Anwen let Colin have the last word, but he didn’t realize how naturally talented he was at dealing with responsibility. He was a convivial escort, a charming partner for the waltz, but beneath the polite banter and handsome turnout was a man of substance, brains, and integrity.
She let that thought reassure her as Colin handed her into his coach, but as soon as he’d kissed her farewell, she started praying.
* * *
Colin had arranged to meet with the boys after supper, which meant he had time to consult with one other potential ally first.
Potential being the hopeful version of the facts.
“If it isn’t the hero of the card party,” the Earl of Rosecroft said as Colin was ushered into the same room where he’d played cards the past three Tuesday evenings. “Have you taken a fancy to my Malcolm? He’ll cost you a significant amount of coin.”
Rosecroft was the nobleman at his leisure today, no horse slobber on his cravat, no dust on his boots. He did, though, have a curious pink stain on his cuff.
“I’ve taken more than a fancy to your cousin, Anwen,” Colin said, “and I have come to speak with you about coin. In confidence.”
“Bollocks. I hate confidential discussions.” His lordship sounded very much like Colin’s older brother. “Will I need to lend you my matched Mantons anytime soon?”
“You will not. I need the loan of your common sense.”
“A paltry item. Shall we sit, or would you rather admire the garden?”
“The garden, if you please.”
“This must be very confidential indeed.” Rosecroft led the way through French doors to a miniature version of the Moreland House gardens. All was tidy and restful, except for an enormous canine of mixed pedigree, who bounded over to Rosecroft.
“Scout, go away.” The earl had never sounded more stern.
The dog licked his hand.
“Bad dog. Begone with you.”
This time, the beast insinuated its head under Rosecroft’s hand, as if to inspire some petting.
“This is my daughter’s dog,” Rosecroft said, refusing to oblige. “She pined for him so badly I had him brought down from Yorkshire, and the dratted animal listens only to her.”
Oh, right. The girl had pined for her dog. Of course.
Colin gave the sheep-dog whistle for “get out,” which meant to give the sheep more space rather than hover at their heels. The dog cocked its massive head, then trotted off a few steps.
“He thinks you’re one of his bonnie wee lambs,” Colin said. “Must be an English dog.”
Rosecroft wrinkled a nose worthy of a ducal firstborn. “Explain what you just did, and then we can have this confidential discussion.”
What self-respecting Yorkshire landowner didn’t know his sheep-dog calls? Colin ran through the basic commands as he and Rosecroft wandered a gravel walk, the dog accompanying them. Then Colin explained the situation at the orphanage, and the need to retrieve the funds immediately.
He did not mention that Anwen had been the recipient of a marriage threat, lest Rosecroft put the matched pistols to use himself.
“Montague has you boxed in a corner with no handy windows,” Rosecroft said. “If I had the money I’d lend it to you, but I’m a great believer in letting the banks hold my valuables, and most of my coin is York. Have you considered this might be a trap?”
Well, shite. Colin dropped to a plank bench, and the dog sat panting by his side. “I honestly hadn’t.”
Rosecroft took the other half of the bench, and the dog got up to rest its chin on his knee.
“As devious as Montague has been, as ungentlemanly and even dishonorable, you need to plan on that possibility. You will set your stealthiest foot in his bedroom, and he and four of his friends will leap out from the wardrobe with arrest warrants in hand.”
Rosecroft stroked a hand over Scout’s head, the caress clearly familiar and dear to the dog.
The boys at the orphanage needed such a companion. Loyal, loving, and full of sharp teeth when the occasion called for it.
“I don’t see that I have much choice,” Colin said. “The money must be found, or the orphanage will fail amid a storm of scandal. Anwen will be ashamed to have brought trouble to her family’s doorstep, and my sisters will not thank me for bringing trouble to my own house.”
“And you might spend the rest of your short, handsome, and overly honorable life in Newgate, until such time as you are hanged.”
“You Irish are such a cheerful lot.”
