Regency Masquerades: A Limited Edition Boxed Set of Six Traditional Regency Romance Novels of Secrets and Disguises

by Brenda Hiatt

  “Aye, more’s the pity.”

  The women moved to the back of the hackney to take what small articles of baggage they could carry. Carlos picked up one of the trunks and followed them up the steps into the building. The hackney driver made no move to assist them.

  The house was as dingy inside as it had appeared on the outside. The odor of ale permeated the place, and as Falcon paused in the stair passageway and looked into what she assumed was a ground floor parlor, she was taken aback to see several gentlemen seated about the small room, drinking and quite apparently waiting for something. They looked at her with interest.

  “Maggie,” she began, but just then a small, neatly dressed, rather officious blond-haired woman came into the passage from the back of the house. The men in the parlor began to hoot and call to her amid much laughter.

  “Annie, oh, Annie! What about us, Annie?”

  She ignored them completely. “I just want you to know this is highly irregular,” she said in a thin, nasal whine. “We don’t usually have any rooms available. I’ve put you on the third floor, top o’ the stairs. Watch the carpet there, it slips. And you have to pay in advance.”

  With that rather extraordinary speech, she placed one hand on her left hip and held out the other for payment.

  “The third floor?” Falcon said in dismay, thinking of Carlos and the heavy luggage. He had deposited the trunk and gone out again to retrieve the rest of their luggage from the hackney. “How much must we pay? We are not certain how many nights we will be here.” There was no question it would be as few as possible.

  As she fished in her reticule for money, her fingers brushed against Lord Danebridge’s card, reminding her of his offer of assistance. Perhaps I could just ask him to recommend some better accommodations. She did not think such a request would place her under obligation to him. Obviously, her unfamiliarity with London had already put her little group at a disadvantage, but they could move as soon as Triss joined them.

  She paid the landlady for two nights in advance, refusing to pay more, and went back outside to settle her account with their driver. If only Carlos spoke English! He could have handled that transaction himself. A flurry of his excited Spanish was the first thing she heard as she stepped out the door, however.

  “Mequetrefe! Imbécil! No oiste nada? Como pudo pasar esto?” Clearly agitated, Carlos was pacing, gesturing frantically with his arms and heaping verbal abuse on the hackney driver, who of course understood nothing.

  “Carlos, what has happened?” Falcon asked in Spanish.

  “The small trunk, mistress. It has disappeared, and this idiot has been sitting here the whole time!”

  A glance behind the carriage confirmed that the trunk was no longer there. Falcon felt a painful twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach. Heavens! The trunk had been there just minutes ago. She could not believe that it was now gone, yet her eyes did not deceive her. She turned to the hackney driver, still sitting on his perch.

  “My servant is shouting at you because our trunk has disappeared from behind this vehicle in just these two minutes. Did you see no one? Did you hear nothing? I cannot believe you simply sat there while someone stole our luggage!”

  Falcon peered at the man in the deepening gloom, trying to get a good look at his face. To his credit, he looked genuinely surprised.

  “What? D’you mean someone’s nipped yer trunk while I sat right ’ere waitin’? Impossible!” Nothing for it but the fellow must climb down himself to look, and of course he saw nothing once he had done so.

  “It was right there,” Falcon said, pointing to the now-empty pavement. “Did you notice no one?”

  “There’s been people about, gents walking by, a few carts and carriages and such. I didn’t notice no one stopping.”

  “This is terrible.” She felt truly shaken. The smaller trunk contained her mother’s emeralds and most of the money Don Andres had given her. Without those, she did not know how she would go on.

  “You all right, ma’am?”

  She shook her head. A slight trembling was beginning to take hold of her limbs. “I hardly know what to do.”

  “Y’ might try reporting to a constable or the night watch, but in these parts of the city that trunk’s likely gone, ma’am, slipped down a side alley quick as a wink. But I swear I never heard a thing. I’m right sorry.”

