Paging Miss Galloway

by Susanne Marie Knight

  Chapter Eight

  "I demand to know where Danny is.” Edward did not mince words. The hour was nigh on six o'clock, and still that exasperating female had not put in an appearance at the White Swan Inn.

  Benjamin Galloway sat in a high-backed Jacobean chair in the bedchamber provided him. Since it was the dinner hour, a platter of roast beef and vegetables had been placed before him. The man only pecked at his food. His complexion wan, his actions listless, he looked dished up—too ill to dissemble.

  So far Edward had been patient with Danny's brother, but now he would not tolerate anything but the truth. “Well? Where is this so-called cousin of yours?"

  Benjamin dropped his fork. The utensil clattered on his plate. “W-What do you mean?"

  Edward pulled up a chair and sat across from him. “Let us cut to the chase, shall we? We both know Danny is not your cousin. Indeed, Danny is not even a boy.” He leaned in closer. “She is your sister, is she not?"

  The man's bloodshot eyes bugged out. “For the love of heaven! How did you find out?"

  That bit of information would remain hidden for all time. Edward was not about to divulge that he had been privileged to see Danny's bare bosom.

  "That is not the issue, Galloway.” One of his objectives achieved, he settled back in the chair. “Your sister is young, defenseless in this indifferent city—with no one to protect her. Where did you send her?"

  Benjamin exhaled deeply. It was the sigh of a man pushed past his endurance. “You don't know my sister very well, do you? I didn't send her anywhere. She has an iron will and the strength of a brick wall. The bane of m’ father's existence. No one butts heads with Danielle."

  Danielle. A very pretty name.

  Hearing her true name distracted Edward only for a moment. That she was stubborn was not the answer he wanted. He frowned.

  His displeasure urged Benjamin on. “The thing of it is, sir, I advised her to send word to m’ father. She discarded my suggestion, of course. Had a plan of her own."

  Every second counted. Edward prompted, “Which was?"

  "She remembered an old acquaintance of m’ mother's living here in Bath. A lady.” Benjamin wrinkled his forehead. “I also recall a childhood chum of hers, but it was so many years ago. Danielle intended to throw herself on the lady's mercy."

  "The lady's name?"

  The man had the good grace to appear sheepish. “She told me, but upon my honor, I cannot remember."

  "Blast! You are not in earnest?"

  Benjamin shifted in his chair. “Been racking my brain box to remember. Something like Lady Manny? Yankee, mayhap? Clancy? In truth, my lord, I was three parts disguised when she told me this afternoon."

  As if that excused everything. Edward snorted in disgust and walked over to the bedchamber window to look outside. Danny—at the moment he could not think of her as Danielle—was at large in the city. True, she had her wits about her, but she'd had her wits in Heptonstall as well, and look what had happened there?

  His opinion of her brother plummeted further, but that was not to the point. What had happened, happened. It was useless for recriminations.

  "Your negligent behavior has left me no recourse, Galloway.” Edward turned away from the darkening cityscape and strode to the door. “I shall send a missive to your father to apprise him of this situation. Perhaps he can recollect this lady's name."

  Benjamin nodded his head. “'Tis for the best, sir. M’ father will be as cross as crabs at me for not taking care of Danielle, however I deserve his ire. I only hope my sister can be located soon."

  Edward took out his unsettled feelings by slamming the door shut. Now in the corridor, he felt a nudge of hunger but ignored it. Plenty of time to eat after he composed the letter to Baronet Galloway.

  Also, dining alone held no allure. Raleigh had informed him earlier of a social engagement with his new acquaintances—the diamond of the first water and, of course, the mother.

  Trying—and failing—to put Danny out of his mind, Edward marched into the private parlor to put ink to paper.

  * * * *

  Danielle relaxed in a warm, luxurious bath, and washed away the rigors of her most unusual trip. For the first time in four days, she felt like a pampered aristocratic woman with nary a care in the world.

  No, that was wrong. She did have a care, several in fact. How would she manage to return home without Sir Ambrose learning of her escapade? How was Benjamin progressing under Edward's patronage? How was Edward—?

  Edward. She ran a bar of lavender-scented soap over her bare arm. What was Edward thinking about right now?

