by Regina Scott
Ariadne sighed. “What if he’s purchasing an engagement present for you, Emily?”
“He’s wasting his time. At any formal function, I have to wear the Emerson emeralds, at least until my sister, Helena, produces an heir, who will then have to give them to his wife.”
“Still,” Daphne pressed, “it is rather romantic.”
Emily had no time to comment, for Lord Robert seemed to have made up his mind. With a nod, he set off in the opposite direction. The girls had to hurry to keep up. Other shoppers exited in front of them, laden with packages, and they had to detour. A street urchin darted past, shouting, and they had to lift their skirts out of the way. The Hussars caught sight of Priscilla and converged, and that took a few moments to straighten out, leaving Priscilla with four calling cards and Daphne, to her amazement, with three.
By the time they caught sight of Lord Robert again, he was turning the corner onto Vigo Lane.
“Where is he going?” Ariadne panted, one hand on her straw bonnet, which was already a bit squashed from their time in the doorway and their confrontation with the soldiers.
“I don’t know,” Priscilla said just as breathlessly. “But if he continues at this pace, I shall expire on the pavement!”
“I have some lavender-sulfuric smelling salts,” Daphne offered. She alone had no trouble keeping up, striding along with her muslin skirts flapping. “Lord Snedley highly recommends them after an exertion of a quarter mile or more.”
Lord Snedley must have the constitution of a butterfly. But having a weak constitution certainly wasn’t Lord Robert’s problem. Emily even tried calling to him at one point, but she must have been too out of breath, for he didn’t so much as turn.
In fact, he kept walking and walking, and Emily couldn’t help but notice that they were straying ever farther from fashionable Bond Street. Soon the shops were narrower and darker, with no windows facing the avenue and far fewer shoppers. Ladies lounged in doorways, eyeing La Petite Four with narrowed eyes. Men in rough coats and heavy boots stalked past or, worse, stopped and stared.
One slouched up in front of them and held out a grimy hand.
“Penny for an old man?” the toothless fellow begged, his face even grimier than his hand.
Daphne began to open her reticule, but Priscilla snatched her hand and pulled her on.
“Do not show your money here,” she whispered. “Emily, I think we should go back.”
Ariadne was gazing about, wide-eyed. “No, this research is priceless.”
“So is your virtue,” Priscilla countered. “And I for one do not intend to lose it to a ruffian.”
Up ahead, Lord Robert had just entered a shop. Emily could see the sign hanging above the door.
“Messiers and Sons,” Ariadne read as they paused to catch their breath. “And see the diamond below? It’s another jeweler.”
“Odd place for a jeweler,” Emily mused.
“It’s a consignment shop,” Priscilla said quietly. “People sell their jewels here when they have nothing left to sell, or change them to paste copies so no one will know they’re destitute. Father’s mentioned it.”
So Emily had been right about the money. Perhaps Lord Robert’s father had gambled away the funds. She couldn’t see how Robert could have done so; surely his brother would have put a stop to it.
“We should go,” she said, taking a step back. “Lord Robert won’t want us to know his family’s in such dire straits.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” Ariadne murmured. “To be blighted in his expectations. It’s a classic plot.”
And it explained his need to marry and soon, at that. Her dowry would come in very handy. But her father must have been aware of the Townsends’ financial straits from the marriage settlements, so once again, she had nothing to use to convince him to break the engagement and let her attend the ball. Disappointment bit sharply. Could nothing go right?
Shoulders slumping, she turned with the others to go back the way they had come. Then she jerked to a stop.
Blocking their way was the toothless fellow who had begged for a penny earlier. His face was red and blotchy, his nose crossed with bulging veins. His shoulders were bunched under his tattered coat, and his fists were as big as hams.
“Spare a penny or two, love?” The request was more like a demand, and he shoved out his hand again, as if expecting obedience.
Daphne bumped into Ariadne in her haste to move away, and Priscilla clutched her reticule closer. That was not the way of it, Emily was certain. Bullies you had to face down.