  The trunk was gone, she had no doubt. Her fingers shook as she counted out the money to pay the man his fare. He had done nothing to deserve a tip, yet she could not quite bring herself to deny him one. In such a place, perhaps he did not dare to leave his coach unattended long enough to help his passengers!

  With a heavy heart, she followed Carlos back into the so-called lodging-house. Ignoring comments and verbal invitations from the occupants of the parlor, she made her way up what seemed like an endless, dark stairway. Muffled laughter and indistinct murmurs of conversation emanated from the rooms on the floors she passed. Maggie and Benita were waiting at the top.

  “There’s two small rooms, both furnished up as bedrooms, and this alcove by the landing,” Maggie reported. “No sitting room at all. It has the look of servants’ quarters to me.” Under her breath she fussed, “Lodging-house, my eye! Bawdy house is more the like. Saints preserve us!”

  Falcon sighed. “I know, Maggie. Carlos can make a pallet for himself in the alcove using our cloaks and some of the bedclothes once he has finished bringing up the luggage. I do not trust our landlady nor any of the other people I’ve seen in this house. I will sleep better if I know we have a guard at the top of the stairs.”

  There was no use in delaying the news of what had happened. “One of my trunks has been stolen—right from behind the hackney,” she said, repeating the words in Spanish so Benita could understand. “With it we have lost most of our funds! We must be grateful that we at least have a roof over our heads.”

  Carlos had followed Falcon up the stairs, clutching the remaining trunk as if he feared it, too, would disappear. As Benita and Maggie reacted with shock to her news, Falcon directed him to carry it into the first of the bedrooms.

  She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the fatigue that seemed to have crept unnoticed into every muscle in her body. With the money gone, what should she do? Maggie, Benita and Carlos were dependent upon her, and Triss was in no position to assist her, much as he might wish to.

  She would think of something. Had she not learned to rely on herself during her years in Spain? She had also learned not to be too proud to accept help when she needed it. She might have no choice but to seek it from Lord Danebridge, since she knew no one else. Perhaps their meeting had been fortuitous after all. While she could not ask him for money, he might be able to help her to find a teaching position, or at least to send word of her trouble to Don Andres. Could he be trusted? There was no way to know. However, there was another problem. Lord Danebridge had neglected to say how soon he would be arriving in London, and she had not thought to inquire…

  Lieutenant-Major Jeremy Hazelton, Lord Danebridge, turned his curricle into Portman Square at an hour close to midnight. The fog had not abated, and its heavy veil confined the light from the streetlamps in pale golden clouds which illuminated nothing beyond their own spheres. Despite this, the streets of the fashionable West End were busy with the social comings and goings of London’s Beau Monde. Jeremy was pleased to end his journey without mishap at a modest townhouse in Fitzharding Street just off the Square.

  He brushed the dampness from the topmost shoulder-cape of his greatcoat as he entered and handed a hat beaded with moisture to the waiting footman.

  “Good evening, John. It is John, isn’t it?”

  “Evenin’, sir. Yes, indeed, you’ve a good memory, sir.”

  The house could only have been opened a few hours earlier, yet there was no sign of it. All the Holland covers had disappeared from the furniture in the front reception room, and a cheerful fire blazed in the hearth. The place was not Jeremy’s own, but it would se
rve. There were definite advantages to being employed by the government.

  “Your man Nicholson is awaiting you in the library, sir. Said you’d prefer it to the drawing room.”

  “Have we someone to take my vehicle ’round to the livery?”

  “Oh, yes indeed, sir—you’ve a full staff at your disposal.”

  “So soon? Excellent.”

  In the library he found Nicholson comfortably established in a wing chair with his feet up on a cushioned footstool, a book in one hand and a glass in the other.

  “I’m not certain who it is that prefers the library to the drawing room, Nicholson my friend, but I must say you look content.”

  Nicholson scrambled to his feet instantly, looking somewhat, but not by any means completely, abashed.

