He glanced out the window as they turned onto Charles Street. The equipage slowed as it neared the front of his town house. It gave a violent shudder before the left rear corner of the vehicle’s compartment slammed against the pavement, causing an explosive noise like a clap of thunder.
Elliot, tossed sideways, slid across the seat. His shoulder rammed against the side of the thin squabs.
Christ. They’d lost the left back wheel.
The sound of the metal axel scraping against the street filled the interior of the compartment, along with his coachman’s frantic calls to the horses, attempting to keep them calm.
The smell of sparks, as if one took metal to a grinding wheel, filled the air.
“Whoa. Whoa, boys!” Rigby called out to the neighing horses.
Frantic voices rushed toward the carriage as the vehicle finally came to a stop.
“Are you hurt, my lord?” Rigby called out, jumping down from the perch.
“No,” he said, making his way to the opposite side of the vehicle to force the door open. Bracing his hands on the sides, he lifted himself out and jumped down to the pavement.
A crowd of startled faces, eyes wide, mouths gaping, stared at the lopsided vehicle. Several men rushed over to help his coachman unharness the horses so they wouldn’t drag the carriage farther up the street and cause more damage.
Elliot walked around to the other side. Crouching, he examined the axel. Thankfully, it wasn’t bent.
“Forgive me, my lord.” The coachman stepped beside him and shifted nervously from one foot to the other as if he feared Elliot would sack him.
It wasn’t the coachman’s fault the vehicle was old and in need of repairs.
“Saints preserve!” Wilson said, dashing out of the house. The manservant stared at the carriage through his thick glasses. “You could have been killed, my lord.” His gaze volleyed to the coachman. “And you as well, Mr. Rigby.”
True. Years ago, Elliot had witnessed two spooked horses pulling a carriage. The frightened animals had turned so fast, the vehicle had teetered and fallen on its side. The noise had caused the anxious horses to continue their mad dash until the carriage had been little more than kindling wood, and the occupant inside dead. Yes, both he and the coachman were lucky the man had controlled the horses.
He helped the men lift the rear of the carriage so the wheel could be placed back on.
“The cotter pin is missing,” Rigby said. “We must have lost it when the vehicle hit that rut. I’ll go to the wheelwright and get a replacement and have him put the bill on your account.”
Damnation, more money he needed to spend. Brushing off his hands, he thanked the men and strode into the house with Wilson.
Mrs. Lamb approached with Zeb on his leash. “He’s raring to go for a walk, my lord.”
Elliot rubbed at his sore shoulder and realized the housekeeper hadn’t heard the commotion outside.
“Are you daft, old woman?” Wilson asked. “His lordship’s been in an accident.”
The housekeeper cocked her head to the side and pulled out her hearing trumpet. “What?”
The valet just shook his head at the housekeeper before turning to Elliot. “I will take him, sir.”
“No, I will.” He couldn’t let the half-blind manservant take the bloodhound out. The man would probably step in front of a carriage, and one accident for the day was enough. He took the dog’s leash and headed toward Hyde Park.
* * *
Conversations during luncheons at the Trent family table were rarely dull. Caroline and James discussed politics. Grandmother scoffed at everything they said and called them radicals while arguing a counterpoint. Georgie, who was ten, mostly talked about his favorite subject, which this week was steam locomotives, but next week would be something different. The only one besides Nina who sat quietly was Anthony, and that was only because her scandalous brother usually spent his nights gadding about Town and looked close to catatonic at this hour of the day.
Yesterday, Nina had overheard James in his office railing at Anthony for his dissipated lifestyle, which included spending his nights playing cards and sharing his mistress’s bed.
“Though I enjoy sparring with you, Grandmother,” Caroline said, “I have an editorial to write. I need to go to my office at the London Reformer.”
Grandmother’s steely gray eyes hardened, and the lines in her face deepened. “What radical agenda will this editorial be about?”
