A Most Unconventional Match

by Julia Justiss

  ‘Studying it now,’ Hal replied.

  ‘No need to call a constable, I suppose?’

  ‘Come here if needed one?’ Hal asked.

  Mason chuckled. ‘Probably not. Nor should we linger with night starting to fall.’

  Nodding at that truth, Hal followed the Bow Street man through the warren of alleyways until they reached an area where the buildings looked like they might survive the next windstorm and the pedestrians no longer passed by with a huddled, furtive air.

  ‘Hopefully you’ve discouraged the enforcer, but I’m afraid nothing can be done to inhibit the moneylender. Blackmen is still entitled to the return of his principal and could bring a motion against Mrs Lowery.’

  ‘Won’t come to that,’ Hal assured him. ‘Worked out repayment. Thanks for help.’

  ‘Always a pleasure to contribute to the education of a gentlemen like Mr Smith,’ Mason said before heading off.

  His hand throbbed and Jeffers would likely go into apoplexy when he saw the bloodstained coat, but otherwise Hal felt clearheaded and confident. Normally he avoided violence; as a small boy set upon by bullies when he first came to school, he had a sharp dislike for larger, stronger individuals who attacked the smaller and weaker.

  ’Twas Nicky who’d come to his defence all those years ago, Hal recalled, thereby earning Hal’s immediate gratitude and respect. ’Twas Nicky as well who’d taught Hal the rudiments of self-defence and looked after him until Hal found his feet, earning him his eternal devotion and friendship.

  Conscious of his potential to injure opponents who lacked his size and strength, when he grew older Hal abandoned pugilism for the intricacies of the foil, where the need for quickness and dexterity neutralised his advantages of height and reach. Only once before had he deliberately set out to pound a man unconscious—when Nicky’s Sarah had been pursued by a baronet of vicious reputation who’d tried to hurt her.

  In that case, as in this, the punishment he’d allotted had been well deserved, though today he’d needed Mason’s kind assistance. Without reinforcements at his back, the confrontation at the tavern might have ended differently.

  It helped to have friends in low places, he thought with a grin. If Mama considered his colleagues on the Stock Exchange vulgar, she would have fainted dead away had she seen his confederates this afternoon.

  Hal had almost reached the respectable part of Covent Garden when the sound of jeering caught his ear. Down an alleyway, he spied several boys laughing as they pelted rocks toward something hidden behind a stack of rubbish.

  Immediately transported back twenty years, Hal turned and charged down the alleyway at them, roaring. Within seconds the startled boys scattered.

  Hal halted by the pile of rubbish, but instead of the skinny child he expected to find, a thin, mangy dog cowered under the shreds of some old playbills. Just a puppy, he quickly ascertained, mayhap the runt of some litter.

  An intelligent animal, it appeared, for though Hal was almost three times the size of its erstwhile attackers, sensing a rescuer, the little dog immediately limped over to him. Whining and wagging its skimpy brush of a tail, the dog tried to wind itself around his ankles.

  ‘Down!’ Hal commanded before the animal could jump up and plant its filthy paws on his knee. Recognising the voice of authority, the mutt flattened himself on to the alleyway beside Hal, his tail still wagging.

  With a sigh of exasperation, Hal looked down at the muddy prints already marring the shine of his boots. Probably Jeffers would find claw marks gouged in the leather as well. As he gazed down at his footgear, dark canine eyes gazed back up at him hopefully.

  What did the silly dog expect him to do? Hal wondered. Though he’d scared off the animal’s attackers, there would be nothing to prevent them from tormenting the animal again later. In the fading light he could see several cuts on the dog’s ears and face where the rocks had nicked him.

  If the animal escaped these assailants, he’d likely only encounter others. Or starve.

  Hell, Hal thought, sighing again. His coat was probably ruined already and as for his breeches, he could always fall back on the Wellington pantaloons Mama had sent him. Kneeling down, Hal picked up the little dog and cradled him against his coat. Yipping excitedly, the animal tried to crawl up and lick his chin.

  ‘Still!’ Hal commanded, holding the dog motionless. With a canine sigh, the dog settled against his chest, that pathetic tail still wagging against Hal’s arm.

