A couple of men were sitting at tables by the street windows, poring intently over newspapers. It was too dark, further in, for anyone to be able to see clearly enough to read. The place smelled of a mixture of roasting coffee, and stale tobacco smoke, and, strangely enough, something that reminded her of her father’s hacking jacket when he’d been out in the rain.
Lord Becconsall strode without hesitation to a table stationed just behind one of the massive, blackened, oak pillars holding up the sooty ceiling.
‘Now,’ he said, removing his gloves and tossing them on to the table. ‘Are you going to tell me how I can employ my low cunning to solve the problem you were considering taking to the Runners?’
She supposed she ought not to feel so disappointed that he looked so eager to talk about that, rather than continuing with the other thread of their conversation. The one that dealt with magical kisses and the world being empty when he thought she’d left Town. Or at least, that was what she hoped he’d been about to say before the basket seller had jostled him.
‘It’s not really my story to tell,’ she began, leaning her umbrella against the table rim and laying her reticule in her lap.
He gave her a look that she thought might have been full of respect. Unless it was just yet more wishful thinking. Or a shadow flitting across his face from when the waiter had gone hurrying past.
‘I tell you what,’ he said, tilting his hat back to a ridiculous angle. ‘Why don’t you tell it to me as though it was…a story you have read in a book?’
‘A what?’
‘You do know what books are, don’t you? Small square things, made of paper—’
She kicked him under the table.
He flinched, laughing. ‘Come on. I’ve told you a legend from Ancient Greece. You could at least repay me by telling me a…fairy tale I’ve never heard before. And then, if anyone was to ask you what we were talking about all morning—if anyone should find out we’ve been together—you can tell them, with all honesty, that we told each other our favourite nursery tales. Because I have to say, Lady Harriet, that you don’t look to me as though you are much good at telling lies.’
‘I am not,’ she said, lifting her chin.
‘There you go, then.’
She sighed. Even now he was thinking of ways to explain away their meeting, ways that would get him out of a tight spot.
‘My word, you are tricky,’ she said resentfully. ‘The inside of your head must be so tangled up with the intricate strategies you have to employ, just to get through a single day, that it must be like a nest of rats’ tails.’
He made no reply to that. Because the waiter came over to take their order.
Even though she was sure the fellow couldn’t possibly know her, Harriet ducked her head under the pretext of rummaging for something in her reticule. And didn’t lift it again until he’d gone.
At which point Lord Becconsall cleared his throat.
‘At the very least, if you tell the whole tale out loud, it might help you to get your thoughts clear and then you might know what line to take. Because at the moment, I have to say, you do not look at all as though you do.’
Which was perfectly true.
And anyway, she’d already pretty much made up her mind to tell him as much as she could. And his suggestion of presenting the facts as though they were a story out of a book was the perfect way of unburdening herself without actually breaking any of the promises she’d made about not speaking at all.
‘And…and you will not tell anyone what I have told you?’
‘I shall not.’
She wasn’t sure whether it was because of the expression in his eyes, or simply because she so badly needed to confide in someone, but anyway, she decided to give him a chance. She was never going to find out if she could trust him, unless she took a leap of faith, was she? And if he did let her down, then at least she’d know she’d tried.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
‘Once upon a time…’
His face, never far from laughter, lit up as though she’d just given him a precious gift. ‘Thank you,’ he said. And then, after a glance round the murky room, as though to check whether anyone was attempting to eavesdrop, said in a louder voice, ‘That’s how all the best stories start.’
‘There was a…a princess,’ she continued, slowly removing her gloves. ‘Who was going to a ball, where she was to choose a handsome prince to marry.’
‘Did it have to be a prince?’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Couldn’t it have been someone of more humble origin? A…viscount, say?’
‘Absolutely not. Her father would not want her to marry anyone who wasn’t of royal blood.’
His smile dimmed. He frowned at her hands.
‘I had no idea he was so high in the instep.’
‘Stop interrupting. Anyway, as I was saying, she was going to this ball and wanted to wear her finest jewels. Only when her father went to the…er…royal vault to fetch them, he discovered that they had been stolen. And glass beads left in the place where they were kept.’
‘They’d been copied?’
‘Yes. And the King was furious. So furious that he forbade anyone to speak of it, on pain of death.’
