by Joan Vincent
“What was that nonsense about Goodchurch having to allay his conscience?” Hadleigh inquired.
“Merristorm is to face an inquiry for murder when he returns to Spain. He was allowed to come to England only after Danbury took responsibility for him. The lieutenant is his keeper.”
Hadleigh realized from the tone that he would learn no more. “What would you wager Danbury and André do not go to their club?”
“That is no wager at all,” Broyal chuckled ruefully. “Rather let’s take odds on whether Danbury convinces de la Croix to take him to whatever deviltry the baron has thought up.”
Hadleigh chuckled. He and the viscount slipped into companionable silence.
My lady. Hadleigh savoured the words. He regretted time wasted and vowed to lose no more. I will win her heart.
After knocking the doctor entered. Crandall nodded at Hadleigh and addressed the viscount. “My lord, Miss Vincouer is asleep. She will suffer no lasting effects.”
“Thank you for all you have done, Crandall,” Broyal told him. “A glass?”
“Brandy, please.”
After Quentin poured his drink Hadleigh said, “My lord, I would speak to the doctor privately—if you do not mind.”
“As you wish,” the viscount replied and handed Crandall the glass. “I will see you both on the morrow. Good eve.”
Crandall drank and then gazed inquisitively at Tarrant.
Hadleigh motioned for him to sit. As briefly as possible he explained the situation and the steps that were being taken.
“But why are you so certain Sarah is a target?”
“Because George will seek revenge against any who thwart him. Sarah placed herself in danger when she saved my life.” He paused. “You must not share this with anyone.”
“I understand,” Crandall said. “Does Sarah know?”
“No, and I ask that you say nothing to her.”
“But—”
Hadleigh stood. “I shall call on her tomorrow and inform her of everything. My man Cauley will take up residence at Charlotte Street at that time.”
Crandall cocked his head.
“I mean to offer for Sarah.”
“About time,” the doctor returned and stood. He held out his hand. “I wish you well. She can be mulishly stubborn at times.”
Hadleigh shook Crandall’s hand. “But I thought—I heard you say you wanted to be more than a friend.”
Crandall chuckled. “Eavesdropping has done in many a man. I give my word I did not mean husband. Hale will give you some pause if you are slow about the business.
“He believes she will be an excellent secretary.” When the other frowned Crandall added, “To record his research.”
* * *
October 15th Sunday
Cauley scowled at his pacing master. “Remember what I told you about that Gervase,” he clipped. “Don’t seem right to be leavin’ you alone with him.”
“I do not mean to ruin your record, old man. I will remain firmly alive. Your job is to keep Lady Edgerton safe.”
“Gervase?”
“I will tell the baron your suspicions,” Hadleigh said and muttered, “along with a few other salient points.” Checking his appearance one last time in the mirror he straightened the sprig of wood betony on his jacket.
A short time later Hadleigh drew the phaeton to a halt before No. 6 Charlotte Street. Cauley, a rather large tiger, went to the horses’ heads. Tossing him a wicked grin, Hadleigh leapt down and entered the house with anxious exhilaration.
“Do not trouble to announce me,” Hadleigh told Darton. “I am here to collect Lady Edgerton.” He almost laughed at the surprise in the older man’s eyes and mounted the steps.
Behind him Darton called, “My lady is in the family salon. To the left.”
After checking his waistcoat and adjusting the dried sprig on his lapel, Hadleigh opened the door and entered.
Sarah saw him first. She was unable to hide her dismay.
“Why, Hadleigh,” Amabelle exclaimed. She began to lay aside her embroidery.
He shook his head. “I come to collect Lady Edgerton.” He looked at Sarah. “You did receive my note?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I—”
Elminda stood. “If you are a gentleman you will not trespass on Sarah’s good nature with further demands, Mr. Tarr.”
“Tarr?” Hadleigh heard Sarah’s gasp. “Forgive me, madam, I am loathe to correct a lady, but you err. I am Tarrant.”
Nearly choking, Elminda turned to her sister-in-law. “Sarah, tell this gentleman his name is Tarr.”
