A Crime of Manners

by Rosemary Stevens

  “No luck, Miss Lanford. They have not seen them here either.” He motioned to a serving woman carrying a jug of lemonade.

  Henrietta bent her head, covering her eyes with her hands, and using the tips of her fingers to massage the bridge of her nose. She felt like crying. Her voice trembled when she said, “Oh, he is just a poor cat far from home, your grace. I fear he will not survive.”

  The serving woman finished pouring the drink and lowered the jug to the table. “You missin’ a kitty? I seen a lost cat here, just a little while ago. He came to the back door and meowed like a banshee.”

  Henrietta dropped her hands and exclaimed, “Pray, what did he look like?”

  “Big, ’e was, and strange lookin’, too. ’Is face was masked, like some evil creature.” The country woman shuddered and then continued, “I crossed myself before I threw ’im a fish ’ead.”

  The duke’s commanding voice rang out in the small room, “Where is the animal now?”

  The serving woman shrugged and picked up the jug. “Can’t say, You’re ’Onor. ’E gobbled up that fish ’ead and off ’e went down the London Road about a quarter of an hour ago.”

  Winterton threw some coins on the table, and Henrietta called out their thanks before they hurried out the door. Jeffers, lounging by a tree, saw them coming and ran to take his place behind them.

  They drove down the road they had just come from. After about ten minutes the duke stopped the curricle and instructed the tiger to walk alongside the road and scan the bushes for any sign of the missing cat.

  The little man jumped down. Winterton put the curricle in motion at a very slow pace and said crossly, “We probably passed the devil on the way somewhere. Knowing that cat, he probably grinned when he saw us go by.”

  Relief at the prospect of recovering Knight, as well as amusement at the duke’s words, caused Henrietta to laugh out loud. “Oh, your grace, surely not. Knight would have welcomed a ride!” She chuckled and said, “Poor thing, having to resort to eating a fish head. I assure you he would not touch one at home.”

  “I believe you, Miss Lanford. I am familiar with the animal’s penchant for culinary delights. Since we heard he was abducted in a burlap sack, I have frequently pitied the man who had to haul the obese monster away,” Winterton said with a wry grin.

  Henrietta gave him a look of mock reproach but giggled nonetheless.

  Winterton stopped the curricle and gave a long-suffering sigh. “I see no sign of the animal. It might be best if I got down as well and walked. That way I can cover the other side of the road from Jeffers.”

  “What a good idea,” Henrietta approved. “I shall drive while you and Jeffers walk.”

  Winterton eyed her skeptically. He inquired, “Do you know how to drive, Miss Lanford? Those are not ordinary country horses, as you rightly noted earlier today.”

  Affronted, Henrietta said curtly, “I admit I led a lonely childhood and that my parents largely ignored me. But my father did take the time to teach me how to handle the ribbons.”

  Passing her the reins, the duke studied her intently. He remembered the Lanfords’ lack of interest in their daughter. Observing her stormy face, he said, “Miss Lanford, I, too, know what it is like to endure a solitary childhood. When I was growing up, no one besides my tutor had much time for me. My parents, especially my father, were cold, unfeeling people, terribly conscious of their great wealth and consequence.”

  Cross from the long drive and the duke’s unloverlike treatment of her, Henrietta gazed directly into his gray eyes and said tartly, “Then you mean they are rather like yourself, your grace.”

  The truth always hurts. Surely for the first time in his life, the Duke of Winterton was struck speechless.

  He sat there tall and angry. His features hardened, and his voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet and menacing. “You think me cold, do you?”

  Before Henrietta knew what he was about, Winterton closed his fingers around her chin in a firm grasp. She stared into his furious eyes and her heart lurched madly.

  Chapter Eleven

  Swiftly he lowered his head. The kiss began as a warm persuasion, but rapidly progressed into an expression of passion long held in check.

  Henrietta felt a surge of excitement. Winterton’s firm mouth sent shivers through her, demanding a response, and she eagerly returned the pressure of his lips. Her gloved hand reached up tentatively to wind around the back of his neck, and her fingers caressed him, eliciting a low moan from the duke.

