— foreign ambassadors and princes, more than one royal duke and the Prince Regent himself. She felt more insignificant than ever by comparison.
Then Lord Peter was announced, and every other thought fled. Would he even see her here? Yes, he was already coming this way. Determinedly, she willed her color to remain normal, her breathing to slow to its usual pace.
"Good evening, Miss Killian," he said with a bow. "I take it you are completely recovered?"
"Of course. As I said," she began, then realized there were several people within earshot. "As I said last night," she continued, "I was only slightly indisposed."
His eyes approved her discretion and she suddenly felt warmed right down to her toes. "I am
glad to hear it. Come. There is someone to whom I would like to introduce you."
She hesitated, mindful of her instructions, but he added, "You need not worry. I have an argument ready, should Lady Mountheath object —not that I believe she will dare to do so."
"How is it you always seem to know what I am thinking?" she asked, taking his arm. "I confess it is rather unnerving at times." Indeed, it was a wonder that she was able to keep any secrets at all from this man.
"Did I not tell you I am considered an excellent judge of character? Part of that is discovering and remembering all I can about someone, while another part is simple observation — discerning from expression and gesture what people mean but do not say."
"A formidable gift indeed," she said with assumed lightness, not daring to meet his eye for fear of what he might read there. He now knew about her parents, and much about her early life. Did he know how she had come to feel about him? But then she had to smile. If her eyes had not told him, assuredly her lips had, this afternoon in the library.
Unfortunately, she was not similarly talented at divining others' thoughts and was therefore unsure whether that kiss had meant as much to him as it had to her. Suddenly embarrassed, she tried to think of something else, only to have his next words undo her efforts.
"I trust you suffered no repercussions from my, ah, visit earlier today?"
An unpleasant vision of Lord Mountheath's leering face intruded, but she shook her head and changed the subject. "I meant to thank you for your kindness last night. It was good of you to be so concerned for my welfare."
His eyes held hers for a long, breathless moment. "It is my earnest desire to be of service to you whenever necessary, Miss Killian. I hope you realize that by now. Ah! Here we are."
Before she could decipher her feelings, Sarah found herself facing three men, all of whom exuded an air of authority. Knowing instinctively that their stations must warrant it, she sank into her deepest curtsey before Lord Peter could make introductions —and was glad of it when he did so an instant later.
"Gentlemen, I would like to present to you Miss Sarah Killian, lately of Cumberland, cousin and ward of Lady Mountheath. Miss Killian, my father, the Duke of Marland, my brother, Lord Bagstead, and His Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales."
Sarah felt her breath coming in short gasps. The Prince Regent? What should she do? What should she say? Thankfully, her schooling came to her rescue. Forcing her trembling legs to bear her weight, she extended a hand and the Prince himself drew her to her feet.
"Your Royal Highness," she murmured, keeping her head respectfully bowed. Then, to the duke and his eldest son, "Your grace. My lord."
"How exceedingly charming," the Prince Regent declared in a voice loud enough for everyone nearby to hear. "Lord Peter, you are as discriminating as always, to have discovered such a diamond in so unlikely a mine. Do you not agree, Marland?"
Though the duke looked so sour and austere that Sarah wondered that he could have sired a man as kind and cheerful as Lord Peter, he directed a thin-lipped smile her way. "Indeed, Your Highness."
Lord Bagstead, as austere as his father, also managed a nod. "Yes, quite lovely," he said, then immediately turned back to the Prince Regent. "But pray, Your Highness, do continue with your story. It was most fascinating."
Sarah glanced questioningly at Lord Peter, wondering if they should now retreat, but he laid a reassuring hand on her arm. Trying to ignore the thrill that contact sent through her body, Sarah concentrated on His Highness' words.
"—pity I was not at the Wickburn do last night, really. I've no doubt that if I were there, I'd have spotted the cheeky scoundrel at once. No footman disguise would have fooled me."
"Of course not, Your Highness," Lord Bagstead agreed. "I've no doubt you'd have caught the fellow for us."
Sarah felt an odd prickling up the back of her neck. Surely they could not mean—?
The Duke of Marland answered her unspoken question. "I have heard, however, that the authorities suspect it may not have been the Saint at all, but someone aping his style. Certainly, though, it was like his impudence. The effrontery of robbing a ducal household!"
The Prince Regent nodded. "I'd love to see the fellow caught, though I'm not certain it wouldn't be more politic to knight him than to clap him in prison, given the stature he has attained with the common folk. Whether last night's theft was his work or not, I daresay we've not seen the last of the Saint of Seven Dials."
CHAPTER 10
Though startled by this news, Peter joined in the murmurs of agreement with the Prince Regent's words. If his deduction about the Black Bishop was correct, last night's thefts couldn't possibly have been the work of the real Saint. One of his accomplices, perhaps?
