A Most Peculiar Season Series Boxed Set: Five Full-length Connected Novels by Award-winning and Bestselling Authors

by Michelle Willingham

  Sitting in the chair, she fit the key in the lock and turned. The middle drawer glided open as easy as you please. More writing paper and blotting paper, a spare pen, a penknife, a list of addresses of his friends and acquaintances and a bundle of letters tied with string. Nothing to incriminate him! Thank heavens!

  As she studied the drawer more closely, her relief vanished. Lancelot had ordered his new desk from the premier cabinetmaker, Lord Fenimore Trent, who was known for his skill in crafting secret compartments into his pieces. All the wealthy families were ordering them to protect their valuables from the Mayfair Shadow.

  She turned back to the desk and opened the drawer, suspecting there was a false bottom with space beneath. Nothing seemed amiss. Still... she removed his trappings and pulled the entire drawer out. When she turned it over, she ran her fingers along the joints. On her third try, she detected a tiny inlaid dot. She pressed it and the bottom popped up on a spring to reveal a shallow compartment.

  Astounded at what she saw, she could only stare. Beneath, arranged neatly on a velvet cloth, was an array of glittering gems—Lady Beatrice’s emerald brooch and Lady Eton’s pearls among them. Folded in one corner was a list. She ran her finger down the length of it and shivered. Each item was accounted for, along with a name and an amount, with the exception of the recent acquisition of Charles Amory’s watch. She swallowed hard.

  Then the awful truth dawned on her. And it had come from Collingwood. ...His judgment needs a bit of work. We’ve met over the gaming tables occasionally. ...Sometimes plays a little deep. Lancelot had been gambling. And losing. He needed money to pay his debts. And his new desk had been ordered not to keep his things safe, but to hide the items he had stolen.

  Good heavens! Her brother was the Mayfair Shadow!

  His list must be an accounting of everything he’d taken, and everything he owed, and to whom. A list that would damn him if anyone but Trudy found it. Chilled, she replaced the bottom over the stolen goods, slid the drawer into place, locked it and put the key beneath the inkwell.

  What could her brother be thinking? That he could make up his gambling losses with stolen jewelry? Did he intend to sell these things to pay his creditors? Absurd! Everyone knew what was missing. Those pieces would be instantly recognizable in every shop in London. If Lancelot even tried such a thing, he’d be arrested and thrown in the gaol immediately.

  He must be terrified to be so desperate. And there was merit in that—he should be afraid. She prayed that fear would make him cautious. If he was not caught and thrown in gaol, Father really would send him away on remittance. And the family would never see him again. She would never see him again.

  Trudy could not bear that thought. Tears stung her eyes. He was her closest friend and her ally. Her partner in adventures and misadventures. They’d learned their lessons together, played together, kept each other’s secrets. Dear Lord... they’d even learned to pick pockets together. And she’d always thought they’d raise their families together, grow old together.

  She wouldn’t give that up. She couldn’t. And she couldn’t simply turn her back. If she were a man—a brother instead of a sister—he’d have come to her. She could have helped him.

  Well, she refused to turn her back on him now. She would have to find out what had driven him to such lengths, and fix it. He wouldn’t tell her? Very well. She’d find out in her own way. She slipped out Lancelot’s door and headed for the attic.

  Chapter Five

  CROWDS EBBED AND flowed over the grassy meadow where tents and stalls had been set up. Hosted by Lady Ellison, the charity fair for the Benefit of ‘Widows and Orphans of Soldiers of the Napoleonic Wars’ had drawn an immense crowd—fertile hunting ground for the Mayfair Shadow. And for Dare. Though dark clouds threatened, the weather had, thus far, cooperated.

  He’d spent the morning going over Esham’s reports, to no avail. The Bow Street Runner was no further ahead than he was, though their lists of suspects were remarkable similar. Between them, he thought they’d eventually ferret out the villain. But would it be within a fortnight?

