The Lady Emily Capers, Set One

by Regina Scott

  But scowling at her would surely do no good, and he thought her friends at least were as worried for their lives as he was. So he gentled his smile, gave Lady Emily a nod in encouragement.

  She put her hand on his arm. “The honor is all mine, sir.”

  “Sir, is it now?” The beggar chortled. “Since when does a lady walk with the likes of you?”

  “When the lady is sufficiently gracious,” Jamie said, steering her past him. “And so are her friends.” His pointed look sent the other three girls scuttling in their wake.

  Jamie thought the beggar would follow, but he’d obviously realized Jamie’s calling as a Runner, for he shook his shaggy head and moved away. Gaze wary, Jamie escorted Lady Emily and her friends back down the street.

  She strolled along beside him as if they were touring Hyde Park on a lovely spring afternoon. But she wasn’t nearly as calm as she pretended. She walked so close her skirts brushed his boots, and her fingers were so firmly attached to his arm, he wasn’t sure she’d ever let go. She cast him a quick glance, but he tugged his hat down lower over his eyes so she couldn’t catch a glimpse of them. He rather thought her own gaze was far too knowing. She’d see right through him, and then where would they be?

  But the others appeared to be regarding him just as fixedly. He’d done a little research, and he was fairly sure the beautiful blonde was Miss Priscilla Tate, niece to the Countess of Brentfield. She had settled in on his opposite side, as if just as loath to be alone in this place. Her gaze roamed over his coat before she looked away. The material was good brown wool, the cut serviceable, but the garment was likely not nearly as fine as what she was used to seeing on a fellow. He glanced back to make sure the other two were safely in tow. They were the Courdebas sisters, daughters of Viscount Rollings, he’d learned. He caught the elder girl eying his shoulders as if wondering how strong he might be. Her sister had already slipped a journal and pencil from her reticule and was scribbling notes. She’d be lucky not to trip over the crooked paving stones.

  “It seems we owe you our thanks,” Lady Emily said as he faced forward once more. “You may well have saved our lives.”

  So she did understand the danger. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said. “This is no place for a lady.”

  Ahead of them, a knot of men had stopped and were watching. Jamie gave them a nod, hitched aside his coat so they could see the truncheon hanging from his belt. They turned and hurried away.

  “Yet it appears you are well known here,” Lady Emily said as if she’d noticed the exchange.

  Jamie chuckled. “Oh, I’m no stranger to the stews. But you should be. Why would you put yourself in such danger?”

  She raised her chin as if she didn’t much appreciate the reminder. It was a decidedly determined little chin. “While I acknowledge your help, sir,” she said, “I cannot like your tone.”

  Very likely not. “I imagine most people bow and scrape when they meet you,” Jamie acknowledged. “You’ll pardon me if I prefer to save your life.”

  “Nice,” Miss Ariadne Courdebas murmured behind him as if she approved of his phrasing.

  “Do you truly think our lives were in danger?” her sister asked, and Jamie glanced back again to find her looking about nervously. She had to notice that the shops bumped into one another, the windows dark and dusty. Only the desperate found themselves here.

  “Four beautiful young ladies, wandering the streets with purses full of silver?” he replied, turning his gaze to the front. “What do you think?”

  “Beautiful,” her younger sister muttered in an awed voice. What, did she doubt it? Hadn’t they peered in their looking glasses recently? Once they came out, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find a herd of besotted gentlemen following them about London like bleating sheep on their way to the market.

  “I don’t recall Lord Snedley covering the stews,” Jamie heard the older sister whisper to Miss Tate. She’d mentioned the name the other day as well. Was he related or someone from their school? He hadn’t heard the name associated with Lord Robert, he was sure. But then, who knows how many had been harmed before someone had been brave enough to step forward and beg for help from Bow Street?

  “I told them this was foolish,” Miss Tate said aloud. Her hand grazed his arm. “And I for one thank you for your gallant assistance, Mr. Cropper.”

  Jamie nodded to her, winning him a lazy-eyed smile that was no doubt supposed to knock him to his knees in adoration. As if Lady Emily had seen the look as well, and disapproved of it, she tightened her grip on his arm. The movement had a possessive air about it, but he found he didn’t mind.

