Olivia and the Masked Duke

by Grace Callaway

  “The Society of Angels certainly keeps her engaged. I wonder what they do all day; how many pamphlets can a lady write, after all?” Strathaven’s look turned wistful. “It seems like just yesterday when Livy would come dashing in here, arms akimbo and plaits flying. And now she is a young lady, with a life of her own. Where does the time go?”

  “I do not know.” It was the truth. Ben had no idea how Livy had transformed from his little friend who made him smile into a tempting minx who twisted him into knots.

  Strathaven’s smile was rueful. “I confess, my friend, I am not quite ready to let her go.”

  Ben wasn’t ready to let that little girl go either. As he promised her father, he would protect Livy—from afar. He would never let anyone hurt her, least of all himself.

  13

  Blinking, Livy lay on the mat and waited for the stars to fade. When her vision cleared, she saw Mrs. Peabody hovering overhead. As it turned out, the half-Chinese, half-English woman was not only Charlie’s housekeeper but an expert combatant. For the past two and a half weeks, Mrs. Peabody had been training the Willflowers in a unique fighting style adapted to women’s strengths. The techniques relied on speed and accuracy rather than brute force and focused on maneuvers that quickly disabled an attacker.

  “Do you need to rest?” Mrs. Peabody asked.

  “No, I’m fine.” Livy rose, dusting off her loose linen tunic and trousers, the uniform for sparring practice. “I am ready for another round.”

  “Good,” Mrs. Peabody said approvingly.

  Despite Mrs. Peabody’s diminutive frame, she could take down a man in seconds...and had demonstrated this with Hawker, the mountain of a butler. At first, Hawker had held back; despite his rough-and-tumble appearance, he’d clearly been afraid of hurting his colleague. Mrs. Peabody had not shared his qualms. Time and again, she’d sent the brawny man flying onto the mats, the last time pinning him in an inescapable hold that had Hawker grunting in annoyance.

  “Train your instincts to anticipate your opponent’s moves,” Mrs. Peabody had instructed. “Then strike, using his strength against him.”

  Livy and her instructor circled one another, the other Willflowers watching on. The hours of drills helped Livy to notice when Mrs. Peabody shifted her weight to the left. Livy instinctively parried the oncoming right punch, then the left punch that followed. She issued her own offensive, aiming a sidekick to her opponent’s front leg, throwing the other off-balance. She took that opening to strike the other’s chest, sending Mrs. Peabody sprawling onto the mats.

  Livy leaped on top, stopping her punch a hairsbreadth from the other’s head. Mrs. Peabody looked at the fist above her, and her golden eyes gleamed with respect.

  At the sound of applause, Livy looked up.

  Charlie had entered the sparring chamber and was standing next to Glory and Fi.

  “Well done,” Charlie said. “You are making excellent progress, Livy.”

  “Thanks to Mrs. Peabody’s instruction.” Rising, Livy offered her hand to her teacher, who rose with the grace of a ballerina and the efficiency of an assassin.

  Mrs. Peabody inclined her head. “You are a quick study, Lady Olivia. Much like Lady Fayne.”

  “Hopefully you will emerge from Mrs. Peabody’s training with fewer bruises than I did,” Charlie said with a rueful smile. “But the important thing is that you will know how to fend for yourself if danger arises.”

  Charlie had emphasized the importance of safety throughout. While Mrs. Peabody had concentrated on physical combat and conditioning, Hawker had trained the girls in the use of weaponry. He also showed them useful skills such as lock-picking and employing “sticky fingers.”

  Charlie, herself, was in charge of developing the girls’ mentation skills. She taught them that the core of investigation lay in the ability to observe through the senses. She showed them how to note even the most minute details and then applied her lessons in real-life settings.

  One afternoon, she took them to Burlington Arcade, an exclusive shopping area off Piccadilly, and assigned each of the girls a passerby. The task was to glean as much information about the target as possible without being noticed. Livy had surprised herself with the number of tidbits she’d collected, including her target’s name, address, banking institution, birthdate, and favorite tea blend.

  The Willflowers also honed their problem-solving abilities. Charlie summed up the main strategies as falling under one of three categories: finesse, flee, or fight. In acting out various scenarios, it became clear that the girls had different strengths. Fiona was the best at finessing, Glory at making a quick getaway, and Livy…well, she’d developed a fondness for Mrs. Peabody’s techniques.

