by Muir, L. L.
Livvy laughed into her napkin.
“I think this meal is too lovely to sour with vinegar.” The duchess looked about the table as if she expected someone to come up with a brighter topic.
Irene was frowned at her future mother-in-law.
“I must agree with my Mother. I am the one The Scarlet Plumiere seems to have attacked, and I am no worse for it. In fact, if it weren’t for that letter to me, getting Northwick all worked up, we would never have thought to bring Miss Reynolds into our ranks.” Stanley gave Livvy one of those wonderful smiles and squeezed her hand in spite of the spoon he held. He ignored Irene, even when she huffed at him. “Were you perhaps in the park last Sunday, Mother? I did not see you.”
Once he shined his charming smile in another direction, Livvy’s mind began to settle once again. She put her own situation aside and thought about the other women she had helped along the way. Lady Grey would surely have married a murderer, but instead, she was very happily wed. The rest of her stories of success were far less dramatic, but the ungentlemanly men in those stories suffered nothing they had not earned. The only time she had erred was with Viscount F. But Ursula had sought her out, insisted on an audience. They had met at Lady Malbury’s home, just that one time. But ultimately, the man had not suffered. His fiancée was still seated beside him. His mistress had eased a little of her heartache. And Northwick had come into her life.
She looked around the table. Except for Irene of course, she felt as if she had been welcomed into an entirely new family. A family with brothers and sisters...and Auntie Winnie.
She regretted nothing.
Ashmoore was frowning at her with concern, but he need not have worried. It only took a moment for her to recover from the verbal slap.
For the majority of the meal, the conversation moved into topics with which she was unfamiliar, but she smiled and nodded and gave an opinion if she had one. The buzzing of pleasant conversation was like music to her ears. Eventually, however, Anna brought the conversation back around to The Scarlet Plumiere.
“North, darling, how much longer are you going to allow this to go on? When will you give up the hunt?”
“Honestly, I do not know how much longer I can last. She is an extremely clever girl.”
Anna laughed. “And extremely popular. I am amazed how she was able to fill that park last week at such short notice.”
Harcourt waved his hands to get attention while he took a drink of wine. “Mm. We have it figured out. We are very close to finding her.”
It was Livvy’s turn to laugh. “Mr. Lott made that boast a long time ago.”
“Only ten days ago. But we are close.” Northwick did not sound too happy about being so, but she refused to examine his tone too closely. She might imagine he was hoping to fail.
“Actually,” said Harcourt, “we are convinced there is a secret communications network amongst the women of the ton.”
“That would be us, brother. Are you sure you want to show your hand?” Anna laughed and leaned Ashmoore’s direction while the footman collected her plate.
Harcourt waved away her warning. “We call it the London Women’s Secret Network.”
“Very clever. And now we are supposed to exchange knowing looks between one another so my brother can cry, Ahah!”
Obligingly, Livvy, Anne and the duchess exchanged knowing glances and gestured wildly with their eyebrows. One glance at Irene proved she was unimpressed.
“Ahah!” Harcourt shouted, pointing at his sister. “You, my dear, may very well be The Plumiere herself. Heaven knows you are cheeky enough.”
“I take that as the highest compliment, Brother.”
“As it was meant, Sister.”
Irene rolled her eyes. “If there is a secret network, I have certainly never heard of it.”
No one remarked. The silence was a bit embarrassing.
“I will tell you all about it after the men leave us,” Livvy offered.
Irene merely rolled her eyes again.
“I think we have been dismissed, gentlemen.” Stanley stood and gestured to the door. “If you will be so kind as to take your usual positions in the library.”
Harcourt popped to his feet.
Ashmoore and Northwick glared at each other.
“Out of here, the pair of you,” the duchess ordered. “We have seen enough of your pretty faces across the table. Now we must swoon and recover. Out!”
It took the second out to get the two up from their chairs and a third to get them out the door. Once the four women entered the drawing room, Irene gave Livvy one of her narrow looks.
“Do you play, Miss Reynolds?”
“Not the piano, no. I play the violin, though far from perfectly.”
“Your mother played the violin. I had forgotten,” said the duchess.
“You do not mind if I play, then, do you?” Irene asked it of the room at large, then sat down and began a dramatic set of scales. Her playing was so passionate, in fact, it was impossible for the rest of them to carry on a conversation.
Livvy looked at Anna and shrugged. Anna threw back her head and laughed. Irene played louder still. Thankfully, she started playing actual concertos. The third piece began a little softer and Livvy was beginning to think her ears may just survive when she noticed something moving from the corner of her eye.
It was Stanley, waving a white kerchief from the doorway.
“Olivia!” He bid her to come to him. “I will return her in but a moment,” he yelled to his mother. Despite some pointed notes, he never gave the pianist a glance.
Even after the doors were closed, the music followed them down the hall. Stanley took her hand and pulled her into a study and closed that door, but the music carried through. No doubt his mother and Anna were forced to flee the drawing room or hold their hands over their ears as Irene seemed determined to have the final say of the evening.
They were alone.
