Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

“No. The—the burgundy. That shall do nicely.”

  The maid returned with two buckets of water, followed by a footman carrying the tin hipbath. They placed it near the fire that Lindley thoughtfully lit while the maid dumped steaming water into the bath.

  Once the maid had left, William pulled off his nightshirt and tossed it at his valet. He grabbed a bar of bayberry soap. As he eased down into the water, someone knocked on his door.

  Thinking it was the maid returning with his breakfast, he called, “Come in.”

  He closed his eyes and lathered his face and neck, letting the spicy bay scent awaken him.

  “Mr. Trenchard?” Sarah’s cool voice asked.

  The slippery soap squirted out of his clenched fist and sailed into the air. He opened his eyes. Suds dripped over his lashes, burning and blurring his vision. He rinsed his face and stinging eyes and swore. Then he remembered a lady was present and stopped abruptly.

  “Sorry, you dropped this,” Sarah said, holding the soap in front of his face.

  He grabbed it out of her hand. “What are you doing? Get out!”

  “You told me to come in,” she replied. A fleeting dimple crinkled one cheek. “Are you shy?”

  “No. That isn’t the point, you unnatural wretch. Now, get out!” He could feel Lindley watching them.

  He refused to meet his valet’s curious gaze.

  Sarah smiled.

  Glancing at her, he saw she was wearing trousers and what looked like a new smock. “Where did you get those clothes?”

  “I sent across to Mrs. Pochard’s. It’s my spare. At least she didn’t sell these with my box.”

  “What are you doing dressed like that?” He hurriedly rinsed the soap off his face and out of his hair. Then he paused.

  While he was not bashful, he didn’t want to shock Sarah by stepping out of the bath.

  Sarah stood there, staring at him with her sparkling gray eyes brimming with humorous warmth. Her amused expression seemed to confirm his worst suspicions that she was waiting for him to stand.

  “You said you were going to find my box today. So I thought I ought to go to work. To pay for all these adventures. I just wanted to let you know.” She stepped toward the door, although her eyes drifted over his bare chest.

  When she caught his glance, she had the grace to blush and look away.

  “You can’t go to work.” He surged out of the water and turned his back to her. Lindley unobtrusively handed him a towel to wrap around his waist.

  Then Lindley busied himself brushing off William’s jacket and rather pointedly pretending not to notice anything unusual.

  “Lindley, have one of the maids escort Sara—Sam to her—his room. Keep him there.” He eyed Lindley’s thin, bland face and added, “Mr. Sanderson’s life is in danger. We disguised him as a female last night. If he goes out at all, he must be dressed in skirts. See to it.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “It’s no use,” Sarah said, opening the door. “I’m going to work. I’m expected.” She frowned at Lindley. “And I can’t wear a dress laying bricks. It wouldn’t be proper.”

  “You are not going to work. Furthermore, I’ll send word to Mr. Hawkins that you won’t be returning. Now, get out.” Noticing the familiar mulish set of her jaw, he said, “Wait.”

  “Wait or go, what’s it to be?”

  “Go to your room and wait for me to dress. I’ll be along shortly. We need to discuss this matter under more…appropriate circumstances.”

  “Appropriate?” She snorted.

  “Yes!”

  “How long do you think you’ll be?” She eyed him with a certain speculative gleam in her eyes.

  “Five—ten minutes at the most.”

  “That quick, eh? I wouldn’t have supposed it possible, all things considered.”

  “Get out! And wait in your room until I get dressed!” William held his arm straight, finger pointing at the door. “Now, out!”

  When the door closed behind her, William turned to Lindley. “Quick, go and make sure he doesn’t leave.”

  “If he’s intending to leave, it’s most likely too late already, sir.”

  “Go!” He pointed his finger at the door again.

  Lindley nodded and left in haughty silence.

  Rubbing the towel over his hair, William jerked around at the sound of the door opening. He held the towel at his waist, prepared for the worst.

  Lindley stepped back into the room.

