They stood there listening to Jason whistle, his boots sharp on the black and white Italian marble in the entrance hall.
“What’s going on, Corrie? Oh, do sit down. Would you like tea?”
“No, no tea, thank you. I heard a very strange rumor, James.”
James grew instantly still. Damn, she’d heard about the attempts on his father’s life? “What rumor?” he asked very carefully.
“Juliette Lorimer.”
“Juliette Lorimer? Who-oh yes, she’s the girl who dances quite well and-What about her?”
“What do you mean she dances quite well? Is she so very special then? Don’t I dance quite well?”
“Not yet, but you will. What’s this rumor about Miss Lorimer?”
“I heard that she’s decided she wants you, James. She intends to marry you. It’s possible that she prefers Jason, but it has to be you because you’re the heir.”
James, fascinated, said, “Wherever did you hear that?”
Corrie stepped closer, went up on her tiptoes, and whispered, “Daisy Winbourne told me she’d heard more than a score of mothers and daughters alike wailing about it in the ladies’ withdrawing room. Daisy’s brother even mentioned there was going to be a bet soon at White’s.”
He paled. He shook his head, his eyes never leaving her face. “In White’s Betting Book?”
“Evidently so. Soon now. Everyone wants to see you with her one more time before a wager is set. You know, see how besotted you look. Do you intend to marry her, James?”
“Damnation, of course not. I don’t even know the damned girl.”
Corrie smiled hugely.
“What is this? You don’t like her?”
“Certainly not,” Corrie said, and drew on her gloves. “Why ever would I like her?” She began whistling as she turned and walked out of the breakfast room.
He called out, the devil prodding and poking at him, “However, I will dance with her tomorrow evening at the Lanscombe ball. Then we’ll see, won’t we?”
She wasn’t about to let him see the smile fall off her face.
That evening, James presented his paper on witnessing the silver cascade phenomena on Titan, Saturn’s major ring, at the monthly Royal Astronomical Society meeting. There were thirty gentlemen present, star dabblers all, several of them who would believe to their dying breaths that the Earth was the center of the universe, that heretic Galileo be damned. There were two ladies present, both wives of men delivering papers, and both of them stared at James until all he wanted to do was finish his paper and make for the door. James’s paper was well received, primarily because it was short, although he knew most members believed he was too young to understand what he was seeing. He was offered two invitations by the wives, ostensibly to dine with their husbands as well.
He was back at the Sherbrooke town house by ten o’clock to see his father’s library filled with friends, all of them sober as prisoners in the dock, cursing the air blue with outrage, demanding to be the one to kill the bastard after the earl.
“We have to find out who they are first,” Jason said. “As I said, the only man’s name we have is Georges Cadoudal, but when he died a while ago, he supposedly wasn’t my father’s enemy. Father is in France trying to discover if Cadoudal had children. It could be revenge, but again, since my father and Cadoudal weren’t enemies, it doesn’t make much sense.”
“Children, particularly male children, can get all sorts of notions, Jason. If the father is dead, then it has to be the children.”
“We’ll see. Now, we have no other leads. Just keep your ears open for that name and any others you might discover.”
James smiled to see his brother writing in a small notebook, doubtless the assignments he’d passed out. Jason was logical and he was smart. James knew that he’d assigned the proper man to the proper task.
By midnight, every young man in the room had a sense of purpose. They were going to save the earl of Northcliffe, become heroes in the process, and earn his undying gratitude.
As the brothers walked upstairs to bed, James said, “However did you come up with so many different assignments?”
“Not all that many since I assigned them in pairs. Johnny Blair, for example, knows most of the French in London since he’s engaged to a Frog’s daughter. Johnny is discreet as long as he’s not drinking, and Horace Mickelby will keep him sober and alert. Reddy Montblanc, who’s nearly blind in one eye, is nevertheless one of the best trackers in England. He and Charles Cranmer will check the area where the assassin tried to shoot Father. And on it goes.
