by Regina Scott
Giles shifted on his feet. “I would have thought more of her. Bluestocking, you know. Surely she can see through such blatant cozening.”
“Women see what they want,” Nigel said. “Besides, if she had any intelligence whatsoever, she couldn’t possibly prefer that viper to our Kevin.”
“Of course,” Giles agreed. “Oh, I cannot bear it. Let me see.”
Nigel handed him the glasses, and Giles raised them to his eyes. Then he stiffened. “Nigel! Safton is leaving. Perhaps he was only visiting.”
“Perhaps,” Nigel allowed. “Although I still ask why.”
Giles lowered the glasses again and shoved them at Nigel. “Now’s our chance. We must warn her.”
Nigel caught his arm as he made to leave. “Are you mad? She doesn’t even know us. Why would she admit us to the box, let alone listen to us malign another gentleman?”
“But we can’t leave her to Safton!” Giles wailed. “Would you let your sister be escorted by the cad? Your cousin?”
“I haven’t a sister or female cousin, as you well know,” Nigel protested, but Giles could tell he was weakening.
“You must take my point,” Giles insisted. “The lady probably doesn’t get about much and so cannot know Safton’s reputation. Don’t you see, Nigel, this is just like the situation with Robbie! We cannot let Safton ruin another life!”
Nigel sighed. “Very well. Lead on.”
Giles scurried out of the row and, with Nigel following, hurried through the milling crowds in the lobby, up the stairs and down the corridor behind the boxes. He located the center box easily, then paused to square his shoulders before knocking. Even if Miss Welch vowed never to see Kevin again, she deserved better than Safton.
–
Martha jumped to her feet at the sound of the knock. “Mr. Safton must have forgotten something,” she cried, hurrying to answer.
Jenny frowned, wondering what their escort could have forgotten that would prevent him from fetching some refreshments from below, as he had promised when he left. Her frown deepened when she saw the two men from the pit in the doorway. While they looked quite presentable in their evening clothes, one in spruce and the other in navy, they appeared a somewhat mismatched set. The brown-haired fellow was tall and angular, with spare hair and features, and the shorter man was round as an orange, with hair to match. What interesting gentlemen she seemed to be attracting lately.
“I’m very sorry to intrude on you like this,” murmured the redheaded fellow Mr. Safton had called Mr. Sloane, wilting under Jenny and Martha’s combined frowns. “I’m Mr. Giles Sloane, and this is Sir Nigel Dillingham. We, er, that is, I, er…”
“We’re friends of Kevin Whattling’s,” Sir Nigel announced, pushing past Martha, who startled. “And we must speak to Miss Welch on a matter of some importance.”
Martha bridled. “Well, I never.”
Something in their attitude told Jenny she should listen to them.
“Let them in, Martha,” she commanded. “I think you will want to thank Mr. Sloane. I believe he’s the one who provided us with the excellent candy. Am I right, sir?”
His face turned redder than his hair. “Yes, ma’am. A small token of appreciation I knew Mr. Whattling would want to make, if he could.”
“Well, they were excellent,” Martha allowed, returning to her seat and spreading the skirts of her evening gown. “You may continue, Mr. Sloane.”
“Thank you, madam.” He nodded to Martha, then turned his gaze on Jenny, but he couldn’t seem to speak. His blush deepened, and he had to look at his companion for assistance.
“Giles felt it our duty to warn you,” Sir Nigel said obligingly, spine as straight as a needle. “We know you have rejected Whattling’s suit, but…”
“But you can call him back if you like,” Mr. Sloane interrupted, odd light shining in his blue eyes.
She wanted to take umbrage—imagine two strangers telling her how to direct her personal life—but he was so very earnest.
“Truly, Miss Welch,” he was pleading, “he is a great gun. Kev and I have been friends since childhood, and I’ve never wanted for a better companion. He’s always stood by me, when I was sick or needed someone to talk with. Ask Sir Nigel here—Kevin saved his life after he was mustered out of the Army and fell on dark times. Nigel might have turned into a maudlin drunk if it weren’t for Kev. Kev is kind, loyal, generous, well as generous as he can be of late, trustworthy…”
“That’s enough,” Sir Nigel warned, face reddening in obvious embarrassment. “The man isn’t dead, and Miss Welch hardly asked you in to give his eulogy.”