  Now early evening, he was beginning to think his venture to the charity fair had been a waste of time. There’d been no outcry, no attendee reporting missing items, no suspicious activity at all. And now, as workmen lit the brightly colored lanterns, he watched the crowd for signs of Miss Gertrude Carr rather than pickpockets or sleight-of-hand artists.

  He hadn’t run across her anywhere the past two days, and he wondered if she was avoiding him because of his behavior at Vauxhall Gardens, or if they’d somehow now go back to never crossing paths again. Odd how that thought disturbed him. Such a thing might result in him actually calling on her—despite her mother’s prohibition. Just to apologize, of course.

  Ah, entirely unnecessary! There she was now, arm-in-arm with her brother as they paused to speak with friends, look at fairings, play games, and sample the wares sold by merchants wandering through the crowds with trays of sweets and nuts. She looked enchanting in a summer gown of white-sprigged muslin embroidered in pastel colors and with a matching bonnet. A white white crocheted reticule dangled from her wrist. He noted that her décolletage was square-cut and the lace trim covered the sweet spot where he’d left his mark. Guilt tweaked his conscience.

  As if she could feel him staring, she glanced in his direction. Even in the dusk, he could see her blush. And her little smile.

  He breathed a little easier. At least she hadn’t turned and run. He braced himself and went toward them. Lancelot gave him a rather puzzling look and then glanced quickly at Trudy. Had she told him? Ah well, he’d have to face the consequences sooner or later.

  He removed his hat, nodded at Lancelot, and gave Miss Trudy a bow. “Good evening. Have the rest of the family come with you?”

  “Parts of it.” Lancelot gestured over his shoulder. “Fiona and Father are not far behind us. Mother and Laura are at home, busy with wedding things, I assume.

  Trudy opened her mouth as if to speak, but Lancelot continued on.

  “Collingwood, would you mind seeing my sister back to our family? I’ve some business to take care of and then I’ve promised to meet some friends at the Blue Swan.”

  “Oh, Skippy! Do not burden Lord Collingwood with such an onerous duty.”

  “Onerous? Not in the least,” Dare protested, then wondered if she was seeking an excuse not to be alone with him again. “But if you’d rather not...”

  Lancelot gave her a long-suffering glance. “If you are not ready to rejoin Father and Fi—”

  “I am not,” she admitted.

  Dare bowed and offered his arm. “Shall we wander slowly until they catch up with us, Miss Trudy?”

  “Excellent!” Lancelot answered for her. “See you at home, Trudy. I will tell Father where you are.” With a wave, he was gone.

  “Remind me to send some little gift to your brother, Miss Trudy.”

  She laughed, though she watched her brother disappear into the crowds with a puzzled expression.

  He led her forward and claimed her attention. “Truthfully, I am grateful for the opportunity to offer my apologies for my conduct at Vauxhall Gardens. I behaved in a most unconscionable manner. I assure you, I am never that unrestrained and I promise it will never happen again.”

  She looked down at the grass and her free hand came up to touch the spot where he’d marked her. “If I’m to be honest, I must admit that was far and away the most... interesting thing that has ever happened to me.”

  Dare had no idea how to respond to that. She often left him speechless. He cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, I regret if I caused you even a moment of discomfort.”

  She looked sideways up at him. “Since you are so sincerely repentant, of course I forgive you. But you must also forgive me.”

  “You? Whatever for?”

  “I did not exactly try to stop you.”

  Confound it! She was turning propriety on its ear. And all he could think was thank God she hadn�
�t stopped him. He struggled to change the subject. “I have not seen you for a day or two. I feared you might be ill.”

  “The wedding is taking everyone’s time, you know. Laura is not the only one who must have a new gown. Mother insists we all—the family—look our very best since they have invited half the ton. Every detail must be seen to. Every chandelier sparkling. Every speck of dust swept from the house. Every blade of grass green and at exactly the right height. Every... well, you know.”

  “The wedding is at eleven o’clock, is it not?”

  “Yes, in the rose arbor. And the luncheon following will spill onto the lawns and likely go on until midnight or more.”

  “Your poor mother.”