  “What lesson do we have next?” Livy asked with an eagerness that she’d never felt in all the years at Southbridge’s.

  Unlike the finishing school, Charlie imparted knowledge that was of interest to Livy. Yesterday, they’d spent half a day practicing different accents, from Cockney to Scottish (Livy had a leg up on the latter). The day before, they’d paid a visit to a shop owned by Mrs. Quinton, a talented African modiste and friend of Charlie’s. The Angels had been ushered into a backroom, where Mrs. Q, as she was known to intimates, outfitted them with her innovative designs, which included parasols with hidden blades, dresses with detachable skirts and trousers beneath, and reticules with secret compartments.

  Livy couldn’t wait to see what was next.

  “It’s time for luncheon, actually,” Charlie said.

  “Capital.” Glory grinned. “I’m starved.”

  Changing back into their usual attire, the girls followed Charlie out of the training chamber, which was located in the building behind the main house. They stopped at the next room to exchange cheery hellos with the “Janes.” The three women, all named Jane, were expertly embroidering handkerchiefs and writing pamphlets.

  Someone had to do the work of the “charity,” after all; Livy was grateful it wasn’t her.

  Livy and the others crossed the cobblestone courtyard to access the main house, her home for the next month. Her family had departed for Scotland yesterday, and while she’d been teary-eyed bidding adieu to her parents and brothers, she was also brimming with excitement at her newfound freedom and the adventures ahead.

  It was almost enough to distract her from thoughts of Hadleigh. Almost.

  Pushing aside the maudlin thoughts, Livy entered the dining room, a high-ceilinged space with pristine plaster moldings and sumptuous forest-green curtains fringed with gold. The table had been cozily set for four: Charlie and Livy took the head and end seats respectively, and Fi and Glory the ones in between. After the rigorous exercise, Livy was famished, and silence reigned as the women tucked into the delicious repast of consommé, sliced meats, pickled vegetables, cold puddings, and freshly baked rolls.

  “I hope you do not mind if we discuss some business,” Charlie said.

  “I don’t mind.” Livy bit into a buttered roll, nearly swooning at its crusty goodness.

  “Me neither.” Fiona helped herself to a slice of ham. “Mama is coming to fetch me at two o’clock for a fitting at the dressmaker’s, and I don’t want to miss anything important.”

  Although Fi and Glory managed to stop by Charlie’s almost every day, they still had to carry on with their regular activities. As did Livy. She found it the oddest thing, training to be an investigator while living a debutante’s life. In between sparring and target practice, she’d gone to luncheons and balls. When Lord Sheffield had come to call unexpectedly one afternoon, she’d had to hurriedly change out of a disguise she’d been perfecting. Luckily, before Livy rushed off to meet Sheffield, Charlie had plucked off the fake mustache still glued to Livy’s upper lip.

  Livy felt like she was leading a double life, and it was exhilarating.

  “I believe you are ready for your first case,” Charlie said.

  “By Juno, we have a case?” Glory’s hazel eyes sparkled; perched on her shoulder, Ferdinand II t
witched with excitement. “Who is the client?”

  “The Countess of Longmere.”

  Shock rammed into Livy. “Pippa is hiring us?”

  “She believes she is hiring an investigator I know,” Charlie corrected, “and I am merely the go-between. She does not know of your involvement. For your protection and hers, you must keep it that way. Secrecy is paramount; without it, the Society of Angels will not survive. You recall the vow you took when you joined?”

  Nodding, Livy chanted in unison with Glory and Fi:

  No matter what danger may await

  An Angel is loyal, brave, and true.

  We will not betray our society’s aim,

  “Sisters first” will see us through.

  Charlie smiled. “Very good, Angels.”

  “But why would Pippa need to hire an investigator?” Livy persisted.

  “For the same reason most women do: a man,” Charlie replied. “In this case, her husband, Lord Edwin Longmere.”

  Livy remembered Pippa’s ill-hidden distress at the symposium.

  With creeping dread, she asked, “What has the earl done?”