Giles snapped his mouth shut, looking down at his feet in obvious misery.
Jenny’s heart went out to him. “It is very noble of you to support your friend, Mr. Sloane. I sympathize with his plight, believe me. But you mustn’t ask me to sacrifice my life for a man I scarcely know.”
“No, indeed, madam,” Sir Nigel said while Giles squirmed. “That is precisely why we’re here. I may not be as eloquent as my friend Sloane, but I can only say that you’ve traded gold for dross.”
Jenny frowned. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your escort this evening, George Safton. He is a liar, a cheat, a murderer, and in no way a gentleman. You may have rid yourself of Whattling on good motives, but you haven’t done yourself any favors by taking up with Safton.”
Jenny could feel herself growing redder with each word as her heart sped. Her intuition had been right! Safton was much worse than he seemed. Beside her, Martha was gaping in astonishment.
“I think, Sir Nigel,” Jenny managed, “that you had better explain yourself.”
“Yes, Dillingham,” Mr. Safton said from the doorway. “Perhaps you’d better do just that.”
Chapter Twelve
Mr. Sloane moaned and sank onto the chair next to Martha’s. Sir Nigel stiffened, and his fists doubled at his sides before he clasped them behind his back.
“We were simply telling the lady that she should be careful how she chooses her company,” Sir Nigel replied. “As I understand that the lady is exceptionally intelligent, we shouldn’t have to say more. Give Mr. Safton his seat, Sloane. The second act will begin shortly. Ladies, your servant.”
Mr. Sloane rose and swallowed. “Ladies.”
Neither looked at Mr. Safton, who moved aside to let them exit. Jenny couldn’t let them leave without acknowledging their efforts. Based on Mr. Safton’s reaction, and their own, they had risked much to warn her. Like the Corinthian they both admired, Giles Sloane and Sir Nigel Dillingham were obviously gentlemen of honor. Perhaps she had another chance after all.
“Mr. Sloane,” she called. He pulled up short. “Thank you for stopping by. If you should see our mutual friend, please let him know that my schedule has changed, and I would be delighted to receive him any time this week. I hope you understand.”
He beamed at her. “Yes, Miss Welch. I take your meaning. Thank you, thank you very much.” He must have caught Mr. Safton glowering at him, for he ducked out into the corridor with his friend. Mr. Safton shut the door behind them.
He turned immediately to Jenny. “Miss Welch, I apologize for leaving you. Once again London shows its degenerate side. I would have thought two ladies would be safe alone in a theatre of this reputation. I hope nothing those two ruffians said frightened you.”
“I hardly know what to make of it,” Martha said, fanning her face with her gloved hand. “Imagine anyone so bold!”
“You cannot blame them for supporting a friend,” Jenny said. “Although I must say their manner left something to be desired. Mr. Safton, I am very glad you brought those drinks just then. I am parched.”
He readily handed her the champagne goblet, turning to offer Martha the other. “Always at your service, Miss Welch. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, taking a sip. “Please don’t trouble yourself. Oh look, there goes the curtain. We should take our seats.” She
could only hope neither Mr. Safton nor Martha guessed that her thoughts were no longer on the play but on a future that had suddenly grown brighter.
–
George returned to his seat as the lights dimmed. Eugennia sat beside him, sipping the champagne as if nothing untoward had happened. He would not have thought she had it in her. Sloane and Dillingham’s interference surely troubled her more than she indicated. His own standing was clearly in jeopardy.
He turned his gaze to the stage, but he hardly saw the play. So, Whattling hadn’t been here to witness his triumph in escorting Miss Welch, and Sloane and Dillingham had managed to convince her to allow Whattling to call again. His grip on the situation was loosening. He would have to rethink his options. Which would be more expeditious: to continue cozening Miss Welch or to try some other way to gain Whattling’s company?