  She laughed and looked up at him. “Not at all. She is in her element. ’Tis the rest of us who need your sympathy. Oh, and when it is all over, she will have a dramatic decline, then rally in a sennight to turn her attention on Fiona.”

  He smiled. “Then it will be your turn, Miss Trudy. How will you endure your mother’s management?”

  “I think I shall become delicate. High-strung. Retire to my room frequently. Leave all the decisions to her. She will scarce know I’m not around unless it is time for a fitting.”

  “And you shall have my deepest sympathies.”

  “What I shall have is a bottle of wine in my room. If Mother can get me married sober, ’twill be a miracle. I think it far more likely I shall become the spinster daughter who cares for her parents in their dotage and tipples in her room after midnight.”

  He laughed and shook his head. Her humor was quite whimsical. And endearing. And he rather liked her teasing. Having been raised alone by a distant and indifferent father, he had not been subject to teasing and impish humor. And he certainly could not think of her as a spinster. Or married. He’d rather think of her in his arms. Saying his name.

  “Collingwood?”

  Had she somehow heard his thoughts? “Hmm?”

  “I wonder, since we are here, could I ask you a great favor?”

  “If it is within my power.”

  “Teach me to gamble.”

  “That is a subject that cannot be taught in an hour, Miss Trudy. And why do you want to know? Most women—”

  At that, she sighed and shrugged, as if throwing caution to the winds. “What I really want to know, Collingwood, is how to tell when someone is cheating at gambling.”

  “If I knew that, Miss Trudy, I could make a fortune.”

  “Surely there are some little signs.”

  “Cheating is like lying. If you know the person, it become easy to tell when they are fibbing. A sudden blink. A refusal to meet your gaze. A nervous smile. Surely you know when your brother is lying.”

  She laughed. “He does not like to lie, so he evades a direct answer with a question of his own or a sudden change of subject. But that is different because I know him. If you do not know the person you suspect of cheating, how would you know they are cheating?”

  Dare thought about that for a moment. He’d been in deep play with men he suspected of cheating but he’d never been able to prove it. He’d simply made note to not play cards with them again. He was not reckless enough to make an accusation he could not back up with proof.

  “There are certain nuances. Nervousness, excessive sweating, a shift in the eyes, a fidget or twitch. An anxious smile, perhaps. Even excessive joviality or talkativeness.”

  “The same as when someone is telling me a fib?”

  “Precisely. Do you have reason to believe someone is cheating you?”

  “Sometimes. I just thought it might be easier to tell if there was an exact way to know.”

  “I am afraid not. The mannerisms would be as different as the persons. Still, if you have a strong suspicion, I would heed it. I find our most primal instincts are seldom wrong.”

  “Thank you. I think I shall have to be face-to-face with the one I suspect.”

  “Who is it?” A rude question but his curiosity had gotten the best of him. Could the ladies be cheating at whist?

  She nodded toward a stall displaying shelves of whimsies and painted figurines. “Oh, look! May we stop? I do so love fairings.”

  Ah, an evasion, just like her brother. He allowed her to lead him to the stall and watched, enchanted, as she examined and finally selected one—a tiny, painted porcelain figure of a kitten and puppy in a basket. Quite amusing that she’d selected that rather than one of the more risqué figurines or of a couple in 16th century garb.

  She handed it to the vendor and began to open her reticule, but Dare placed the necessary coins in the vendor’s palm. “Allow me, Miss Trudy.”

  “I couldn’t, Collingwood. We scarcely know each other.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Call it an apology for just how well we do know each other.”

  She dimpled this time, but did not blush. “Thank you.”

  Trudy wrapped the little fairing in her handkerchief and put it in her reticule to keep it safe. There was a spot for it on her bed table. How nice to know she’d have a little remembrance of Lord Collingwood when the month was gone and they were no longer thrown together. She took his arm again and they resumed their stroll past stalls and booths.

  But something he’d said was worrying the back of her mind. Something terribly dangerous. Stealing and cheating were nearly the same thing? One was by stealth, and the other by wiles?

