It helped that Sir Malcolm Nutley lived in a huge house worthy of note. It must date from King Charles’s time. Nothing in Mayfair looked like this, and even the famous London mansions like Montagu House and Somerset House displayed less flamboyance. Along with excess decoration, this house also displayed considerable mass. She could not imagine how many chambers it held.
A coach that had stopped at the house next door still stood there. She had seen a tall, handsome man get out and pause while he glanced at this neighbor’s pile of stone. He had glanced at her too, but not suspiciously.
She, in turn, had noticed him. Anyone would. He was very wealthy from his dress and equipage. He possessed the bluest eyes she had ever seen. He carried his hat. That was just as well. She doubted it sat easily on the thick, fashionably unruly dark curls decorating his head.
He had entered the house now. She strolled back toward that coach, keeping her gaze on Sir Malcolm’s abode. A footman lounged against the hip of the coach while a coachman fussed with a horse’s bridle.
She stepped close enough for the gray-haired coachman to notice her. He nodded to her and smiled. She gestured to the big house. “Do you know who lives here?”
“That is Sir Malcolm’s house. Sir Malcolm Nutley. Elderly fellow. It’s the family home. Don’t see many like that. Something papist about it. Not to my taste, but I’m a simple man.”
“It is quite fancy and impressive, but not to my taste either. I much prefer this brick one here. I expect a tradesman lives in it.”
The coachman grinned. “Did the man I brought here look to be a tradesman?”
“It is his house?”
“No, but he’s not the sort to pay calls on a tradesman either. If I had the state coach instead of this one, you would know what I mean.” He leaned in confidentially and jabbed his thumb at the brick house. “The brother of a duke lives there, and it was the duke hisself that you might of saw entering.”
“Oh, my! I am sure I have never seen a duke before. My friend Katherine will be so awed on my behalf. Can you tell me which one it was? If I don’t know, she probably will never believe me.”
“Langford. His brother what lives here is Lord Harold St. James.”
She looked back at the bigger house. “I would have expected a lord to live in that one.”
“Well, Lord Harold is . . .” He rubbed his chin while he searched for the word. “Unusual. Not the sort to notice his surroundings much, is my guess. This house probably suits him just fine. No need for lots of servants and others about to bother him and such.”
“He may be a lord, but I would much rather see the inside of Sir Malcolm’s. I suppose it is very grand.”
“More likely very dusty. Sir Malcolm has not returned to town since he left last summer. Ailing, I hear. Is down in the country where the air is good.”
The house indeed was closed. What a stroke of good luck. “Perhaps, if the family is not in residence, the housekeeper would let me see inside.”
He gave her garments a long look. “Bold one, aren’t you? I would wager a pound she would never allow that.”
“It cannot hurt to try.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I will apply at the service entrance. Katherine will be so jealous if I succeed. Then she will tell me that I have more courage than sense. She always says that.” She turned to the big house. “The worst that can happen is I am turned away.”
She felt the coachman’s gaze on her while she approached the gate on the side of the house. She pushed through, into the little pathway that flanked the house and led back to the garden. Once the gate closed, she stopped.
The pathway was quite narrow, barely a yard wide, and along its other side ran a high wall that separated this property from Lord Harold’s. She turned her attention to the windows above her. Even the first-story ones were a good twenty-five feet up.
She fingered the masonry of the side of the house, noting the depth of the mortar between the rusticated stones of the corner quoins. She eyed the deep windowsills above her. While she walked down the pathway, she saw that the windows down here not only were locked but also barred. She turned the corner of the house and found the service entrance.
No one responded to her knock. She bent to peer in a window. The kitchen appeared unused. No provisions on the table, no knives lying about. Nothing. Apparently a cook did not work here if Sir Malcolm went down to the country. If there was no cook, there probably were not more than a few servants either.
She had not really believed that a housekeeper would give her a tour, but it was worth a try. How much easier her task would have been then. Two minutes of distraction and—done.
She examined the door itself. It was made of solid wood, with hinges that indicated it swung inward. Three locks kept it secure. She would not be surprised if a bar also provided security. Sir Malcolm took no chances. He probably knew that a house like this attracted thieves, and his home was not in a neighborhood like Mayfair.
No easy way in. That meant she would have to use a hard way instead.
She returned to the passageway. This time, while she slowly strolled down its length, she examined the brick house next door.
* * *
“I do not think it wise for you to leave town right away.” Gabriel voiced his mind while he watched Harry stuff shirts into a valise. One would think Harry did not have a valet, which he didn’t as such. However, he did have a manservant who could pack for him, but the man was elsewhere doing whatever general chores menservants did.
“I can’t think of one reason to stay,” Harry muttered.
“You too readily give in to disappointment. Too quickly admit defeat.”
Harry stopped packing. He gazed down at the valise, then over at Gabriel. “I saw her kissing another man last night, in the back of that theater box.”
“Then speak to her. After all the time you spent courting her—”
“Emilia did not see it as courting, apparently.” He spoke bitterly. “I should have known that after her sister’s wedding, once she was out this Season, this would happen. Actually, I did know. I felt it in my heart. It is best if I become scarce. I refuse to be one of those rejected suitors who sits in the corner of drawing rooms, looking poetic and miserable.”