“But I cannot. He is, indeed, Mr. Tarrant.” She caught Amabelle’s eye, then rose. “I am certain I introduced the gentleman to you as Mr. Tarrant, Elminda. Mayhaps you were too perturbed at the time to remember.
“I will be only a moment, Mr. Tarrant.”
Gaping, Elminda watched Sarah leave. “Amabelle—”
“Stepmama is correct, Aunt,” the young lady said, her head bent over her needlework.
Elminda stared at the blond curls and then back to the gentleman who stood before her with negligent assurance.
“Do not worry,” Hadleigh told her. “I take no offence.”
“Offence,” snorted Elminda. “I—well—I—” She eyed the door as if about to bolt. Realizing that would leave Amabelle alone she heroically took a seat beside her niece.
My life would be at an end if the lady had a weapon at hand and no witnesses. “I shall await Lady Edgerton in the hall,” Hadleigh said and wished them a good day. Withdrawing with a tiny stab of pity for Amabelle, Hadleigh gave thanks that she and Sarah had followed his lead.
Pulling on her gloves as she approached, Sarah saw Hadleigh’s melancholy expression turn to admiration. She blushed but made a mental note to thank Amabelle for giving the brown pelisse to a beggar and forcing her to buy the green one she now wore. She had once thought the style and colour too bright for a widow of middle years. That was far from her mind as Hadleigh took her hand and kissed it.
Hating the warmth that stole up her cheeks as Hadleigh kissed her hand and her reluctance to withdraw hers, Sarah bolted for the stairs.
Hadleigh grinned and followed, his heart lighter and younger that he could recall in recent times.
“I do hope you shall not be too cold,” he told Sarah as he handed her up into the phaeton. After mounting the phaeton, Hadleigh laid a wool wrap across Sarah’s lap before he took up the reins.
Recognizing Cauley and realizing the usual tiger did not stand behind them, she cast a suspicious eye at Hadleigh. “What is this about, sir?”
“Hadleigh,” he insisted and guided his team past a curricle. “Surely you know me that well?”
“That is neither here nor there, sir.”
“I do adore you in green.” Hadleigh grinned at her indrawn breath.
Sarah stared at her hands, dared a peek at him. Her eyes travelled upward and halted on the lapel of his jacket. “Why on earth do you have dried wood betony on your jacket?”
“It will be regarded as an oddity, I am sure,” Hadleigh answered. “I read in an old text that one should wear Bishop’s wort—I prefer the more ordinary term, wood betony—to ensure success when making amatory advances.”
“Amatory? Advances?” Sarah studied his lean face. Her pulse quickened. Memories of touching it sent her blood racing.
She tried to ignore such folly. “Why did you wish to see me?” To her surprise and chagrin, Hadleigh’s features hardened.
“You may be in danger because of me. Rather, because you nursed me to health,” he explained. “Friday night while you were with Jessamine, I met with Broyal. We deduced that the only one who would place a false adder in his coach was George.”
“George.” Sarah inhaled, one hand rising to her throat. The other she laid on Hadleigh’s arm. “The one who—”
“Exactly, madam.”
“But why would I be in danger?” she asked. Fear for him tightened her grip on his ar
m.
“Because you saved my life. Because George has somehow learned that you matter to me.”
“Matter to you?” Sarah repeated dumbly.
Hadleigh swore under his breath. He wished they were anywhere but in a phaeton on a busy London street. “Broyal gave me permission to tell you his wife’s story so that this will make sense,” he began and recounted what he knew of the tale. When he had imparted the plans for her protection, he added, “That is why you will take Cauley on as an underbutler.”
Sarah could not meet his gaze. He was the only person who had ever tried to take care of her. But her barrenness and memory of her betrayal of him to George made it impossible to reveal her love.
When she remained silent, he grimaced. “I do hope it was all right for me to tell Lieutenant Goodchurch to send the wounded troopers to you?”
Giving an impatient gesture, Sarah said, “Of course. I will be happy to see to them. But who will see to you?”
