As Rich as a Rogue

by Jade Lee

  “No,” he agreed. “No, she shouldn’t. Have you mentioned this to my mother?”

  “Lawks no,” said Mrs. Osborn with a laugh, though the humor didn’t reach her eyes. “What with her being in the country this Season, we’re more like a bachelor household these days.”

  A bachelor household. Which meant his father was getting wilder with his mother away. Hell. “Tell me about the footmen employed here. Good men?”

  “Yes, milord,” both women said together.

  That was something.

  Then Mrs. Osborn set down her teacup with a small sigh. “But we’ve only the two, and they’re young. Not very large, neither.”

  And his father was a large, imposing man. “I’ll send around two more.” He eyed the women. “You’ll see that they’re incorporated into the household?” He’d make sure they knew their job was to protect the women staff from his father. Bloody hell, this was awful.

  “That would be easy as pie,” Mrs. Evans said with a relieved smile.

  “Is there more I should know?” he asked, his mind already slipping to Mari. He had a courtship to continue.

  “Just that we had an odd visitor not more than an hour ago,” Mrs. Evans said.

  “Oh yes,” continued Mrs. Osborn. “The boy. Comes by now and again. Can’t be more than ten, dirty, and always has a message for his lordship.”

  “A message for my father?” He couldn’t imagine the earl allowing a filthy child into his household, much less his presence.

  “Yes, my lord,” said Mrs. Evans, picking up the tale. “Lives near the docks, as far as I can tell. Always starving, and his eyes are going hard, if you know what I mean. But not completely. Not yet. I make sure to have some food for him, poor thing, and I’ve earned a bit of his trust from that.”

  The housekeeper poured herself some more tea. “Comes in, speaks to his lordship, and then leaves. Unless we can distract him with a bite to eat.”

  “Is it always the same boy?” Peter asked.

  “Oh no,” said Mrs. Evans.

  “But he’s the right boy,” said Mrs. Osborn. “The right one to speak to, if you had some tarts for him. Best to catch him before he sees the earl.”

  “And some good stew. That boy likes my stew.”

  “Everyone likes your stew,” said Peter, though his mind was on this child. “Do you know where he goes?”

  The ladies shook their heads but then began giving him details, as if they’d just remembered them. Either way, the facts spilled out.

  “His name is Tie because he’s good with knots—”

  “But I think it’s really Tyler. And he wasn’t always living like this, mind you.”

  “No, milord. He talked about a mum that smelled of cherry tarts, but she was killed.” Her voice changed, her accent becoming thicker, more like a dockside worker’s. “She was kilt. That’s how he said it.”

  “Terrible thing to see a boy so calm like that. She was kilt, and then he went to live with the others.”

  Peter frowned, his apprehension growing by the second. “What others?”

  “The other boys,” said Mrs. Evans, but it was the housekeeper whose gaze grew hard and her tone angry.

  “And a leader. Boy calls him Silas. Don’t know anything more than that.”

  “I do,” came a male voice from outside the door.

  All three of them started, but Mrs. Osborn rapidly grimaced. “Come on in, Robin. Got ears like a cat, that one.”

  Mrs. Evans sniffed. “Especially when he presses them against doors.”

  The door opened, and a young footman appeared. His eyes were a wide green, and his ears were large in his long face, but what Peter noticed most was his sheepish grin. “I know where to find Silas, milord,” he said, ducking his head. “Tavern near the docks. Named the Striking Eel.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  The footman didn’t answer, but Mrs. Evans huffed out a breath. “You followed him, didn’t ye? That other time. With the bigger boy.”

  Robin lifted his chin. “I didn’t like what he said to Daisy.”

  A maid of all work, and apparently the boy was sweet on her. Well, he’d take what information he could. “And he’s there most nights?”

  “Don’t know. He was that night.”

  “Very well,” he said, pushing to his feet. “Thank you all for a very educational tea, but I’ve got an appointment—”

  “But it’s happening soon,” interrupted Mrs. Evans.

  Peter froze. “What is?”