“As for us, two nights from now, that French captain should be here. We’ll see him ourselves. How did your talk to the society go?”
“Short and to the point, and I could see that all the old graybeards in the group wanted to pat me on the head. I wonder if Father and Mother are in Paris yet.”
“They should be soon, if they’re not already. As Father said, he has many friends there. Someone must know something or have heard something. There must be people who knew Cadoudal, and they’ll know about any family. I hope Mother isn’t speaking French.”
“She really tries,” James said, and laughed.
“She’s lucky we’re not living in the last century, with the advent of the Hanoverian kings. Can you imagine her trying to learn German?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The cock may crow, but it’s the hen that lays the eggs.
MARGARET THATCHER
IT WAS A balmy night for the first of October, but since Remie Willicombe’s mother had told him it would rain by midnight, James wore a heavier coat.
He didn’t particularly wish to go to the Lanscombe ball on Putnam Square, but he’d promised Miss Lorimer that he would come by, though he had no intention of staying. He had no intention of ending up in White’s Betting Book either. One dance with Miss Lorimer, no more.
Jason announced he was going with friends to one of his clubs, making James poke his brother and ask him why Miss McCrae hadn’t requested his presence this evening. Jason had looked at him, frowning, and said he understood that Lady Arbuckle wasn’t feeling well and Judith had stayed home to attend her.
The twins were meeting at White’s at midnight to go to the docks, to the Crooked Cat Tavern, where the French captain was said to frequent.
When James finally saw Miss Lorimer, he had to admit she looked amazingly lovely, all in lilac, her huge sleeves included, which stuck a good six inches out from her arms, the material stiffened by wooden rods, his mother had told him, and wasn’t that ingenious?
The lilac silk skirts fanned out around her, at least six petticoats keeping them afloat. Her hair was in a knot on the back of her head with a score of little ringlets falling over her forehead and cascading over her ears, like the silver particles of Titan.
He saw Corrie then, standing with her aunt across the ballroom, her gown a luminous white, the style simple, his father’s hand visible in every lovely fold and drape, and he was quite pleased until he reached her breasts, and frowned. Too prominently displayed, he thought, and surely her Aunt Maybella should say something to her. It wasn’t appropriate for an eighteen-year-old young lady.
Perhaps he’d help her improve her dancing after he’d kept his promise to Miss Lorimer. Certainly that would dilute the gossip, unless everyone knew that Corrie was like a sister to him, then dancing a waltz with her wouldn’t count.
So Miss Lorimer had decided to marry him, had she? More likely her mother’s choice, James thought cynically, as he made his way slowly toward her.
He discovered quickly enough that everyone had heard about the attempts on his father’s life.
All his father’s friends stopped him, questioned him, and raised their brows when he repeated yet again that his mother and father had gone to Brighton because his mother wasn’t well, which sounded more stupid each time he repeated it.
“Alexandra has never been sick a day in her life,” said Lord Ponsonby, “except when she
had to lie down a moment to birth you and your brother, and she wasn’t really sick, now was she?”
He agreed that no, sir, she wasn’t really sick then, and wanted desperately to flee.
“Humph,” said Lord Ponsonby. “Did you say Brighton, James? Something’s fishy here, my boy, the sort of fishy that makes me realize what a bad liar you are. Your father now-an excellent liar-would stare you right in the eye.”
James cursed under his breath. He was going to throw his brother over the balcony when he got home.
Miss Lorimer, at last, was in his sights. She was looking at him over her mother’s shoulder, eyes glittering. No, he thought, more than that. Assessing.
When he reached her, she said, “Why, it is a pleasure to see you, sir. You are James?”
“Yes, I am James,” he said. “Would you like to dance, Miss Lorimer?” and looked toward her mother, who nodded placidly at him.
“Yes, if you will agree to call me Juliette.”
“Very well, Juliette.” He took her white hand, lightly placed it on his arm, and led her onto the dance floor.