  “Is he here?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s in his room, drinking a cup of chocolate. We thought it best to feed him while he waited.”

  “Good. Good notion.” William finished drying off and sat down for Lindley to shave him. The operation seemed to take an excessively long time. Impatient, William moved his head, resulting in several nicks.

  “Please, sir, if you would simply relax—”

  “Just finish, will you?”

  “Certainly.” Lindley wiped the soap from William’s face with a damp cloth and carefully cleaned the razor before tucking it away in its leather case.

  “What are you doing now?”

  “Just one moment. If you please, sir,” his valet said. He glided over to the wardrobe and rifled through the folded clothing.

  Ten minutes later, when William finally tucked the ends of his neckcloth into his waistcoat, he noticed his reflection in the mirror. He had been in such a hurry that he hadn’t realized Lindley had flouted his previous orders. His valet had arrayed him in the dark green superfine jacket and fawn breeches, despite William’s stated desire to wear his black jacket and trousers.

  “I thought I told you the black!” William said, repressing his amusement.

  “Indeed, sir? I’m terribly sorry. I apologize. Would you care to change?”

  “No—no, I would not. It’s been twenty minutes already.” William yanked open the door and strode out into the corridor toward the guest room.

  The door to Sarah’s room was closed. He had a brief urge to turn the key in the lock and leave her there. Except she’d probably climb out the window. And like as not, she’d break her neck.

  He knocked.

  “Come in!” Sarah called. She was sitting near the window, munching on a large bun.

  “Now,” he said, coming to a halt in the center of the room. “I want to make it perfectly clear. Under no conditions will you leave this house today.”

  She eyed him before pouring another cup of hot chocolate. “Even if it’s on fire?”

  “Yes,” he replied savagely. “Particularly if the house is on fire.”

  She giggled, but noticeably failed to agree.

  “You’ll give me your word that you’ll stay?” he asked.

  “Can’t. I told you, even if I don’t work, I’ve got to talk to Mr. Hawkins.”

  “Is the conversation you must have with Mr. Hawkins worth your life? “

  “I—” She had the grace to appear abashed.

  “Someone is doing their best to kill you. They’ll be waiting for you. And if the murderer doesn’t get you, the police most assuredly will.”

  “The police are no longer interested in me. And it’s your responsibility to ensure I don’t return home with a bullet in my back.”

  “No, it’s my job to find out who killed Major Pickering. And who apparently plans to do the same favor for you, if you insist on behaving like an idiot. I can’t play nanny to you and investigate at the same time. Give me your word you won’t leave this house.”

  “There are matters you don’t know—” she said before they were interrupted by the maid’s arrival at the door.

  William grabbed the maid by the arm and dragged her forward. “You’ll help Mr. Sanderson with his clothing. You’re to remove his smock and breeches. And his shoes. In fact, you will confiscate them. And any other articles of outer wear in this room. Then bring them to me. I’ll be waiting in my office. Mr. Sanderson’s life is in danger. He’s going to pretend to be a female. Is that clear?”

>   “Oh, yes, sir,” the maid agreed quickly and with evident relish. She flashed a quick, provocative glance at Sarah and winked.

  William turned on his heel.

  “But—” Sarah said, clearly ill at ease.

  “But, sir, what about a dress?” the maid objected with evident relish.

  “Leave him naked if you have to. I’ll be waiting for his smock and breeches.” Before he closed the door, he added, “You should have given your word, Sanderson. It would have been much simpler.”

  While he waited at his desk, he wrote a note to Sarah, telling her what he intended to do. He emphatically reiterated his request that she stay at Second Sons. It was time to initiate a serious inquiry, starting with the contents of Sarah’s box.

  Distractions like Sarah had to be dealt with forcefully. He hoped a lack of clothing was vigorous enough. However, he wouldn’t put it past her to wrap herself up in the draperies and do precisely as she pleased. He couldn’t help chuckling at the thought.