“I’m afraid we have nothing for you,” Emily said, forcing herself not to tremble. “Step aside and let us pass.”
“Bossy ‘lil thing, ain’t you?” he grumbled, straightening and narrowing his eyes. “If yer such a fine lady, where’s yer escort, then? Who’s to stop me from taking what I want from any of you lot?”
“I am,” a voice said behind him, and Emily caught her breath.
9
No Place for a Lady
The toothless behemoth swiveled, and there stood James Cropper behind him, feet planted and arms at the ready. He gave Emily his two-fingered salute before turning his frown on the fellow.
“Do as the lady says and step aside.”
The creature easily had a stone’s weight on Mr. Cropper, and she shuddered to think how his handsome face would look after it met those grimy fists. But to her surprise, the beggar ducked his head and shuffled his feet. “Didn’t mean no ‘arm, sir. ’Ow was I to know the lady was wif you?”
Mr. Cropper stepped forward. “I’ll grant you you’ll not meet her likes in the stews very often.” He turned to Emily then and offered her his arm. “May I have the honor of escorting you home?”
He hadn’t used her title or name, but she rather thought it was because the beggar was watching. In some places, a duke’s daughter would fetch a high ransom, she’d heard. She truly didn’t want the man to think she was without escort. But was she any safer with Mr. Cropper?
As if he guessed her concerns, his smile softened. The light in those remarkably fine gray eyes was as welcome as sunlight through the mist and warmed her just as gently. She put her hand on his arm. “The honor is all mine, sir.”
“Sir, is it now?” the beggar chortled. “Since when does a lady walk with the likes of you?”
“When the lady is sufficiently gracious,” Mr. Cropper said, leading her past him. “And so are her friends.” His pointed look sent Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne scuttling in their wake. With a shake of his head, the beggar moved away.
Emily strolled along beside Mr. Cropper as if they were touring Hyde Park on a lovely spring afternoon, but she walked so close to him, her skirts brushed his brown trousers, and her gloved fingers seemed to want to curl around his strong arm and not let go. She cast him a quick glance, but he’d pulled his hat down lower over his eyes, and she couldn’t catch a glimpse of them. She knew Priscilla must have found his brown wool coat lacking. Emily could not be so strict. He’d acted the part of hero, hadn’t he?
But just when Emily was in complete charity with him, he sighed. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, as if she hadn’t realized it for herself. “This is no place for a lady.”
Yet it was his place, she saw. He walked as if he owned the street. People came toward them, some of them bigger and darker than the beggar, and it took only a nod from him to send them packing. Not a few of them looked fearful as they did so.
“It appears you know it well,” she said.
He laughed. “Oh, I’m no stranger to the stews. But you should be. Do you have any inkling of the danger you were in?”
She was beginning to get the general idea, but she didn’t much appreciate the reminder. “While I acknowledge your help, sir, I cannot like your tone.”
“No,” he replied. “I imagine most people bow and scrape when they meet you. I’d rather save your life.”
Ariadne had opened her reticule for her journal and pencil and was franti
cally scrawling as she walked.
“Do you truly think our lives were in danger?” Daphne put in, glancing around nervously.
“Four beautiful young ladies, wandering the streets with purses full of silver? What do you think?”
“Beautiful,” Ariadne muttered.
“I don’t recall Lord Snedley covering that,” Daphne whispered to Priscilla.
“I told them this was foolish,” Priscilla announced at full voice. “And I for one thank you for your gallant assistance, Mr. Cropper.”
What was she doing? Emily had seen that look before, directed at any marriageable, titled gentleman who was so unlucky as to grace the front parlor at Barnsley. Priscilla was trying to attach Mr. Cropper’s regard!
Emily’s hand tightened on his arm. “I suppose,” she allowed, “it was fortunate you happened upon us.”
“It was difficult not to happen upon you,” he said. “You were rather obvious, hurrying along behind Lord Robert.”
“And just what are you doing here?” she asked, eyes narrowing.
He smiled. “Even a fellow like me can appreciate the sights of Bond Street, your ladyship.”