  In rapidly cooling water, she shivered. She knew Edward Sterling well enough to realize that he seethed with anger ... and worry. Over her.

  Someone's footsteps hurried down the hallway toward her room. She mustn't linger. A quick splash over the side of the hip bath, then she reached for the towel and rapidly patted herself down. Then she wrapped the towel around her wet hair. Slipping into a cambric dressing gown her hostess had thoughtfully provided, she was now dressed—for female company.

  Lady Yancy entered the room, dressed in an attractive, pale green satin gown. “Oh good, you are finished. The maid will be able to attend to you momentarily. My Millicent is taking a bit longer to prepare for tonight.” She tut-tutted. “Indeed, she is so distracted I have not had the chance to tell her of your arrival."

  "Please, do not trouble yourself—"

  "No trouble. No trouble.” A pleased smile lightened Lady Yancy's face. “I look forward to telling all and sundry that you are the daughter of my dearest departed friend. There will be no mention of this...” She flapped her lacy handkerchief about in an agitated manner. “This regrettable episode of yours, understood?"

  Her temper rising, Danielle took a second to straighten the tied belt on her dressing gown. She truly was contrite. She had to be contrite. “Yes, my lady."

  Her hostess smacked her lips in agreement. “Good. Now one last thing. I do apologize that we must leave you to your own devices tonight. A long-standing invitation to a musicale, you know. The Duchess of Wrenforth. One never says no to a Duchess."

  Danielle smiled at that sentiment. “No, indeed. There is no need to concern yourself about me, my lady."

  Lady Yancy removed her spectacles from the reticule dangling on her wrist. She put the spectacles on, then studied Danielle from head to foot. “A great many people will be present at the musicale, my dear. Perhaps it is just as well you cannot attend."

  Her spectacles vanished as quickly as they had appeared. “However, very soon you shall be ready to be introduced to the crème de la crème of Bath Society. Yes, we must give thanks that Monsieur Philippe—he is the toast of London, you know—is taking the waters here. Monsieur Philippe has agreed to stop by tomorrow morning and create the most glorious hairstyle. You will not recognize yourself, Danielle, that I promise."

  Whether that was good or bad, Danielle had no idea. But she thanked her hostess for her thoughtfulness.

  Lady Yancy waved away Danielle's gratitude. Or rather the handkerchief waved. “Tut-tut, ‘tis the least I can do for my dear departed friend's daughter. You shall be welcomed at the New Assembly Rooms as a royal princess, oh yes you shall! The Master of Ceremonies will do a jig when he sets his eyes on you."

  Danielle dropped her weary self on a chair next to a nest of cherry wood drawers. An oval shaped toilet mirror was attached to the back. Ignoring her image, she picked up an ivory-carved fan adorning the inlaid top on the dresser. Waving it, she cooled her apprehension.

  "That is it, Danielle. You rest while you are able. As soon as the maid attends to you, then you must slip off to sleep. A brand new ... and fashionable tomorrow awaits you!” With those invigorating words, Lady Yancy dashed out of the bedchamber, and onto her next victory.

  Danielle now frowned at her towel-headed reflection. She didn't much care for her future as envisioned by her hostess. But whether she liked it or not was not a considera
tion; it was a certainty. Was it possible that she'd met her match in the determined Lady Yancy?

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  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, Edward sat in the White Swan's private parlor, surrounded by the appetizing aromas of a hearty country breakfast. He was not hungry. How could he eat not knowing Danny's status? Was she safe? Did she have a place to sleep? Had she enough food?

  Resting his elbow on the wooden table, he sunk his face in his open hand, his fingers digging into his scalp. Blast it. Where in blue blazes is she?

  The parlor door opened. “Ho! You've got a devil of a head, don't you?” Raleigh shouted out the question.

  "I did not indulge last night.” Edward finished the last of his coffee.

  "Is that so?” With a decided twinkle to his blue eyes, Raleigh stepped inside, helped himself to a plate, and promptly filled it with eggs, ham, and biscuits. “I've never seen you in such a fit of the dismals, Sterling."

  Raleigh wasted no time in eating. He spoke with his mouth bulging with food. “'Tis unseemly for an Earl, don't you know? Get bad news from the solicitor?"

