When a Rake Falls

by Sally Orr

  Lady Buxton held her quizzing glass up in Mr. Mountfloy’s direction, probably trying to discern if the aeronaut’s insult of one of the world’s greatest astronomers was said in earnest. “Stuff and nonsense,” she said, her tone sharp.

  Mr. Mountfloy stood, glaring at her ladyship. “I object.”

  Boyce stood, glaring at Mr. Mountfloy. “Apologize, sir.”

  Mr. Henry stood, glaring at Boyce. “You must apologize.”

  Lady Buxton dropped her quizzing glass on her ample bosom. “Gentlemen, please, you remind me of being in a room full of jack-in-the-boxes.”

  Boyce remained standing while the two other men took their seats, somewhat guilty expressions appearing on both of their faces.

  Mr. Mountfloy seemed to recall the presence of a possible donor and started to apologize to his hostesses. He then included everyone—including his daughter—in a general apology, so Boyce sat down.

  Minutes later, any good impression Mr. Mountfloy had made vanished when he—without the consent of the priory’s ladies—planned to monopolize their staff for the next day’s search party.

  Mr. Henry leaned over to pat Eve’s hand. “Do not worry. I’ll find the book for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  Boyce failed to understand why she didn’t pull her hand away. Moreover, he continued to struggle with a burning desire to give her father a facer, an unseemly and unusual thought for him. His stomach ached, and his legs felt restless. So when the meal ended, he took his leave, bowed to each lady, and strode out of the room.

  After an hour of cooling off outside on the terrace, Boyce headed upstairs to his room for the night.

  At the top of the stairs, his candlelight revealed Lady Buxton’s elderly maid. The servant scurried down the hall in front of him and vanished behind the door at the end of the hallway.

  Seconds later, when he grabbed the cool brass doorknob of his room, he heard a noise.

  “Boyce, dear.”

  He turned to see Lady Buxton tiptoeing in his direction wearing a claret-colored velvet robe and lawn nightcap. “Shh, keep your voice low. Now follow me.” She walked down to a double-oak door along the far side of the corridor and slipped inside the room.

  He silently followed her, stealth the unspoken name of the game.

  “We only have minutes,” she said. “I have sent all the housemaids downstairs to tidy up, so we must bustle.” They stepped into a large apartment decorated in blue satin. The occupant was clearly a female, since no man on earth would put up with the number of little white cupid thingamabobs decorating everything from the furniture to the oil lamps.

  Lady Buxton pulled him into a corner of the room and spoke softly. “We both surmise that dear Lydia has possession of Miss Mountfloy’s book, although she denies it. I learned about it myself from one of my servants. Seems Lydia associated her gratitude with their silence, followed by a few shillings, clever puss. We only have a few minutes to find the book before she returns. It must be here, because if she hid it elsewhere in the house, one of the maids might find it and not all of them are a party to her secret.”

  “I knew in my bones she had it,” Boyce said, taking a careful glance around the room. “Where do women hide their most precious things? I know—locked away in her jewelry casket.”

  “No, too obvious. Thompson, her lady’s maid, must be in on her secret, so Lydia must have hidden it somewhere practical and easy to access. In her dressing room, under her stockings, I think.” Lady Buxton rummaged through a large corner cupboard. “No bit of luck there.” She turned to face Boyce. “Let’s follow your suggestion, her jewelry casket.”

  Boyce nodded, and they moved to the overly large vanity. “I chose the casket because the servants must have instructions to leave it alone. The only difficulty is we do not have a key.”

  “You inherited your dear mother’s intuition about people, my boy. Don’t worry though. I know where she keeps the key.”

  “Where?”

  “Under her stockings, of course.” Lady Buxton went back to the carved mahogany cupboard and found the key. With a smile, she held up an ornate gilt key hanging on a long, red satin ribbon. “Let’s give this a try.”

  Boyce maneuvered the mahogany chest out from behind a large collection of multicolored glass perfume bottles. “Fingers crossed.”

  Lady Buxton inserted the key and attempted to twist it to the left. “Need your help, dear.”