  “It was fortunate you happened upon us,” she allowed, detouring around an oily puddle. “And why were you in the area?”

  Jamie grinned at her. “Even a fellow like me can appreciate the sights of Bond Street, your ladyship.”

  Her cheeks turned a warm red. The color favored her.

  “I told her he was following her,” the older Miss Courdebas murmured behind them.

  “Positively romantic,” her sister replied, pencil scratching even faster against the paper.

  Jamie couldn’t leave them with that impression. “It wasn’t my intent to follow any of you. As a Runner, I’m about in London a great deal. It isn’t all that surprising our paths would cross. In fact, I might wonder whether you were following me.”

  Miss Tate trilled a laugh designed to enchant, but Lady Emily stiffened. Was there more truth to his jest than he knew?

  “We were not following you, Mr. Cropper,” she said with a look to her friend as if to ensure her silence on the matter. “We had other business in the area.”

  Jamie raised a brow as he regarded her. “Business. In the stews.”

  Her color rose even higher. He decided to have mercy on her and leaned closer, catching the scent of lemon again. “You were following Lord Robert Townsend, even after I advised you that was a bad idea. Admit it.”

  She raised her chin. “If you recall, I also advised you that if you would not help me I must help myself, Mr. Cropper.”

  “Yet you won’t give me anything to go on,” Jamie countered. “If you suspect Lord Robert of something, tell me.”

  Her gaze met his in challenge. “And if you know something about him, sir, I demand that you speak plainly. We have found nothing worth documenting.”

  One of the Courdebas sisters puffed out a sigh as if to prove as much.

  “Which is why you chose to follow him all over London.” He shook his head. “Have a care, Lady Emily. He may just turn out to be a scoundrel. For everyone’s sake, it would be better if you left the fellow alone.”

  *

  James Cropper insisted on escorting them back to the Southwell townhouse. He and Daphne took the rear-facing seat, and Emily felt his gaze on her all the way. What, did he think she’d leap from a moving carriage? Pull a pistol from her reticule and hold him hostage until he admitted why he was following them? As if he suspected her thoughts, he leaned back, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and winked at her.

  Her dratted cheeks would heat.

  She thought he would say his goodbyes when they reached the townhouse, but instead he spent several moments in stern conversation with Warburton. When he touched two fingers to his forehead in goodbye, Emily raised her chin and looked away. Priscilla nodded as if she were quite proud of her.

  Warburton, however, was far less complimentary. “I hope Mr. Cropper was able to impress upon you the seriousness of your actions,” he said, affixing them all with a hard-eyed look. “If your parents found out, Miss Tate, Misses Courdebas, I rather doubt they’d allow you to visit Bond Street again.”

  Daphne and Ariadne hung their heads, and Priscilla’s expressive eyes filled with tears.

  “We are sincerely sorry, Mr. Warburton,” she said tremulously. “And we would be most grateful if you could find it in your heart not to tell our parents. Surely we should spare them such worry.”

  Ariadne began lookin
g for her pencil.

  Warburton gazed down at her. “I believe that can be arranged, Miss Tate. However, you must understand that London can be a dangerous place, whether you are on Bond Street or in Mayfair. Are you aware that this house was robbed the other day?”

  If he had not had their attention before, he had it now.

  “When?” Priscilla demanded, tears evaporating.

  “Why wasn’t I told?” Emily scolded him.

  Warburton’s calm demeanor did not waiver. “It was before you arrived, your ladyship. Lady Minerva’s pearls were taken. Your father was most displeased, and Lady Minerva spent some time speaking with Bow Street about the matter.”

  “That’s how you knew Mr. Cropper,” Emily realized, frowning up at her butler. “He’d been here before, about the pearls.”

  Warburton inclined his head. “That was my most recent acquaintance with Mr. Cropper, yes.”

  “Most recent?” Ariadne put in. “Then you’d met him before.”

  Warburton lowered his head and regarded her so steadily Emily could see her friend’s color rising. “I believe, Miss Courdebas, that we were discussing your recent behavior, not mine.”