  “Nothing yet, Pippa claims. But his behavior has been unusual enough to cause her concern.” Charlie took a meditative sip of tea. “She describes his mood as irritable and erratic and says he hardly sleeps at all. In the past few months, he has been spending more and more time in his painting studio. Whenever she has tried to bring up the change in his behavior, he dismisses her or gets angry. She fears he might be in some sort of trouble…or that he might be having an affair.”

  “Oh no,” Livy whispered.

  She knew from personal experience that rejection was painful. To be betrayed by the husband one adored? She did not even want to imagine it.

  “How could anyone do that to lovely Pippa?” Fi said indignantly.

  “It is the way of the world.” Charlie’s tone was flat. “Only the truth will help her now.”

  Glory’s brow furrowed. “Do Pippa’s parents know of her troubles? I am certain her papa would not stand for her to be mistreated. I know mine would not.”

  “Neither would mine,” Fiona said wryly. “Which is why I would not tell Papa…at least, not if I wanted my husband to live.”

  Fi had a point. Both her and Pippa’s fathers were powerful men with roots in London’s underworld, and they would not hesitate to protect their own by any means necessary. In truth, Livy’s own father was no different. A Scotsman to the core, he would bring his wrath down upon anyone who dared to harm a single hair on her head.

  “Pippa was adamant that she does not want her parents to know,” Charlie replied. “For the reason you suggested, Fiona, and also because she is not yet certain what is going on with Longmere. If he is embroiled in some sort of trouble, she wishes to help him. She wants to handle the situation herself and enlisting her father, who apparently has never approved of Longmere, will only complicate matters.”

  Livy understood Pippa’s desire to take charge of her own destiny. She would feel the same way. And she was fiercely glad that the Angels could take Pippa’s back.

  “Tell us how we can help Pippa,” Livy said.

  “We will follow Longmere and see what he is up to,” Charlie said matter-of-factly. “According to Pippa, he and a group of cronies enjoy gallivanting in the less savory parts of London. Every Friday night they convene at the Black Lion Inn in Whitechapel. That will be a good place for us to begin our reconnaissance.”

  Looking crestfallen, Glory said, “I am promised to a soiree on Friday.”

  “I have an event as well,” Fi said glumly.

  “Do not fret, my dears. There will be other chances to observe the subject.” Charlie’s eyes met Livy’s across the table. “Are you ready to accompany me on your first mission, Livy?”

  Purpose gave Livy an invigorating charge. For the first time since Hadleigh’s rejection, she felt some of the heaviness leave her heart, like sandbags dropping from a hot air balloon. While true love might evade her, she still had a destiny to fulfill, and being of service to a friend was an excellent place to start.

  Pulling back her shoulders, she said, “I am ready.”

  14

  “Don’t turn around right away, but they’ve arrived,” Charlie murmured as she passed by, a tray of empty tankards clinking in her hands.

  It required all of Livy’s self-discipline not to spin around on her rickety stool at the bar. Instead, she pretended to drink from the glass the barkeep had earlier slammed onto the sticky counter in front of her. It was Friday night, and she and Charlie were at the Black Lion Inn, a packed East End public house that catered to the laboring class.

  Charlie had managed to get hired on as a barmaid for the eve. A brunette wig, face paint, and padding beneath her low-cut dress transformed her; with her bold manner and Cockney accent, she masterfully blended in with the boisterous crowd. Livy watched and learned from her mentor. She, herself, was disguised as a light-skirt with brassy blonde ringlets and heavily sooted lashes, but she had to work at roughening her accent and substituting her finishing school posture for one far saucier.

  After counting to ten, she casually directed her gaze toward the entrance. Through the smoky haze and throng of bodies, she spotted Lord Edwin Longmere. Tall and slim, the earl had wavy hair that gleamed like a raven’s wing beneath his hat. He was handsome, with a brooding Bohemian quality that drew females to him like flies to honey. For Pippa’s sake, Livy was relieved when he shook his head dismissively at a bold wench who approached him.

  When his gaze collided with Livy’s, her breath snagged in her throat. Would he recognize her? They’d mingled at a few social events. After an instant, he looked away and spoke to a member of his group. Exhaling, Livy noted that he was accompanied by Edgecombe and three other dapper gentlemen.

