About an Earl (What Happens in the Ballroom)

by Diana Lloyd

  “I should have. I was so shocked I couldn’t do anything for a moment or two. When I came to my senses all I could do was laugh. A man I once considered my best friend offered me a piece of fine jewelry in exchange for my services as his lover. I’m not sure if I was laughing at him or myself. I’m not even sure why it was so funny.” Shaking the thought from her head, Jewel smiled ruefully. “I wore my best dress.”

  “I’m sorry everything went to hell. At least you look nice.”

  “Thank you.” They exchanged smiles. “He said a few more things after that but I suddenly realized that I had no reason to stay there. I didn’t owe him an explanation. My refusal was a complete answer. I walked away and didn’t look back.”

  “When you’re ready to smile again just think of his face once he realizes you’re a rich woman.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” That morning’s drama temporarily overshadowed her real news. “That’s why I need Oliver’s lawyer. Oliver said he’d be visiting his solicitor today—what had he said the man’s name was? Bartholomew? No, something more like…Bartleby.” That was it. She’d forget trying to settle with her uncle directly; she’d have Oliver’s solicitor do it for her. But Oliver never told her where the man’s office was located. “Keep a sharp eye for a sign with the name Bartleby on it.”

  “Sure would if I could read.”

  “Oh, Elvy, we’ve come all this way with neither one of us minding the signs. I’m so sorry I wasn’t more alert. If you’ll keep driving, I’ll start looking.” Street after street, Jewel scanned doors, windows, and shingles for anyone advertising as a lawyer. Elvy’s driving was more dictated by the whims of traffic than any actual plan. It didn’t help that neither one of them was familiar with London. As they turned another corner, Jewel sighed, recognizing a street they’d traveled before.

  “There appear to be no shops down here, maybe we should turn around and keep to the more traveled streets. Like…Bond or Fleet Street.” Jewel rattled off the first two street names that came to mind. Where did all the lawyers of London hide themselves?

  “We passed by one of those streets, but the traffic wouldn’t allow me to turn the way I wanted to.” Elvy sat up taller and straightened her shoulders. “I’m going to have to drive like a Town gent and just push my way in. That’s what Egbert would do.”

  “Egbert and Jules would nudge the other carriages aside to get where they wanted to go. No one would be keeping them from taking a turn or claiming their place in the road,” Jewel said with bravado.

  “You’re right,” Elvy agreed. “Let’s go.” With a sharp snap of the reins to Pepper’s rump, the horse lurched forward, pulling Pickle along beside him. The second snap, to Pickle, jerked the carriage crossways in the road as Elvy attempted to turn them around.

  Elvy’s driving skills weren’t enough for busy, crowded streets, and as they lurched back and forth across the roadway, horse riders and faster carriages squeezed by in what little space was available. Pepper and Pickle, usually surefooted, nervously stomped and shook their heads as Elvy sawed at the reins.

  “Let me try.” Jewel put one hand on Elvy’s arm and reached for the reins. “There’s too much traffic, I shouldn’t have asked this of you.” Wedged sideways across the road, the rig was in danger of being crushed by a large merchant wagon that was coming upon them.

  “I could if it were a straight road,” Elvy said, surrendering the leads. As soon as the leather touched her hand, Jewel smiled to reassure her. A second after, the curricle shuddered from impact and started to tip. With the horses still in their straps, Pickle stumbled and went down, pulling Pepper to his knees as the left wheel rose high into the air while the other snapped. Jewel held fast to the driver’s seat, and Elvy jumped to the ground as the carriage crumpled on its side.

  Strong arms and helping hands reached out to get them back on their feet, but the horses and the carriage needed more serious attention. Jewel kneeled on the ground and put her hand to Pickle’s cheek, trying to soothe him. Still strapped together, Pepper’s efforts to stand served only to complicate matters. Elvy, armed with her knife, worked the blade through the leather while good Samaritans held Pepper still and righted the carriage.

