A Not So Respectable Gentleman?

by Diane Gaston

  He simply stared at her.

  She glanced away and back. ‘How do I know this is not some elaborate ruse to force me into marriage and to get your hands on my inheritance? For all I know you may have merely heard some piece of gossip and embellished it.’

  She dared to question him?

  His smile stayed fixed. ‘Trust me on it...’ he paused ‘...or not. It is your father and your family who will pay the consequences if you are wrong.’

  Her smile matched his own. ‘Or it is you who pays the consequences if I am right. Can you hold off your creditors until you find another heiress to coerce?’

  He gripped the ribbons and his face flushed with anger. ‘What do you propose, then? You want proof that your father is nothing better than a common thief?’

  ‘That is precisely what I want,’ she shot back. ‘I want to see this banknote you claim to possess. I want to hold it in my hands and convince myself it is genuine and not a forgery.’

  ‘Forgery?’ he huffed. ‘It is your father who commits forgery, not I!’

  Her gaze did not waver. ‘No, your crimes are extortion and—and—other offences.’

  He forgot about the horses and seized her arm. ‘You impertinent chit! You will be sorry for this!’

  A tiny flash of fear appeared in her eyes. It aroused him.

  She straightened. ‘Take your hand off me or I shall scream. Your groom might be trained to ignore me, but there are others near enough to hear.’

  A quick glance behind him revealed other carriages approaching. He opened his hand, retrieved the ribbons, flicking them to signal the horses to increase their pace.

  ‘Will you show me the paper, or shall I break our engagement?’ she persisted.

  He collected himself. ‘Very well.’ He put on an ingratiating smile. ‘I will bring it to the ball tomorrow night.’

  ‘No.’

  She dared to disagree with him?

  She explained, ‘It is too public a place. If this paper is real, I will not have anyone else discovering its

  contents.’

  He feigned solicitousness. ‘Shall I bring it directly to your father’s door, then?’

  She shook her head. ‘My mother must know nothing of this. A private place, I think.’ She glanced around the park. ‘There.’ She pointed. ‘That bench over there. Meet me there at seven tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Seven tomorrow morning?’ His voice rose.

  She might as well have said to meet her at dawn. Was she fancying this to be some sort of duel?

  ‘No one will be about at that hour and it is but a short walk for me from my house.’

  ‘Very well.’ He could not believe he was allowing her to dictate to him, but she had guessed one thing correctly. He could not afford to have her cry off. Mr Carter and the other money lenders would refuse him more time, high interest rate or not.

  They reached the Cumberland gate. Kellford did not even ask her if she wanted another turn in the park. He was eager to be rid of her. He drove her to her house and escorted her to the door.

  Before she went in, he seized her arm once again. ‘I will see you in the morning.’ He spoke it as a threat.

  * * *

  Once safe inside, Mariel leaned against the door, taking deep breaths to stop her shaking. She’d done it! She’d convinced Kellford to bring her the paper and, even more, she’d matched wits with the man again and won. It felt extremely gratifying.

  Perhaps she could succeed in ridding herself of the man and his menace to her father after all.

  Perhaps she could simply rip up the paper once he placed it in her hands. Leo and his valet did not have to risk being caught as thieves.

  That would be a better plan, she thought, but there was something more satisfying about working together with Leo, even with his valet and with Penny. She quite liked the camaraderie of it all.

  Besides, she would feel secure knowing Leo and Mr Walker waited in the shrubbery, just in case Kellford turned menacing, as he had today. No, she would proceed with the original plan. She was no longer alone in this.

  Mariel giggled with excitement. She’d even managed to point to the exact spot Leo had suggested for her to meet Kellford.

  She pulled off her gloves and ran up the stairs, removing her hat as she entered her bedchamber. Penny was not there. She pulled the bell cord and undid the buttons of her spencer and sat at her writing table to compose a note.

  Penny arrived as she was finishing it. ‘You rang for me, miss?’

  ‘I have the note for you to deliver to Mr Fitzmanning, Penny.’

