The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London Book 4)

by Adele Clee

  “Lord Trevane. I must say you’re the last person I expected to see this evening.” She thrust her hand at him leaving him no option but to press his lips to her silk glove.

  “Lady Cornell,” Vane said, straightening. “May I present Lord Farleigh?”

  The lady was obliged to offer Farleigh her hand. “My lord.” Farleigh barely had a chance to greet her when she snatched her hand away and turned her attention back to Vane. “Are you interested in learning of the colonel’s southern exploration or have you come to conduct one of your own?”

  Farleigh cleared his throat, no doubt tired of hearing veiled attempts at seduction. “Excuse me, but I shall await you in the ballroom.” He bowed and left them alone.

  Good.

  It would serve Vane’s purpose if Cornell chose that moment to venture from the library. He might even consider putting a hand on the woman’s waist, trailing a finger seductively down her bare arm if it would rouse Cornell’s ire.

  “Well, my lord?” Lady Cornell continued. “Are there any uncharted regions you have yet to probe?”

  “It might surprise you to learn that I am weary of exploring pastures new.” Two years ago, he would have taken Lady Cornell, hard and quick, over her husband’s desk, hoping she possessed the power needed to banish the ghost of Estelle. And yet now he found the thought abhorrent. “Perhaps the time has come to marry, to invest all efforts on one particular lady.”

  Panic flashed in the woman’s eyes. “But you … you can’t.” Her chin trembled, and she shook her head to gather her composure. “A gentleman with such strong passions could never be happy with a simpering miss.”

  “Then perhaps I shall wed a courtesan, a woman with immense skill in the bedchamber,” he said merely to observe the lady’s reaction. “Besides, as a peer I must marry, eventually.” The lie fell easily from his lips. He did not care about siring an heir, not anymore.

  Lady Cornell’s eyes widened. “Of course you must, but perhaps you should wait a while longer.”

  “And why is that?” What was this woman about?

  “Because an option may soon present itself. One you may not have considered before.”

  “How so?”

  Was she implying he might marry her?

  The lady had conveniently forgotten bigamy was a crime punishable by death. If she cared so little for her pretty neck, perhaps she was of a mind to murder her husband while he slept in his bed. And to think she had once been on a list of eligible ladies his father suggested he might wed.

  “A young woman marries an old man for one reason only.” She stepped closer and placed her hand on his chest. “Would you not like to bed me, Vane? You would not be disappointed. Like my mother, I do possess some talents of my own when it comes to pleasing men.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  From what he recalled, her mother had many lovers over the years, including one particular favourite though she took that secret to the grave.

  “I’m more than happy to demonstrate if only you’ll give me a chance.” Her hand dropped to the waistband of his breeches. Concealed amid the folds of her gown, her fingers ventured down to stroke the length of his cock.

  Damnation!

  Vane gritted his teeth and stepped back. “Your husband may have something to say about that.” Cornell was craven. Revenge was something he concocted behind closed doors.

  “Cornell is old. One never knows when one might end up a widow.”

  Lord, the woman was just as cold-hearted as her husband. The urge to offer a disparaging remark took hold. But he would bide his time. Impatience be damned. Experience had taught him that the most painful blows came unexpectedly, catching the victim unawares.

  “Your point is moot. This is a conversation to be had at some other time.” If she killed Lord Cornell, it would save him the job. And yet he found he wished Cornell a long and sufferable life. Death was not nearly severe enough. “And so I shall bid you a good night.”

  He needed to leave, needed to be away from these unbearable people.

  “Wait,” Lady Cornell whispered, gripping his upper arm, but he turned on his heels and strode away.

  A hundred pairs of eyes followed him through the glittering ballroom. A few ladies stopped him and boldly suggested more than a dance. He’d come to learn that people adhered to strict modes of propriety only when it suited them. Hypocrisy was the ton’s true god.

  Vane eventually found Lord Farleigh leaning against the iron railings outside, smoking a cheroot as he gazed up into the foggy night sky.

  “Thinking of Rose?” Vane said as he approached.