  “Yes, yes.” He deftly turned the key until the brass lock emitted a loud clunk.

  She opened the lid and pulled several trays containing sparkling jewelry out of the box.

  Five shelves loaded with bobbles were placed into Boyce’s arms before the discovery of the Results book wedged into the bottom of the casket. “Thank heavens,” he said a little too loudly.

  “Shh.” Lady Buxton held up her finger to her lips.

  He nodded. “Miss Mountfloy will be so pleased.” His heart sang a silent tune. “I cannot wait to go downstairs and present it to her.”

  Lady Buxton took the shelves from his arms one by one and returned them to the casket. “I hate to disagree with you, dear boy. But I insist we wait until tomorrow before we inform everyone.”

  “Why?” His heartbeat stilled. He pleaded, “You do not seem to understand. Miss Mountfloy is distraught over the loss of her book. I do not want her to suffer any longer than necessary.”

  “I understand, believe me I do.” She patted his back, a sly grin on her mouth. “But consider the consequences. The whole house will be put in an uproar and everyone will be roused from their slumbers. And most important of all, Lydia will be upset. All I ask is that you give me the chance to confront her with the news first, so she can retain her pride. I love my daughter-in-law, and I do not wish to see her embarrassed by an indelicate outburst. The earliest you can rejoin the race is tomorrow anyway, isn’t it?”

  Together they set the room to rights, then returned to the hall.

  “I was not thinking of myself,” he said. “I am concerned about Miss Mountfloy’s comfort and needs.”

  Lady Buxton patted his arm. “Of course you are. We all are. Such a wonderful young woman, don’t you think so?”

  “Yes, yes, she…” It struck Boyce that once he restored the book to Eve, he would likely never see her again—a sobering thought. He bent down and kissed Lady Buxton on the cheek. “Thank you for the advice. I am pleased my mother had friends like you. She was a lucky woman.”

  Lady Buxton’s eyes filled with tears, and she squeezed his upper arm. “My dear, I am grateful for the connection. People like your mother, who release the hidden mirth in those around them, can never be replaced. I am grateful that I knew her, and in the future, I’ll cherish her memory more often now that I know her son.” A winsome smile broke across her lined face. “I will see you in the morning. We can discuss the appropriate time to present the book to Miss Mountfloy then. Good night.”

  Boyce hugged her and planted another kiss on her cheek. “Good night.”

  “You! What a rascal.” She gingerly stepped back to her apartment.

  Once in his room, he contemplated the following day. What would Eve say about his restoration of the book? No, that would not be fair. He must give credit to Lydia and her servants, but then he remembered Lady Buxton’s warning. Perhaps Lydia did not want it generally known that her servants had found the book and that she had withheld it from the Mountfloys. He then tried to conjure up the words of gratitude from every person, except Lydia, in an attempt to avoid one subject—he and Eve must separate. Now that she was restored to her father, she would leave for London, while he must rejoin the earl’s race. He pulled on his nightcap and slid under the coverlet. His goal had always been to set her to rights, wasn’t it? Why then did he feel trussed, gagged, and about to walk the plank?

  Setting the leather Results book on the table by
his bed, he watched the sparkling gold letters disappear into the darkness after he blew out his candle. Maybe he should alter his promise to include his safe escort to London? With this pleasant thought in mind, he fell asleep.

  Boyce woke with a knock upon his door. He donned a jacquard banyan and let the housemaid in to build the morning fire. He looked outside and saw the beginnings of another beautiful summer day. With happy thoughts of Eve’s delight upon the recovery of the book, he glanced over to the table by his bed.

  The book was gone.

  Panic seized him; his throat dried. He searched above, behind, and around every object in the room. Taking a few deep breaths, he tried putting himself in Eve’s dainty half boots and use logic. This effort failed to discover who stole the book, but logic dictated it was in the priory somewhere and would eventually be returned to its rightful owner. So her fears of the book being destroyed would not come to pass. The first chance he had to speak with her, he’d ease her mind and reassure her of its eventual recovery.