  The girl’s eyes widened. ‘You arranged a meeting with Lord Kellford?’

  By now Penny had overheard enough so that Mariel had filled her in on almost all the details of her situation—except those of her father’s crime.

  And Mariel’s past history with Leo.

  ‘They must receive it today.’ She folded the envelope and sealed it with a wafer. ‘Because I am meeting Kellford in the morning.’

  Penny took the note and placed it in her pocket. ‘When shall I deliver it?’

  ‘As soon as possible, I think,’ Mariel responded. ‘But help me dress for dinner first.’

  As Mariel changed into a dress suitable for dinner, she was glad that Penny knew as much as she did. It had been so lonely handling everything by herself.

  One worry nagged at her. She might adhere to the plan, but would Leo? He did not like this plan. He might take matters into his own hands somehow. Could she truly count on him to work with her?

  He’d failed her once before....

  Chapter Eight

  Penny rushed out of the servants’ entrance and hurried to the line of hackney coaches on Oxford Street.

  ‘Jermyn Street, please,’ she told the jarvey.

  His brows rose and she felt herself blush. Did he think she was bound for some tryst? He was wrong!

  She climbed in the coach and leaned back against the seat.

  Hers was an important errand, one that might mean life and death to her lady.

  When Penny had been little and living with her parents above the glove shop in Chelsea, she could often hear through the wall when their neighbour, Mr Baker, beat his wife. One day Mrs Baker’s cries abruptly stopped. Her husband had killed her!

  That must not happen to Miss Covendale.

  So it was very important to bring the note to Mr Fitzmanning.

  Penny was not sure what to think of Mr Fitzmanning. He seemed like a very formidable man and always upset Miss Covendale so. Something very bad must have happened between them in the past. Penny wished she knew what it was, but that was wrong of her. It was not her place to be curious about her lady’s private matters.

  She did already know a great deal. It was a very great privilege to be taken into her lady’s confidence like she was. It was a great honour to be trusted with the important task of delivering the note to Mr Fitzmanning.

  Would she see his valet?

  Probably not, because valets usually stayed near bedchambers. Lady’s maids did, too. Mr Covendale’s valet was a fussy little man who didn’t like her at all. He was nothing at all like Mr Walker.

  Mr Walker’s face scared her a little. Not because it was ugly, though, because it wasn’t ugly. He did have some scars and a broken nose, but that wasn’t why, either. She only knew that she felt funny inside when she looked at him.

  He stared at her like Edward, the footman, stared at her, but for some reason, it did not feel bad when Mr Walker did it. Maybe it was because Mr Walker looked sad.

  She gazed out the window and saw that they were on Bond Street, not far from Piccadilly. Too nervous to even think any more, she watched out the window, counting the shops they passed, holding her breath when they turned on to Piccadilly
at Burlington House.

  When the hack turned onto Jermyn Street and stopped, Penny climbed out and paid the jarvey the two shillings Miss Covendale had given her. As the hack drove away, she walked slowly down the street until she came to the right door. Taking a deep breath, she knocked.

  Mr Walker opened the door. ‘Miss Jenkins.’

  She curtsied, although she thought maybe she should not have, because he was a valet. ‘Miss Covendale sent me with a note. Is—is Mr Fitzmanning at home? I must give it to him.’

  Mr Walker’s surprised expression remained fixed on his face. ‘He is not at home—’

  ‘Oh, no!’ What was she to do? ‘I am supposed to give the note to him.’

  The man froze for a moment, then collected himself. ‘Please come in, Miss Jenkins.’

  She entered into a small foyer that led directly to a sitting room. The room had nice chairs and sofas and tables—nicer than she’d grown up with—but it did not have any decorations, except a mantel clock.

  ‘Do be seated.’ Mr Walker extended his hand towards the sitting room.

  She did not know if she should or not. ‘Will Mr Fitzmanning return soon?’

  ‘I do not know.’ His face had that sad look again. ‘You may wait for him if you wish.’