  What would he do with this little dog? Hal wondered. Even washed up and with a bit more meat on his bones, the animal would never win any prizes for beauty. He supposed he could have the dog sent down to his country estate.

  But as he reached the hackney stand, another thought occurred and he smiled. Homely or not, once the animal had been fed and groomed, Hal wagered he knew someone who would be thrilled to welcome the little dog as his new best friend.

  Chapter Six

  Late the next morning in her studio, with a welcome feeling of accomplishment, Elizabeth put down her brushes and took off her apron. Glancing in the little mirror over her workbench as she tidied her hair, she smiled at her reflection, more cheerful than she’d felt since the awful evening of Everitt’s demise.

  Perhaps it was knowing she need not fear a return call by Mr Smith or the reassurance of having turned her financial matters over to hands much more competent than her own, but, whatever the reason, Mr Waterman’s visit had energised her. She’d spent a delightful evening with David, reading to him, playing with his soldiers, even teasing him into laughter. As she tucked him in that night, they’d hugged each other tightly and, despite shedding a few tears, for the first time since Everitt’s death she’d felt with deep certainty that somehow they were going to be all right.

  Then, when she’d checked on Miss Lowery this morning, she’d found the older woman sitting in a chair. After a month during which her husband’s cousin had scarcely left her bed, her continuing weakness and lethargy such a contrast to her normal cheerful energy that Elizabeth had begun to fear she might lose dear Amelia, too, she’d been thankful almost to tears at that lady’s improvement. They’d shared a cup of chocolate, after which she’d had to command Miss Lowery most insistently to remain in her room and make no attempt to resume her household duties until the doctor certified she was fully recovered.

  And now she’d just finished the most productive painting session she’d had in months. Inspired by the loveliness of the sunlight playing on and through the mist—or more often, London’s frequent fog and smoke—over the London rooftops, she’d begun a study of a city scene of the adjacent houses. For the first time, she felt she’d captured the grey mist’s airy, swirling character.

  Perhaps, after nuncheon, she might even take David for a walk to the park.

  She was about to exit when a knock sounded and Sands bowed himself in. ‘Sir Gregory Holburn to see you, ma’am. Shall I bring some refreshment to the south parlour?’

  ‘Sir Gregory?’ she echoed, surprised. ‘Y-yes, I suppose. Tell him I shall join him in a few minutes.’

  Although Everitt and the baronet had been close friends, she hadn’t expected him to call again so soon, she thought, frowning. Recalling Mr Smith’s disturbing visit and what she’d learned yesterday about Mr Scarbridge’s incompetence, apprehension tightened in her gut. Had Sir Gregory come to warn her of some new disaster?

  Anxiety quickening her steps, she decided to dispense with changing her old, worn painting gown for a more suitable dress and went instead directly to the south parlour.

  Sir Gregory rose as she entered and came over to kiss her hand. ‘Dear Lizbet, how lovely you look.’

  Despite her anxiety, Elizabeth had to stifle a smile, for the pained expression on the meticulous Sir Gregory’s face as he cast a glance at her frayed and rather shapeless gown was anything but admiring. She probably should have changed her dress.

  Meanwhile the baronet escorted her to the sofa and seated himself beside her. ‘I didn
’t mean to inconvenience you, but my schedule today being so full, I took the one chance I had to call. I heard some news at my club last night that, I must admit, rather distressed me.’

  Elizabeth’s amusement evaporated in an instant. ‘What news?’ she asked, her anxiety reviving.

  ‘Perhaps ’tis only a hum, for I cannot picture you and that great oaf in the same room, but I heard that Hal Waterman had called, offering to look into Everitt’s financial affairs.’

  ‘Yes. Have you heard there were irregularities?’

  ‘In Waterman calling upon you? ’Tis not precisely irregular, I suppose, but—’

  ‘No, no,’ she cut him off impatiently. ‘Irregularities in Everitt’s finances. I’ve only just learned that Mr Scarbridge, his solicitor, is a complete incompetent. Heaven knows, I know nothing about finance!’