“Ah, you will have to read next week’s edition to find out.” Smiling, Caroline stood.
The matriarch made a derisive noise. “James, I wish you’d learn to control your wife.”
James’s response was to kiss Caroline’s cheek and offer to walk her to her carriage. “I’ll be in my office looking over my land steward’s report if anyone needs me.”
“And what are you going to do?” Grandmother turned her angry glower on poor Georgie.
He stood and swiped a napkin over the crumbs on his chin. “I have to finish a math assignment my tutor gave me.”
“Good gracious, boy, shouldn’t they be shipping you off to boarding school soon?” A week didn’t go by in which Grandmother didn’t ask that question.
“James and Caroline said I don’t have to go yet.” Georgie dashed out of the room, obviously thinking the math assignment awaiting him was better than staying with their irritable grandmother.
Grandmother snapped her finger in front of Anthony, who appeared to have fallen asleep. “Wake up, Anthony, before you land face-first in your soup.”
When he appeared not to hear her, she slammed her open palm on the table, rattling the dishes.
Anthony bolted upright and peered around as if trying to reorient himself to his surroundings. He set a hand to the side of his head and got up from his chair. “I need to find James’s valet, so he can fix me one of his tonics, then I’m going back to bed. I’ve got a splitting headache.”
“Humph.” Grandmother picked up her cane, which leaned against the table, and stood. “If you didn’t engage in debauchery at all hours of the night you wouldn’t look like a corpse in the afternoon.”
Anthony gave her one of his devil-may-care smiles, then bent to give the woman’s cheek a kiss. “Admit it. You adore me.” He exited the room.
“Yes, like one adores a toothache,” Grandmother said.
“I heard that!” Anthony called out from the corridor.
The dowager pinned Nina with her piercing gray eyes. “Are you still interested in the Duke of Fernbridge?”
She took a sip of her tea. “I am.”
“Wise choice, girl. At least one member of this family realizes their duty to the Trent name.” The matriarch quit the room, leaving Nina alone.
Blessed quiet. She ate a spoonful of rice pudding and looked at the copy of the London Reformer that Caroline had left on the table.
SUFFRAGIST BEATRICE WALKER
TO HOLD RALLY AT
SPEAKERS’ CORNER IN HYDE PARK
Caroline had mentioned the rally. It might be interesting, Nina thought as she plopped a piece of tomato into her mouth. Yes, she’d attend.
A few minutes later, Nina slipped her small sketchbook into her reticule and made her way down the steps. She’d reached the entry hall when Grandmother stepped into the room.
“Where are you off to?”
“I’m going to Hyde Park to draw.” Telling Grandmother the truth would only start a row.
“Alone?”
“Grandmother, the park is no more than a stone’s throw from here.”
“You still need a chaperone.”
Nina released an audible sigh. “Maybe when you were a young woman, but nowadays women have more freedom to move about.”
“It’s obvious you’ve been listening to that progressive sister-in-law of yours. What has this family come to? Caroline runs a radical paper. Your brother all but encourages her, and Anthony is out all night doing God knows what. Most likely whoring, and you believe walking
about unchaperoned is proper.”
Georgie stuck his head out of the morning room. “What’s whoring?”
Nina gave her grandmother a reproachful look, then patted her young brother’s head. “I’ll let Grandmother explain that.”
And without looking back, Nina slipped out of the house.
* * *
A sizable crowd had gathered at Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park. Nina lifted her hand to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes and surveyed the throng of mostly women. Standing to the rear of those gathered, she withdrew her sketchbook and unwrapped her piece of charcoal from the paper she’d placed it in.
A tall, slender woman dressed in a white blouse, navy skirt, and matching woolen jacket stepped onto a crate.
Hisses and boos mixed with applause.
Ignoring the naysayers, Beatrice Walker welcomed the crowd. She talked about the strength and intelligence of women and their growing place in the world.