“Forgive my kidnapping, but I thought this might be the only time I might have a word with you.” He offered her a chair, then sat on the corner of the desk, facing her.
She only nodded, having no idea what the future duke might like to discuss other than to chastise her for toying with the hearts of two of his friends. But she had been doing her best not to toy with anyone. Well, anyone but Mr. Lott, of course.
“I thought I should confess.”
Oh, dear. If she had somehow caught the interest of yet a third King, she was going to go home and never leave her house again.
“Are you sure you would not prefer to keep it to yourself, whatever it is?”
“I know the identity of The Scarlet Plumiere.”
Now that was a surprise.
After she got her eyes back in her head, she frowned.
“You do?” Best to play innocent. She thought she had been caught before, when Northwick first arrived on her doorstep.
“Yes. I do.”
She sucked on her lips, her teeth—anything to keep from letting the wrong thing escape her mouth.
“Let me rephrase. As you are The Scarlet Plumiere, I would like you to know that I am willing to help you however I can.”
The blow quite literally knocked her against the wing-backed chair.
“You think I—”
“I know.”
“Might I ask what makes you think—”
“You mean, how did I discover it was you?”
She refused to nod. It still might be a trick.
“That second woman, Farrington? You were just trying to cover your tracks, were you not? Her rescue came only weeks after your own.”
He gave her one of his smiles—a very knowing smile.
Perhaps Lord Ashmoore had let it slip. Perhaps, when they had left the dining room, they had argued about how Stanley’s fiancée had insulted The Scarlet Plumiere, who happened to be seated at his other elbow!
“Miss Farrington happened to be a friend of mine, my lord. Her fiancé broke her arm when she refused to all
ow him liberties the night of their engagement. Her father took umbrage with her.”
Stanley leaned forward, no doubt because the music had swelled again, and he did not want to risk having to yell, so she moved forward as well. When his mouth was very near her ear, he whispered, “Ahah!”
She straightened. She suddenly understood how Eve must have felt when she realized she had been beguiled by the snake. But in her mind’s eye, the snake was rather blond with a smile he had stolen from an angel.
Stanley held up his hands as if he expected her to attack.
“Now, now. Your secret is safe. I will tell no one.”
“You are mistaken.”
“Come now, Livvy. The game is up.” He grinned at her again, proving his weapon was something against which she could not fight and win.
“Fine. You are correct. But tell me why you will not be sharing my secret with Lord Northwick.
The smile disappeared. He leaned forward again, but she did not fall for it. She could resist him if he was not grinning.
“He needs to learn it on his own. He cannot know that I discovered it before him.”
“His pride is that easily bruised?” She did not believe it.
“Do you know what happened to him in France?”
“Only that he was kidnapped. Possibly tortured.”
“All our lives, it has been North who pulled our fat from the fire. North who came to our rescue. He has saved Ashmoore’s life half a dozen times. But he does not seem to remember that. He only remembers that we had to save him in France. If he fails to find you, and any of us succeeds, he will just see it as another rescue.”
It was easily believed, especially after the way he had placed her in Ashmoore’s keeping. He really did not believe himself worthy to protect her. Her heart broke for him, but she could not allow it to sway her.
“You will have to be very good at keeping your secret then, Viscount F. Because I will not allow him to find me. I cannot allow him to find me. If one young woman ends up terrorized by her husband, it will be my fault if I could have stopped it.”
“I understand why you do it. Well, most of it anyway.”
“You do?
“I do.” Dear heavens! That smile again!
If Ashmoore was the King of Spades, surely Stanley was the King of Hearts.
“May I ask what gave me away?”
“Honestly? It was that penitent look in your eye when you realized—for the first time, it seems—that you had been wrong about me. Along with my deductive reasoning, of course.”
“Women should be warned about you.”
“Really? Why?”
“Your smile should never be trusted.” And now that it had returned, she wished to escape the room as quickly as possible. She stood and he did not try to stop her.
“That, my dear Plumiere, has always been true.”
She was still standing before him. “I suppose I may say it now, then.”
“What is that?”
She leaned close, as if to say ahah, but instead whispered, “Forgive me.”
Stanley shook his head. “Not your sin, my dear.”
“But my mistake for taking Ursula’s word on the matter.”
“Forgiven. And do you forgive my little deception?” He gestured around the room.
“Forgiven.”
They stepped out of the study to find North running toward them. “What the devil, Stanley?”
“The devil indeed,” she said, then winked at the viscount.
Northwick growled. She was quite growing fond of the sound and tried to commit it to memory.
“I would like a word with Miss Reynolds, if I might.” He was a bit out of breath.
“Absolutely not. Our discussion was concluded at Madame Bouchard’s the other morning.” She stepped around him.
“I would like to discuss something else with you.” He walked sideways to hold her attention.
“I am sorry, but Miss Reynolds is in my keeping tonight, and I forbid anyone to have a private word with her.” Ashmoore stood with hands on hips in the middle of the foyer, blocking everyone’s progress.
Livvy did not like the sound of that. Big brother was overstepping a bit.
“Wait just a moment, Lord Ashmoore.” She stopped at the sound of more running feet.