  ‘Well, I should hope not!’ Sir Gregory exclaimed. ‘You, dear lady, have no need to trouble your pretty head over complicated matters that were best left to your husband’s discretion.’ He cast a mildly reproachful look at her dress. ‘All the financial expertise you require is knowing which dressmakers create the gowns that best display your beauty.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Elizabeth said flatly. Somehow that caveat seemed to have escaped the notice of the tough who’d come to threaten her. Apparently Sir Gregory was more pained by her choice of raiment than by the possibility that the estate’s finances might be in total disarray.

  Before she could decide whether or not to tell the baronet about Mr Smith’s alarming visit, Sir Gregory said, ‘I must confess to be feeling somewhat…slighted. I would have hoped that if you felt the need for someone to look into your finances, as Everitt’s closest friend, you would have asked me.’

  ‘Did you know Mr Scarbridge was incompetent?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Then why did you not warn me? How am I to protect myself and my son when I have no idea what…obligations are currently being pressed against Everitt’s estate?’

  Sir Gregory patted her hand. ‘You protect yourself and your child? My dear, you needn’t even consider attempting something so alarming! I know how cast down you’ve been by Everitt’s demise, but remember, you’ve not been left entirely alone and friendless. I fully intended to visit Mr Scarbridge and see what needed to be done once I completed the my own estate business. Everitt was a gentleman, after all. If there are obligations against his estate, the creditors can wait until I have time to deal with them.’

  At least one of them wasn’t prepared to wait, Elizabeth thought. And though she frankly avowed that she knew nothing about wills or finances, she wasn’t sure she appreciated Sir Gregory’s cavalier dismissal of her ability to protect her son.

  Still, it was vastly comforting to know that in addition to Mr Waterman’s competent assistance, she might count upon Sir Gregory as well.

  Though she still must consider it fortuitous that his friendship with Nicky had propelled Mr Waterman to come forward, for his sense of urgency in setting the estate to rights seemed to exceed Sir Gregory’s. Indeed, he must have begun asking questions immediately if the baronet had already heard of his investigations.

  ‘With you at present so preoccupied, I should rather think you would find it very convenient that Mr Waterman offered to attend to my small affairs. You will not need to put yourself out after all, Sir Gregory.’

  ‘You misunderstand, dear lady! Any service I can render you would be a pleasure!’ he protested. ‘Besides, though I’ve heard Waterman is quite competent, I’m not sure of the…propriety of him investigating your husband’s finances. There are no blood ties between you, after all, and, as a new widow, you must be careful of appearances.’

  Since no blood ties existed between herself and Sir Gregory, his meddling in her affairs wouldn’t be any more proper. But though she’d certainly not intended to do so, apparently she’d wounded his feelings, so she refrained from pointing this out.

  Instead, she replied, ‘It’s true that we are not blood kin. But you may recall that my sister Sarah is married to Mr Waterman’s best friend, Lord Englemere, who recently took his family and all my siblings on a Grand Tour of the Continent. Before he departed, he asked Mr Waterman to assist me with any difficulties that might arise during my family’s absence.’ Which was not precisely true, but close enough that it should soothe Sir Gregory’s injured sensibilities and his concern over propriety.

  ‘Oh. Well, no, I hadn’t been aware of the connection. That would render his calling upon you entirely proper, I suppose.’ Somehow Sir Gregory didn’t look as relieved by the knowledge as she might have expected.

  ‘Nicky—Lord Englemere—has also told me on several occasions that Mr Waterman is most astute in matters of finance. Englemere and my sister hold Mr Waterman in the very highest regard, so you may rest easy knowing that everything dealing with the will and the estate will be handled by someone of absolute skill and integrity.’

  ‘As I already said, I have no reason to question either Waterman’s skill or integrity. However…well, how can I put this delicately? He isn’t the best ton. ’Tis said he often keeps quite common company and involves himself personally in financial dealings that a gentleman ought to leave to the bourgeois tradesmen bred to handle them. I just hope that association with him won’t taint you with the odour of the shop.’

  Had she any desire to figure upon the ton’s stage, Elizabeth supposed such a warning might give her pause. But since she’d never had the least interest in society, Sir Gregory’s caution left her unmoved…except once again to amusement. The baronet’s countenance was so grave, as if Mr. Waterman’s fashionable failings were of genuine importance, that she had all she could do not to smile.

  ‘I shall be on my guard,’ she replied, working to keep the mirth from her expression.