As Nina listened to the suffragist’s impassioned speech, the charcoal in her hand stilled. The woman’s rallying cry sparked something inside of her. It made her understand Caroline’s dedication—her desire to be a journalist and help further the cause of the women’s movement.
“We should have as much say in our lives as a man.” Beatrice Walker’s voice shook with emotion. “We—”
The suffragist’s words were cut off by a tomato landing mere inches from where the woman stood. Red pulp splattered in the air and onto her skirt.
Nina sucked in a shocked breath. Caroline had told her how poorly some members of the crowds treated the suffragist when she spoke, but she’d found it difficult to believe.
As if nothing had transpired, the woman continued talking over several people who jeered.
Spotting a policeman, Nina slipped the sketchbook and charcoal into her reticule and marched over to him. “Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“About what?” With the nail of his index finger, he picked at the space between his two front teeth.
She almost growled in frustration. Was the man blind? She jabbed her finger toward the suffragist at the exact moment a head of cabbage sailed past Beatrice Walker’s head.
The suffragist ducked and continued speaking.
“I presume you didn’t see that either?”
“Nope.” The policeman folded his arms over his chest, peered over her head, and stood as silent as one of the Queen’s Guard at Buckingham Palace.
Nina kicked at the ground, sending dirt onto the policeman’s shiny black shoes. “I bet you didn’t see that either.”
That got his attention. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the paddy wagon.
Her heartbeat picked up tempo. “Where are you taking me?”
“To the magistrate.”
“So the men tossing food at Miss Walker are to be ignored, yet I am to be arrested?”
Several women in the back of the crowd turned to the commotion and started yelling at the bobby.
From the corner of her eye, Nina noticed a slender young lad peering at her. The boy cranked his arm back.
Knowing what was about to happen, Nina ducked.
The tomato whipped through the air and struck the constable in the shoulder.
Startled, the officer momentarily released her and searched the crowd.
She cocked an eyebrow. “Bet you saw that.”
With a growl, the policeman grabbed her wrist again. “Come on, missy, get in the wagon.”
“Hold on there,” a familiar male voice called out.
Elliot and a large bloodhound walked toward them.
“None of your concern, sir,” the constable said. “Be about your own business.”
“Lord Ralston, I don’t need your assistance in this matter. I look forward to going before the magistrate. I will inform him how this policeman didn’t see fit to arrest several disorderly people at an otherwise peaceful rally.”
The policeman appeared to not hear a word she said. He was staring at Elliot. Probably pondering what might happen if he crossed a member of the House of Lords. As if thinking better of it, he released her wrist.
“She’s all yours. God help you, my lord.” Swiping at the juice dripping down his face, the constable strode away.
“Nina, what was that about?” Elliot asked.
She pointed to the crowd and the suffragist who was finishing her speech. “Beatrice Walker was doing nothing more than talking about the advancement of women when a lad threw a tomato at her. One idiot in the crowd threw a head of cabbage, and that policeman did absolutely nothing. He just stood there smirking. So, I kicked dirt on his shoes.”
Elliot’s dark brows lifted. “You what?”
“The lummox should not have ignored the situation. My sister-in-law, Caroline, told me about what went on at these rallies, but seeing it firsthand . . .” She shook her head.
A slight smile turned up one corner of his mouth. He offered her his arm, and they walked toward the Marble Arch. “Your grandmother might have suffered apoplexy if you’d been arrested.”
She’d been so agitated, she hadn’t even thought about that. Or James’s reaction. “I could not stand idly by.”
The slight curve of his mouth broadened.
“Elliot, I see no humor in this.”
He sobered. “Neither do I.”
“Then why are you finding it difficult to keep a straight face?”
“Because you are full of surprises.”
She wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but she didn’t regret her actions. “Well, I would do it again.”
“Would you now?”
“Indeed. So what do you think of that?”
“It places you in my high regard.”
His words startled her. “Really?”
“Yes. Standing up for what you believe in is important.”