“You Scots never know when to blow retreat. I can have you on a yacht sailing north before sundown, MacHugh. Don’t be an idiot.”
The show of support was lovely, the lack of faith was tiresome. Colin had lived his life in the shadow of an overprotective older brother, and one fraternal nanny was one too many.
“A generous offer, Rosecroft, but I must decline. Anwen’s good name is at stake, and if I allow Montague to keep the upper hand, he’ll have the orphanage condemned, despite the support Anwen was able to garner for the boys. Had I an alternative that allowed me to preserve my honor, I’d take it.”
Rosecroft tried the “get out” whistle and the dog dutifully moved a few yards away.
“Your situation has all the earmarks of a Windham courtship,” Rosecroft said. “Complicated, full of drama, and undoubtedly a case of true love. Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re determined to stick your neck in a noose to retrieve this money?”
“Aye, unless you have other ideas?”
The dog sniffed its way back to the earl’s side, and as Rosecroft absently scratched canine ears, he shared a few ideas that made Colin glad he’d dropped by for a wee chat with a prospective family member.
“I’ll show you more of the sheep-dog signals when this is over,” Colin said, rising. “My thanks for your time. I’ve a housebreaking to plan.”
Rosecroft stood as well. “You’re not planning on effecting this larceny tonight, are you?”
“I have only until Monday morning to avoid the magistrate’s men,” Colin said. “And Winthrop will be out with his friends until all hours, toasting Mrs. Bellingham’s ankles.”
Which meant Win’s valet would probably be napping in the dressing room. Ye gods.
“I doubt Montague will be out until all hours. His father is hosting a dinner party tonight, and I can’t imagine Montague would be allowed to beg off. If you make the attempt tonight, the house will be crawling with guests, family, and extra staff.”
“Bollocks.”
* * *
“It ain’t stealing if you’re just takin’ back what’s yours in the first place,” John explained from his place at the head of the study room table.
Tom didn’t think that logic would convince Lord Colin, who slouched by the window in the rays of a weak setting sun.
“I’m not concerned with the morality of reasserting dominion over the funds,” Lord Colin replied. “I’m unwilling to let you boys come with me. The risk is too great.”
“I’d like to assert some dominion over Mr. Montague’s head,” Dickie said, smacking one fist into the other palm. “The nervy bastard.”
Lord Colin smiled slightly as he gazed down onto the alley.
“Your lordship means well,” Tom said, “but if we don’t go with you, it would be like letting one of the little boys go down the drainpipe on his own the first time. We can’t do it. They go piggyback until they’ve seen the way of it, and then we watch them the next few times. You going on your own isn’t right.”
“Miss Anwen would want us to go with you,” John said, tipping his chair back on two legs. “Or she should want us to go with you. Proper gent like you trying to toss a whole house on his own?”
John shook his head, looking like old Hitchings at his most despairing.
Joe got up to water the fern, then resumed his place at John’s right hand.
“I want your advice,” Lord Colin said. “I don’t wa
nt your deaths or transportation on my conscience. The task will be deuced difficult.”
“Now see,” John said, “there’s a problem right there. You don’t go into a job expecting to fail. You do your planning and considering and discussing, and then you march out smartly like you own that house already. If you’re skulking along the mews, you’ll draw a lot more attention than if you’re merely strolling around looking for a private place to piss.”
“That was usually my job,” Dickie said. “When I got too big to fit down the chimneys, I was the lookout, but I had to drink a fearsome amount of ale to do the job right.”
“Good point,” Lord Colin said. “What else?”
“Dress the part,” Tom said. “None of them pale knees flashing in the moonlight, sir, meaning no disrespect to your kilt. You wear decent clothes, not your Sunday best, but like for calling on your mother, and you wear dark clothes. Everything dark—not a cravat, not cuffs, not gloves, not a silver walking stick that can catch the light. Not cufflinks, even. Dark clothes can save your life.”
“Best if there’s not much moon,” John said. “You need a little moon, enough to see by, not enough to be seen by.”
“A reaver’s moon,” Lord Colin said. “You’re describing the best conditions for stealing cattle.”