  Jeffers’s sharp cry interrupted the couple. “Your grace! I’ve found the cat. He’s hiding here underneath the hedgerow.”

  Winterton raised his head. For a long moment he stared bemusedly down into Miss Lanford’s wide eyes, noting her sweetly curved lips were still moist from his kiss.

  A gentleman did not kiss a gently bred miss unless his intentions were honorable. Severely chastising himself for his folly, he snatched his hand away from her chin. While he was no rake, Winterton knew his plans for the future could not include the squire’s daughter, no matter how tempting the little baggage was. He was behaving abominably by kissing her.

  The realization left him feeling decidedly blue-deviled. Placing the reins into her hands, he jumped down from the curricle, muttering, “Devil take all women ... and cats.”

  Henrietta watched the duke stride up the dusty road toward Jeffers, who was kneeling before the tall hedgerow. She sat shaken for a moment. The numb feeling gradually crystallized into mortification when she thought about her wanton response to the duke’s kiss. Surely no lady behaved thus.

  But how like him not to proclaim any affection for her, she fumed silently. Her brows drew together. Perhaps his condemnation stemmed from her bold return of his kiss. She considered the matter and decided the man had no finer feelings. She had been correct in her assessment of his character when she compared him to the parents he described as cold. The wretch!

  Bringing herself back to the matter at hand, Henrietta urged the horses down the lane a short ways to where the duke stood next to his tiger, peering into the bushes. “Where is Knight, Jeffers?” she addressed the servant, ignoring Winterton.

  “’E’s crouched in ’ere, miss, and won’t come out.”

  “Take the reins so I can fetch him,” Henrietta responded.

  Winterton turned an icy gaze on her. “I do not need your help, Miss Lanford. The animal is merely stubborn, but I shall prevail.”

  “Being more stubborn yourself,” Henrietta said softly.

  “What did you say?” the duke asked her, his eyes narrowed.

  “Nothing, your grace,” she replied demurely. Raising her voice, she called, “Knight, come along now, and we will go home.”

  There was no response from the hedgerow.

  “I’ll go in and get ’im, your grace,” Jeffers offered.

  “By the heavens, you will not,” the duke stated grimly. “See to the horses. I shall retrieve the feline beast myself.”

  He stripped off his acorn-brown coat and handed it, along with his hat, to the tiger. Pulling on his York tan driving gloves, the duke bent and again peered into the recesses of the hedgerow.

  Knight sat hunched, wide-eyed and alert to his strange surroundings. Winterton moved forward, reaching for the cat. Knight shrank back out of his reach. The duke lunged for him, muttering curses, and the cat turned, scurried through the bush, and ran out into a farmer’s field, much to the surprise of a grazing cow.

  “Knight!” Henrietta cried, half standing in the curricle in an effort to see over the hedgerow.

  Perceiving a gap in the bushes, the duke pressed his way through and into the field, dislodging a blackbird who shrieked in protest.

  A few minutes later, like a ball being shot out of a cannon, Knight careened through the same gap, ran down the lane, and with a flying leap, landed on the floor of the curricle. He hopped up on the seat beside Henrietta and, scarcely taking a minute to catch his breath, began washing his paws with his pink t
ongue, his attitude one of total nonchalance.

  Henrietta hugged him close for a moment, then petted his white back, removing a small leaf stuck to his fur.

  “All’s right and tight now, miss,” Jeffers ventured, and chuckled. Abruptly he fell silent, and his face became wooden.

  Looking up to see the cause of the little man’s discomfort, Henrietta could only stare.

  The proud Duke of Winterton stood outside the hedgerow, gazing wrathfully down his nose at the occupants of the curricle. His fine cambric shirt had numerous small tears in it, as did his buff pantaloons, from the spiny shoots and thorns of the hawthorn. His cravat was half-untied. Dust and scratches covered his normally gleaming Hessian boots. A lone white flower hung from his dark hair over one ear.

  From the glowering expression on his face, Henrietta knew she must not laugh. A choking sound escaped from her, and she struggled for control.

  Jeffers wordlessly handed his master his coat and hat.

  The picture the duke presented shrugging on the immaculate coat over his disheveled clothing was almost Henrietta’s undoing. The hat dislodged the flower, and it floated to the ground mercifully unnoticed by Winterton when he climbed up into the curricle.