  Edward poured a cup of coffee for his friend, then refilled his own cup. “No, no. Everything is up to the mark with my financial affairs. Have some papers to sign later today, but that is neither here nor there.” He sipped his brew, then set the cup in its saucer. “I am concerned about Danny."

  "Still no word on the young blighter, eh? I say, never thought he'd be such a slippery fellow. Too bad. I miss the Halfling myself."

  "Yes.” The word escaped Edward's lips. It contained a wealth of meaning. “I asked the Swan's proprietor, Mr. Murdock, to use his resources to locate Danny. Find his whereabouts.” He stirred sugar into his cup. “As yet, nothing reported."

  "The day is young, old fellow.” Raleigh raked another helping of scrambled eggs onto his plate. “And speaking of young, I insist that you meet my newest fancy. She is magnificent. Magnificent Millicent.” He sighed. “Divine!"

  Raleigh was always smitten with one agreeable creature or another. “So who is this incomparable, Raleigh?"

  "You remember, the diamond from yesterday. The Honorable Millicent Newkirk is her name. Daughter of some Viscount. Attractive mother. Good breeding there."

  Edward lifted an eyebrow. “Sounds as if you are in the market for a wife."

  "Maybe.” A wide smile split Raleigh's face. “One never knows what the future will bring. So, come with me to the Assembly Rooms tonight. The mum's a subscriber—she'll get a ticket for you. I'll stand the blunt for admission."

  Raleigh certainly had a bee in his bonnet.

  He continued, “I won't take no for an answer, Sterling. Meet my Millicent. Have a dance with her and tell me your thoughts."

  Attending a society ball consisting of up to twelve hundred guests held no appeal whatsoever. And added to the mix—matchmaking mamas and insipid ingénues. Begad, Edward would have to decline.

  He cleared his throat. “I do appreciate your trust in my judgment, Raleigh, however I will be occupied with my man of business—"

  "Faddle.” Raleigh wiped his mouth on the linen napkin, then threw it on the table. “For how long? You cannot be jawing about business until the evening hours, Sterling."

  "True.” Raleigh had him there. Also true was the undeniable fact that Edward had to become leg-shackled in thirty days time. Or nine and twenty. Damn. Might as well visit the Assembly Rooms and take a gander at what was currently available on the Marriage Mart.

  He scratched his head. “Tonight, you say? Yes? Then I shall be pleased to become acquainted with your Miss Newkirk. I could do with an evening of diversions."

  "Splendid! You won't regret it, old fellow. You'll see, my Millicent will bowl you over. Indeed she will."

  Pulling his chair away from the table, Edward stood. Thank the heavens he did have a prior engagement. Having to listen to Raleigh sing Miss Newkirk's praises was wearing thin in the extreme.

  * * * *

  By the time three o'clock rolled around, Danielle had given up hope that Monsieur Philippe would make an appearance at Lady Yancy's townhouse. At least not today. The festivities for the dress ball at the New Assembly Rooms started in a few hours. A very few hours. A newcomer to Bath Society wouldn't dream of attending after the doors opened. At least that was what her hostess had said. So no, Danielle could not possibly be ready to attend the ball in time.

  Relieved, she sprawled out on the small upholstered settee in her bedchamber. Truth be told, she didn't wish to rub noses with the crème de la crème of Bath Society, as her hostess had put it. She was quite content to bide her time until she could figure out a way to return to Leeds ... with or without Lady Yancy's help.

  It was the thudding of feet from the hallway and a measure of screeching that made Danielle jump out of her seat.

  Lady Yancy swung open the door. “Upon my honor! I am fagged to death! Such a to-do. Such a to-do. Finally, Monsieur Philippe is here.” She waved that infernal handkerchief. “Hurry, child, hurry. Prepare yourself. He comes."

  What was there to prepare? The man would snip here and snip there, and then he would be gone. But to humor her hostess, Danielle walked over to the oval shaped toilet mirror, picked up a comb, and ran it through her hair.

  "Good girl,” Lady Yancy approved. “I must go and soothe Millicent's nerves now.” She dashed out of the room.

  Monsieur Philippe appeared soon afterward. He stood in front of the open door, bowed, then announced in a loud voice, “I am arrived."

  Such a grand entrance for a man of middle height with thinning brown hair and an even darker stubble on his pudgy face. He wasted no time; he planted his solid feet in front of Danielle. “So. Zis is the mademoiselle, eh?"