  She nodded and sat in one of the chairs as if she were the gentleman’s invited guest. She patted her pocket, reassuring herself that her precious note was still there. ‘I did not expect you to open the door.’

  His forehead creased. ‘You did not?’

  ‘Mr Covendale’s valet would think it beneath him to open the door.’

  He glanced away.

  She feared she had injured his feelings. ‘He is a very snooty man, though.’

  He almost smiled and it made her heart skip beats. He stared at her as he had the day before and she fixed her gaze on her hands.

  Just when she thought she would die from her discomfort, he asked, ‘May I bring you some refreshment? Tea...or something?’

  ‘Me?’ She glanced up. ‘Wouldn’t Mr Fitzmanning think it improper?’

  He laughed. ‘Fitz would not care.’

  ‘You call your gentleman Fitz? He’s your employer!’

  He shrugged. ‘It is an unusual situation.’

  She scrutinised him. ‘Where are you from, Mr Walker? You do not talk like you look.’

  He lowered his head. ‘I owe that to Fitzmanning. He taught me to read and made me desire to improve myself in all ways.’

  She did not know what to say to that. It was to his credit, surely.

  He glanced away again and was silent. Penny examined the walls, as if there was something to see hung on them.

  Finally Mr Walker spoke again. ‘Is the note about a meeting with Kellford?’

  She nodded. ‘I must give it to Mr Fitzmanning today, because it says the meeting time is tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Tomorrow morning?’ His brows rose. ‘Not much time.’ He rubbed his chin, then quickly composed himself again as if the gesture had been too unseemly. ‘You may leave the note with me, Miss Jenkins. I will make certain Fitz sees it.’

  There was a knock on the door.

  ‘Has he come?’ She jumped to her feet.

  Mr Walker rose more slowly. ‘He would not knock.’

  He crossed the room to the foyer and opened the door.

  Penny heard a woman’s voice say, ‘Good day, Mr Walker. Is Leo at home? We have brought him something.’ The woman did not wait for a reply but walked straight in, followed by a gentleman carrying two large, flat packages.

  The woman—a very pretty lady—stopped suddenly when she spied Penny. Her brows rose.

  Mr Walker closed the door. ‘Mr Fitzmanning is not at home.’

  The lady’s eyes remained fixed on Penny. ‘Oh?’ She turned to Mr Walker. ‘Do you remember me, Walker? I am Leo’s sister, Mrs Milford.’ She gestured to the gentleman toting the packages. ‘Mr Milford.’ She turned back to Penny. ‘Who is this?’

  Penny executed a quick curtsy. ‘I am nobody, ma’am. Merely delivering a note from...someone.’

  Walker approached. ‘I was about to take the note from the miss, ma’am.’

  Penny gave it to him and looked up into his eyes. ‘You will see to it?’

  ‘I will indeed.’ His voice lowered just a bit and his eyes—very nice eyes, actually—were quite reassuring.

  ‘Well.’ Mrs Milford untied the string around the brown-paper wrapping. ‘Let me leave these with you for my brother.’

  The packages were about four feet wide and three feet high and Mr Milford rested one edge of them on the floor while his wife unwrapped them.

  ‘Oh, they are paintings!’ Penny exclaimed, then clamped her mouth shut.

  Mr Milford smiled. ‘My wife’s paintings.’

  The first one was of a grand house on a river. It was made of white stone that shimmered in sunlight. The second was a portrait of a man.

  ‘It is Mr Fitzmanning!’ Penny cried.

  Mrs Milford did not seem to resent her outburst. ‘I have long wished to give it to him.’

  She removed the rest of the paper and her husband rested the paintings against the wall.

  She gazed at them with an assessing eye, before turning to Mr Walker again. ‘Would you please tell Leo how sorry we are to have missed him?’

  ‘I will indeed, ma’am.’ Mr Walker bowed.

  ‘I must go.’ Penny rushed to the door before she spoke out of turn again.

  Mr Walker went after her and opened the door.

  Before she walked out, she turned back to him. ‘Thank you, Mr Walker,’ she murmured.

  He bowed slightly as if she were a lady. As if she were somebody important.