  “Uh, sorry, sir. Wasn’t sure what time you’d get in, you know.”

  “At ease, man. I was not voicing a complaint.” Jeremy settled himself wearily into the matching partner to the wing chair. “Have we another glass like that one?”

  “We do. And some fine brandy to put in it.” Putting action to his words, Nicholson moved to the table where the decanter and glasses sat in state and poured Jeremy a drink.

  The lieutenant-major waited until other man had delivered the drink and resumed his seat before beginning to question him.

  “So, any trouble on your way in today? Fog like this can be a help or a hindrance, but I know you, Nicholson. You always complete your assignments. Your record is unmatched.”

  “Except by yours, sir.”

  “Of course. That’s because we work together.” Jeremy sipped his brandy, savoring the flavor. It was undoubtedly French, very fine, certainly smuggled in. The irony of having it provided by the very government that worked so hard against the smugglers was not lost on him. “I assume you have something to report?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Silence followed.

  “Well, am I to know what it is, man? Tonight?” Jeremy could not understand his assistant’s hesitation. “Are you waiting for the clock to strike or the cock to crow?”

  He was usually the soul of patience. The only excuse he had for the lack of it now was his own tiredness and his lack of success in convincing his superiors earlier in the evening that this entire business was a waste of his time and their resources. They had insisted that he continue to investigate the mysterious señora. They had reliable information that a foreign agent had been due to enter the country on the date she arrived, and they had only one other suspect under surveillance. The fact that she had aroused the suspicions of the captain on her own ship sufficiently for him to forward a warning counted a great deal in their books.

  Jeremy doubted whether they had considered how quick such a captain might have been to see a spy in anyone slightly questionable just to earn the informant’s reward. Still, he had no answers to explain the inconsistencies in the lady’s behavior or the oddities among her luggage. Something was havey-cavey—he just did not know what.

  “The lady and her servants are staying in a fancy-house near Covent Garden,” Nicholson said all in a rush.

  “What?”

  “I knew you would not be pleased.”

  “Do you mean to say we are going to all this trouble over a common prostitute? I do not believe it!” No prostitute that beautiful would have remained attached to a fancy-house for long. Besides, this woman had just arrived from Spain. Once again Jeremy found himself thrown off balance.

  “I couldn’t say, sir. But that is where they are staying.”

  Frowning, Jeremy set down his glass and got up to pace aimlessly on the Turkish carpet, weaving a path around the library table and assorted leather-backed chairs. “This is a turn I certainly did not foresee.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Did you take care of the other matter?”

  “I believe so. One of her trunks happened to disappear in the fog. It should set her back a bit. We were fortunate enough to get the one containing her money and jewels, just as you described them.”

  Only now it might be irrelevant. “Hm. No one saw you?”

  “No. We used the passing pedestrians trick. Had the cart coming from the other direction just at the right moment—all they had to do was heft the trunk up in and continue on their way, all done in a matter of seconds.”

  “Nice work. Certainly under our previous assumptions that loss should have created a sufficient problem to make her seek our assistance. Now we shall have to see what happens.”

  Could it be that she was a common light-skirt who had made good in Spain? The country had been crawling with Frenchmen, but the idea seemed preposterous. There was nothing common about her. He had seen for himself that she was exquisite, and she spoke two languages fluently in an educated manner. Had she been a high-priced Incognita, perhaps? Or merely a high-class thief? Both? Perhaps nothing in those trunks was really hers at all. Perhaps that is how she became a spy.

  He shook his head in frustration. Could he have so misread her character? Their two encounters had been extremely brief, but he was supposed to have some skill in that area. What was she doing in a fancy-house? No, cancel that—he could well imagine, and did not want to imagine, although certain images seemed to come all too easily. Rather, why was she there? He would wager the sum of the highest purse at Newmarket that she was no doxy.

  You could make use of her services. The thought came unbidden into his mind despite his instinct that she was not in the trade. Ungentlemanly though it might be, the idea did not displease him. His pulse beat a little faster. Sometimes circumstances victimized a better class of women—where else did all the elegant demi-reps come from?

