“Oh?” There was obviously much Cam didn’t know about his old friend and his new partner.
Phineas ignored him. “It was Miss West’s idea actually, and I did think it was brilliant.”
“Because it removes her from your life?”
“Only briefly, but yes.” Phineas drew a deep breath. “Do you smell that?”
“There was a vague hint of garlic in the hallway when I arrived, which I assumed was coming from another flat.” Cam sniffed. “But no, I don’t smell anything out of the ordinary.”
“That, my friend, is the smell of freedom.” Phineas smirked. “Freedom from female interference.”
Cam retook his seat. “If you find her that unpleasant, I daresay you could sever your association, tell her her services are no longer needed.”
“I didn’t say she was unpleasant. Indeed, there are moments when she’s quite palatable. She is impressively efficient and she does have an excellent mind, you know.”
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that.”
“She has proven to be most beneficial. She has put all my records to rights, posted invoices to clients I had forgotten to bill, and she’s been a surprisingly great help in every case I’ve had since she invaded my life. No.” Phineas shook his head. “She is an asset I would be foolish to discard. However . . .” He smiled in satisfaction. “She began her employment with the American yesterday and I feel as if I am on holiday.”
Cam chuckled. “For now.”
“One doesn’t need to be on holiday permanently. I would think that would be dreadfully dull after a time.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“But for the moment, I shall revel in my newfound freedom and—” He straightened in his chair and stared at Cam. “That’s it. That’s your idea.”
“A never-ending holiday?”
“Don’t be absurd. I said that would be boring.”
“Then—”
“Sometimes, I don’t know what I see in you.” Phineas rolled his gaze toward the ceiling. “I’m talking about the heiress. It’s perfect for you. And the Messenger will love it. It will practically write itself.”
“I don’t think—”
“Come now, Effington. I can see the title now.” Phineas waved in a grand gesture. “The Absolutely True Adventures of a Runaway American Heiress in London.”
“That’s rather long.” Cam drew his brows together. “You didn’t say she had run away.”
“That makes it more interesting, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“However, as far as I know, she hasn’t. Run away, that is.” Phineas shrugged. “But she certainly could have. It would explain why she’s here in London alone.”
“It would at that.” Cam thought for a moment. Phineas had a good point. What was an American heiress doing on her own in London? It was unusual to say the least and well worth looking into. Perhaps this idea did have potential. “Adventures might not be the right word though. We don’t know that she is having adventures.”
“A wealthy unmarried American on her own in London? Surely just her presence here could be called an adventure.” Phineas scoffed. “I know my imagination is already churning up any number of possible scenarios. First of all, one has to wonder why she is unmarried. It’s my observation that wealth in a woman overcomes a great many other flaws, like age or appearance.”
“Old and ugly is not what one usually looks for in the heroine of a story.”
“Might I point out, you’re trying to write a work of fiction as well as something for your paper. The Messenger has never been overly concerned with accuracy.”
“There is that.” While Cam did prefer not to outright lie, much could be done with implication and innuendo. He had long ago learned the difference between saying a crowd was comprised of nearly a hundred people and saying a crowd was not even a hundred strong. Both were correct but gave an entirely different picture of the proceedings. He ignored the tiny pang of conscience that jabbed him at moments like this, but then he did work for the Messenger and not the Times or the Gazette. Regardless, he was not going to fail at journalistic pursuits any more than he was going to fail at writing a book.
“I don’t wish to use the word Adventures though,” Cam said thoughtfully. “What about The True Deeds of a—”
“No, no. True is a mistake and I shouldn’t have suggested it. Eliminating True leaves you a great deal of room for oh . . . creativity. The Deeds of a Runaway American Heiress in London.”
“Daring Deeds,” Cam said. “Better yet—Daring Exploits. I like it but—”
“The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress.” Phineas grinned. “You have to admit, that’s perfect.”
“It does have a nice ring to it. Still, we don’t know that she’s run away or that she’s having exploits, daring or otherwise.”
“You wanted an idea and I gave you one. Now it’s up to you.” Phineas’s eyes narrowed slightly as they did when he had some sort of idea. “I know writing stories that are less than truthful for the Messenger bothers you.”
“I have accustomed myself to the realities of my profession,” Cam said wryly.
“But your paper also runs serials, doesn’t it?”
Cam nodded. “They’re extremely popular.”
“Then write The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress as a serial. As pure fiction.” Phineas leaned over his desk and met Cam’s gaze directly. “Don’t even pretend that it’s real. And use this American for your inspiration.”
“My muse,” Cam murmured. It was a good idea. He simply needed to convince Mr. Cadwallender of the merits of Cam’s writing fiction. It would not be the first time he’d attempted to do so, but the publisher already employed several accomplished writers of fiction. “It might work.”
“Might?” Phineas snorted. “It’s brilliant and you bloody well know it.” He grinned. “You may thank me later.”
“Indeed I will. So . . .” Cam said slowly, “the only thing I need now is the name of this daring heiress.”