“To me?” he asked, moved and reassured by her concern. “André,” he said, and knew he grinned like a fool.
Sarah frowned. “You know what I mean.”
“Yes I do and it warms my heart. Gives me hope.”
“Stop mouthing nonsense,” she reprimanded and fell silent. Much later she asked, “Shall I tell Amabelle and Elminda?”
“Neither. Tell Amabelle only if she begins to ask questions. Certes, not your formidable sister-in-law. I fear she would tell the whole world.”
“At least she would tell Mr. von Willmar,” she capitulated. “Elminda is very taken with him and him with her.”
“Do you not find that curious?”
Sarah’s mind was now elsewhere. “Perhaps you should return to Trees. Get as far away from George as you can.”
“I will not be frightened away,” Hadleigh told her. “I have my own estate, Tarrant Hall. While I was there this past summer I discovered the remnants of an herb bed.”
“You shall not fob me off with such prattle.”
“I protest, madam. How can you say anything to do with herbs is nonsense?”
“Hadleigh—”
“Yes, Sarah?”
She sighed. “Why, we are almost back to Charlotte Street,” she said, amazed how quickly time had passed.
“Yes. Now, if Cauley has had his way, he is in the kitchen waiting to be interviewed.” He drew his team to a halt and handed her down.
Sarah kept a hold on his hand after she alighted. “It would be better to keep him with you,” she urged.
“No.” Hadleigh kissed her hand. “I shall be safe only if you are.”
Sarah pulled free. Overset by emotions she dared not heed, she hurried into the house.
* * *
Monday Night
Hadleigh pushed aside his impatience with André who refused to believe he loved Sarah. He put aside his dread of George. Buoyed by the message that arrived just as they left Jermyn Street, he faced the evening confident of success. The antiquary shop where he had discovered the unusual book on the magical power of herbs that fit so well in his campaign to win Sarah had sent word that a first edition of Culpepper’s Herbal was in transit from Brussels.
Shoving the note deeper into his pocket, Hadleigh fingered the small bag which contained two small pieces of Adam and Eve root. According to the tome on herbal magic it would promote his scheme and prevent competition. Nonsense, of course, but the idea pleased him none the less.
Seeking Sarah, one of ten dinner guests invited by the Broyals, Hadleigh found her visiting with the viscountess.
How beautiful my Sarah is, he thought. A frown formed as he watched Crandall join the two ladies. The sudden jab of Amabelle’s elbowed him, made Hadleigh hiss, “What?”
“Mr. Crandall is making up to Stepmama,” she said behind her fan. “Ever since he arrived in London he has been in her pocket.”
Tarrant eyed her. “Do you not wish Sarah happy?”
“Do not be a dolt,” Amabelle whispered fiercely. “But I cannot think she will find it with him.”
Holdt’s announcement that supper was served ended the discussion.
During the meal Broyal caught his wife’s eye. He nodded toward André who plied Elminda Edgerton with conversational nothings. They shared a smile.
It is good to be happy, Maddie thought. Her gaze went to Lady Edgerton seated to her husband’s left. She noticed Hadleigh, who had requested to be seated beside Sarah, lean close and whisper in that lady’s ear. The blush that rose to Sarah’s cheeks made her attractive.
Reminded of Jessie’s paleness just three days past, Maddie pushed the cod on her plate in a circle. Could it really have been Porteur who ordered the adder put in the coach? Thinking of that dreadful night at Limes Point, she shivered. He is kin to the devil. Dear God, I pray he is not among us.
Hadleigh took the fruit bowl that was brought to the table at the end of the meal. “Sarah, which would you have me choose for you?” he asked and turned it for her.
“An apple if you please.” At his broad smile she eyed him. Was method or madness behind his altered manner?
Selecting a bright red specimen Hadleigh rolled it between his hands. “This will rid the apple of any demons that are hiding inside,” he explained.
“That book of magical herbs again?” she asked, trying to maintain a serious mien. Ever since their drive she had alternated between elation and depression. “Why do you continue to hold it?” she asked, and found her breath taken away by a flash of desire in his eyes.