  “Are you hurt?” Jewel looked to see if Elvy was harmed. Stroking Pickle’s muzzle with a shaky hand, she surveyed the damage. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry for? Weren’t your fault.” Elvy stood back as Pepper was finally able to rise to his feet. He gave his head a shake and let out an angry whinny.

  “I shouldn’t have attempted this.” Jewel shook her head. “I was just so angry about what happened with Eldridge and in a hurry and…I shouldn’t have made you take the reins.”

  “You didn’t make me do nothing I didn’t want to do.” Stepping back while two young men pushed the damaged curricle to the side of the road, Elvy pocketed her knife and brushed off her hands. “How about you—hurt?”

  “No. I’m worried about the horses, though.” Neither horse had an obvious injury, but they were both too skittish to examine properly out on the street. The curricle would need a new wheel and most of the leather strapping repaired or replaced. It was a disaster neither they nor Oliver could afford.

  “Take this,” Elvy said, shoving some coin into Jewel’s hand. “There’s a gent here that says there’s a livery down the alley a ways back. I’ll lead the horses there and get them sorted out and send a man back for the carriage. Take this coin and hire a hansom to find that lawyer, I’ll wait for you back at Canary Court once the horses settle down.”

  “I can’t take your money,” Jewel said, trying to return the coin. “I’ll help you get everything straightened out. I’ll ask Oliver about the lawyer tomorrow.” If she saw him. After last night, they’d purposely made no plans. His future hinged on the findings of the Committee of Privileges. Part of her future lay across the sea in a country at war, and the rest depended on her uncle’s whim in turning over her money.

  “Go now,” Elvy insisted. “I don’t trust that Eldridge fellow, nor your uncle. Take my knife. His lordship will direct his man of law to help you.”

  “I can’t leave you to do this alone.” Jewel reached out for Elvy’s hand.

  “La, I’ve foraged alone in worse places than this. Come here,” Elvy said, drawing Jewel into a hug. “You got your letter like you said you would, don’t give up now because of a little mishap. Go get your money.”

  “I don’t know how I’ll ever thank you for all you’ve done.” Jewel stood frozen with indecision. “When I get my money, I’ll pay you back for everything.”

  “I ain’t worried about that,” Elvy said, giving Jewel a playful swat. “Get moving.”

  Jewel walked several blocks without finding any lawyers or an available hansom. Her conscience, along with her feet, suffered. There had to be a place in London where all the lawyers congregated, a certain square or street. She was about to stop strangers on the street to ask when she spotted an available hansom cab and waved him down.

  “Direction, miss?” The driver pulled out a wooden step stool and offered his arm.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, climbing up into the seat. “I need to know where all the lawyers have their offices. Do you know?”

  “Aye, miss. Chancery Lane. You’ll be wanting the Serjeant’s Inn most likely.” Tossing the stepping stool back up into the driver’s box, he turned and spit on the ground. “’Tis all the way across town, cost a pretty penny.”

  “How many pretty pennies?” She wasn’t green enough to offer the man all her coin. “How far will three pence take me?”

  “No more than Covent Garden. I’ll be able to pick up another passenger there. Any farther and I’m riding all the way back here alone. Ain’t no money in that for me.” Jewel decided it was a good sign that he climbed up into the driver’s seat as he spoke.

  “How much past Covent Garden is my destination?�
�� Her feet already hurt, and she wasn’t looking forward to another long walk in the heat of a sunny afternoon.

  “Not far,” he replied, snapping the reins to urge his horse into motion. “One, two streets over. I’ll give you walking directions.”

  “All right, then. Take me to Covent Garden.” She’d been blundering around England ever since her arrival, never quite knowing exactly where she was or where she was going. When she got her money, she’d be in charge, she’d have her own place that no one could take from her or make her leave… Whether that was in Boston or London, she didn’t yet know. Right now, finding Oliver’s lawyer was just the next impossible thing on her long list of impossible things.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Without calling cards, Oliver was forced to leave his requests for support with footmen, maids, and butlers. He’d have cards made once the title was secure and he could spare the funds. All the way to Bartleby’s, he startled footmen and frightened maids with his face and bold request to have his letter delivered to their masters immediately. It was an encouraging sign that he wasn’t once denied, but he was running out of time.