Phineas laughed. “I can’t tell you that.”
“Of course you can. She’s not your client.”
“No, she’s not. Still, it seems to me I’ve done enough. You should make some effort on your own.”
“I intend to. Her name is just the beginning.” Once he had her name, he could locate her and observe her exploits or adventures or whatever she did that would provide inspiration.
“Besides”—Phineas shrugged—“I don’t know her name. This is all Miss West’s endeavor. I have nothing to do with it.”
“Then perhaps I should ask Miss West—”
“You can ask her, but I’d wager you won’t get any usable information. Miss West doesn’t trust you.”
Cam gasped. “Me? Why, I’m most trustworthy.”
“Nonetheless, she is not an admirer of your work or your paper.”
“She’s made no secret of that.” Indeed, Miss West’s opinion of the Messenger was much like his father’s.
“If she thinks you’re looking for a story, she won’t tell you anything. She has a very finely developed sense of honor for a woman.” Phineas shook his head.
A sharp rap sounded at the door, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of a key inserting in the lock.
“And she’s back.” Phineas rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.
“So much for your holiday.”
“So much indeed,” Phineas muttered, then lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “The means to pulling information from Miss West is not to directly ask her anything you wish to know. One never knows what one might learn in the course of casual conversation.”
The door opened and Miss West stepped into the room. Both men got to their feet at once, Phineas with a show of some reluctance.
“Good day, Mr. Chapman.” Her gaze slid to Cam. “And Mr. Fairchild. It’s been some time since we’ve seen you.” She nodded and proceeded to her desk.
“Far too long, Miss W
est.” Cam smiled.
“The two of you look as if you are plotting something.” Her gaze slid from Cam to Phineas. “Are you?”
“Why are you here?” Phineas asked.
She pulled off her gloves. “I am doing quite well, thank you. And you?”
“That’s not what I asked.” Phineas huffed. “I thought we had agreed that you would not be coming here while you are in the employ of the American.”
“I don’t really recall agreeing to that, nor is it something I would ever agree to.” She sat down behind her desk. “However, I shall indeed be too busy accompanying Miss Merryweather to fulfill my usual responsibilities here.”
Phineas slanted Cam a pointed look. It wasn’t necessary. Cam had already noted the name.
“Are you enjoying your new position with the American?” Cam said politely.
“He told you about that, did he?”
“Naturally I inquired as to where you were,” Cam said in a gallant manner. “Mr. Chapman told me you had taken a temporary position as a companion to an American.” He paused. “I apologize if I have overstepped. If this position is confidential in nature or your activities a secret of some sort.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Fairchild.” She scoffed. “It’s the most straightforward and least secretive venture I’ve been engaged in since joining Mr. Chapman.”
Phineas blew an annoyed breath.
She ignored him. “I’ve only started today, so whether or not it will be enjoyable remains to be seen.” She opened a drawer and peered down into it, rummaging through the contents. “She’s a lovely woman and gives the impression of being somewhat scattered, although I suspect that hides an excellent mind. But, yes, Mr. Fairchild, I do expect it to be a most enjoyable employment. Rather like”—she raised her gaze to Phineas—“a holiday, I should think.”
Cam choked back a laugh.
Phineas’s eyes narrowed.
“It will be most refreshing to be around someone with a pleasant disposition for a change.” She smiled and pulled a notebook from the drawer.
Phineas huffed. “I can be pleasant.”
“I know you can be, you simply choose not to be.” She shut the drawer and rose to her feet. “I only came by to fetch my notebook. Now that I have, I’ll be on my way.”
“I assure you, I had no intention of reading it while you were gone,” Phineas said. “It was perfectly safe in your desk.” Phineas prided himself on never needing to write anything down. He never forgot anything he wished to remember.
“And now it is even safer.” She moved toward the door.
“Might I inquire as to where you will be staying during your employment?” Cam said smoothly.
“Why, Mr. Fairchild?” She studied him coolly. “Do you intend to call on me?”
Cam hesitated, then nodded. “I had considered it.”
She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “You have not.”
“He’s smarter than he looks,” Phineas said under his breath.
“One can only hope.” She considered Cam thoughtfully. “As you have never before indicated so much as an iota of interest in me in a personal sense, I can only conclude that you have an ulterior motive in doing so now.”
“Good God, Phineas.” Cam glared at his friend. “What have you done to her?”
Phineas shrugged, but laughter glittered in his eyes.
“Which would further indicate to me your interest lies in my new employer.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you intend to make her the subject of one of your scandalous stories for your paper?”
Cam widened his eyes in surprise. “Not at all.” He clasped his hand over his heart. “You wound me deeply, Miss West. I have long been meaning to ask if I could call on you.”
Phineas snorted.
“My apologies, Mr. Fairchild. I should not have jumped to such a conclusion.” In spite of her words, it was obvious from the look in her eyes that she neither believed nor trusted him. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss West.” Cam paused. “But perhaps, as your employer is a guest in our country, might I offer you my services as, oh, a guide of sorts?”
