“I think it’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever worn.” She twirled again, engulfed in yards of rich blue silk trimmed with gold-threaded embroidery. “I’ve never worn anything so very light, like gossamer, really. Except for nightclothes, of course, but I would certainly never appear in public in nightclothes. Goodness, that would be scandalous.”
Mr. Fairchild sputtered, obviously at a loss for words. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen anyone as young as Mr. Fairchild sputter. Certainly her father sputtered a great deal, usually over politics or the antics of one of her brothers. But no one had ever sputtered over anything she had done. The oddest sense of power surged through her. Mr. Fairchild’s sputtering was delightful.
“It’s called a sari and it’s really little more than this charming blouse with its little sleeves and yards and yards of fabric wrapped around and around you. Something like a mummy.” She glanced down at the garment. “One would think it would be difficult to move with all this draped around you, but it’s really quite easy. And remarkably comfortable.”
“Your, your arms are uncovered!” A stunned note rang in his voice.
“Goodness, Mr. Fairchild.” She scoffed. “I’ve worn ball gowns far more revealing than this. And they are only arms, after all. When you consider it, this is really quite modest.”
“But your face and your skin and your hair!” He stared. “My God, your hair!”
“I know.” She patted her now black hair. “It’s a wig. Isn’t it fetching? I’ve never even imagined having dark hair and I like it. As for my arms and face . . .” She stretched her arms out in front of her and shook her hands, admiring the look of the numerous bangle bracelets on her wrists. “Clara did it. She’s very clever. I’m not sure exactly what she used. It was extremely aromatic but apparently she has used it before, although one does wonder why—”
He snorted.
She ignored him. “—and she assured me it will wash away after a bath or two or possibly more. She wasn’t quite sure.”
“You allowed her to color your skin?” Disbelief rang in his voice. Lucy wasn’t sure if it was because Clara had darkened her skin or if it was because it had been Clara doing the dying. For some reason he and Clara had not taken to each other.
“I didn’t allow her; I insisted on it.”
There he went sputtering again.
“With my blond hair and fair complexion, I looked completely absurd otherwise. Why, this makes perfect sense.”
“Perfect sense? It makes no sense at all and might well be the most absurd—”
“Come now, Mr. Fairchild. Surely you understood doing some of the things on my great-aunt’s list would call for a certain amount of disguise and even subterfuge?”
“I hadn’t really considered that you would color your face and wear something so . . . so—”
“Charming?”
“Provocative!” The shock in his voice had turned to outrage. “Why, one can see every curve and every . . . It’s scandalous, Miss Merryweather. Absolutely scandalous.”
“And yet millions of women in India wear the very same garment every single day.”
“This is not India.” Indignation squared his shoulders. “This is England!”
Obviously Lucy was mistaken, but it did seem that “God Save the Queen” or some other British patriotic anthem was playing somewhere in the distance. She resisted the urge to laugh, he was so charmingly British. “But it is part of your empire, is it not?”
“Well, yes but—”
“And I am not.” She smiled.
His eyes narrowed. “Where is Miss West?”
“She’s gone to call for a carriage.” She cast him a chastising look. “Really, Mr. Fairchild, you need to try to be more prompt. When I said late morning I fully expected you would be here no later than midmorning. Although I suppose I do need to be more specific. But another few minutes and you would have missed us altogether and then you would have thought we were trying to avoid you.” She shook her head. “It would not have been the best way to begin our journey together. And it would have been most unprofessional.”
“My apologies,” he said sharply. “I shall try to do better.”
“See that you do.” She turned toward the door.
“Miss Merryweather!”
“Yes?”
“Am I to understand that you are going to leave this house in that . . . that costume?”
“It would be pointless otherwise.” She smiled. “And it’s more than appropriate, really. At least for today.”
“But what if someone sees you?”
“Tell me, Mr. Fairchild, if you had passed me on the street, would you have recognized me?”