  She curtsied in return and stepped out to the pavement. A carriage was outside, its driver holding the horses. Mr Milford’s carriage, she supposed. A soft rain started to fall and she had forgotten to carry an umbrella. Surely her bonnet would be ruined and her dress would not be fit to wear to the servants’ table for dinner.

  She walked quickly to Piccadilly where she hoped to find a line of hackney coaches. A carriage stopped and blocked the way for her to cross the street.

  Mrs Milford leaned out the carriage window. ‘Miss Jenkins, may we take you to your destination?’

  ‘Oh, no, ma’am,’ Penny responded. ‘I couldn’t accept.’

  ‘Of course you can,’ the lady insisted.

  She opened the door and Mr Milford extended his hand to assist her inside.

  She did not know how to refuse. She climbed in and sat on the rear-facing seat.

  ‘Where shall we drop you?’ Mr Milford asked.

  She thought before responding. ‘Oxford Street.’ It was better this lady did not know she was bound for Hereford Street.

  Mr Milford leaned across her and opened the little window to tell the driver.

  The carriage started and Mrs Milford looked at her so hard Penny squirmed in her seat.

  ‘Your hair, your complexion, are lovely, Miss Jenkins. I wonder if you would allow me to paint you?’ the lady asked.

  Penny felt her cheeks burn. ‘Oh, I could not do that, ma’am.’

  She was relieved when the carriage reached Oxford Street. ‘I can get out here.’

  Penny ducked into a shop until their carriage drove out of sight.

  * * *

  The morning was thick with mist as Leo and Walker, dressed in workmen’s clothes with masks at the ready, concealed themselves in the shrubbery near the spot where Mariel was to meet Kellford.

  Leo still could not like placing her in this situation. Kellford was a dangerous man. He was bound to be angered by Mariel confronting him. If the man lashed out at her here, Leo and Walker would make short work of him, but wha
t if Kellford saved his retaliation for a later time?

  Mist crept through the trees, lending the scene an eerie quality which did nothing to allay Leo’s foreboding. The day did not promise to be a fine one. Leo only hoped the rain would hold off until Mariel was back safe in her house.

  A footfall sounded on the gravel path. Mariel appeared through the mist, wearing the same dark green hooded cape that she’d worn at Vauxhall. Her step was determined, her posture courageously erect. His heart swelled with pride for her.

  Mariel had once been a daring little girl, the first to respond to a challenge or propose an adventure. Charlotte was her willing follower, Annalise more likely to impose good sense on the two of them. Even as a boy Leo had had a grudging respect for Mariel’s pluck. Two years ago he’d fallen in love with it. Their courtship had been a daring adventure, as swathed in secrecy as Mariel was now swathed in her cloak.

  She did not pace, merely stood still as a statue, waiting. The mist melted away from her skirts as if she’d willed it to disappear. Sunlight broke through the trees to illuminate her, standing strong and determined. Leo wanted to signal her that she was not alone, but if Kellford was near, he might hear.

  The crunch of gravel signalled the man’s approach. Mariel turned towards the sound, and, a moment later, Kellford appeared, swinging a walking stick.

  ‘Mariel, my dear.’ He spoke as if this was a friendly tryst.

  ‘Sir,’ Mariel replied curtly. ‘Do you have the paper?’

  Kellford laughed with apparent good humour. ‘Come, come, my dear. Is that any way to greet your betrothed?’

  Mariel’s spine stiffened. ‘No nonsense, if you please, Kellford. No one is here but you and I. There is no need to act out this farce. If you have the paper, show it to me. If you do not, I’ll bid you goodbye and you may consider yourself a free man.’

  Kellford’s smile grew stony.

  Leo glanced at Walker. Both men were poised to spring to Mariel’s aid.

  ‘I have the paper.’ Kellford stepped closer to her. ‘But what is your hurry?’

  She stood her ground and Leo imagined her eyes flashing in anger. ‘I dislike being in your presence, as you well know. And I do not relish spending a great deal of time alone in the park.’