  Taking up the reins, the duke looked thoughtfully into the distance. A moment passed and then he said, “I should like to make for Baddick’s estate, but regretfully such a course would prove futile. Odds are, the viscount has been warned of our questions by his London servants, if the man who took Knight has not already given Baddick the news of the cat’s escape.”

  “This time he will leave the country, will he not, your grace?” Henrietta asked hopefully.

  “Yes. Baddick cannot be cork-brained enough to stay in England now.” With a flick of the ribbons, the duke put the horses in motion.

  Knight curled up on the seat between them and fell asleep.

  Seeing the picture the girl and the animal presented, the duke decided they were a witch and a cat. With frustration in his voice, he said, “Much as I should relish making Baddick wish he had obeyed me before, I am not at liberty to pursue him at the moment. Rest assured, however, I shall make inquiries on the morrow to be certain he is gone.”

  Henrietta frowned. “Why do you say we are not at liberty to go after him now? I confess I should find Lord Baddick’s humiliation gratifying after the misery he has caused my aunt this day.”

  “Bloodthirsty, Miss Lanford? I should like to see Viscount Baddick upon six men’s shoulders myself, but I am afraid I cannot give in to such desires. No, I must escort you home before it grows dark and your reputation suffers,” he informed her imperiously.

  Insufferable man! “It is not my reputation you are troubled about, your grace,” she told him briskly. “You are so accustomed to ladies throwing themselves at you, you fear a bride behind every tree! But you need not distress yourself on my account. I have no wish to be compromised by you, and pray you will convey Knight and me back to Grosvenor Square with all speed.”

  “An excellent plan, Miss Lanford.”

  Henrietta folded her hands together primly in her lap where they could not find their way about the duke’s throat, and turned her gaze to the beauty of the English countryside.

  * * * *

  At Viscount Baddick’s estate, his lordship was in his bedchamber enjoying the charms of his latest ladybird.

  After a while, his butler was finally able to impart the information a man waited downstairs to see him. Attired in a paisley dressing gown, Lord Baddick strolled into the hall where the burly man stood.

  “Well, where’s the blasted cat, McGrath?” Lord Baddick demanded.

  “See ’ere, milord, you didn’t say the cat was a wild animal. I gots ’im in the sack easy enough after I drugged ’im. But soon as ’e woke up there was a terrible yowling, then ’e started jumpin’ around inside and rippin’ the bag with them needlelike claws.”

  “Yes. His claws are sharp,” the viscount murmured, one finger tracing a long scar running down the side of his face.

  “I’m sorry to tell you, ’e got away,” McGrath said nervously. When the master only nodded his head in dismissal, the man left the house quickly, happy to escape without punishment.

  Lord Baddick shrugged the matter off. The cat’s kidnapping and eventual death had only been a whim.

  Intending to return to Lily’s willing body, he began climbing the stairs, but was stopped by his butler. The servant’s message caused the viscount’s face to whiten around the red scar.

  After giving lengthy instructions, Lord Baddick returned to his bedchamber, flung open the door, and said, “Lily, my love, we are going to Paris!”

  * * * *

  Knight’s arrival home brought loud exclamations of joy from everyone, with the exception of Felice, who, while she was sorry her mistress had been made unhappy, had secretly looked forward to having her ladyship’s clothing free of cat hair.

  Lady Fuddlesby, holding Knight tightly in her arms, ordered Mrs. Pottsworth to prepare the cat a welcoming meal. “For he must have been too frightened to find anything to eat during his horrible ordeal, poor dear. Perhaps we can tempt him with a turbot and a dish of cream.”

  “Yes, milady. Come along, Knight,” Mrs. Potts-worth called when Lady Fuddlesby released the cat onto the floor.

  With amusement Henrietta noticed the cat’s jaunty walk when he followed the cook out of the hall in the direction of the kitchens. For Knight’s sake she decided it would not be prudent to mention the fish head he had devoured at the Nose of the Dog.