“You are full of surprises as well, my lord.” She peered at the dog. Occasionally, Elliot had to coax the animal to continue walking. “Is he yours?”
“Regrettably, yes.”
The displeased look on his face made her smile. “You’re not fond of dogs?”
“I like them very much. This one is just a bit unique.”
“How so?”
“He’s older than dirt, and stubborn.”
As if offended by the comment, the dog not only slowed down but sat.
“Come on, old boy.” Elliot gave a gentle tug on the leash.
The animal looked away as if disinterested.
“See.” He frowned. “Zeb, get up.”
The dog slowly got onto all fours.
“Were you sketching before you decided it would be entertaining to kick dirt on the constable’s shoes?”
“How did you know?”
With a tip of his chin, he motioned to her hand. “The charcoal smudges on your glove. My sister gets them on her fingers when she draws.”
Once again, a smile touched his lips when he mentioned his sister. It made her curious about the girl. “Do you see your sister much?”
“During holidays.”
As they reached her family’s Park Lane residence, he grinned, and pulled out a handkerchief from the inside breast pocket of his navy coat and offered it to her. “You’ve tomato pulp on your face.”
It was warm from his body’s heat and smelled like soap and starch and him, an utterly wonderful scent. “I saw the lad a few seconds before he tried to hit me with the tomato, so I ducked, and the policeman was struck. You should have seen the startled expression on his face.”
“I can imagine. Karma.”
“Do you believe in that?” she asked, wiping her cheek.
“Yes.” Conviction edged his voice, but he didn’t expand on his succinct reply. “You missed a spot.” He took the handkerchief from her fingers and brushed it gently over her cheek, while his intense blue eyes held her gaze.
Her heart stuttered in her chest and warmth tingled through her body.
The clopping of hooves and rattling
of harnesses pulled her regard away.
Caroline disembarked from her carriage, looking a bit puzzled by Elliot’s presence. She narrowed her eyes at a spot at the shoulder of Nina’s green walking outfit. “Are those tomato seeds on you?”
“They are. I went to the rally you mentioned.” Nina brushed them off.
“Oh, don’t tell me those wretched tomato-throwers were there again.”
“Yes, and a constable did absolutely nothing.”
“The scoundrel. I wish I had been there.” Caroline peered at Elliot. “You were attending the rally as well, Lord Ralston?”
“No, Lady Huntington. I was walking my dog.”
Caroline glanced at the animal, smiled, then returned her gaze to them.
“I don’t wish James to know, Caroline, but I was nearly arrested.” Nina released a frustrated breath.
“Arrested?” Her sisters-in-law’s green eyes turned wide.
“Yes, if Lord Ralston hadn’t interceded, I would have been. I got a bit agitated with the constable.”
“Ah, Nina, I’ll make you a suffragist yet.” Caroline grinned and faced Elliot. “Thank you, my lord. You must stay and have afternoon tea with us.”
Nina blinked, startled by the invitation. Surely, her sister-in-law realized James would not be pleased to see Elliot.
Chapter Nine
“I’d be honored to take tea with you.” Elliot smiled at Lady Caroline Huntington, then glanced at the dog sitting by his feet. “I’ll just walk Zeb home and return shortly.”
Nina glanced at the bloodhound. “No need. My younger brother, Georgie, loves dogs. He’ll probably want to play catch with him in the garden.”
Catch? Good luck with that, unless the boy was a miracle worker.
“Please, come inside.” Caroline motioned to the front door, which was painted in a bright yellow.
Elliot gave a gentle tug on Zeb’s leash, and luckily the animal followed him into the house. He remembered the grand entry hall from when he’d attended the ball. Its opulence made it difficult to forget. It sported a black and white marble floor in a diamond pattern. Arched niches displayed costly tall Grecian urns, and to the right, a wide marble staircase led to a balcony decorated with more arches and thick cornices.
Never Conspire with a Sinful Baron Page 7