His look made Emily’s cheeks heat. Had she been right before? Was he following her? The air was suddenly too warm to breathe.
“And did you appreciate the sights at the Townsend town house as well?” she managed.
“The Townsend town house, your ladyship?”
He sounded so innocent, his face relaxed and open, but she knew it for an act. He ought to take a role in one of the plays Ariadne liked to write. Of course, very likely he’d have to play the villain.
“Yes. Do not deny you were there. I saw you, under the trees.”
“Watching for me, were you?” he asked with a grin.
“I most certainly was not!”
“Oh, come now,” Priscilla said. “You do seem to notice the fellow with alarming regularity.”
Well, if that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black! How many times had Priscilla been swayed by a handsome face and a muscular arm? Just look at the Hussars this afternoon! If she didn’t watch her step, she’d end up running off with a footman and forget all about finding a duke!
“It was not that I was watching you, Mr. Cropper,” Emily said with a glare to Priscilla. “But as an artist, I notice when things are out of perspective.”
“Yes, I heard you painted,” he said, leaving Emily to wonder who had been gossiping about her. “And you’re quite smart enough to have noticed that something’s havey cavey with Lord Robert. However, I cannot like your methods. If you suspect him of something, you should notify the authorities.”
“Suspect Lord Robert?” she asked, her pulse quickening once more in excitement. “Do you imply Lord Robert could be guilty of some crime?”
He raised his brows. “Were you following him for some other reason? Good Lord, you don’t actually fancy the fellow!”
“For shame, sir,” Daphne said. “He is her betrothed.”
His jaw tightened, and he faced forward. “My condolences.”
Emily stopped, forcing him to halt as well. “If you know something about him, sir, I demand that you speak plainly. As far as we’ve been able to tell, he is a gentleman.”
“Which is why you chose to follow him all over London.” His voice dripped with sarcasm. “Have a care, Lady Emily. He may just turn out to be a scoundrel after all. For everyone’s sake, it would be better if you left the fellow alone.”
10
Pearls of Wisdom
James Cropper insisted on riding home with them to the Southwell town house and spent several moments in heated conversation with Warburton. When Mr. Cropper touched two fingers to his forehead in good-bye, Emily raised her chin and looked away. Priscilla nodded as if she were quite proud of her.
Warburton, however, was far less complimentary. “I hope Mr. Cropper was able to impress upon you the seriousness of your actions,” he said, affixing them all with a hard-eyed look. “If your parents found out, Miss Tate, Misses Courdebas, I rather doubt they’d allow you all to visit Bond Street again.”
Daphne and Ariadne hung their heads, and Priscilla’s expressive green eyes filled with tears.
“We are sincerely sorry, Mr. Warburton,” she said tremulously. “And we would be most grateful if you could find it in your heart not to tell our parents. Surely we should spare them such worry.”
Ariadne began looking for her pencil.
Warburton gazed down at her. “I believe that can be arranged, Miss Tate. However, you must understand that London can be a dangerous place, whether you are on Bond Street or in Mayfair. Are you aware that a young lady from the Barnsley School was robbed the other day?”
If he had not had their attention before, he had it now.
“Who?” Priscilla demanded, tears evaporating.
“Miss Acantha Dalrymple. Her pearls were taken. Her father is most displeased, and her maid has been sacked for not paying sufficient attention to the jewel case.”
“I’m very sorry for the maid,” Priscilla said, “but I cannot be sorry for Miss Dalrymple. She flaunted those pearls at the least provocation. Is it any wonder she lost them?”
Daphne was bouncing up and down on her leather half boots, her green skirts billowing with each movement. “Oh, oh, but she didn’t lose them in London! She lost them at Barnsley. While I was waiting for our carriage to be brought around, I heard her complaining.”
Warburton raised his brows. “Interesting, but surely your headmistress would have investigated a theft at the school.”
Most likely. Miss Martingale had strict notions of propriety. As, it appeared, did Warburton. “In exchange for not burdening your parents with news of your escapades,” he said, “I will have your promises that you will not be so foolhardy again.”