"It almost seems the fellow is able to become invisible at will," he said, since voicing his suspicion was out of the question. "Why, I was telling Miss Killian just the other day—"
He glanced at Sarah, only to find her as pale as she had been last night before Lady Mountheath had sent her to the carriage. "Miss Killian?" The Saint, even the Regent, were forgotten in his sudden concern for her.
"Pray continue," she said, rather breathlessly, he thought. "As I told Lord Peter, I find stories of the Saint fascinating."
The Prince Regent chuckled. "All of the ladies do. I'd have most of them, along with the common folk, clamoring for my head if I had him executed or deported, I fear. Perhaps it's as well he's not been arrested, though I confess to a large degree of curiosity myself as to his identity."
"Should he turn out to be ill-favored, no doubt the ladies would lose interest and you would be free to act as you see fit, Your Highness," the Duke of Marland said. "I, for one, should like to see this self-styled Robin Hood permanently removed."
Peter noticed that Sarah was still pale, her eyes unfocused. "If you will excuse me, Your Highness, your grace, I should return Miss Killian to her guardians." He bowed, supported her as she curtsied, then led her away.
"Are you certain you are not ill again?" he asked in an undertone as they slowly headed back across the crowded room. "You look much as you did last night."
She smiled up at him weakly. "It must be the heat and the press of people. I am not yet accustomed to such crowding."
"Of course. I will return you to your out-of-the-way corner." Had he been mistaken, then? Perhaps Lady Mountheath had not been to blame for her distress last night after all.
Just as they reached the potted palm, the crowd shifted and Lady Mountheath herself confronted them.
"Miss Killian! Did I not explicitly say you were not to stray from this spot? And you, Lord Peter, seem in danger of becoming as rakish as your friend Mr. Thatcher. Twice in two evenings you have persuaded Miss Killian to disobedience while toying with my daughter's affections."
Peter bowed, suppressing an almost irresistible urge to tell this harridan what he thought of her. He could not do so yet, however. Not until he had Sarah secure.
"A thousand pardons, my lady, but His Royal Highness wished to make Miss Killian's acquaintance. I could scarcely refuse to oblige him."
To his amusement, this information deflated Lady Mountheath's indignation like a pricked bubble. "Oh! Oh, I see. Why did you not tell me you had been introduced to His Highness, Miss Killian?"
Sarah still seemed subdued, so Peter responded for her. "I'm sure she would have at first opportunity, my lady. It seems the Duke of Wickburn may have given you good advice last night."
Lady Mountheath darted a suspicious glance at him, then at Sarah. "Perhaps so. I had wished her to remain here against the necessity of finding her when we are ready to leave, but—"
"But that will not be an issue for some time," Lord Mountheath said, joining them just then, "as no one may leave until the Prince Regent and his brothers have gone."
Lord Mountheath's indiscretions were well known, and Peter did not at all care for the look he gave Sarah as he spoke. Was that why her eyes were still downcast? He fought down a s
udden, ridiculous urge to challenge the older man.
"Ah . . . yes." Lady Mountheath agreed reluctantly. "Exactly. I suppose you may as well introduce Miss Killian to other eligible gentlemen, Lord Peter. If His Royal Highness has recognized her, no doubt some will be willing to overlook her shortcomings."
"Undoubtedly." He didn't trust his voice for anything longer.
"Mind you don't let this go to your head, miss," the harpy said in parting.
Sarah made a small sound that might have been an attempt at a laugh. "No fear of that," she said as the Mountheaths moved away.
Relieved to see that her sense of humor was returning along with her color, Peter grinned down at her. "Shall I take you about to meet those undiscriminating eligible gentlemen?"
"I suppose it would be preferable to lurking here." Her answering smile seemed only partially forced. "Perhaps if I polish up my wiles I might snare an unwary earl."
Peter chuckled, as she was clearly jesting, but her words still caused an unpleasant twisting of his heart. He had no doubt whatsoever that if Sarah put her mind to it, she could "snare" any man she set her sights upon. That she must realize such a course would be her easiest way out from under Lady Mountheath's thumb disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
"So! What are your requirements, Miss Killian?" he asked lightly. "More wealth than brains, to begin, I suppose."
Her blue eyes twinkled up at him, making his vitals tighten. "Of course! The richer —and stupider —the better. And someone of at least eighty would be best, so that he might leave me a wealthy widow in short order. Have you anyone to suggest?"
Reassured by her absurdity, Peter pointed across the room. "There's Lord Gorefax. He is approaching ninety, and he's certainly rich enough. He dotes on the Dowager Lady Glinnon, but as she is past eighty herself, I've no doubt you can steal him away from her. His mind is not what it used to be."
"He sounds perfect. I'm not certain I could bear to undercut poor Lady Glinnon, however. Who else have you to suggest?"