“Miss Merryweather has a very specific list of things she would like to see and do during her stay in England. So, while your offer is very kind, your services will not be necessary. I am well able to show a visitor the city I have lived in all of my life.” She smiled in an overly sweet manner.
“The offer remains open should you decide I could be of some assistance.” Cam tried to hide the note of eagerness in his voice.
“Thank you, Mr. Fairchild, but I very much doubt that I will.” She moved toward the door. “Good day. Good day, Mr. Chapman.”
“Miss West,” Phineas said abruptly.
She turned back. “Yes?”
“Do take care of yourself and try not to do anything foolish.” His tone was brusque, but his gaze caught Miss West’s and for a moment they stared at each other. Cam had absolutely no idea what it meant, but obviously these two had secrets Phineas had not shared with him.
Her gaze softened. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Chapman. I shall be fine.”
“See that you are.” Phineas shuffled through the debris on his desk. “Wouldn’t want to have to train someone else.”
A slight smile played over her lips and she opened the door, then paused and looked back. “Oh, one more thing. Do either of you have any idea where I might be able to purchase a dog? And possibly a parrot?”
Chapter Four
“Clara.” Lucy leaned closer to the other woman and lowered her voice. She did so hate to sound like a frightened schoolgirl and in truth she wasn’t the least bit scared. On the contrary, it was most exciting. Still, she did think Clara should know. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but now I’m fairly certain there’s an extremely attractive gentleman who seems to be following us.”
Clara pulled up short and scanned the street. “Where?”
“I don’t see him now.” Lucy glanced around. There were a fair number of people passing by but no one she recognized. “I noticed him yesterday and the day before, but he’s very good. Every time I look in his direction, he ducks behind a carriage or steps into a doorway.”
“The next time you see him, let me know at once.” Clara’s tone was firm. She took Lucy’s arm and they started off, her pace a bit faster than before. “Come along, Lucy. It’s entirely too cold to linger.”
It was indeed far colder than Lucy had thought when they’d set out from Channing House. But their destination was no more than a ten-minute walk and both women agreed a carriage wasn’t necessary. Lucy pushed her hands further into her fur muff, her small reticule dangling from her wrist.
They’d spent the last three days deciding on a course of action for accomplishing as many of Great-aunt Lucinda’s adventures as possible. Except of course when they were busy making the acquaintance of Albert, the small Yorkshire terrier Clara had brought home. It was most thoughtful of her and something else that could be crossed off Lucinda’s list. Clara said she had run into an acquaintance and discovered, in the course of their conversation, that he knew of a well-trained dog in need of a new home. If given her choice, Lucy would have preferred a dog with a bit more substance to it. Albert was extremely small, less than ten pounds, and didn’t even come up to her knee. Nonetheless, it was love at first sight on all sides. He was indeed a clever little fellow and refused to leave Lucy’s side, as if he knew she was his new master. Albert had been quite indignant today when they had left him behind.
“I don’t like that,” Clara said under her breath. “I don’t like that at all.”
Lucy glanced at her in surprise. “Surely we’re in no real danger. It’s the middle of the day, after all, and we’re in Mayfair. What could possibly happen to us here?”
“One never knows,” Clara said darkly. Lucy was beginning to suspect Clara was far more worldly than she appeared. “Robbery, kidnapping, seduction, murder—”
“Goodness, Lucy.” Clara shook her head. “A man doesn’t necessarily have to look like a brigand to be one. I would wager the very best of them don’t look like what they truly are. Life would be much easier if they did.”
“It is a shame though . . .”
Clara slanted her a wry smile. “Because he was exceptionally attractive?”
“Well . . .” Lucy grinned. “Yes.”
Lucy really wasn’t accustomed to thinking of men as exceptionally attractive in anything other than a detached, objective way. After all, she was supposed to marry Jackson and whether she did or did not think of a man as handsome and dashing really hadn’t mattered. Now, however, she was free. And he, whoever he was, was tall with dark hair and broad shoulders and, when he wasn’t hiding in doorways, had a walk that said he was a man of determination. She didn’t get more than a fleeting glimpse of his face—he was too smart to come too close—but she suspected it was quite handsome. Or perhaps she simply hoped. After all, a man of mystery should be handsome and dashing. The man watching them was certainly mysterious enough even if she was fairly certain she knew exactly who—or rather what—he was. Clara had nothing to worry about.
“This is it.” Clara paused in front of the walk leading to a house too small to be accurately called grand but entirely too formidable to be called anything else. “The residence of James Rutledge, Viscount Northrup.”
“This is where Lucinda’s mother, my great-grandmother, was born.” In her mind, Lucy placed a checkmark next to Visit the place my mother was born. “Shall we?”
“Do you really think this is a good idea?”
“One never knows how people will greet long-lost relatives. However”—Lucy squared her shoulders—“it is on the list.” She nodded, stepped up to the door, lifted the brass knocker, and rapped it smartly against the back plate.
The door opened almost at once and a butler stared down his long nose at her. “May I help you, miss?”
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