  “Who else?” Farleigh offered him a smoke. Vane obliged. He drew on the head and let the woody essence calm him. “As much as I enjoy your company, Vane. There is only one place I want to be tonight.”

  Vane blew a ring of white smoke into the crisp air. There was only one place he wanted to be, too — an apothecary shop in Whitecombe Street.

  Chapter Six

  “Thank you, Potter.” Mr Erstwhile inclined his head. “It is good to know we can count on our friends and colleagues in times of great need.”

  Estelle observed the exchange with a degree of admiration. The world would be a better place if everyone was as forgiving as Mr Erstwhile, or as quick to admit to their mistakes as Mr Potter.

  “Miss Brown may call and collect the provisions you need. It will serve you until you restock the shelves. Poaching customers is part of doing business, but I want you to know I had nothing to do with what happened here.”

  After living with smugglers, Estelle knew the traits of liars and thieves. In her expert opinion, Mr Potter appeared genuine.

  “People like to cause mischief,” Mr Erstwhile said. “More often than not for ridiculous reasons. Perhaps a frustrated customer took his anger out on the bottles.”

  “Then we must all be on our guard.” Mr Potter doffed his hat. “Now, I shall leave you to your work. You’ll want things tidied and ready to open tomorrow. Good day to you.”

  Mr Erstwhile hurried around the counter and opened the door for his competitor. “Good day, Mr Potter.” The bell stopped ringing long before Mr Erstwhile released the handle. The poor man had spent the morning assessing the damage and had fallen prey to lengthy bouts of silent reflection.

  “Well, I think that puts paid to the theory that Mr Potter hired someone to break into the shop out of spite or jealousy,” Estelle said, as she continued sweeping up the remnants of broken glass.

  After coming face-to-face with Ross last night, she had been in no fit state to do anything other than lie on the bed and sob into the pillow. Like a true gentleman, Mr Erstwhile did not pry but simply offered a handkerchief, a nip of port, and a few wise words that tomorrow might be a better day.

  Equally, she had never asked why a gentleman of his standing and education worked for a living, although she knew it had something to do with following his heart and with Mrs Erstwhile’s lower status.

  “Hmm. I must say I am surprised by Mr Potter’s visit.” Mr Erstwhile stroked his white beard. “Surprised yet overjoyed. How strange it is that in our darkest days we often find a ray of sunshine.”

  “Perhaps that is because you have the one thing most people lack.”

  “Oh, and what is that?”

  “Faith.” Estelle expected the worst and was never disappointed. “You believe in goodness. Your heart is full of love and gratitude. You’re a man of strong convictions, and I admire that.”

  Mr Erstwhile dabbed the corner of his eye. “My dear, you will make an old man cry if you continue to shower me with such praise.”

  Estelle propped the brush against the counter. She came to stand at his side and placed her hand on his sleeve.

  “It is deserved, sir. And I shall be forever in your debt for the kindness you have shown me.”

  Mr Erstwhile covered her hand with his own and patted it gently. “We were never blessed with children. But had we been so fortunate, we would have wanted a daughter
exactly like you.”

  Estelle’s throat grew tight. She did not deserve their good graces. The Erstwhiles made her want to be kind and loyal, to be honest and true regardless of how frightening the thought.

  “Then I shall try not to disappoint you.” Gathering herself, she sucked in a breath. “Now, I should go to Mr Potter and collect what we need. Mrs Erstwhile is still weak from this sudden bout of sickness, and I would like to be here when she wakes.”

  “Did she drink the ginger tea you gave her?”

  Estelle nodded. “I sat by her bed until she’d emptied the cup.”

  “Then go now. I can—”

  A knock on the door preceded the turn of the handle and tinkle of the bell.

  Mr Hungerford entered the shop and paused in the doorway. “For a moment, I feared you weren’t open today. The sign says you’re closed.” His curious gaze drifted to the display cabinet, to the empty shelves and missing drawers, to the neat pile of herbs and shards of glass on the floor. “Good Lord, has something happened here?”