  He did need another approach to follow if she did not come to him for aid, and in view of Nicholson’s information that original plan now seemed unlikely. Jeremy could send a man to keep watch, learn the places she went, and then contrive to run into her quite accidentally. It would not seem unnatural to pursue their acquaintance from there. If she was looking for a new protector, she might be very receptive indeed.

  “Have a man assigned to watch her,” he said, returning to his seat at last.

  “Already done,” Nicholson replied. “Figured I’d call him off if that was not what you wanted.”

  Jeremy raised his eyebrows. “Old fellow, I can’t decide if I’m looking forward to recovering my civilian life and being independent from you, or whether I’ll feel as though half of my brain has been left behind. Do you already know what I am going to do next?”

  Nicholson grinned. “I believe, sir, that you are going to finish your drink and then retire for the night.”

  Jeremy did. Before he claimed his bed, however, he wrote another letter to his son in Hertfordshire and tried to turn his thoughts to his plans for the future once he was free of this final duty. Part of those plans included looking for a wife. Anne would have wanted him to remarry, and Toby needed a mother. Jeremy’s own mother could not take charge of the boy forever.

  What Jeremy wanted was someone stable, respectable, and capable of managing his household. Perversely, when he finally lay down his sleep was plagued by dreams of luminous green eyes and a beautiful, mysterious lady who eluded his grasp at every step.

  Chapter Five

  Falcon arrived at Lord Danebridge’s door the following morning with her chin high and her maid hovering in her shadow. Unwilling to leave her two Spanish-speaking servants to the questionable mercy of their landlady, she had convinced Maggie to stay behind with Carlos and had taken Benita with her instead.

  The pair had already suffered a humiliating start to their day searching the dismal slum around their lodgings for a hackney or a food vendor, whichever they could find first. The warren of narrow streets and alleys filled with shabby buildings and equally shabby inhabitants yielded nothing to the two well-dressed women except stares and lewd comments. Certainly Triss could not have known what a place he had sent them to! Only when they finally reached a main thoroughfare had they discovered a hackney
stand at last and escaped from the rudeness they’d met in the streets.

  Of course, their driver had nodded his head knowingly when Falcon gave him Lord Danebridge’s Mayfair address. When she loftily informed him that she had business to conduct there, he had fixed her with a look that made her cheeks flame.

  Still seething at the unspoken insult, Falcon now gathered her remaining dignity about her like a cloak as she seized the polished brass knocker and rapped briskly on the door of Number Fourteen Fitzharding Street. Likely the servant about to answer would think ill of her as well, calling at a gentleman’s home and at such an early hour, but at least he would not know what neighborhood she had come from.

  The glossy painted door with its gleaming appointments opened at last, revealing a surprised footman. Falcon quickly handed him Lord Danebridge’s card, on which she had scribbled her assumed Spanish name.

  “I have business with Lord Danebridge,” she said, noting that the young man’s raised eyebrows remained fixed in their questioning position. “I have come to inquire when you expect him to arrive, for I happen to know he was on his way to London.”

  The fellow glanced down at the card in his hand. “I’m sorry, madam—uh, señora. I shall inquire.” He hesitated, and Falcon knew very well that he was deciding whether to shut the door, leaving her and Benita standing on the steps, or whether to invite her in. She stiffened her spine and attempted to look down her nose at the man.

  “I trust you are not contemplating leaving us standing here like common tradesmen while you do so,” she said in her most condescending tone.

  The door opened wider and she swept in, trailed by her maid. The footman ushered them into the handsomely appointed reception room to the right of the passage and left them.

  An elegant pair of settees covered in cream-colored striped silk faced each other in the center of the room. Falcon sat down on one of them for nearly an entire minute. She indicated to Benita that she should sit also and then jumped up again from her own seat. How long could it take for an English servant to learn the answer to a simple question?