“I don’t think so but I might have.”
“Yes, but you and I have met. As I know practically no one else in London, there’s no one to recognize me.” She nodded and started for the door.
“Nonetheless, Miss Merryweather—”
She sighed and turned back to him. “Furthermore, if you met me today and then met me a few days from now when I looked as I always do, would you recognize me?”
“Your eyes are most distinctive,” he said staunchly.
“I shall take that as both a compliment and a no. Now then, if we do not hurry we will be late and that won’t do.” Impatience trickled through her. Clara and the carriage should be ready and waiting by now. She reached the door, then glanced over her shoulder. “Are you coming?”
“Where?” Suspicion underlay his words.
“Where do you think I would be going dressed like this?” She huffed and started for the entry. “Come now, Mr. Fairchild. Have you no imagination?”
“I have an excellent imagination!” he called after her.
“You hide it well.”
“Wait, Miss Merryweather!” His annoyed voice echoed in the corridor. “One more moment, if you please.”
“Very well!” She heaved a resigned sigh and turned back to him. “What is it now?”
“This would be much easier if you simply told me what you have planned and where we are going.”
“I thought I would allow you to use your powers of deduction. I must say I’m disappointed.”
“My powers of deduction?”
“Isn’t that part and parcel of what you do?”
His jaw clenched. “As you wish.” He studied her closely. “Given the time of day, you’re not going to a masquerade ball. Besides, I’ve never known any woman to go to such extremes of disguise simply for a ball. You are dressed in the manner of an Indian woman—”
“Princess,” she said pointedly. “I am supposed to be an Indian princess, although admittedly I might not be entirely genuine—but for my purposes authenticity probably doesn’t matter.”
He nodded. “An Indian princess then.” His eyes lit up. “You’re wearing something shocking, at least for London, which is one of the items on your list. And . . .” He paused, a triumphant smile curving his lips. “And you’re going to ride an elephant. Indian I would surmise.”
“Very good, Mr. Fairchild, although I expected nothing less.” She smiled. “You memorized my list, didn’t you?”
He smiled but said nothing.
“Excellent. Now I am impressed. Shall we go?”
“You still haven’t told me exactly where we’re going.”
“Goodness, Mr. Fairchild. I thought you would have figured that out by now.” She flashed him a grin. “We’re going to the circus.”
Miss Merryweather did indeed look like Indian royalty from her perch in the howdah on the back of one of the largest elephants Cam had ever seen. Or perhaps it just seemed large to him, although she was probably in no real danger as long as she stayed in her seat and nothing happened to alarm the huge beast. Indeed she smiled in a serene manner and waved to the audience crowded in the tiers of seats encircling the performance ring at Astley’s Amphitheatre as if she had been doing it all her life. Still, she hadn’t, and he’d noted a distinct air of apprehension when she had be
en assisted into her seat. If she was still uneasy, she hid it well.
Cam doubted he had ever met a woman quite like Miss Lucy Merryweather, which was, in more ways than he could count, probably a very good thing. Few people—let alone women—of his acquaintance would go to such extremes to make up for the regrets of a long-dead relative. After all, she was under no obligation to do so. Her inheritance was not contingent upon it, nor had she made any promises to her great-aunt. He was right when he’d called it a debt of honor, although he doubted most people would see it that way. The fact that Miss Merryweather—he’d started to think of her as Lucy—did so spoke well of her.
That Lucy and Miss West had managed to arrange her participation in this circus today was at once impressive and mystifying. Although given Phineas’s unspoken confidence in her, nothing Miss West was involved in should have surprised Cam. He and the ersatz companion now watched the parade of elephants, brightly costumed attendants, and lovely riders circling the ring. The elephants were part of a small circus with an international flavor. They had already been preceded by a parade of Egyptian camels, Arabian dancing girls, Romanian jugglers, and Chinese acrobats. It would have been most enjoyable and highly entertaining had he been entirely confident Lucy would not do something unexpected and tumble to the ground to be stomped upon by untrustworthy pachyderms.