  Mr Erstwhile ushered the gentleman inside and shut the door. “A slight mishap that is all. Someone broke in through the back door last night and made a dreadful mess.”

  The colour drained from Mr Hungerford’s face. His green eyes flicked to Estelle and scanned her from head to toe. The nervous flutter in her stomach spoke of unease, not admiration.

  With golden hair and a pleasing countenance, she considered him a handsome gentleman. Dressed smartly in a claret coat and hat, green waistcoat and beige breeches, he had the air of a man running an important errand. Oddly, she had a reason to be thankful to the intruder. Mr Hungerford would have to be without feeling or conscience to make a romantic declaration today.

  “I trust no one was hurt by this dreadful fiend?” Mr Hungerford’s gaze never left her.

  “Thankfully, it happened while we were dining with you, sir,” Estelle replied.

  The gentleman appeared stunned. “Then I cannot help but feel somewhat relieved that you were not at home. Although I doubt the villain would have had the courage to enter had he noted the glow of candlelight streaming through the window.”

  “Who can say?” Mr Erstwhile said. “Time spent contemplating what might have been is time wasted.”

  After seeing Ross Sandford, Estelle wished she could embrace that particular pearl of wisdom.

  “Indeed.” Mr Hungerford removed his top hat and placed it on the wooden counter. Tugging at the fingers of his gloves, he removed those, too. “Now, tell me how I can be of assistance.”

  “Oh, no, no.” Mr Erstwhile held up his hands. “We are almost done here, and I cannot have you dirtying your fine clothes on my account.”

  “But the sooner things are put right, the sooner you can return to normality.”

  “What is normality but merely a figment of the imagination?” Mr Erstwhile replied cryptically.

  The comment gave Mr Hungerford pause. The gentleman struggled to form an appropriate reply. “There must be something I can do,” he eventually said.

  “The door is fixed, the shop tidied, and Miss Brown is off to collect provisions.”

  Estelle groaned inwardly.

  For a man so wise, Mr Erstwhile rarely spoke without thought. Did he share his wife’s opinion? Was he as eager to thrust her into Mr Hungerford’s path, just as keen to see her wed and settled?

  “Then I shall accompany Miss Brown on her errand.” Mr Hungerford’s eyes sparkled to life. One corner of his mouth curled up into a satisfied grin. “With my assistance, she can collect twice the provisions.”

  Mr Erstwhile walked over to the window and stared out into the street. “Hmm. You’re walking today I see.”

  “I make it a point to take regular exercise. Good health must be a priority. As you know.”

  Mr Erstwhile turned back to face them. A knowing smile played on his lips though it left Estelle baffled. “Then I have no objection unless Miss Brown would prefer to go alone.”

  What could Estelle do other than nod and thank Mr Hungerford for his thoughtfulness? She would not embarrass Mr Erstwhile by offering a curt reply even though her employer seemed to have lost the gift of intuition.

  “Thank you, Mr Hungerford.” Estelle forced a smile. “But I should like to hurry. Mrs Erstwhile has a list of things for me to do this afternoon.” It was more of an exaggeration than a lie, but she did not feel an ounce of guilt for it.

  “We will work together to ensure you’re back in plenty of time.”

  His congenial manner failed to express the sudden predatory hunger in his eyes. Thank heavens they would be walking along a busy street and had no need to wander alone through the warren of narrow lanes.

  “Then I shall fetch my bonnet and jacket.”

  Estelle left them alone, although Mr Erstwhile still seemed preoccupied with something outside. When she returned, the men were deep in conversation. Mr Hungerford had asked about her background numerous times, mentioned her eloquent elocution and education, had struggled to hide his frustration when she became evasive.

  “Ah, there you are, Miss Brown.” Mr Hungerford straightened. He offered his arm. It mattered not that she worked for a living and he received an income of almost a thousand pounds a year. A fact he’d been quick to mention over dinner. “Shall we head out?”

  “Certainly.” With a deep sense of dread, she placed her hand in the crook of his arm. Mr Erstwhile opened the door, looking almost pleased by the prospect of them spending time together. How odd he should offer encouragement when he was an advocate of true love.