  “Whatever they’re planning!” she huffed out in an irritated voice, and Peter had the distinct impression that she would have thumped him on the forehead if he were within reach. “I’m not a woman who gossips, my lord. I been with this house since I was younger than Daisy, and it ain’t right what’s been going on. This is a fine family, and I won’t have the maids being hurt or thieves at my table.”

  He slowly sat back down. “Thieves, Mrs. Evans?”

  “He’s grouchy as a bear until one of them boys comes around.” By which Peter guessed she meant his father.

  “And then he’s nervous afterward, but there’s a look in his eyes,” added Mrs. Osborne.

  “That’s when he goes for the maids,” added Robin. “Like he’s excited and can’t keep it inside.”

  “And then there’s money to pay for new livery,” said Mrs. Osborne quietly.

  “And for good beef,” said Mrs. Evans.

  “And his tailor,” added Robin.

  Peter was silent. Bloody hell, he didn’t want to think it of his father, but part of him wasn’t surprised. The earl had certain standards, and he wasn’t about to let things slip just because of a bad crop or three.

  “Tonight?” he asked quietly. “You’re sure—”

  “Whatever’s to be done has to be done quickly,” pressed Mrs. Evans. The other two nodded gravely.

  There was no questioning the seriousness of their expressions or the risk they were taking to tell him what they suspected. As the eldest son, it was up to him to make sure his father wasn’t doing something stupid with the maids or…anything else.

  This was England, for God’s sake. Corruption shouldn’t run rampant here. Certainly not in his own family. He sighed and grabbed a piece of paper from Mrs. Osborne’s desk and hastily scrawled a note for Mari. Then he handed it to Robin.

  “You will give this to Miss Mari Powel and no other.” He fished out his invitation from his pocket and gave it to the footman as well. Then he looked to all three. “I owe you a great debt. You have my gratitude.”

  Mrs. Evans pulled out a wrapped piece of linen. “Give this to the boy. That’ll calm him. Maybe get him to talk.”

  Cherry tarts. He’d know the smell anywhere. “If these can’t, then nothing will,” he said.

  Mrs. Evans colored prettily. “And there’s another for you to eat while you change clothes.”

  He looked down, belatedly realizing what he was wearing. He couldn’t possibly go dockside looking like this. Not unless he wanted to get coshed on the head. Fortunately, he had exactly the right type of clothing to wear, but it would delay him even longer before heading to the Striking Eel.

  “Best you go slowly there,” Robin said. “Or wait for me.”

  Peter frowned. “How familiar are you with this tavern?”

  Robin shook his head. “I’m not. But I grew up near the docks, milord. I know a few things. That’s a rough place.”

  Peter thought about it but decided not to risk the footman. “Just get that message to Miss Powel. I’ll be careful.” And armed.

  Robin bowed quickly and left. Peter departed barely a minute behind him, his thoughts grim. He’d been anticipating a night of seduction, and now he’d be skulking about as if he were still in India. At least he could take comfort in the fact that Mari was safely
away from the danger he’d be facing tonight.

  * * *

  Mari’s smile was becoming strained. She very much feared it looked more like a grimace of irritation rather than the welcoming smile of an unwed maiden. Even Lord Rimbury noticed, though he declined to comment beyond asking if she had the headache. But her huff of disgust after the supper buffet pushed him to a more direct question.

  “Did he finally arrive?” he asked as he peered around the milling throng of guests.

  No. “Whomever do you mean?” she asked, her tone sweet. Or at least trying to be sweet.

  He cast her an arch look. “You’ve alternated between clenching your teeth at your dance partners and glaring at the doorway. It must be Peter. You only get that furious tick in your eye when he’s nearby.”

  “But he’s not nearby,” she said tartly as she once again glared at the door.

  “Which vexes you to no end,” he said as he lifted her gloved hand to his arm. “Tell me why.” It wasn’t so much a command as a charming wheedle. Everything was so confusing right then, with her being wayward, and Mr. Camden being so awful. She wanted to talk to someone. She wanted to experiment. She wanted out of her damned boring gowns. This one was a smoky blue that could have been interesting if it had the tiniest bit of decoration.