He inclined his head toward Miss West beside him but kept his gaze on Lucy. She might be taking all this in stride, but his heart would be in his throat until she was firmly back on solid ground.
“How did you arrange this?”
“There are very few places to find elephants in London, Mr. Fairchild.” Miss West shrugged. “A circus was obvious.”
“And they simply agreed to allow her to take part in this exhibition?”
“For a price.” She paused. “She has a great deal of money.”
“And a fair amount of courage.” Cam had ridden in one of those carriages strapped on the back of an elephant when he had traveled in India. He still recalled the way the structure swayed with every step the beast took. It was disconcerting and more than a little frightening. And very high.
“She knows you’re not who you say you are,” Miss West said abruptly.
“Did you—”
“I haven’t said a word. But you should watch your step.”
“Thank you for the warning, Miss West.”
“You needn’t thank me. I have no more desire for the truth to be revealed than you do.” She shook her head. “Do not underestimate her, Mr. Fairchild. She is far more intelligent that one might think. And she is very kind. I do not wish for either of us to hurt her.”
“That’s not my intention.” He watched Miss Merryweather start with an unexpected movement of her elephant, then regain her composure almost immediately. “She’s rather remarkable, isn’t she? I’ve never met anyone quite like her.”
Perhaps there was something in his tone, but Miss West slanted him a hard look. “Don’t get any untoward ideas in your head.”
“Ideas?” Even from a distance he could see Lucy was enjoying herself.
“I am aware of your reputation with women, and while I may not be an experienced companion, I will not allow you to take advantage of her.”
“Take advantage of her?” His attention jerked to Miss West. “I assure you, my intentions are strictly honorable. Why, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind.”
“You’re lying, Mr. Fairchild. I can see it in the way you look at her.” Her gaze returned to the parade. “Even if you don’t realize it yourself.”
Admittedly, the less than remarkable kiss they’d shared had lingered in his mind. Although he had thought the feel of her lips on his, the warmth of her breath, and the close proximity of her body to be very close to remarkable. And yes, he did plan to kiss her again. And perhaps when he’d been writing his first story last night it had included a far more passionate and satisfying kiss, which was anything but unremarkable.
“Don’t be absurd, Miss West. I have no designs on either Miss Merryweather’s affections or virtue. And in spite of what Mr. Chapman may have said to you, my reputation with women is no worse than any other gentleman’s.”
She snorted. “Oh, that’s a comforting endorsement.”
“Don’t you think you’re taking this masquerade of protective companion a bit too seriously? Miss Merryweather is of age, after all. She certainly knows her own mind and we are in agreement as to her intelligence.”
“It’s not a masquerade. For the foreseeable future, I am her companion.” Her tone hardened. “She trusts me, and I take that and my current position most seriously. I will not allow that trust to be misplaced.”
“Excellent attitude, Miss West. However”—he glanced at her—“you do not trust me.”
“Not in the least.” She huffed. “You kissed her.”
“On the contrary, she kissed me.”
“It shall not happen again,” she said firmly.
“You’ll have to speak to Miss Merryweather about that.”
“I have.”
“And?”
“And it’s none of your business.”
And wasn’t that interesting? He resisted the urge to grin with satisfaction. There was no point in further annoying Miss West. Besides, Lucy and her elephant were exiting the main ring. The parade would be followed shortly by individual acts. The thought occurred to him that one of those would be aerialists performing on high wire and trapeze. He shuddered at the thought that Lucy might want to accomplish her great-aunt’s desire to fly by swinging through the air. He did hope that hadn’t occurred to her.