  ‘In addition, competent though he may be, I fear you will hardly be able to comprehend any information Waterman tries to convey. It amazes me that anyone manages to understand his cryptic utterances. Even his mother, dear lady, confesses she finds it difficult to grasp his meaning. Indeed, ’tis almost beyond believing that he could be the son of the incomparable Letitia.’

  Elizabeth’s momentary humour faded. Apparently Sir Gregory did not much like Mr Waterman. Regardless of the reasons for his disapprobation, Elizabeth was becoming rather annoyed by his subtle disparagement of a man who was not only highly esteemed by her sister’s family, but whom she herself found to be sympathetic, helpful—and quite attractive.

  ‘How disappointing for Mrs Waterman,’ she said, an edge to her voice. She’d never met Mr Waterman’s mother, but she could not think very highly of a lady, incomparable or not, who would publicly disparage her son. ‘Though I find her difficulty somewhat surprising. I myself had no trouble whatsoever in understanding Mr Waterman.’

  ‘Truly?’ Sir Gregory blinked, clearly taken aback. ‘Well. You always were rather observant for a female. But,’ he gestured to the mantel clock, ‘my time remaining is short, so let us proceed to a more pleasant matter! I understand there was a sad accident a few days ago. As distressed as the lad already is at losing his papa, I thought he might appreciate this.’

  Sir Gregory picked up a wrapped parcel from behind the sofa and handed it to Elizabeth. ‘Go ahead, open it. If it meets your approval, you can give it to the boy.’

  Inside the wrapped package, Elizabeth found a new toy soldier, all gleaming paint and shiny brass. ‘How considerate of you, Sir Gregory!’ Elizabeth exclaimed. The gesture was even more impressive when one considered that the baronet was not a man used to dealing with children.

  Though she still could not approve his unkind words about Mr Waterman, Sir Gregory could have chosen no better way to redeem himself in her eyes than by this kindness to her child. ‘How can I thank you?’

  ‘I take it you do approve, then? To bring you pleasure, ma’am, is all the thanks I desire.’

  The fervour of his gaze made her a little uncomfortable. ‘How did you know about David
’s broken soldier?’ she asked, looking down at the soldier.

  ‘Oh, I have my little sources,’ Sir Gregory said with a chuckle. ‘I sent my valet out to find a replacement. I’m pleased he chose something suitable.’

  Though she shouldn’t have expected a busy man like Sir Gregory to take the time to visit a toy seller personally, her enthusiasm dimmed a trifle. ‘Yes, he did very well.’

  ‘Shall we summon the boy and let him have his treat?’

  ‘If you can spare the time, then, yes, I would be happy to.’ At Sir Gregory’s nod, Elizabeth rang the bell pull to summon Sands and have him fetch David from the schoolroom.

  While they waited, Elizabeth prompted Sir Gregory to talk about his visit to his estate. A few minutes later, Sands ushered in her son.

  Though his widened eyes showed his surprise at finding his mother had a visitor, David made Sir Gregory a proper bow. ‘Good day, sir,’ he said politely. ‘Sands said you wished me to see me, Mama?’

  Elizabeth’s heart swelled with motherly pride at David’s impeccable behaviour before a man she knew he disliked. Indeed, it filled her with gladness just to look at him, so grave and correct as he addressed them both.

  Dropping a brief kiss on the top of his head, Elizabeth said, ‘Yes, my dear. Sir Gregory has been kind enough to bring you something, and I thought you ought to have the opportunity to thank him personally.’ She handed him the toy soldier.

  Solemnly David regarded the toy. With a smile Elizabeth could tell was forced, he bowed again to the baronet. ‘Thank you, Sir Gregory.’

  ‘You’re quite welcome, my good man,’ Sir Gregory said in the over-hearty manner of adults who aren’t accustomed to conversing with children. ‘Capital little soldier, eh? No need to fix the old one now. Toss him in the dustbin!’

  ‘Oh, no, sir!’ David’s eyes opened wide with alarm. ‘I could never do that. Papa gave him to me. And he’s a general, not just a soldier. General Blücher.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Sentimental value. But one soldier’s as good as another, eh? Except on a battlefield, perhaps.’ Sir Gregory chuckled at his own joke.