Gabriel had to smile. Even in the best of humors, Harry looked a little poetic and miserable. It had more to do with his serious, contemplative nature than with his physical qualities.
They had much in common in their appearances, and probably would all the more as Harry got older. The same blue eyes and dark hair, the same jaw and mouth. Harry was an inch shorter, but still taller than most.
Ten years separated them. The spare had come late, after his parents had given up hope. Other than their faces, they had little in common. Harry had buried himself in books as soon as he’d learned to read. He had shown little interest in the pleasures of London and, but for this one case, none in women.
Gabriel knew that for all his bravado, his brother now experienced the kind of pain that only comes with an infatuation gone awry. Watching him conjured up some memories of his own younger years when he had known that fire. It burned in one’s chest while it consumed one’s heart.
Harry reached for another stack of clothes, then stopped. He pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “I did speak to her, Gabe. Before she left the theater.”
“What did she say?”
“She was sweet and affectionate, but—” He shrugged and made a crooked, sardonic smile. “She told me she has grown to think of me as a brother.”
Hell. Damn. Gabriel tried to keep his reaction off his face. Those words spelled doom. A woman might as well say, The notion of passion with you repulses me as abnormal.
Harry started packing again. Gabriel went over, pushed his brother’s hands away, and set the valise aside. “Then it is over. So be it. It happens. There will be other girls.”
“None so beautiful, so angelic, so—”
“Just as beautiful, ju
st as angelic, just as well born, just as amiable. Trust me, there is a river of femininity out there and the trick is not finding one to love, but avoiding all the ones who are looking for love. You are the son of a duke, damn it, with a significant fortune and you are almost as handsome as I am, which is saying something.”
Harry laughed briefly, which gave Gabriel heart. “All the same, I need to leave town for a while.”
“I command you to stay three more days. It will never do if you turn tail and run just because a girl threw you over. It is unmanly.”
“Three days will be an eternity, knowing she is here.”
“Three days is only three days. You will go to your club and chat about history or—” He waved toward an open trunk full of books in a corner of the dressing room. “Or whatever the hell is in those. You will ride in the park with me tomorrow, and smile at all the other pretty girls and women. And you will attend Lady Hamilton’s masked ball.”
“I was not going to that ball even if Emilia still loved me.”
“Nonsense. You were going to be there so you could steal a kiss on the veranda. So now you will still attend.”
“I will see her there, and I do not want to.”
“Yes, you will see her. You will ask her to dance, and talk to her about stupid things like you always did.”
Harry sank into a chair. He closed his eyes. “I would rather go down to the country.”
“You will the morning after the ball. You can bury yourself there forever, and write your book or do whatever you want. You can get drunk for a month if you choose. But until then, you will brave this out and show yourself in society.”
Harry did not open his eyes, but after a few moments, he nodded. He looked very young sitting there, younger even than his twenty-two years. If Harry were truly young, Gabriel knew he would have handled this differently. Been less brusque. Perhaps even embraced him the way he had when Harry was a boy and sad about something.
Only he wasn’t a boy now, was he? Still, Gabriel wished he could offer more comfort.
“I will go now. I am sure you would prefer to be alone. If you want to come for dinner tonight, join me. It is still your home.”
“I may do that. We will see.”
“We will ride tomorrow at five o’clock.” He picked up his hat and gloves.
“It was good of you to call, Gabe.”
“That is what brothers are for.” He walked to the door, then stopped. “See here. If your emotions on the matter cause you to lose your composure, do not feel embarrassed about that. First heartbreaks are hell.”
Chapter Two
Two days later, Amanda closed her inkwell and cleaned her pen at six o’clock. She carefully stacked the pages she had copied on one side of her desk, put some bills into a ledger, then picked up the ledger and went in search of Lady Farnsworth.
She found her in her apartment, at her own desk, penning something while wearing a deep frown. It looked to be another letter. Amanda noticed the salutation addressed the Duke of Wellington.
It no longer surprised her that Lady Farnsworth had male friends of the highest repute. Some had even paid calls in the five months since Amanda arrived. They would sit in the drawing room and discuss politics and other sophisticated topics. These gentlemen appeared to weigh her opinions seriously.
Sometimes Amanda sat in the drawing room with them. Lady Farnsworth said it was for her education, and indeed Amanda’s world had expanded as a result. She suspected the true reason for her presence was so Lady Farnsworth had another pair of ears hearing what was said, and another person with whom she could confirm her own memory of the conversation.
“Ah, you have the ledger. Are the accounts all in order?”
“The grocer made a mistake again. I have corrected that on the bill. All of the dispersals are noted in the ledger.”
Lady Farnsworth accepted the book and set it aside. She would hand Amanda the money to pay the merchants when she chose, but Amanda had realized after taking over this duty that the lady never really seemed to check the accounts first. Lady Farnsworth trusted that all would be done correctly.
And it was. Which was not to say that Amanda had not seen at once that if she were the person to be dishonest, the means to skim off five shillings or so every week lay within reach.