  Should he consider ordering all sheets and draperies removed, as well? While he contemplated this course of action, the maid entered the office. She stood near the door with Sarah’s smock and breeches draped over one arm and the pair of stout boots in the other.

  “I did as you asked, sir.”

  He rose and opened a drawer in a locking cabinet normally reserved for client records. Many asked that he keep objects for them, letters and things they did not want family members to discover. The heavy lock reassured even the most nervous customer that anything in William’s keeping would be safe until he placed the items back into their trembling hands.

  “Put them here,” he said. He watched impatiently as she placed the boots inside first and then carefully folded and added the clothing on top.

  “That were all, sir?”

  “Yes. You can fetch him books to read. The newspaper—anything. Give him Le Belle Assemblee if you can find a copy,” he added with an irony entirely lost on the blank-eyed maid. “Give him anything he wants. But he mustn’t leave.” He studied the maid’s perplexed face. “His life is in danger if he should set even one foot outside. Mr. Sanderson doesn’t comprehend the serious nature of his predicament.”

  The maid bobbed a curtsey. “I see—that were why he came dressed as a woman last night?”

  “Precisely. However, his disguise may have been penetrated. We must do our best to keep him safe.”

  “Oh, yes, sir. He were safe here with us. We’ll see to it.” The maid’s rather breathless assurances would have to do.

  As he approached the front door, William paused and told the butler the same thing. When he agreed to ensure Mr. Sanderson did not escape, William crammed his beaver hat onto his head and left, heading for Mr. Carnaby’s house.

  He arrived at the gate to the Carnaby town house after a brisk, head-clearing walk. One last time, he poked his walking stick into the soil at the base of the tree, searching for the box. It wasn’t there. He eyed the busy street and considered checking a few of the nearby shops. If anyone had found the box and broken it open, they may have taken the money. However, a chance remained that they had not found the papers inside, under the false bottom.

  Then they would undoubtedly seek to sell the container. Why keep it?

  Unfortunately, the box might have been found because someone had been actively searching for it. Mr. Carnaby knew the thief had not had the item when the police arrested him. He may have guessed it was hidden nearby.

  Tapping the dirt off the end of his stick, William resettled his hat on his head. He watched the passing Londoners.

  A fair-haired girl sitting next to a dapper gent in a gig caught his eye. She smiled and gave him a slight nod before glancing down modestly at her gloved hands clasped in her lap. William turned away, amused. Whoever, or whatever, she thought he was, she was most likely mistaken.

  He was no gentleman. Not any longer.

  He turned away and went to Carnaby’s front door. He knocked briskly with the knob of his walking stick. When the butler answered, William handed him his card and informed him that he wished to speak to Mr. Carnaby.

  A few minutes passed before the butler returned. He gravely requested William follow.

  “Mr. Trenchard,” Mr. Carnaby greeted him. “Please sit down.”

  “Thank you for seeing me. I came about the box we discussed on my last visit. Are you still interested in selling it?”

  Carnaby laughed and sat back in his leather armchair. “I was almost surprised to hear you were here this morning.”

  “But I indicated before that I would return to purchase the box.”

  “Indeed, yes. I must confess, I thought you might be too impatient to wait.”

  William’s brows rose, sensing a trap. “I don’t understand.”

  “No.” Carnaby smiled as if at a private joke. “I don’t suppose you do. You see, someone tried to steal that little box.”

  “Tried? Does that mean the theft was unsuccessful?”

  “Not entirely.”

  “Then you no longer have the box in your possession?”

  “You know, Mr. Trenchard, this all makes me curious. Did that box truly contain love letters as you mentioned? Why would you—and so many others—be interested in it, if that were true?”

  “I thought I explained—”

  “Didn’t your client explain to you?” Carnaby steepled his hands and rested his index fingers against his mouth. “That is the crux of the matter, is it not? I’ve heard of Second Sons. And that agency was printed on your calling card. Tell me, do you consider yourself an honest man?”