So light and graceful she was, utter perfection, truth be told. But she couldn’t tell him apart from his brother? That hurt. The moment the waltz was over, he led her back to her mother. He bowed, retreated. The air in the ballroom was heavy, the weight of all the ladies’ perfumes filling his nostrils, making him want to sneeze. He saw Corrie wave at him. He wanted to leave since Lord Ponsonby had probably told all his cronies that James was a miserable liar and they should hold him down and beat the truth out of him, but there she was, looking quite acceptable except for those breasts of hers that would make a man swallow his tongue and want to dive his hands into her bodice.
He walked up to her, flicked his fingertip over her cheek, and said, “The cream has done wonders. I do believe this is soft skin I feel.”
He smiled and turned to Lady Maybella, who was wearing a blue silk gown that James wanted to tell her needed to have at least three flounces sheared off.
“You’re here to dance with Corrie? You’re in luck. I’ve scarce had her to myself this evening, so many young gentlemen wanting to dance with her.”
“Please don’t exaggerate, Aunt Maybella. There’s not been more than a dozen or so,” Corrie said, making James grin.
Maybella said, tapping him on the arm with her fan, “Not more than two dances, James. We don’t want people to get the wrong idea. Besides, look at that hoard of young men coming this way.”
James didn’t see a hoard, but there were two gentlemen, one of them old enough to be Corrie’s father, on a march toward her.
James gave Maybella a charming smile and led Corrie to the dance floor, aware of her fingers tapping against his arm, and eased her into the throng of dancers. “You’re going to wear a hole in my sleeve. Whatever is the matter with you?”
“I want to help you,” she said.
An eyebrow arched up.
“Your father. I can’t bear the thought of anyone hurting him, James. Whatever would I do without him to tell me what to wear? Come, don’t get all stiff on me. I’ve known your father all my life. I want to help find out who’s trying to kill him. I’m smart. I’m fast. Let me help.”
James sighed. He didn’t even wonder how she’d found out. What with all their friends investigating, it was bound to be all over London in fifteen minutes. Fact was, he was willing to wager that everyone in the ballroom was speaking about it. And mayhap that was good. He wanted to tell her that there was absolutely no chance he was going to allow her to get within one hundred yards of any danger, and so he said, “You’ve always been able to tell me and Jason apart.” That distracted her, but good. She scoffed. She sneered. “I’ve always told you that you are yourself, very different from your brother.”
“Miss Lorimer can’t tell us apart, evidently.”
“There, you see, you can’t marry her, James. She doesn’t even know who you are.”
She had a point there.
Then the devil stuck his elbow in James’s ribs and said words right out of his mouth. “Speaking of the Angel, Miss Lorimer looks so heavenly this evening, don’t you think? She’s wearing lilac, not purple.”
“Angel?”
James nodded. “That’s the name selected for her.”
“By whom?”
He shrugged. “By the gentlemen, I suppose.”
“Maybe she started the name herself.”
“Who cares if she did? Don’t you think it’s accurate?”
“If you like perfection, then yes, I suppose so. I wonder what name I should select for myself. I know, how about calling me Miss Cream?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Miss Cream? That’s rich, Corrie.”
“And that was a bad pun.”
“How about Devil?”
“No, I’m not wicked enough, at least not yet.”
“You will never be wicked,” he said, stiff now, looking down at her breasts. “Well, you won’t be if you’d just hoist up your gown a good two inches.”
“This is the style, James. If I can get used to heaving myself out there, then so can you. Stop dwelling on it. Now, if I can’t be wicked, then you can call me the Ice Princess. I heard that a Miss Franks was called that some five seasons ago. She married a duke who was eighty years old and almost dead. Isn’t that interesting?”
“Heavenly Lord Jesus,” James said, and whirled her about, making her laugh, distracting her yet again. “You’re getting better at this. Forget this Ice Princess. That will make the gentlemen want to teach you all sorts of things you’re not going to learn for a very long time. Now, you’ve obeyed me, haven’t you?”