  With the dry weather, every merchant, coachman, and young buck with a whip was out on the streets. Maneuvering through traffic at a stop-and-go snail’s pace gave him too much time to think. Confronting Jewel at Berkley Square might have been emotionally satisfying, but the price in humiliation was too high a cost to bear. His father had often drunkenly spouted off about the inconstancy of the female sex. Accustomed to ignoring the old man’s rantings and having so little contact with women not in his employ, Oliver discounted the notion that one sex was measurably more fickle than the other. In the five years before meeting Mary Bartleby, Penry had fallen in and out of love with alarming regularity.

  Was he a better man for having tasted love or did he wish it had never happened? Neither, it seemed. Dunwoody would have tried to ruin him regardless of Jewel’s presence. Without her, they might never have stumbled upon the diamond. Without her support at the hearing, his uphill climb just became that much steeper.

  He mustn’t fail and yet he couldn’t win. Not by playing fair, anyway. Life was anything but fair, and it was time he became just as diabolical as those working against him.

  Reaching his destination at last, Oliver mentally erased Jewel and that morning’s debacle from his mind. Not completely—she’d always be lurking there somewhere, but enough to focus his mind on his own problems for a few hours. Leaving Dobbs to see to the horses, he walked up the few steps and entered Bartleby’s law office.

  He took a seat without a word, and Penry shrugged his shoulders as Bartleby spread all the evidence across his desktop. Trying hard to look confident and not like a man who’d just seen the woman he loved laugh at the mention of his name, Oliver faked a smile. Penry would see right through it. They’d spent too much time in each other’s company, but he hoped Bartleby might be fooled.

  “What did you say this diamond was called?” Picking up the rock and holding it to the light, Penry let out a low whistle. “I can’t believe you almost passed it off to Johnstone for that chit’s passage to Boston.”

  “Cheenee Keedalee. I think it means lump of sugar.” Deciding not to comment on his brother’s other observation, Oliver stepped closer to have another look at the gem.

  “This little rock would keep us in beef and pudding for two lifetimes. Maybe three.”

  “It doesn’t belong to us. We’re going to have to surrender it back to the king.” Taking the stone from Penry’s hand, Oliver placed it back on Bartleby’s desk, along with the scrap paper receipts Dobbs had given him that morning. “Greed over this stone cursed Dunwoody and our father. The less time it is in our possession, the better off we will be. It’s a bargaining chip, nothing more.”

  “We could avoid all this nonsense and trot the stone down to St. James Palace and present it to the king. If he’s in a mood, he might even dole out a sizable reward, including a dismissal of the lunacy complaint.” Penry reached for the stone again.

  “I’m not willing to bet on the king’s mood. He might very well accuse us of stealing it and have us hanged before we can explain anything.” Nudging his brother’s hand away from the diamond, Oliver looked to Bartleby for affirmation. “I recommend we do not confront His Majesty.”

  “I agree.” Bartleby nodded and tucked the stone back into the pouch. “My recommendation is that we give it back to Lord Dunwoody.”

  “What?” Already shaking his head, Penry reached for the pouch. “Why would we surrender our only advantage?”

  “Because it’s not your only advantage.” Bartleby rearranged the papers on his desk. “The letters are damning, and they have Dunwoody’s signature. The receipts, if you’ll note, are each the same date as one of the letters. It isn’t too much of a leap of faith to say that each letter from Dunwoody contained a payment and match it up with the corresponding receipt written by your father.”

  “A small leap or a large one—it’s still a leap. If one lord tells the Committee of Privileges that he can’t make that leap, I still end up chained to a wall in Bedlam. For all they know, it was my idea to hold the king’s property hostage.”