“I have noticed the grocer often makes those mistakes, my lady. Perhaps we should use another shop.”
“Hanson is only careless, I am sure.”
“He is careless on every bill, in a clever way.”
Lady Farnsworth’s dark eyes turned on her. “You are rather suspicious, Miss Waverly.”
“I would not be suspicious if every mistake were not to his advantage. He should strive to be careless on your behalf on occasion, if he is going to be careless at all.”
“You are sweet to be concerned, but with your keen eyes, no grocer will take advantage.”
“I think I will suggest that he find a pair of keen eyes to help him too.”
“You might do that. Possibly the poor man is only overworked and tired.”
What a good-hearted, optimistic woman. “I will be leaving now, if you have no further need for me.”
Lady Farnsworth set down her pen. “Before you go, I want you to know that you should dress better tomorrow. We will go back to Bedford Square and you will be introduced to the patroness of the journal. She is a lady of the highest distinction. I do not want you looking like a poor mouse.”
“What does such a lady want with me? She does know about me, doesn’t she?” It would be like Lady Farnsworth to assume that if she enjoyed her secretary’s company, everyone would, when in fact no one in her circle would care to make that secretary’s acquaintance.
“She is aware of your employment. She finds it interesting that I took on a woman. You are something of a curiosity, my dear.” She looked down at her letter. “I will need to redo this completely. I am afraid that once again I kept changing my mind as to the wording and now I question its emphasis. I will mull it over and finish it tomorrow night.”
“You intend to write tomorrow night, then.” Amanda could not believe her good fortune that Lady Farnsworth had opened a door to this subject. She had debated how to do so herself. “I thought you might be attending that big ball. I thought everyone who mattered was going. It is even all the talk in the shops.”
“Lady Hamilton’s ball? Good heavens, no. I can’t abide masked balls. What silliness. Not to mention all kinds of people sneak in. Even Cyprians attend. The gentlemen think that makes for wonderful fun, but I can do without eating supper beside a whore, thank you very much.”
“Maybe the journal’s patroness will attend and tell you about it, if you see her often.”
“Ah, you regret I will have no stories for you.” She cocked her head and thought. “I am quite sure that lady will not go. Tomorrow you will see why. I will collect gossip elsewhere if it amuses you, however.” She picked up her pen. “Now be off with you and take care. I worry about you out alone in town, Miss Waverly. Better if you lived here, as I offered, but I accept your reluctance to become too dependent on an employer.”
Amanda left the house to walk home. On the way, she made a little detour and entered Hanson’s Grocery. A shop favored by the elite of Mayfair, the establishment traded on its long pedigree as surely as it did in sacks of coffee, flour, and salt. The current Mr. Hanson had inherited the store and clientele from his father.
Amanda pretended to consider the wares for sale until the other patrons finished their business and left the store. Mr. Hanson then turned his attention to her. A tall, thin man with a shock of red hair, he had no trouble looking down his nose at her once he took in her simple garments. His red eyebrows rose enough to indicate he thought she had mistakenly wandered into the wrong establishment.
“I am Amanda Waverly, Mr. Hanson. I have served Lady Farnsworth these past five months as secretary. You probably do not remember that it is I who bring you her payments.”
He
gave a slight nod, and his eyebrows lowered.
“I also maintain her accounts. I thought that I should tell you that whoever is in turn keeping your accounts needs close watching. Every bill my lady receives shows subtle alterations that I have to correct.”
“Indeed? Lady Farnsworth is a much-esteemed patron. I am distraught this has happened.” He did not look distraught in the least. A little annoyed, but not upset.
“It is not carelessness. It is deliberate. A one becomes a seven. A nine becomes a zero. Someone not checking carefully probably would not notice. In short, sir, the person sending out those bills has the mind of a thief, and that can lead to scandal, ruin, and destruction for an establishment such as yours.”
Red blotched his cheeks.
“I thought you should know. It would be a shame if that for which your family labored so hard was all lost due to an employee giving in to temptation.”
His deep frown caused those eyebrows to merge. “How good of you to take the trouble. I will look into it and see that it ends.”
“That is wise. Not every patron is as optimistic about human nature as my mistress is. If it is happening with others too, one of them might well swear down information against you. That would be most unfortunate.” She leveled a bland but direct gaze at him.
Now he did appear distraught. “I will see that the lady’s account is always correct in the future. I will check it myself.”
“How good of you. Good day to you now.” She left, satisfied that Mr. Hanson would reform. Should Lady Farnsworth ever employ someone else on her accounts, no one would take advantage of her good nature.
* * *
Two hours later, in the room that she let on Girard Street, Amanda surveyed the garments laid out on her narrow bed. She dumped out the contents of her shopping basket on the coverlet too.
These were the fanciest dresses given to her by Lady Farnsworth, so they were all of that lady’s antiquated style. Normally, Lady Farnsworth’s maid, Felice, should receive these castoffs, but Felice was of an age when she had no use for frippery as she called it, and was too proud to sell used garments to the dealers who specialized in such things.
A Devil of a Duke Page 2