  But the gentleman she wanted to discuss, experiment, and undress with wasn’t here. And she was hard put not to scream in frustration. Which wasn’t Lord Rimbury’s fault, so she smiled and started to make up some excuse. Except for all that he played the fop, the man was much too perceptive. “I’m afraid—”

  “My lord, Miss Powel,” came a pompous tone from their right.

  They turned to find two footmen standing awkwardly beside them. The one with the pompous tone wore the livery of the household. The other wore the colors of the Earl of Sommerfield. She and Lord Rimbury exchanged a concerned look. “Is something amiss?” Lord Rimbury said.

  “No, my lord,” the pompous one said.

  “I have a message,” said the other. “For Miss Powel. His lordship said to hand it to her and only her.”

  That was surprising. And attracting notice. “Very well. You may give it to me.”

  The young man did, and she quickly ripped open the missive. It was written on coarse paper in a bold hand.

  I am unavoidably detained. I pray you will forgive me. I hope I may be allowed to call on you tomorrow.

  —W

  She frowned as she looked up at the footman. “Is Lord Whitly well?” It wasn’t appropriate to question the man, not in the middle of a ballroom, for all that most everyone was still at the supper buffet, but she couldn’t stop herself. She had to know if he was all right.

  “Yes, miss. He’s just otherwise occupied.”

  Well, that didn’t answer anything at all. She glanced at Lord Rimbury, who was frowning at the missive. And then he was abruptly overcome by a massive yawn.

  “Oh dear Lord,” he grumbled when it was done. “How gauche of me.” Then he gave her a deep bow. “I fear I have been enjoying the Society rounds too much these days. London does that to me,” he said with a gleeful twinkle. “I do love this city, but I think I shall take my leave.”

  “Of course,” she said, not believing him for a second. Especially as the two footmen had withdrawn, and Lord Rimbury was sauntering after them with every appearance of casual speed.

  Something was up, and Lord Rimbury was going to figure it out. Well, what was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. She’d already sent her mother home, claiming she’d be escorted back by one of her friends. That meant this was the perfect time to escape, before the other guests came out of the buffet room.

  So while Lord Rimbury and the footmen exited, she ducked out the side door and rushed around to the front. Fortunately, it was a warm night, and she didn’t need a cloak. A moment later she saw them climb into a waiting hackney. Now was her chance. Thank God her wild sister had taught her a few things.

  She rushed forward as fast as her slippered feet could carry her. She wove between the trees, then dashed between two sitting carriages. And just as the hackney hit the shadows, she leaped onto the boot and let it carry her away too.

  Sixteen

  Mari was chilled all the way through by the time they reached their destination. It was a dockside pub in a dangerous part of London, and she felt fear slide through her bones. She’d never been alone like this. And though her sister had gone on adventure after adventure, Mari was usually more prudent.

  But it was too late now. She was here, and for the first time ever, she was grateful for the dark blue of her gown. The quality couldn’t be disguised, but the color hid her from view, especially since she’d stripped off her white gloves. She was still trying to decide what to do when the hackney doors opened. Lord Rimbury’s voice came through clear as day.

  “Peter’s in there? Whatever for?”

  “Keep your voice down,” said the footman as he stepped out. “He’s looking for a boy named Tie, who knows something about what the earl’s doing.”

  “What is the earl doing?” Lord Rimbury asked as he disembarked. “Never mind. If you knew, we wouldn’t be standing out here. Lord, it stinks.” Mari couldn’t help but agree. Uncoiling her frozen limbs, she jumped off the carriage while Lord Rimbury paid the driver. But then she was standing there in silk slippers and a dark blue gown, with bare arms and feeling rather stupid. Just what had she hoped to accomplish by coming along? She slipped into an alleyway, keeping her eyes and ears open for an opportunity, but all she heard was more bickering between Lord Rimbury and the footman.