“Wrap your boots in chamois, or go barefoot,” Dickie said. “And you need a plan for how we’re going to toss the joint.”
“We are not going to toss anything,” Lord Colin said.
Tom was tempted to kick him. “Then stick your handsome head in the noose right now, sir. The other rule you’re ignoring is to get in, get the goods, and get out as quick as you can. The longer you’re in that house, the more chance some footman, dog, or tippling maid will spot you. By yourself, you’ll take all night to toss a fine Mayfair house.”
Lord Colin shifted to prop an elbow on the mantel. “I’ll be quick, but the house will be occupied until the small hours of the morning. You boys need your sleep.”
“We need a place to sleep,” John shot back. “You’re being stupid. Da always said you can’t fix stupid.”
“Ma said you can’t fix arrogant,” Dickie added. “She usually said it to Da.”
“You have to let us help,” Tom said. “You don’t know a damned thing about being a thief, and we know everything. Did you try to tell Miss Anwen how to organize her card party?”
“Of course not. She was far better—it’s not the same thing.”
John let his chair crash back down to four legs. “Right you are, guv. This is serious, not a fancy charity do where nobody could get hurt. Whyn’t you take the help we offer, when the stakes are so high? You’ll be in Newgate, but we’ll have to explain to the wee ones why we weren’t allowed to watch over you. And to Miss Anwen.”
His lordship ran a hand through his hair and looked exasperated, but Tom couldn’t spare him any pity. He was being noble, and a fat lot of good that ever did anybody.
“Joe,” Tom said. “Make him listen to us.”
Joe rose and came around the table, then extracted a scrap of white fabric from his trouser pocket.
His lordship snatched the square from Joe’s hand. “Where did you get my handkerchief?”
“He nicked it,” John said, punching Joe on the arm.
“When he watered the fern.” Dickie’s grin was smug. “Joe’s out of practice, or we woulda never seen him do it, but he weren’t stealing. We know that. He were saving your bloody neck for Miss Anwen.”
Lord Colin slowly folded the white square into a tidy rectangle. He looked at the handkerchief as if answers might be embroidered on it, then studied each boy in turn.
“You can come with me, but nobody else goes in the house.”
“Have a seat,” John said. “Planning the job is half the battle.”
“True in any aspect of warfare,” Lord Colin said. “Where do we start?”
Chapter Eighteen
Anwen made it through supper without spilling her wine, but Aunt Esther sent her more than one concerned look. Charlotte and Elizabeth—bless them—carried the conversation by recounting anecdotes from the previous night’s entertainment. When the fruit and cheese had finally been removed, Anwen nearly fled the dining room.
“Don’t run off,” Elizabeth said, getting to her feet. “I wanted you to see some sketches I made from last night’s gatherings. Immortalizing your triumph, so to speak.”
“You haven’t shown me these sketches,” Charlotte said, joining them at the dining room door. “I hope at least one of them was of Mr. Pierpont’s face when Mr. Tresham delivered him a figurative beating at the piquet table.”
“Uncharitable,” Aunt remarked, “but then, Mr. Pierpont should not have chosen an opponent of so much greater skill. Moreland, I’m of a mind to inspect the roses, now that the garden has had a chance to dry out.”
“Of course, my dear.” Uncle Percy held Aunt’s chair, and they disappeared down the corridor, thank God and old Murray, who supervised the gardens.
“Come along,” Elizabeth said. “We’ll use the conservatory.”
“Why there?” Anwen asked, reluctant to share her sanctuary with anybody.
“Because it’s the only place nobody ever disturbs you,” Charlotte said. “We realized years ago that when you wanted to be alone, you always went to the conservatory. It’s warm, peaceful, quiet, and safe. A perfect haven. As long as we made a great fuss about looking for you in the attics and cellars, you were safe in the conservatory.”
“You guarded me?”
“The conservatory has glass walls, dearest,” Elizabeth said. “Once we knew where you were, we’d make our fuss, and you’d get the nap you needed, or whatever.”