He watched her profile in the shadowed theatre. The jewels glinted at her throat in the lamps from the stage. No, there was a great deal he could accomplish here. Even if he didn’t succeed in parting the lady and Whattling, he might arrange for her to part company with the sapphires, and anything else to which he took a fancy. He’d have to consider the best way to proceed. Whatever happened, Miss Eugennia Welch wasn’t going to leave his grip before he had what he wanted.
–
Kevin had retired early that evening. Shockingly early. Lord Hastings would have been appalled. His friends would have been aghast. But with no funds and no purpose, he simply couldn’t convince himself to do otherwise. He had managed to lull himself into a doze when someone had the effrontery to pound on his door.
And keep pounding.
He shook his head as he climbed out of bed and lit a lamp. Were the duns coming even at, what, midnight, now? He threw on a dressing gown and strode to the door, yanking it open, ready to tell them how else they might use those fists.
Giles tumbled into the room. “Oh, Kev! We found you.”
Kevin set the lamp down on the floor and helped his friend right himself. “These are my rooms, at least for a few days more.”
“I told him we could wait until morning,” Nigel informed him, shutting the door.
“No, it’s too important,” Giles insisted. “We looked everywhere—White’s, Watiers, even the Carpenter’s Club.”
Nigel looked Kevin up and down. “Are you ill?”
Kevin stifled a yawn. “Not in the slightest. Can’t a man get a good night’s sleep without someone thinking he’s in his dotage? Now, what is it that brings you rapping at my door unannounced?”
Giles was fairly hopping in his desire to tell. “She wants you back, Kevin. She said so herself.”
“What are you talking about?” Kevin frowned, glancing between the two of them. “Who wants me back?”
“Miss Welch,” Nigel put in. “Hard to credit, I know, since she is supposed to be remarkably perceptive, but there you have it.”
“Perhaps you’d better explain, slowly,” Kevin murmured, afraid to hope. “You say you saw Jenny, er Miss Welch? And she said something about me?”
“‘If you should see our mutual friend,’” Giles quoted helpfully, “‘please let him know that my schedule has changed, and I would be delighted to receive him any time this week.’”
Nigel looked impressed. “I say, well done, Giles.”
Kevin ran his hand back through his hair. Could it be true? Was she willing to take a chance on him after all? “When did this happen? Where?”
“We were at Drury Lane,” Giles explained excitedly, “in the pit, using those tickets you sent us and…”
“Tickets?” Kevin interrupted. “What tickets?”
Giles’ smile faded. “You remember. You sent them to my house with a note. I assumed they were for Nigel and me.”
“I sent no tickets,” Kevin assured him. “I don’t suppose you kept the note.”
Giles shook his head. “I saw no reason. But I don’t understand. The note was signed with your name, Kev. Who would do such a thing?”
“Who indeed?” Kevin mused. “The same someone who sent flowers to Miss Welch, I warrant.”
“But she wants you back now,” Giles pointed out. “So whoever is behind all this must be trying to help.”
“I wonder,” Kevin said. “Have either of you told anyone else about my predicament?”
Giles and Nigel exchanged glances. Nigel cleared his throat. “Of course not, old man, but we didn’t have to. It’s well known about town that you’ve pockets to let. Could be any number of people trying to help you without your knowing it.”
“But if they’re helping me, why send tickets to you and Giles? It must be someone well known to the three of us. Did you see anyone else at the theatre you knew?”
Again they exchanged glances. This time their look chilled his blood.
“Tell me,” Kevin demanded.
Giles shook his head.
“I’ll do it,” Nigel said. He squared his shoulders as if preparing to meet a firing squad. “We saw Safton. He was escorting Miss Welch.”
“What!” Kevin’s cry made both his friends start. “And you left her there with him?”
“Easy,” Nigel cautioned, putting a hand on his arm. “We warned the lady first. If she’s as bright as everyone says, she’ll know what to do.”