  No one braved a remark on the Duke of Winter-ton’s astonishing appearance. Instead, over a refreshing cup of tea in the drawing room, Lady Fuddlesby and Colonel Colchester listened without interrupting while the duke and Henrietta told the story of how they had found Knight.

  Sitting on the brocade sofa, Henrietta sipped her tea gratefully. They had left the tavern before she had had time to drink her lemonade, and her throat felt parched.

  Lady Fuddlesby and Colonel Colchester expressed their relief at having Knight home again. They praised Giles and Henrietta for their actions, both privately hoping the incident had served to bring the young people closer together.

  The colonel was hard-pressed to restrain his amusement at the thought of his austere godson searching the hedgerows for a cat. It seemed the spirited Miss Lanford possessed the power to make Giles behave quite out of character. All to the good. When he had first arrived in London, the colonel thought his godson seemed so stiff, he feared someone would mistake him for a corpse and bury him.

  Having exhausted the discussion on Knight’s return, the duke concluded by saying, “You may be easy, Lady Fuddlesby, in that I shall be certain this time Baddick has left the country.”

  “Oh, I do so thank you, your grace. I confess I shall be very careful with Knight in the meantime. Do you think I would be wise to hire a guard?”

  Henrietta noted the duke’s lips twitched before he made his reply.

  “I do not think you will be troubled again, my lady. Now I must take my leave. I apologize for staying as long as I have in all my dirt.”

  Colonel Colchester smiled warmly at Lady Fuddlesby. “I should leave as well. May I call on you tomorrow to see how you are faring?”

  “You know you may, dear Colonel,” Lady Fuddlesby said as everyone rose. “Will we be seeing you, your grace, before Henrietta’s ball next week? I daresay it will be the grandest affair of the Season thus far. I have spared no expense.”

  Henrietta’s startled gaze flew to the duke. Mention of the ball reminded her forcibly of the contretemps over the pink tourmaline ring. Surely the duke had not forgotten they were to try to uncover the truth and save Lady Fuddlesby from scandal.

  His next words reassured her. “Actually, I hope you and Miss Lanford will attend a small dinner party I am holding in three days’ time. I know it is short notice, but pray you forgive me since the gathering is impromptu.”

  Winterton’s gaze found Henrietta’s
, and a silent communication passed between them. She knew the reason for the duke’s invitation was so she

  might share whatever information she learned regarding the ring.

  Despite the long and harrowing day, Lady Fuddlesby beamed happily. “How delightful, your grace. Henrietta and I would be most pleased, will we not, my dear?”

  Henrietta curtsied low, saying, “Yes, thank you, your grace. I shall look forward to speaking to you then.”

  The duke bowed, indicating with a slight nod he understood Henrietta’s meaning, and he and his godfather took their leave.

  Afterward Lady Fuddlesby cried, “Oh, the duke is a genuine hero, rescuing Knight as he did.” Her expression coy, Lady Fuddlesby declared, “He would make a splendid husband, dear.”

  Henrietta stared at her aunt, annoyed that the lady gave all the credit for Knight’s return to the duke, ignoring her niece’s contribution to the salvation of the cat.

  “Who do you mean would make a splendid husband, my lady? The duke or Knight?” she retorted mockingly before excusing herself and sweeping from the room, leaving Lady Fuddlesby to chuckle at her niece’s wit.

  * * * *

  The next day, Henrietta endured her promised drive with Mr. Shire with a grim determination. The duke was correct, she judged when the country gentleman pontificated on the subject of the proper care of a mare ready to foal. Mr. Shire was a dull dog. Still, dullness might be preferable to stuffiness.

  Trying to spare her maidenly ears any breeding terms resulted in a garbled conversation filled with significant pauses, while Mr. Shire unsuccessfully

  struggled to find an inoffensive word to replace the one he really needed for clarity.

  Pulling the carriage to a halt outside the town house in Grosvenor Square, Mr. Shire surprised her by saying, “I shall be out of Town for a few days on a personal matter, Miss Lanford. Perhaps you might guess the nature of my task.”

  At Henrietta’s blank countenance, he continued in his unexceptional way. “Well, my purpose will become clear to you at your ball. Lady Fuddlesby has been kind enough to extend me an invitation, and I am anxious to attend.”