  He might not wish to confess before witnesses, but Emily resolved to quiz him further later.

  As if satisfied he had made his point, he straightened. “In exchange for not burdening your parents or Lady Minerva with news of your escapades, I will have your promises that you will not be so foolhardy again.”

  Of course, they all promised to be more careful. Once again, the butler’s smooth face did not betray his feelings, but Emily thought by the quirk of his mouth that he was not entirely sure he believed them. “And as it appears that you lack ideas for appropriate activities for young ladies,” he continued, “allow me to provide you with entertainment more fitting to your stations. I’m certain I can find something to keep you occupied until her ladyship returns from visiting.”

  *

  “Cleaning the attic!” Daphne moaned as they stared into the dark recesses atop the Southwell townhouse.

  “We are not cleaning,” Priscilla said, running a finger along the top of the nearest trunk and shuddering. “Maids clean. We are looking for gowns that might be useful to Emily during her Season.”

  “If I have a Season,” Emily reminded her. Her mood was nearly as dark as the shadows crowding the eaves, her thoughts as dry as the musty air. What was James Cropper doing? He knew there had been a theft in her home, yet he’d never seen fit to mention the fact to her. Worse, he followed them around and then had the audacity to claim that she was following him! While she had already admitted that his help had been welcome in facing down the beggar, he didn’t have to escort them home and then tell Warburton, in excruciating detail no doubt, about their activities. He might be a prestigious Bow Street Runner, but James Cropper was nothing but an overweening tattletale in her book!

  “Are there any gowns up here?” Ariadne asked, poking at something tall, bulky, and draped in a white Holland cloth.

  Emily shrugged. “Who knows? Do not mistake this for entertainment. Warburton was doing us no favor.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Daphne said, venturing deeper into the space. “Who knows what we might find.” She raised the lamp Warburton had given them, and boxes, trunks, odd chairs, and mysterious shapes cast grotesque shadows in the golden light.

  “The treasures of the ages,” Ariadne intoned, lifting a gilded globe and giving it a spin. Dust flew out in all directions, and she sneezed.

  “Better treasure than at my house,” Priscilla said, bending over the trunk. She lifted the leather-strapped lid and made a face. “Or perhaps not. These are old bed linens. Try that one.”

  Daphne obligingly set the lamp on an old table and bent over one of the larger trunks.

  “But if there was treasure here, how do we know it wasn’t taken as well?” Ariadne mused, lifting another Holland cover and peering underneath. “It must have been someone quite bold to steal from a duke.”

  “It wouldn’t have happened if you had been home, Emily,” Daphne said, wrestling open the larger trunk nearest her. “You aren’t afraid of anything, and you’re far too clever.” Her face brightened. “Oh, look, bonnets!”

  Priscilla and Ariadne hurried over and peered down into the depths. Emily came more slowly. It was rather nice that her friend thought her so brave, but at the moment, fear was beginning to gain a hold on her. What if they could find no fault to lay at Lord Robert’s door, no reason to accuse him to His Grace? Would she actually have to marry the fellow?

  The attic felt tight suddenly, the roof too low, the air too stuffy to breathe. She rubbed her hands up and down the sleeves of her gown, but the panic kept rising.

  “Perfection,” Priscilla declared. She pulled a bonnet from the tissue that had wrapped it and clapped it on Ariadne’s head. “What do you think, Emily?”

  The woven white reed cage wrapped about Ariadne’s round face, making it look as if she had disappeared down a long tunnel. The four blackbirds on top stared out with a malevolent gleam in their amber glass eyes.

  The panic that had been bubbling upside Emily popped, and she started to laugh. “Very fetching. You should wear it to the Ball.”

  Ariadne pulled it off. “No, thank you. I intend to pick my own gowns and bonnets. I’m sick to death of white muslin, white silk, white anything!”

  “Lord Snedley advises it for young ladies on their first Season,” Daphne explained. “As does Mother.”

  “Plain white passed out of fashion ages ago,” Priscilla said, lifting her skirts to kneel before the trunk. “Simply tell your mother that Lord Snedley is mistaken.”