‘That was a bit harsh.’
‘He was a tyrant,’ she said with feeling. ‘I believe kings in fairy tales often are.’
Harriet had to pause in her narrative at that point since the waiter returned with their order and spent some time setting out the pots and cups on the surprisingly clean table.
Once he’d gone, Lord Becconsall leaned forward and murmured, ‘Go on. I have a notion you are just getting to the interesting part.’
‘Well, I don’t know that it was more interesting than having the rubies switched for glass beads. But anyway, the King decided that it must have been the Queen who was guilty and had her put in the pillory! Which, of course, made the Princess very unhappy. And angered some of the courtiers, who loved the Queen and didn’t like to see her humiliated in that fashion. So, anyway, one of them, who owed the Queen a very great debt,’ she said, lowering her gaze and fiddling with the strings of her reticule, ‘decided she would find out who had really stolen the rubies, so she could clear the Queen’s name. The King was furious.’ She glanced back up at Lord Becconsall. ‘When he found out she had been asking questions, first of all he locked her in her room—’
Lord Becconsall stiffened. ‘Locked you—I mean, her, in her room? How could he?’
‘I did say he was a tyrant.’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And it wasn’t as bad as all that. She only missed one meal. And the Queen brought her some books and things to read. And, actually, it did some good, you know, because it won her some favour with the servants. I mean,’ she hastily corrected herself, ‘the other courtiers. And it made them all want to help her clear the Queen’s name.
‘But then, when he found out that people were starting to flout his orders he—the King—um…banished her from court, and sent her to…er… Well, anyway, she found a place where she was safe from the King’s wrath. Only…she still wanted to find out who had stolen those jewels, so she thought she’d hire some…er…’
‘Wizards?’ said Lord Becconsall, helpfully.
‘Well, she did think they might be sort of magicians,’ she admitted, thinking about the reputation of the Bow Street Runners. ‘Only she wasn’t sure if she could trust them. And she was a bit…’ She lifted her spoon and stirred her chocolate, which Lord Becconsall had ordered for her. And how he’d managed to correctly guess exactly what she’d wanted, without even asking, was beyond her. ‘A bit afraid of them, to be honest,’ she admitted, fumbling her spoon into her saucer with a clatter.
‘Well, those wizards probably lived in an enchanted forest, int
o which it was perilous to enter.’
‘Yes, it was,’ she said, grateful that he’d understood.
‘What she needed was to find a soldier.’
‘Did she?’
‘Yes.’ He reached across the table and laid his hand on top of the one that had just been occupied with her spoon. ‘You know very often in those kinds of stories, the Princess comes across a ragged soldier, who turns out to be able to complete the quest on her behalf.’
‘She isn’t a princess,’ Harriet pointed out.
‘She looks like one to the raggedy soldier,’ he said, running his fingers over the back of her knuckles.
Harriet flushed. All the way to her toes. It was a very strange feeling, having a man’s bare hand caress her own bare hand. She couldn’t think why it should be so, but it was having almost as much effect upon her as being held in his arms had done. ‘Are we still talking about the…the story?’
‘Do you want us to be?’
To her surprise, she rather did. It was far easier to talk about that, than what his light touch was doing to her insides. To admit she wished he would kiss her, the way he’d kissed her that morning. Besides, now that she’d started to tell him about the missing rubies, and what had been happening since she’d decided to find out where they’d gone, it was as though a great weight was sliding from her shoulders. And telling it half-concealed in the language of fairy tales was making it easier still.
However, her life was not a fairy tale. And if she wanted to get anywhere with her investigation, she was going to need practical help, not the laughing eyes of a born flirt distracting her from her purpose.
She pulled her hand out from under his and tucked it safely in her lap.
Lord Becconsall let her do so, but pushed his cup to one side, laid both elbows on the table, and leaned as far across the table as he could.
‘Do you—I mean did the lady who was loyal to the Queen have any clues, perchance? It would make the soldier’s quest much easier if she could give him, say, a map…’
‘And a bottle of magic potion with which to send the dragons to sleep?’
Lord Becconsall chuckled. ‘Just a map would be a start. With a map, and his own cunning, I reckon that soldier could find out who’d taken the jewels.’
‘Oh, you do, do you? You are very sure of yourself.’