  “Come on. Let’s go see what we can do,” Rimbury said as he headed for the tavern. The footman grabbed his arm.

  “You can’t go in there dressed like that! We’ll get knifed for sure.”

  Lord Rimbury looked down at himself. “As rough as that?”

  “Aye,” the footman responded with a thick dock accent. “I grew up nearby. I can fit in, but not in these clothes. And you’ll—”

  “I’ll wait outside. In the shadows. You go get us clothes.”

  The footman was understandably confused. “But I thought we’d wait outside. Safely—”

  “I’m not leaving my best friend to die unprotected. We can’t go in dressed as we are, so go get us the right clothes.” Then he headed to the exact same alley darkness where Mari was crouched listening. Oh no! Then she heard it. A babe’s fretful cry. The sound came from a broken window a story up in the building that crowded the tavern. Luck was with her. She found a way inside the building quickly, then up the stairs as she skirted a gin sot sprawled in the hallway. The babe was truly upset now, and she focused on that as a woman’s crooning voice tried to hush the child. A moment later she was at the door, listening hard. No man’s voice.

  She knocked on the door. “Please,” she said through the door. “I don’t mean any harm. I need help.” She swallowed and pitched her voice lower. “I can pay.”

  She suspected that last part was what had the woman opening the door, her eyes narrowed with distrust. Goodness, she looked tired. Once she would have been a beautiful woman, but it was late at night, and she had a fretful baby squirming in her arms. Her blue eyes had heavy bags under them; her blond hair was dirty. “Wot?”

  Mari smiled in her most coaxing way. “Please, it’s just me. May I come in?”

  The woman nodded and stepped back, only to have her eyes widen in surprise when she took in Mari’s elegant clothes.

  “Wot you doing out ’ere?”

  “It’s a long story,” she said gently. “But I need to be dressed differently if I’m to leave safely.”

  “It’ll take more’n different clothes.”

  Probably true, but she’d start with her dress. “I will trade you,” she said. “My dress and shoes for yours. And a cloak.”

  It was a good bargain for
the woman. She’d be able to sell the dress alone for enough food for a month. And a quick look around at the terrible condition of her flat made Mari want to give her more.

  “How do you survive?” she asked quietly. “Do you have a husband? A way to get money?”

  The woman nodded. “He’s a sailor, but he ain’t been ’ome for a while. I work down there when I can.” She gestured with her chin toward the tavern. “But Rudy don’t like the babe coming with me.”

  “No, I don’t expect he would,” Mari said. “Do you have anyone to help you?”

  “Me mum comes ’round, but she’s got troubles of her own.”

  Of course.

  “And she’s not quite as respectable as me.” The woman lifted her chin. “I was married right and proper in a church. You ain’t got no cause to be thinking less of me.”

  “I don’t,” Mari said hurriedly. “Not at all.” But she couldn’t help thinking that if this was respectable, then what of the life of ill repute? Was it better? Or infinitely worse? Meanwhile, she began to unbutton her gown. “So will you do it? Do you have clothes to trade?”

  The woman nodded slowly, still wary. “Over there.”

  Since the woman was still holding the babe, it was left to Mari to sort through the pile. There was a cloak hanging on a peg that would serve her fine. The dresses, however, were dropped on the floor in a cluttered pile.

  “What’s your name?” she asked as she crouched down to find the most suitable of the bunch.

  “Ellie.”

  “Hello, Ellie. I’m Mari.” She set down her gloves then pulled out a dress that looked like the only possibility. Ellie was rail thin, and Mari would never fit into anything the woman normally wore. But there was a fuller gown there, probably worn during Ellie’s pregnancy.

  “May I have this?” she asked. “I’ll give you my gloves and my dress.” Then she saw rough shoes that would likely work. “I’d like those as well, and I’ll leave you my slippers.”

  Ellie nodded, but her eyes were still wary. “Wot brought you ’ere?”

  A dozen lies hopped to her lips, but there was no need for them. Instead, she decided to prod for information. “I’m looking for a boy named Tie. I’m told he runs in that tavern down there.”