  Minutes later, while his temporary valet shaved him, he relaxed enough to imagine Eve’s happiness when the book was returned to her. His heart lightened once more. “The sun shines over Sussex, the sky is as blue as…” Boyce wondered what word he could use to describe the blue sky in his new, altogether appropriate song. Sapphires were too dark, and the sea was too, well, watery. Eve had blue eyes, didn’t she? He sang his new song while he tied the latest fashion in cravat knots. Then he asked the valet where he might find Lady Buxton. Boyce knew, like him, she was an early riser, and he needed to tell her first about the loss of the Results book. He hurried down to catch her in the breakfast parlor.

  Upon opening the door, he was confronted with a large number of smiling faces. The two women of the house, Mr. Mountfloy, Mr. Charles, and Eve herself, looking very pretty indeed in one of Lydia’s pink gowns.

  Eve immediately stood and approached him. “Good morning. I wondered when you would wake. Have you heard the good news? Charles Henry found the Results book. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  The imaginary blow that hit him almost toppled him over.

  Mr. Mountfloy parroted his daughter’s praise. “Capital. I cannot express our gratitude enough.” He nodded in the direction of Mr. Henry, who just sat beaming at everyone around him. “Saved the day, my boy.”

  Boyce stared at Mr. Henry. The unspeakable, dunghill, scaly cur could not even look him directly in the eye. Yes, yes, he would give him a piece of his mind. “Mr. Henry did not find the book. I found the book.”

  “Boyce dear,” Lady Buxton said, “do please come and sit down. My nerves this morning cannot stand loud voices.” She patted the back of the mahogany chair next to her. “I will explain to you Mr. Henry’s astonishing story about the discovery later.”

  She must have known Mr. Henry stole the book. Why didn’t she speak out and accuse the scoundrel too?

  Eve approached him. “I don’t understand.”

  He remained silent, unsure of what to say.

  She glanced at Charles Henry. “Where did you find the book?”

  Boyce spoke first. “I discovered the book last night, and it was stolen off of my bedside table.” He pointed to Charles Henry. “He must have stolen it.”

  Eve turned to the other man. “How, then, did you come by it?”

  “Passed a servant in the hallway carrying the book, so I naturally took it from her, since your father is the rightful owner,” Charles Henry said, appearing unconcerned.

  “No, I found it.” Boyce could hardly believe the cur sat there smiling after speaking such a bold-faced lie. “I found it for you.”

  “Did you?” Eve questioned. “Did you go into the woods and retrieve it? Or are you claiming a false accomplishment?”

  Boyce dropped his jaw and his mind spun until reality blurred.

  She shook her head. “You initially claimed you landed the balloon by yourself too. Are you merely seeking undue attention and praise? Or must I now question your veracity?”

  Boyce kept his silence, staring dumbfounded at Eve. He had found the book last night. Why didn’t she believe him? How could she not trust him? He had done everything he could to help her. He had even saved her life. He realized for the first time that he cared deeply for her; she had become the most important woman in his life.

  “I suggest we all calm down,” Lady Buxton said, “before any more words are exchanged that someone may regret later. Clearly, the priory’s servants found the book in the woods. The chain of ownership after that included his lordship and Mr. Henry. I suggest we thank all of them for their efforts. The important part of the story is that the book is in the hands of the proper owner. In the future, Boyce dear, I recommend you consider the efforts of others before you claim an accomplishment.”

  A simple nod was all he could manage.

  “Eve, please come and sit down,” Mr. Mountfloy said. “Now that Charles Henry here was the last man to put everything to rights, we can forgive his lordship for the book’s initial loss and return to London. I am eager to resume my research.”

  Eve glanced his way, shaking her head in acknowledgment of the injustice of her father’s accusation. “The book’s loss was not his lordship’s fault.”

  “Humph.” Mr. Mountfloy dropped his utensils on the table with a bang.

  “Cheer up, Father,” Eve said. “Since we have the Results book in our hands, I can accurately describe our discovery of the angle of the mock suns.”