  Charlie emerged on the other side of the bar. “Another pint for ye, luv?”

  “Be obliged to ye.” Lowering her voice, Livy said, “I recognize Edgecombe but not the others in Longmere’s party.”

  Charlie swiped a dirty rag over the counter, murmuring, “The blond is the Honorable Simon Thorne, the brown-haired fellow Viscount Bollinger, and the one with the balding pate Baron Stamford. Once they are seated, try to get closer.”

  The barkeep shouted for Charlie to quit gabbing and serve customers.

  “’Old your bloomin’ ’orses, can’t ye see I’m wif a payin’ customer?” she retorted.

  With a wink at Livy, she sashayed off to do her employer’s bidding.

  Longmere and his group settled in a private booth at the back of the tavern. Evading groping hands and salacious offers, Livy made her way to an adjacent booth. The etched glass partition between the tables gave her fleeting views of the men as their conversation drifted through.

  “The Black Lion is a breath of fresh air,” Edgecombe drawled as he loosened his cravat. In the dim light, his pomaded auburn hair had the slickness of an icy road. “Mayfair can be so stifling at times.”

  “Mayfair or m-marriage?”

  This came from the man Charlie had identified as Mr. Simon Thorne. Livy recognized his slight stammer from the time she’d eavesdropped in Edgecombe’s study. With his ice-blond hair and sculpted features, Thorne had the look of an angel…if one overlooked the sly gleam in his blue eyes.

  “Nothing is as oppressive as the parson’s mousetrap. Especially when one’s papa-in-law holds the purse strings. The bastard pays for my wife’s every whim, from masquerades to jewels. When it comes to my expenses, however, he’s a bloody cheeseparer,” Edgecombe muttered. “You bachelors should enjoy your freedom for as long as you can.”

  “I m-might not be able to avoid the shackles of matrimony much longer,” Thorne said mournfully.

  “Alas, I am in the same predicament.” Bollinger sighed.

  The viscount had curling brown hair and long-lashed brown eyes that gave him a boyish appeal. He downed a tankard with astonishing ease, which probably accounted for the softness of
his jaw and waistline.

  “All is not lost, fellows.” Stamford’s distinctive nasal tone gave him away. With a narrow face, close-set eyes, and hair gone thin at the top, he lacked the physical graces of his friends. “We still have our enterprise. The last shipment alone netted a thousand pounds apiece.”

  “The cargo is the only thing keeping me afloat.” Thorne lowered his voice. “I received confirmation of another d-delivery. Two evenings from now, at Cremorne Gardens.”

  “We’ll make a night of it,” Edgecombe said. “Perhaps we’ll finally meet our elusive Chinese friend—”

  “Shh,” Bollinger said in a panicked whisper. “You know we’re not supposed to speak of him. He has eyes and ears everywhere.”

  When Bollinger scanned the room, Livy hastily averted her gaze. She saw Charlie serving a rowdy table nearby. Although Charlie gave the appearance of flirting with the patrons, playfully slapping a bricklayer’s dusty hand off her derriere, Livy knew her mentor was eavesdropping on the same conversation that she was.

  “Very well. Mum’s the word,” Edgecombe said. “We cannot afford to offend our mighty benefactor.”

  “I cannot do this anymore.” Longmere suddenly spoke up. “Count me out.”

  Out of what? Livy thought. What are you and your cronies up to? What business do you have with this mysterious Chinese friend?

  “Don’t be a fool.” Although Edgecombe’s words were low and calm, they had a warning edge. “You need this as much as we do.”

  “I don’t give a damn,” Longmere said.

  A sudden tingling awareness distracted Livy. Goose pimples prickled her skin. She swung her gaze to the entrance…and her heart stumbled into her ribs.

  Zounds, it’s Hadleigh. What is he doing here?

  He stood head and shoulders above the crowd, his dark-brown hair gleaming like a pelt beneath his hat. His cravat had a stylish knot, his frock coat and trousers fitting his muscular form like a glove. His lordly, commanding presence caused the longing she’d locked away to break free. Oh, how she’d missed him. With a swoony feeling, she watched the play of light and shadow over his chiseled features as he scanned the crowded tavern. His sapphire gaze narrowed on Longmere’s party…then shifted to her.