“Obeyed you? About what?”
“You haven’t danced with Devlin Monroe, have you? You haven’t offered him your neck at midnight, have you?”
She laughed, a lovely rich laugh that made him smile. “I gave him a little nibble, nothing more.” She turned her head about. “Can you see the mark, there, right below my left ear?”
He wanted to kick himself when he actually looked. “Remind me to beat you again.”
“Ha. That first time you caught me by surprise.”
His eyebrow arched up a good inch. “You think so, do you? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you whine so much as you did that day.”
Before she could answer, he danced faster and faster, until she was panting and laughing, barely able to catch her breath, hating her damned corset. When he slowed, she gasped out, “Oh, James, that is so lovely. When I want to smack you in the head, you have only to dance me into the ground and I’m ready to forgive you anything at all.”
“You’re getting more competent moving your feet. Stay away from Devlin, I mean it, Corrie.”
“He took me to the Pantheon Bazaar yesterday,” she said. “He wanted to buy me a lovely ribbon to thread through my hair-he thinks my hair is lovely, by the way, all sorts of interesting autumn shades all mixed together-but I’m a proper girl, and thus I didn’t let him do it. It seemed rather intimate, particularly since he wanted to do the threading. Do you know he got so close with that ribbon that I could feel his breath on my nose?” She gave a delicious little shudder that nearly had him ready to kill.
He saw the glint in her eye, and got control. “Your aunt should never have allowed you to go off with him. I will have to speak to her about that. He isn’t good husband material, Corrie.”
“Husband material? Do you want to know the truth, James? I’ve been thinking about it, and I truly cannot imagine attaching myself to a man and changing my name. Goodness, I would be Corrie Tybourne-Barrett Monroe. As for a husband, he would order me about and expect me to do whatever he wants whenever he wants it.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, her eyes narrowed. “On the other hand, I must be honest about this. I have passed Aunt Maybella and Uncle Simon’s bedchamber before, and do you know what?”
James was certain that his eyes were going to roll back in his head. He didn’t want to hear this. He wante
d to go to China before he heard this. He said, “What?”
She leaned close. “I heard them laughing. Yes, laughing, and then Uncle Simon said, quite clearly, ‘I shall nibble on your lovely self for a while now, Bella.’ What do you think of that, James?”
Well, he had asked. He wondered if Aunt Maybella wore a blue nightgown. No, he had to turn his mind away from that. He said, “Stay away from Devlin Monroe.”
“We’ll have to see, won’t we?” She gave him a sunny smile, then looked like she’d burst into tears. “Oh drat, the waltz is ending. It was too short. Someone stopped it before its time. I’ll bet that Juliette Lorimer bribed them to stop. I think someone should go speak to them. Perhaps-” She gave him a hopeful look, but he shook his head.
“No, I have to leave now, Corrie. I like your hair nice and simple, all braided on the top. You wouldn’t look good with an army of ringlets marching over your head. Or any ribbons. Forget ribbons, particularly those bought for you by a man.”
Corrie supposed it was a compliment. She wanted another waltz and so she said, “I believe Devlin is beyond that very fat lady, speaking to another young man who looks remarkably wicked himself. Hmmm. Let me see if I can get his attention.” She went up on her tiptoes and whispered against his ear, “I think I shall tell him my name is the Ice Princess. I wonder what he will have to say about that?”
But her performance was wasted because James wasn’t listening. He’d turned at the tug at his sleeve. It was one of the waiters hired for this evening, and he pressed a note into James’s hand. “A gentleman said you was to have this, sir. Right away, he said.”
His heart began to drum, deep and sharp. He left her without a word, and looked neither right nor left at the young ladies who were staring after him. He walked through the long row of French doors that gave onto the Lanscombe balcony.
He stepped out, saw a couple embracing at the far end, and wanted to tell that old roué Basil Harms that he wasn’t far enough in the shadows. He wondered what man’s wife he was seducing.
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