Whatever? A memory came to Anwen, of Colin and a delicate, violet blossom.
She stopped outside the conservatory doors. “You spied on me?”
“Gracious, no,” Charlotte retorted. “We’ve realized that Lord Colin has taken up the honor of guarding you, and he’s a man who knows enough to, erm, lower the shades on occasion when the sun gets too bright.”
Not the sun, a bonfire.
Anwen opened the door and led her sisters into the greenery and quiet of the conservatory. “You two are awful and I love you dearly, in case I never told you that before.”
“Megan suspected you and Lord Colin would suit,” Elizabeth said, pulling a bench over near the sofa. “You must account her awful as well. Now, please explain to us why you had barely two sips of soup, a bite of fish, two bites of ham, and not even one full glass of Uncle Percy’s excellent wine.”
Charlotte took the sofa and patted the place beside her. “Don’t even think of prevaricating. Last night was a roaring success, and now you look as if you’re sickening for something. If Lord Colin has misstepped we will instruct him regarding the error of his ways.”
Elizabeth settled on the bench and kicked off her slippers. “Or if he hasn’t misstepped. Men are easily muddled when matters of matrimony and gentlemanly honor deserve equal weight. You are still planning to marry him, aren’t you?”
Anwen considered pleading a headache, considered an early bedtime. She also considered the danger Colin was in.
“You have to promise me something,” she said. “Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll help me look after the boys. There are twelve of them, and they’re good boys. They can apprentice, foster out, or join the staff here, but I can’t break my word to them. I promised them homes—good, safe homes.”
“Perhaps we need a bottle of madeira or some cordial to settle our nerves,” Elizabeth said. “You are being ridiculous.”
“No cordial ever again,” Charlotte replied. “Anwen, of course we’ll help you look after the boys. Who did you think would keep an eye on them when you went north with Lord Colin? Mama and Aunt Esther would expect no less of us, nor should you. Stop dithering and tell us what the problem is.”
They were her sisters, they were worried, and they wanted to help. Anwen took the p
lace on the sofa beside Charlotte, and Elizabeth shifted to sit on her other side.
“There’s trouble,” Anwen said. “Terribly serious trouble, and scandal, and danger, and Colin is trying to deal with all of it, and I’m so worried, and angry, but I don’t dare breathe a word to Uncle Percy.”
Elizabeth ordered a bottle of madeira, and Anwen told her sisters everything.
Every single thing.
* * *
Boys who couldn’t sit still for fifteen minutes in Latin class could wait in a dark alley for hours without moving. Colin’s respect for the children had increased as the minutes had crawled by and the Monthaven townhouse had bustled with activity.
Dinner parties were typically attended by thirty guests, but the ladies often brought a maid along to carry their slippers, touch up their coiffures, tend to shawls, and otherwise ensure the evening went smoothly. The coaches lined the front walkway, and the coachmen, grooms, and footmen whiled away the evening gossiping, dicing, and strolling around the mews to visit with the grooms—or relieve themselves within six inches of Tom’s boot.
The boy hadn’t stirred, and neither had any of his mates.
Extra staff came and went, relighting the torches in the garden just as Colin hoped the evening was winding down, and most of the male guests at some point took a turn on the terrace to smoke, belch, or pester a passing maid.
Dickie occasionally patrolled the alley, as if impatient to hop up behind some gentleman’s phaeton and get home to bed. John idled at the front of the house within earshot of the links boys waiting to escort guests home, and Tom rode dispatch, reporting from all points, while Joe sat beside Colin in the shadows saying nothing.
Colin could not consult anything so shiny as a pocket watch, but the church bells had rung twice when the coaches began filling with laughing, chattering guests. After that interminable exercise concluded, Joe nudged Colin and pointed to the window at one corner of the second floor.
Montague’s room, and a lamp had been lit there. Two hours ago, John had gone up a trellis to a balcony and cracked open one bedroom window. Watching the boy scale the building had been both impressive and terrifying.
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