They made their way through the crowd back to the staging area, an outdoor space covered overhead by tenting attached to the building. Exotic wild beasts jostled with handlers, circus hands, and assorted performers, and the hard-packed ground was covered with sawdust and hay. Lucy had already dismounted her elephant and was in an animated discussion with the man who had been previously introduced as the head of the circus. Apparently they reached some sort of agreement. Lucy shook the man’s hand, then spotted Cam and Miss West and started toward them, a satisfied smile on her face.
“I must tell you I didn’t like the way the handler kept berating my elephant. Every time he smacked the poor creature, the animal would shake with fear or despair, I’m not quite sure which.”
“Do elephants feel despair?” Cam asked in a mild tone.
“I can’t imagine that they wouldn’t.” She looked back at the elephant she had ridden. “You can see it in his eyes, poor dear. His name is Hannibal, by the way. But he’s old, you see, and not as quick to respond to commands as he once was, according to his handler.” Lucy’s expression hardened. “I took an instant aversion to him—the handler not the elephant. I think he deserves better.”
“The elephant or the handler?” Miss West’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“Hannibal, of course. So.” Lucy drew a deep breath. “I arranged to purchase him.”
“What are you going to do with an elephant?” Cam stared.
“I thought of sending him back to his native land but I’m afraid he is far too domesticated for that. I was assured that he would not fare well.”
“By the people who sold him to you, no doubt.” Cam couldn’t quite keep a sarcastic note from his voice.
“Where will we put him?” Miss West murmured.
“Miss Merryweather, he is not a dog. Or a parrot.” Cam sighed. “Your great-aunt’s desire was to ride an elephant, not keep one stabled in the back garden.”
“I have no intention of keeping him, Mr. Fairchild.” She cast him a look that clearly said he was the one whose sanity was in question. “I simply want him to be well taken care of and cherished. He really is quite an affectionate fellow and I don’t want him to be made to perform. He deserves better. I think perhaps . . .” She glanced at Miss West. “A zoo?”
“The zoological gardens.” Miss West nodded. “Yes, they would like that. As, no doubt,
would Hannibal.” She smiled. “What an excellent idea.”
“I thought so.” Lucy nodded. “We need to arrange for his transport and contact the zoological gardens. The circus owner has agreed to continue to care for him until we can move him to his new home, for a fee, of course.”
“Naturally,” Cam said.
Lucy ignored him. “Clara—”
“I’ll see to the details here and make the arrangements for him this afternoon.” She handed Lucy her cloak, nodded, and started after the circus owner.
“She’s exceptionally efficient.” Lucy’s gaze followed the other woman. “I was quite lucky to have found her. Although I suppose I really didn’t find her as—”
“Why, Miss Merryweather,” he said sharply. Obviously, she needed someone to keep her finances safe as well as her person. And, just as obviously, Miss West was not going to be of much help. “Why did you find it necessary to spend a great deal of money to purchase an elephant only to then donate it to a zoo?”
“Why not?” Her eyes widened in surprise. “For one thing, if I can’t do something good with my money, I really don’t deserve to have it. We are no better than how we treat the least among us, Mr. Fairchild. That poor animal has spent much of his life in captivity, and now that he’s old, his useful days are limited. I think it’s terribly sad that such a noble beast should be put in such a position.”
“Agreed, but you cannot buy all the elephants in all the circuses.” He shook his head. “You can’t rescue them all.”
“No, but I can save this one.” She met his gaze firmly. “I think this was the right thing to do and it did need to be done. I didn’t want not doing it to be one of my regrets one day.”
He stared at her. “I suppose one can’t argue with that.”
“I didn’t think so,” she said firmly, and handed him her cloak, then turned so he could help her on with it. “You think this was a frivolous waste of money, don’t you, Mr. Fairchild?”
“Yes, I do.” He helped her on with her cloak, resisting the urge to allow his hands to linger on her shoulders. “Or rather I did. No, I still do but . . .”
“But?” She turned around and smiled up at him. “You sound confused.”
The Daring Exploits of a Runaway Heiress Page 10