  “You pay me for my legal advice, so I’ll give it to you.” Leaning back in his chair, Bartleby let silence fill the room for a moment. “Honest and reliable persons, who I shall not name, have informed me that the king is unwell. The thought is that the longer the war progresses, the more unwell he’ll become. You do not want to be the person who returns that diamond to the Crown. I suggest you find a way to convince Lord Dunwoody that it is in his best interests to return it in all haste.”

  “And how does that help us?” Penry asked, lining up letters and receipts.

  “We convince him to rescind his complaint against me and tear up the false deed in exchange for the diamond.” Reaching for the letters of introduction Dunwoody wrote for Jewel, Oliver turned back to Bartleby. “Do these letters figure into your scheme?”

  “Although not named in the letters, it was easy enough to find Dunwoody’s lawyer in Scotland. The honorable Duncan MacKenzie. Does the name mean anything to you?”

  “Can’t say that it does.” Intrigued now and wondering, despite his bruised heart, what this might mean for Jewel’s predicament, Oliver leaned closer.

  “Jacobite down to the bone. Officially, no one would say that it was anything more than a coincidence. After all, Dunwoody owns land in Scotland. He has to work with someone there.”

  “And unofficially?” Hoping the man would say more, Oliver gripped the arm of his chair in anticipation. He shouldn’t care. Jewel was Eldridge’s problem now. And yet, he couldn’t quiet the feeling that somehow, through the cruelest quirk of fate of all, they were still united in this quest for justice. Her future and his still hinged together until the extent of Dunwoody’s perfidy was brought to light.

  “This is not a legal opinion.” Visibly uncomfortable, Bartleby tugged at his cravat and cleared his throat. “This is conjecture and nothing more. It wouldn’t hold up in court.”

  “But it might be enough to convince Dunwoody to settle the matter out of court?” Rearranging the papers on the desk once again, Oliver tried to force the pieces of the puzzle to come together in his head.

  “Exactly. Once he realizes you have the Cheenee and his letters, his claims collapse like a house of cards and he becomes amenable to keeping the entire matter out of the courts. Tread lightly, my lord. Approach him wrong and he’ll react like a cornered boar at the end of the hunt. He won’t be above taking someone else down with him.”

  “Then you should speak with him,” Penry said, looking to Oliver for confirmation.

  “No,” Bartleby and Oliver spoke the word at the same time.

  “Why not?” Leaning back in his chair, Penry frowned petulantly.

  “Then he’ll know we sought legal recourse,” Oliver explained. “I�
��ve met the man. He’s the sort who always thinks himself the cleverest person in the room. Dunwoody is smug and condescending. We let him think he has the upper hand and his greed will convince him to agree to nearly anything.”

  “With all respect, brother, reading people isn’t your forte.”

  “I’ve read his letters, and that is my specialty. I’ll approach him man-to-man.” He couldn’t fault Penry for having so little faith, but it was time his younger brother acknowledged which one of them was the true Earl of Winchcombe.

  “I refuse to be the judge of a brotherly pissing contest, but I will say that only one of you should bargain with him. He’ll sooner let his guard down if not outnumbered.” Gathering up the paper on his desk into a single pile, Bartleby anchored it down with the diamond. “You two decide.”

  “There’s one more letter.” Bartleby and Penry might be willing to dismiss Jewel’s father’s letter, but Oliver knew her dilemma was somehow tied to his. “I’d like you to read that one, too, before I approach Dunwoody again. Every scrap of information we have against him is power.”

  “Well, put it on the desk with the others then.” Penry scrubbed a hand over his face and let out an exasperated sigh. “You should have led with that when you came in. Come on, let’s have a look.”

  “I don’t have it.”

  “What did it say?” Bartleby asked.

  “Miss Latham’s father gave Dunwoody fifty thousand pounds that were meant to make her an independent woman. Dunwoody hid this from her; he even attempted to ship her off to Scotland so he could use part of the funds as a dowry and be rid of her.”

  “How did she get it? Why did you not mention this before?” Staring at him with a hurt expression, Penry crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s unlike you to hide things from me, Oliver. I thought we worked well together yet I’m being shut out over something that has a profound impact on my life.”