  “Honest? Why, yes,” William said, wary of the non sequitur. He hooked his ankle over a knee, barely able to keep from drumming his fingers against his thigh. “Why do you ask?”

  “Just to satisfy an old man’s curiosity. Why are these particular papers of such great importance?”

  “A life depends upon them,” William said at last, settling on the truth in hopes of obtaining Mr. Carnaby’s cooperation.

  “Ah, I see. Yet that remark could be construed in so many ways. An innocent man condemned to hang may depend upon papers to prove his innocence. Destroying rashly written love letters may save the life of a husband, or wife, with a jealous spouse. Military secrets may save, or destroy, hundreds of lives. So, I ask myself, what sort of papers you seek, and whose life might they save?”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Or don’t know? Is that the true answer? Perhaps you might be interested in a story, Mr. Trenchard. If you have the time? It starts fourteen years ago, during one of our many wars.”

  William refrained from glancing at his watch, but a small frown pinched the skin between his brows. “If you don’t have the box—”

  “So impatient…still, Mr. Trenchard, I believe you may find this interesting. Let’s begin my tale like so many others and say that once upon a time, there was a dutiful Englishman who went to war for his country. In the midst of terrible fighting, he discovered there were things even worse than the artillery and guns that can take a man’s leg off more quickly than a tear can fall from an innocent girl’s lashes.”

  “I don’t—”

  Carnaby held up a hand. “Patience. Let’s say this young man, our erstwhile hero, wrote home to his father and told him something was not quite right. Let’s pretend he was afraid corruption had found a path into the very highest ranks. But then, before our hero could discover the exact nature of the corruption and expose it to the healing sunlight, he died. A tragedy for all, except perhaps those who might profit from secrecy. If indeed there was anything to his words, and they were not just the fevered imaginings of a man exhausted by battle.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was speaking of my son.”

  “I apologize, Mr. Carnaby. You have my sympathy,” William said smoothly, wondering where Carnaby was leading him.

  He nodded. “Thank you. However, that is not the end of the st
ory, is it?”

  “You have the advantage of me, sir. I don’t see what the death of your son—I’m sorry, I understand how terrible that must have been—but I don’t see the connection to the box.”

  “Don’t you? The question this raises in my mind is if your client would profit more from disposing of the contents of the box. Or exposing them?”

  “My client is unsure of the significance of the papers, if there is any. However, I can say this much. If some injustice has been done, it is not my client’s doing.”

  “Then I repeat, why are the papers important?”

  William put both feet on the floor and leaned forward slightly. “This has been interesting, and I’m sorry about your son, but if you no longer have the box, I must do what I can to locate it. Thank you for your time.”

  “I don’t believe I ever said I didn’t have the box.”

  “You have it?” His pulse leapt.

  “Have it and opened it. And I must say I’m relieved I did before selling it to you. There were nearly six pounds inside.” Mr. Carnaby’s eyes twinkled.

  “And…nothing else?”

  Carnaby struggled to his feet and walked over to one of the bookcases. William stood, while Carnaby pushed some volumes to one side. He drew out the box. Then he carried it over to his chair and waved impatiently for William to sit again. The box was a lovely pale honey-colored bird’s-eye maple with an elegant brass gryphon pierced through the breast by a keyhole.

  William fished the key out of his pocket, but again, Carnaby waved impatiently and lifted the lid. Several folded sheets lay inside. Carnaby fished them out and handed the bundle to William.

  “There was a false bottom. I confess I had to break it. And I was disappointed when I did. I had hoped the documents would make sense to me. They did not,” Carnaby said. Hesitating only a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small cotton-wrapped object. “And there was this, as well. A locket.”

  William took the locket without examining it. Carnaby’s statement strengthened his growing doubt. Carnaby was an extremely intelligent old gentleman. If the papers meant nothing to him, then how could they be anything but worthless to Sarah?

  However, despite the apparent uselessness of the documents, William unfolded the top sheet.