  Daphne gasped at the heresy, but Ariadne dropped her gaze with a sigh. “It’s much easier for me to write my thoughts than to speak them, Priscilla. Except with all of you, of course.”

  Priscilla sighed as well. “Then I suppose it’s good that you have us all to support you. Though I do think you could do with a bit of boldness.” She put aside the other bonnets and reached for the material they could see stored beneath.

  “So long as you aren’t as bold as Lord Robert,” Daphne said, giving her sister’s arm a squeeze, “and announce your engagement without having seen your intended.”

  “Now that’s entirely too bold,” Priscilla agreed. “And this is lovely.” She pulled the gown from the trunk and laid it across her lap. The white gauze was threaded with gold, and tiny pearls dotted the bodice like new fallen snow.

  Emily took a step back as Priscilla rose and held the gown up.

  “It looks as if it would fit you, and there’s enough fabric that we could raise the line to be more in fashion.” Priscilla frowned as if she’d noticed Emily’s lack of enthusiasm. “Do not tell me you refuse light colors! This is gorgeous!”

  Emily shook her head, throat tight. “It’s my mother’s. She wore it to Helena’s come out ball. I remember seeing her getting fitted for it. She had two maids to help her because she was already coughing too much.”

  Priscilla reddened, then turned and laid the gown back in the trunk. “Well, then, we’ll have none of that. You have entirely too much to be concerned about already.”

  Daphne put a hand on Emily’s arm. “I know your mother would have wanted to see you at your come out too.”

  Ariadne nodded, face pinched. Emily felt as if her entire body was just as pinched. She shook her head. “There’s no point in wishing for the moon. Nor for a come out ball, at this rate.”

  Ariadne sighed. “Then I’m stuck with Mother’s dinner party, where I’ll be nothing more than a copy of Daphne, like always.”

  “Only you see it that way,” Daphne protested. “As if anyone would want to be a copy of me. I only hope Lord Snedley accepts his invitation to the Ball so that I can thank him for helping me become the lady I wish to be.”

  Ariadne bit her lip and looked away.

  “That’s why we must handle this mess with Lord Robert,” Emily told them all. “My s
udden engagement is deleterious to each of us. Yet we are no closer to stopping that engagement today than we were yesterday.”

  “Since he is so bold,” Priscilla said, closing the trunk with a thud and rising, “then we must be bolder. We know he will be at the Marchioness of Skelcroft’s ball tonight. Think. How can we possibly attend?”

  Daphne shook her finger at Priscilla. “Lord Snedley says it is the darkest sin imaginable to make your hostess odd numbers at table. Especially on a Tuesday.”

  “Lord Snedley has never been faced with an unwanted betrothal,” Priscilla countered, picking up her skirts and sweeping toward the stairs.

  “He most certainly has,” Daphne protested, following. “At least a dozen times, I’m certain. He writes with such feeling!”

  Ariadne went to fetch the lamp. “That is the mark of any good writer. But I agree with Priscilla. We need a very good reason to invade the marchioness’s ball.”

  Emily’s smile felt tight as they descended the stairs. “Not such a good reason. I would imagine a request from the Duke of Emerson that his daughter and her dearest friends be admitted would do the trick.”

  They reached the bottom, and Ariadne and Daphne exchanged glances. “Mother would never allow it,” Ariadne said. “We’re not officially out.”

  Daphne sighed as she glanced at Emily and Priscilla. “She’s right.”

  “My mother will have no trouble with the idea,” Priscilla said, meeting Emily’s gaze. “She’s desperate for me to meet Eligibles.”

  Emily nodded. “Then it’s decided. I will have Warburton send word and let you know what time you must be ready for our carriage, Priscilla. We have followed Lord Robert into the depths. Tonight, we follow him into the heights of Society.”

  Chapter Eight

  As it turned out, Lady Skelcroft had been only too happy to add the Duke of Emerson’s daughter, her dear friend, and Lady Minerva to the guest list, even at this late hour, and Lady Minerva was willing to escort them. Priscilla rushed home to prepare for the event, and Emily had just enough time to eat dinner with her aunt and change. But first, she had one matter to resolve.