  "Yes, Monsieur, I—"

  "Non, non. Do not speak.” He lifted several strands of her hair, slowly at first, then increasing in tempo. “Zis is a désastre. A disaster, I tell you. You shear off ze tresses with abandonment and expect Monsieur Philippe to rescue you, eh?"

  Wearing a simple round gown borrowed from her hostess’ daughter, Danielle folded her arms across her chest and counted to ten. “I do not need to be rescued, sir."

  "Alors! Zis one, she has a temper, n'est pas?" He raised his hands to the ceiling. “No matter, I, Monsieur Philippe, shall save the day. Sit."

  She obeyed. Reluctantly. The sooner this monsieur finished, the sooner she could prepare for the ordeal ahead. Lady Yancy had arranged for Danielle to borrow one of her daughter's ball gowns. The problem was that Millicent was a good deal taller. So the poor, harried maid had to perform the job of a seamstress once Millicent was done with her.

  Danielle's shoulders drooped. What was the sense of attending a ball when all she wanted to do was go home?

  She sighed. If only she could see Edward first. But from a distance. If he ever found out Danny was a she, he might want to wring her neck.

  Monsieur Philippe worked quickly. The rhythm of his scissors trimming her hair almost lulled her to sleep. Or did lull her to sleep. She woke up with a start when he placed his hands on her shoulders.

  "Voilà! I have done it! A creation worthy of my genius, mais oui?"

  Intrigued, she looked in the toilet mirror. She couldn't control her reaction; she gasped.

  "C'est exact. That is correct. Ze hair, it takes your breath away. You shall be ze most lovely mademoiselle at the Assembly.” He kissed his fingertips, then threw the gesture out into the room.

  She tentatively touched her cropped hair. Short, blonde, disheveled curls covered her head. A riot of curls, as Lady Yancy had predicted. The style emphasized the green of her eyes, making them larger, more beguiling. She pulled down a curl to decorate her forehead, then flashed a smile. Yes. Her hair looked good, feminine. She liked it.

  Monsieur Philippe nodded. “Mademoiselle is pleased, oui? Très bien. I am pleased as well. Ze style, it is a la Titus. A style that had found favor once upon a time. Now you shall bring it back into f
ashion, Mademoiselle."

  Then he did something strange: he reached for her hand, and kissed it. “I go now, Mademoiselle, knowing I have caused a beautiful English flower to unfurl her petals. You express your satisfaction to the Madame, eh?” Monsieur Philippe bowed once more, then left the bedchamber.

  Not only did the man accomplish the impossible with her hair, but he also pulled off another unbelievable feat. Because of her unexpected womanly appearance, she now looked forward to tonight's gala event.

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  Chapter Ten

  It was with great irritation that Edward found himself at the New Assembly Rooms located at Alfred and Bennet Streets. His mood matched the color of his dress: black. With his tailcoat, knee breeches, waistcoat, stockings, and satin pumps all in that somber color, he felt as if he had one foot in the grave.

  Then again, most of the men sauntering around the huge ballroom wore the same color. It was up to the countless ladies present to provide vivid contrasts.

  He quickly amended his thought. Rather, ladies and the Master of the Ceremonies. Francis John Guynette—newly elected to his post and wearing the badge of his office on a blue ribbon around his neck—was dazzling in a bright red frock coat and knee breeches. He walked with authority and carried a slender black cane. The cane was used frequently to bang on the parquet floor to gain everyone's attention. Now it served to advance its owner through the crowded area.

  The man stopped in front of Edward to make an elegant leg. “Delighted to make your acquaintance, Lord Tremaine. ‘Tis very good of you to join us tonight."

  He struck a pose, hand on hip, head in the air, as if the great Bath artist Thomas Gainsborough were painting his portrait. Unfortunately for Guynette, Gainsborough had already received his notice to quit this earth some three and twenty years ago. No doubt the current Master of the Ceremonies regretted that his likeness—painted by Gainsborough, at any rate—could never hang on the walls in the Assembly Rooms.

  Edward set aside his frustration, and inclined his head at the man. It wasn't Guynette's fault that Edward wished to leave the festivities to continue his search for Danny.