Harcourt hurried up behind Ashmoore and tapped him on the shoulder. “Now see here. I am not going to be told to wait alone in the study like some child waiting for his punishment.”
An ungodly whistle shrieked through the corridor.
The music stopped.
The mob turned toward the doors of the drawing room where the duchess stood holding two fingers in her mouth. Anna’s hands covered her ears, but she slowly lowered them while eyeing the duchess suspiciously.
“Northwick, it is no wonder why I have a headache. I would like you to see me home. Olivia? I will take a kiss on the cheek from you. Ashmoore, return Olivia to her father. Harcourt, stop whining and see to your sister. Stanley? God bless you but you have got to teach Miss Goodfellow the meaning of the word pianissimo before she is allowed to touch an instrument again.”
Everyone jumped to do the woman’s bidding. At least Livvy was afraid to hear that whistle again. No doubt it had come in handy while trying to raise four boys, three of which had not been her own.
“Goodnight, Auntie Winnie.” Livvy kissed the proffered fuzzy cheek and could not resist adding a brief hug. Ashmoore herded her toward the door, but she turned back to look for Stanley. Instead, her eyes locked with Northwick’s. Time stilled. Stopped.
She could have stood there forever, just staring, sharing a dozen thoughts and none at all. She would remember forever the look on his face. Regret. Frustration. Passion? They were a dozen paces apart with nothing but silence between them. No one moved. No one breathed.
No one moved? Dear heavens. The entire party had witnessed the exchange.
She turned and fled out the door. Thankfully, someone had already opened it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
North was up early, pacing his foyer.
He had not slept well. Callister stood with his back to the front door holding a plate of sausage rolls as if waiting to offer them to anyone who happened by the house and knocked upon the door. North knew the man was not going to allow him to leave without eating first. How he was going to appease the man was a concern, since he felt like he was about to lose the breakfast he had eaten the day before.
Little did Callister know, it was not his innocent blocking of the door, nor the threat of shoving breakfast down his employer’s throat that kept North from leaving. It was his own indecision.
He was determined to go to Livvy’s home that very morning, push Ashmoore and Ashmoore’s men aside, and demand the chance to speak with the woman alone. He would tell her he already knew she was The Scarlet Plumiere, that he was going to woo and win her even if, by some wild coincidence she was not the real SP. He would call out any man that threatened her...and have Ashmoore kill the man.
“Ahhhh!”
Of course he could do no such thing. He had no protection to offer her but his friend. How could he declare himself and admit he was not enough for her, and still expect to win her hand? Impossible!
On the other hand, the charade had to stop. He could not just stand by and allow Ash to make a place for himself in her heart. It was too unfair to expect him to keep silent.
He headed for the door again. Callister raised the plate. He took a roll and stared the man down, unblinking, while he sank his teeth into it.
Nothing for it. He would have to bare his soul and deal with consequences as they arose.
There. He felt much better. Callister looked terribly pleased with himself and stepped out of his way. North pushed the rest of the roll into his mouth, brushed his fingers together and reached for the door, ready to take on the Earl of Ashmoore himself.
Only the Earl was headed up his steps that very minute.
“What the blazes?�
�� It sounded quite different spoken around the food in his mouth. He swallowed while his friend pushed past him into the house and closed the door. "Why are you not at Telford’s?”
“I have five men there. She is safe. For now.”
At the tone of Ash’s statement, the sausage roll tried to come back up. Callister handed him a glass of something and he drank it down, not tasting it until it was too late.
Milk. He hated milk.
“What is it?”
“Harcourt and Stan should be here any moment.”
“Ash. Please. Do not make me wait. I’ll go mad.”
“Very well. Gordon has returned.”
“To London?”
“I am sure of it.”
“Then we will just have to—”
“No. We will do nothing. He will already have someone watching you—and closely. You are probably the only lead he has.”
Realization dawned. He could not be seen anywhere near Livvy. Gordon would not be returning if he didn’t hope to find the Plumiere and punish her. And if North stopped searching for her, the other lord would assume he had already found her. Those watching him would already know he’d spent time with her. It was more important than ever that he stay away.
“I see you understand well enough.”
“I will go mad if I do not see her, Ash.” He grabbed his friend’s arms.
“I know you will. But you are a danger to her now. Remember that.”
Callister opened the door as Harcourt and Stanley reached the top step. A few minutes later they had taken up their places in the library. Callister left to order tea.
“Tea?” Stanley looked at the spot in which the butler had been standing. "Did he say, tea?” The man had learned to distrust the African chair and had claimed a spot on the couch. Harcourt took his turn on the uncomfortable seat.
“Yes, Stanley. We need our wits old boy. Gordon might have been in the city for days now, depending on the route chosen.” Harcourt spared a glance at the brandy decanter, then looked away.
“What next for us then?” Stan was looking at Ashmoore.
“North?” Ash asked innocently—too innocently.
“Oh, no you don’t. I am the one who created this mess. I cannot be trusted to get us out. My mind is a little clouded at the moment. I cannot be impartial.”