Hadleigh cut the apple in half and offered one of the halves to Sarah.
Hesitating a moment because of his eagerness, Sarah debated refusing. Feeling foolish, she took one and bit off a corner.
“Ah, ha,” Hadleigh said triumphantly. “Did you know that if a man cuts an apple he has warmed into two pieces and one half is accepted by the person he wants to wed, it means they will have a happy married life?”
Sarah managed to swallow the bite of apple without choking. She lunged for her glass and took a long drink not daring to look at anyone.
“Is everything all right, Lady Edgerton?” Broyal asked.
Sarah nodded and took another sip of wine.
“Hadleigh,” began Leora, seated at the viscount’s right, “what have you been telling Lady Edgerton?”
“Just some simple lore about apples,” he replied easily. “Did you know that if she would count the seeds of the apple we just ate it would tell whether or not she would marry soon?”
Forcing a smile, Sarah said, “What utter nonsense.”
“But it is surely harmless, much like pulling the petals from a daisy,” Leora chuckled.
“Certes,” he said. “I think Lady Edgerton should count the seeds, if only to humour us.”
Reading his underlying tension, Leora encouraged her. “Oh, do, Lady Edgerton. If you knew Hadleigh as I do you would know he will not let it be.”
Hadleigh leaned toward Sarah and said in a false whisper, “What danger is there in it, Sarah?”
Realizing refusing would only make it worse Sarah used her fork to extract the seeds. “There are four.”
Lady Broyal, unaware of the conversation, rose and signalled the ladies to withdraw.
Sarah hurried after Maddie.
Hadleigh stared at his wine. This eve had been as exhilarating as his first planned search for the pyrochroa coccina—cardinal beetle. He relished the prospect of telling Sarah that an even number of seeds portended she would soon wed. Please God, let her wed me.
“Return after you see to the ladies, Holdt,” Broyal ordered. He poured himself a glass of his father’s best port and passed the bottle to Danbury on his right. “Merristorm contacted me today. All is in train.
“Now, suppose you,” he nodded at Danbury, “and André tell us what you have discovered.” When the baron finished, Broyal scowled. “So you learned nothing.”
“I believe the man can be found,” de la Croix said. “I have friends in Sommers Town keeping sharp ea
rs to the wind.”
Broyal’s hand fisted atop the table. “But what is he planning? What is he doing?”
“Do not waste effort on that,” Hadleigh told him. “That is what George wants you to do.”
“In a way,” Danbury noted, “he made a misstep in alerting you. When he makes another we shall have him.”
De la Croix leaned forward. “What you cannot do is play his game. You must start going about again. I have asked my aunt to invite all of you to her soiree this Wednesday.”
“But—” Broyal began.
“Tretain is aware of the situation. Precautions will be taken. I have been very free in speaking of it to my butler.”
“What has he to do with it?”
“Perhaps nothing.”
Broyal dismissed this foolishness. “So we are to go about as usual and wait for George to make another move?”
“That is how the game must be played.” André leaned back in his chair. “I have had another message from a, ahh, ‘source’ in Paris. Someone has been sent to London to obtain information from within the War Office.”
“That would be treason,” murmured Crandall.
The men exchanged uneasy glances.
“Perceval has been warned to scrutinize the men in the various offices to see if there are any obvious suspects,” continued André. “But finding Gano holds more promise.”
Chapter Twenty
Seven Dials October 16 Monday Night
The candlelight from numerous candles hid the dreariness of the gaming hell but added to its heat. Sweat beaded across Michael Leonard’s forehead as he placed another in a series of bets at the faro table. When he lost yet again his stomach heaved with disappointment.
Donatien pressed a glass of port into Leonard’s hand. “Drink. Your luck is bound to change.”
After gulping down the wine Michael stared bleary-eyed at the Prussian. “What kind of place’s this?” he demanded. “Damme you, I’ve los’ all I won at ta Blue Devil and more.” Bile rose in his throat. “Mus’ go back ta there,” he swore.