  Lydia dabbed her mouth with her napkin and then spoke without looking at anyone. “This whole affair has been unfortunate. I am quite put out.” She glared at Mr. Henry. “Indeed, I insist the ballooning party, except for dear Boyce, leave the priory immediately. My servants are too much put-upon to deal with such a large party. And, Miss Mountfloy, you will no longer need the use of my third-best rose-colored gown. Your own gown will be restored to you within the hour.”

  Still heartbroken over Eve’s admonishment, Boyce caught her glance. All he could do was mumble, “Such a shame. You are extremely pretty in that gown.”

  “Sir—” Mr. Mountfloy’s voice seemed overloud for the small room.

  “Yes, yes, I beg your pardon.” Boyce lowered his head. It was too painful to look at Eve.

  Lydia stood. “Oh, I fear I have the headache and so early in the morning too.” A dainty hand almost obscured by her long lace sleeves rubbed her forehead.

  “Lord Boyce,” Mr. Mountfloy said, grinding his teeth, “my daughter’s appearance is no concern of yours.” His expression lightened as he faced Lydia. “Indeed, ma’am, I understand the difficulties of such a large party in residence, so we will take our leave of you ladies. Miss Mountfloy and I are grateful for your assistance in the recovery of our balloon. Eve, let us prepare to—”

  “Yes, of course, right away.”

  Boyce desired to leave too. What had started out as a brilliant blue day was now poised to become hours of tedious civilities and eminent boredom. “If I might, Lady B., I’ll rejoin the earl’s race today.”

  “You can’t leave…” Lydia instantly dropped her gaze to her toast.

  Everyone in the room turned to stare at her.

  Her probable sign of partiality lightened his mood just a little, but he couldn’t imagine staying at the priory without Eve’s friendly face—not to mention her father would likely forbid him to join their party on their return to London. “Now that I have kept my promise and have restored Miss Mountfloy back to rights, I see no reason to stay. Paris is still a long journey ahead.” Also, one part of him eagerly wished to resume the race. Since he had traveled by balloon across England, he had already won at least two challenges, the intelligence and courage challenges—unless one of those rag-mannered coves fell into a touch of luck during their journey to Paris.

  “No!” Lydia exclaimed. She stilled, her petite chin elevated. “I mean, I was hopin
g you would stay to entertain Mama and me.” She turned to Lady Buxton. “Ask him to stay, please do.”

  “In this instance, I must agree with my daughter-in-law. Stay awhile until you have fully recovered, Boyce dear. I cannot tell you at present why it is important for you to stay.”

  Eve tore her glance away from her meal. She did not speak, but her steady stare bespoke an earnest plea for him not to leave immediately.

  He owed Lady Buxton so much for everything, but he could not stay. “I cannot thank you ladies enough for the hospitality you have shown me during my stay at the priory. But in truth, I long to rejoin the race right away. I know the story of my journey to Paris will win at least one challenge. However, if you will permit me, I shall call upon the priory after my victory is complete, so I can show you my gold cup, perhaps even present you with my new bride, Lady Sarah.”

  Eve jumped to her feet and fled the room.

  Thirteen

  Stumbling down the front steps of the priory, Eve’s feet barely reached the gravel of the drive before Charles Henry caught up with her. Without slowing her pace, she continued to head directly toward the stables. Her emotions seemed to fly everywhere, from upset to anxious, to angry, and she didn’t fully understand why. She did, however, recognize a sudden hostility toward Lady Sarah, a woman she had never met before. If Lady Sarah had not been so picky over the choice of a spouse, perhaps the events of the last week would never have happened.

  Charles Henry cleared his throat several times to gain her attention. “Why did you leave the room in haste? You do not seem like yourself today.”

  Eve ignored him, suppressing a strange, overwhelming desire to run. “I am still tired from my ordeal in the woods, that’s all.” They reached the basket, and she gripped the edge, because it kept her from complete collapse. The stables had become stiflingly hot already and the smell of acrid straw filled the air. For no reason at all, she tugged on a twig of loose wicker and kept her back to him.