Of course, they all promised to be more careful. The butler’s smooth face did not betray his feelings, but Emily thought by the quirk of his mouth that he was not entirely sure he believed them. “And as it appears that you lack ideas for appropriate activities for young ladies,” he continued, “allow me to provide you with entertainment more fitting to your stations.”
“Cleaning the attic!” Daphne moaned as they stared into the dark recesses atop the Southwell town house.
“We are not cleaning,” Priscilla said, running a finger along the top of the nearest trunk and shuddering. “Maids clean. We are looking for gowns that might be useful to Emily as she debuts.”
“If I debut,” Emily reminded her. Her mood was nearly as dark as the shadows crowding the eaves, her thoughts as dry as the musty air. What was James Cropper doing? He followed them around and then had the audacity to claim that she was watching for him! While she had already admitted that his help had been welcome in facing down the beggar, he didn’t have to escort them home and then tell Warburton, in excruciating detail no doubt, about their activities. James Cropper was nothing but an overweening tattletale!
“Are there any gowns up here?” Ariadne asked, poking at something tall, bulky, and draped in a white Holland cloth.
Emily shrugged. “Who knows? Do not mistake this for entertainment. Warburton was doing us no favor.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Daphne said, venturing deeper into the space. “Who knows what we might find.” She raised the lantern Warburton had given them, and boxes, trunks, odd chairs, and mysterious shapes cast grotesque shadows in the golden light.
“The treasures of the ages,” Ariadne intoned, lifting a gilded globe and giving it a spin. Dust flew out in all directions, and she sneezed.
“Better treasure than Acantha ever had,” Priscilla said, bending over the trunk. “All I can say is that having someone steal her pearls is truly justice.” She lifted the leather-strapped lid and made a face. “Old bed linens. Try that one.”
Daphne obligingly hung the lantern on a hook overhead and went to bend over one of the larger trunks.
“But who would be so bold as to take them?” Ariadne mu
sed, lifting another Holland cover and peering underneath. “Everyone we know is scared of her. Except for you, of course, Emily.”
“Emily isn’t afraid of anything,” Daphne said, wrestling open the larger trunk nearest her. Her face brightened. “Oh, look, bonnets!”
Priscilla and Ariadne hurried over and peered down into the depths. Emily came more slowly. It was rather nice that her friends thought her so fearless, but at the moment, fear was beginning to gain a hold on her. What if they could find no fault to lay at Lord Robert’s door, no reason to accuse him to His Grace? Would she actually have to marry the fellow?
The attic felt tight suddenly, the roof too low, the air too stuffy to breathe. Emily rubbed her hands up and down the sleeves of her soft wool gown, but the panic grew worse.
“Perfection,” Priscilla declared. She pulled a bonnet from the tissue that had wrapped it and clapped it on Ariadne’s head. “What do you think, Emily?”
The woven white reed cage wrapped about Ariadne’s round face, dwarfing it. The four stuffed black birds on top stared out with a malevolent gleam in their amber glass eyes, and the twisted crimson fringe dangling at the bottom made Ariadne look as if her hair had caught on fire.
The sight of Ariadne in the fluffy bonnet melted Emily’s panic and she started to giggle. “Very fetching. You should wear it to the ball.”
Ariadne rolled her eyes and pulled it off. “No, thank you. I intend to pick my own gowns and bonnets. I’m sick to death of white muslin, white silk, white anything!”
“Lord Snedley advises it for young ladies in their first Season,” Daphne explained. “As does Mother.”
“Plain white passed out of fashion ages ago,” Priscilla said, lifting her skirts to kneel before the trunk. “Simply tell your mother that Lord Snedley is mistaken.”
Daphne gasped at the heresy, but Ariadne dropped her gaze, sighing. “It’s much easier for me to write my thoughts than to speak them, Priscilla. Except with all of you, of course.”
Priscilla sighed as well. “Then I suppose it’s good that you have all of us to support you. Though I do think you could do with a bit of boldness.” She laid aside the other bonnets and reached for the material they could see stored beneath.