“And she had her companion with her, a dragon of a woman,” Giles put in, although he paused to chew his lower lip before continuing. “I don’t suppose anything bad could happen to her there, could it?”
Kevin took a deep breath. “No, not tonight. Thanks to you, Safton will be careful not to show his hand just yet. I want him away from her before he can finish whatever nasty little game he’s playing.” The arrogant handwriting on the one note appeared in his mind’s eye again, and he struck his fist against his palm. “That’s it! The notes are from Safton. They must be.”
Nigel scowled. “But why? As Giles pointed out, the notes were connected to events designed to help you. I can’t see Safton wanting to help anyone, especially you.”
“I know it doesn’t make much sense,” Kevin said, “but I’d wager what little I have left that I’m right. He’s playing some deep game, the kind he loves most, and Jenny will be the looser if we aren’t careful. Much as I’d like to catch him in the act, we must stop him before he hurts anyone.”
Nigel and Giles nodded.
Kevin inclined his head. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your continued assistance. I don’t think I need to tell you that I am much indebted to you.” He laughed suddenly. “Actually, I’m less in debt to you than I am to most people, but what’s a few thousand pounds between friends.” He offered them his hand, and they shook it in turn, returning his grin. “I shall call on Miss Welch tomorrow. Who knows, perhaps there’s still a chance I’ll achieve my heiress objective.”
–
If it hadn’t been for Giles and Nigel’s mention of Safton, Kevin had to admit, he probably wouldn’t have called on Jenny, even though she had given him leave to do so. He had just convinced himself that she was well off without him. He didn’t intend to continue courting her even to displace the odious Safton. Of course, he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about his debts. Leaving for the Continent was starting to appeal. All the more reason to do something worthwhile with his remaining time. He arrived on her doorstep at the unfashionable hour of eleven.
Only to be told she was not at home.
The elderly butler Fiching was adamant. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Whattling. She really didn’t tell me not to admit you. It’s just that she’s started on one of her studies again, and she dragged poor Miss Tindale off to some bookseller this morning. There’s no telling when she’ll be back. You won’t credit how long it takes her to find the information she wants.”
“I don’t suppose you’d let me wait?” Kevin asked, without much hope of a positive response. To his surprise, Fiching had been only too happy to show him into the saffron sitting room, leaving him there with the promise of tea and cakes.
&nb
sp; Kevin tried perching on the white sofa, but he found he had too much energy to simply sit and wait. He tried pacing about the room, but the decorative tables and glass cabinets were arranged so that he couldn’t get a good stride going. Frustrated, he paused to frown at one of the cases. His frown changed to a look of wonder as he began to recognize what he was seeing.
The case he was gazing into held ancient artifacts of some kind, he’d warrant Egyptian if his brief glimpses of the items in the British Museum were any indication. There was a rough-edged stone tablet with strange indecipherable lettering carved into its face, an insect with wings of onyx set in a body of lapis, and the bust of a woman who strongly resembled a cat. Fascinated, he moved to another cabinet, to find it full of butterflies, each painstakingly mounted and labeled with a fine hand. He moved to the third cabinet and saw it crowded with books, some very old if he were any judge. One stood open on a shelf, a satin bookmark holding the reader’s place.
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” Jenny said softly in the doorway. “It’s one of my favorite plays by the Bard.”
“Mine as well,” he replied, steeling himself to turn and look at her. “But somehow I always thought my courting would go more smoothly.”
She was dressed in a brown satin pelisse that somehow made her look tiny, fragile. Something about her face told him she had been crying recently. He had an overwhelming desire to find out who had caused it and beat him senseless.
She smiled at him, and the sun came out. “How nice to see you again, Mr. Whattling. Am I to take it you received my message?”
He bowed. “I did indeed. Giles is a reliable postman. And I am your eternal servant.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I would much sooner have a friend.”
“You have one. If you ever need anything, you have only to ask.”
The intensity of his response brought a blush to her cheeks. “I was hoping that perhaps you might be willing to continue where we left off.”