  They left the shop, had taken but ten steps when Mr Hungerford could no longer suppress his impatience. Barely contained excitement coloured his cheeks. Indeed, he was like a valet whose master had given him a diamond cravat pin for Michaelmas.

  Mr Hungerford stopped abruptly, forcing her to turn and face him. “I came today hoping to have a quiet word with you alone.”

  “Oh, and why is that?” The incident at the shop had not deterred him, and so it was better to deal with the matter quickly.

  “It cannot have escaped your attention that I admire you greatly, Miss Brown.”

  The man’s wife died four months earlier. Clearly, he belonged to the club where women were considered a necessary accoutrement. Mr Hungerford had no children and so should be in no rush to marry. Then again, perhaps she was jumping to conclusions. Perhaps he wanted a mistress, not a wife.

  “If I’ve learnt anything these last few years,” he continued, “it is that life is too short not to act on one’s feelings. Although Miriam passed so recently, her illness forced us apart long before.”

  Estelle swallowed down her apprehension. “Mr Hungerford, I must tell you that—”

  “Please, Miss Brown, allow me to speak before nerves get the better of me.” Mr Hungerford reached for her hand and clutched it tightly.

  “Sir, you have forgotten yourself. Has it slipped your attention that we are standing in the street?” Estelle glanced left and right, frustrated that the few passers-by paid them no heed.

  But then something caught her eye: a black carriage parked further along on the opposite side of the street. A figure stood watching them intently beneath the brim of his top hat as he leant against the door, his muscular arms folded defiantly across his chest.

  Ross?

  Locking eyes with her, he pushed away, tugged on the cuffs of his dark blue coat and stalked towards them like a wolf on the prowl.

  Good Lord!

  Mr Hungerford gripped her hand. “Miss Brown, when a man has something important to say he does not care who raises a disapproving brow. I know we have only known each other for a month, but—”

  “I beg you, say no more, sir.” Panic infused her tone. Her heart flew up to her throat. “I fear now is not the time for declarations.”

  She looked up as Ross mounted the pavement.

  How could she ever have thought him the same man she knew in her youth? A dark and dangerous energy radiated
from every fibre of his being. Ross Sandford’s hard, unforgiving expression could frighten the Devil. Perhaps he had risen from the fiery pits of Hell, for the sight of him ignited a scorching heat deep in her core.

  “Miss Brown.” Ross offered a graceful bow. There was something sleek and seductive about the simple movement. Ice-blue eyes settled on Mr Hungerford and then fell to their clasped hands.

  “Lord Trevane.” Estelle swallowed in an attempt to catch her breath. She tugged her hand free from Mr Hungerford’s grasp. “I must say I’m surprised to see you. Do you have business in Whitecombe Street?”

  “I do now.”

  A tense silence ensued. As the higher-ranking gentleman, it was up to Ross to make an introduction.

  “We are on our way to collect provisions for Mr Erstwhile.” Estelle forced a smile.

  Ross’ belligerent gaze journeyed over Mr Hungerford. “We?”

  Estelle gestured to the gentleman at her side. “Lord Trevane, allow me to present Mr Hungerford.”

  Mr Hungerford inclined his head, but before he could open his mouth to speak, Ross said, “Goodbye, Hungerford. I shall escort Miss Brown to wherever it is she needs to go.”

  Mr Hungerford blinked rapidly. His mouth opened and closed but he could not quite form a reply.

  While Estelle wanted to place some distance between herself and Mr Hungerford, what gave Ross the right to think he could storm into her life and assume control?

  “I’m afraid I have already accepted Mr Hungerford’s offer of assistance, my lord.”

  Mr Hungerford cast her an affectionate smile. Heavens. Now the man would think she held him in high regard.

  “Leave, Hungerford.” Ross ignored her comment and squared his shoulders. “Leave now else I shall make it my business to remove you, physically if necessary.”

  Since when had Ross Sandford turned into an obstinate fool? “Arrogance is a rather unbecoming trait,” she blurted.

  “As is dishonesty,” Ross countered.

  “I have never lied to you.”