  So, if Lancelot was stealing from cheaters, how much of a danger would Collingwood be to him?

  “What would you do if you could prove someone was cheating or stealing, Collingwood?”

  “I would confront them. Demand that they stop. Then I would inform the authorities.”

  The fire of conviction burned in his eyes. He was so sure of himself that she hated to argue. But— “Does that not seem a bit harsh?”

  He stopped and faced her. “Miss Trudy, you cannot base your perception of justice on your emotions, or feelings of what is right. Justice is rooted in the law, and the law must be held sacred to protect the whole. Victims of crimes must be protected. Their loss should be addressed and remedied. The law must be upheld, Miss Trudy. Without it, there’d be chaos. Miscreants would rule and decent people would live in fear. There can be no exceptions.”

  “But what if there was a perfectly good reason?”

  “To steal or cheat? There is no reason good enough to excuse that, Miss Trudy. It is a crime. No true gentleman worth his salt would indulge in such a thing.”

  She sighed. How could she argue against that? “And that is why you are going after the Mayfair Shadow? Not just for some silly wager, but on principle?”

  “My friends thought it amusing to challenge me to stand up for what I believe in. I accepted. There’s no more to it than that.”

  He could not be so harsh. So unforgiving. Surely she had misunderstood. “Tell me, Collingwood, do you not believe in repentance?”

  “Sincere repentance is rare, Miss Trudy. It is more likely those involved are sorry because they were caught out, rather than realizing the wrongness of their actions or words.”

  “Hmm. Then which are you?”

  He looked down at her, a puzzled look in his clear blue eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “A moment ago you asked my forgiveness for something you did. Are you truly repentant and determined to never let it happen again? Or are you merely sorry you were caught out, and that there was nowhere to hide from me, so an apology was more expedient than heartfelt?”

  A look of utter bewilderment crossed his face. Good, she had given him something to think about.

  She let him struggle with that thought for a moment before saying, “Because, Collingwood, should such a thing happen again, I would be forced to doubt your sincerity.”

  A corner of his mouth twitched as if he had finally recognized she was teasing. “Perhaps I was not clear, Miss Trudy. My apology was for having shocked you. And for having taken unconscionable advantage of our situation—alone and unchaperoned. That muc
h was sincere. But it was certainly never my intent to indicate that I regret kissing you, nor did I mean to imply that it will never happen again.”

  “Ah.” She nodded. “Well, that is a relief.”

  He coughed. “Are you teasing me again, Miss Trudy?”

  She smiled and left his question unanswered. In fact, she did hope he’d kiss her again—just once—so she could know if the first was a quirk, or if she was simply wanton. Heavens! They couldn’t talk about that. But, for Skippy’s sake, there was something else she needed to know.

  “Now that we have covered repentance and forgiveness, shall we discuss redemption?” she asked. “Do you believe redemption is possible, Collingwood? Can a criminal turn away from his evil deeds and be reformed and redeemed?”

  “One thing is certain, Miss Trudy. You should have been a barrister. You could argue in favor of murder and win your case.”

  “Have I convinced you, then?”

  He laughed. “Valiant effort, but I doubt that is possible.”

  Then one other thing was certain—Collingwood must never find out that Lancelot was the man he was hunting for. And she would do everything she could to misdirect him. “I doubt you will find the Shadow amongst the ton. I think you’d do better to look in the rookeries.”

  “I wish I could be as confident as you in that.”

  “Then you suspect a member of the ton?”

  “Or someone connected with the ton. A servant, perhaps, or someone who frequents the same places and events. Someone people are used to seeing. Someone, even, who seems above reproach.”

  She smiled a little sadly. “You are a very cynical man, Collingwood.”

  He sighed deeply and raised one eyebrow—a disconcerting trait of his. “It is a curse, Miss Trudy.”

  Ah, the man had a wickedly dry sense of humor! “Well, then. We should see if there is something we can do about that. Tell me, my lord, what would restore your faith in humanity?”

  “Something extraordinary,” he said. “Perhaps a sign from God. A lightning strike, or a chorus of angels.”