He quirked one eyebrow at her.
‘I meant to say, of course, the soldier was very sure of himself. But, as it happens, I do have—I mean to say, the lady did have one clue, given to her by…the keeper of the royal vault.’
She couldn’t have said that he moved, exactly, but something came over him. A sort of watchfulness. As though he was fully alert to whatever she might say next.
‘Go on,’ he said, when she paused.
‘Yes, just as I, that is she, the courtier, was leaving the castle, the…um…keeper of the vault managed to whisper a name in her ear. It was the name of a person who had worked, for a very brief time, in the Queen’s own chamber. And the name of the village from whence she came. And actually,’ she said, putting her hand to the reticule in which she’d put the paper on which she’d written down everything Maud had told her, ‘the name of the person who’d given her the reference to get the job in the first place. I would have thought, wouldn’t you, that the person who’d sent Jenny to work for…um…the Queen, would be the one who now had the jewels, wouldn’t you? The only problem is…’
‘Is?’
‘Well, she appears to be beyond reproach. I’ve already asked, discreetly, what kind of person she is,’ she said, forgetting to hide the events behind the cloak of her fairy tale, ‘and according to Mama she is an elderly recluse.’
‘Don’t you mean, a witch living in the centre of an enchanted forest?’
‘No,’ she said irritably. ‘I can’t keep up with all these fairy-tale analogies. And besides, haven’t we already had an enchanted forest in this story?’
He chuckled. ‘Indeed we have. So, would you prefer to let me give you time to think up a more original scenario? Or…’
‘Or?’
‘Or would you rather just forget all about kings and wizards and enchanted forests, and just tell me what is really going on?’
She sighed. ‘I suppose I might as well. You’ve probably already worked out who the major characters in the story are.’
‘They weren’t exactly in heavy disguise.’
‘No, well, I’ve never had to try to make my life sound like some kind of fairy tale before. And you didn’t exactly give me much time to do so, did you? So…’ She shrugged. ‘Do you think you might be able to help me?’
‘I’m sure I shall,’ he said, boldly taking hold of both her hands this time. For a moment, she experienced a very strong urge to turn them over and cling to him. And never let go.
Which would be really stupid. She hardly knew him. And what she did know didn’t encourage her to put her faith in him. Not in that way.
Oh, she could easily believe that he was intrigued by the notion of investigating a crime. His mind was so devious, and he had so little else to do, that she could see him finding unravelling what had gone on in Tarbrook House as entertaining as most people would find…doing an acrostic, say.
But as for truly wishing to marry her? No, she couldn’t believe in that. He hadn’t mentioned it at all once she’d got started on the mystery of the fake rubies. And so for the second time, she slid her hands out from beneath his and placed them on her lap.
He gave a wry smile. ‘It’s too soon, isn’t it? I need to prove my worth. Demonstrate that I’m not just a cunning trickster, but a man upon whom you can depend. Will you permit me to do that, Harriet? Will you entrust me with this…quest?’
All of a sudden she felt breathless. Almost as though she’d been running. Because his words had answered her doubts with such uncanny accuracy. And it would help her to believe he was in earnest about her, if she allowed him to deal with the mystery of the missing rubies.
‘Yes,’ she admitted. ‘I think…I rather think I will.’
His smile lit up his whole face. ‘And you will tell me everything you’ve discovered now? In plain English?’
She nodded. Found she had to lower her head for just a second or two, because his delight was almost too much for her to resist. Only once she’d overcome the urge to grin back at him, like a besotted tavern wench when one of her striking brothers strode into view, did she raise her head and look at him again.
‘Just before I left my uncle’s house,’ she said, ‘one of the maids came to me and told me who the servants suspected had been the culprit. Although, I have to say, it would be very hard on that girl to have a Bow Street Runner set on her, if the worst she was guilty of was being rather shy and not very talkative. Or if she left service because she had an…ailing mother, or something of the sort.’
‘There, you see? Hiring a Bow Street Runner would be the very worst thing to do. I can be far more discreet. I can go and investigate this servant’s movements under pretext of…um, well of course that depends where she lives.’
‘Well, the reference she gave says she comes from a village called Bogholt, which is in Norfolk.’
‘Never heard of it. But I can soon locate it, if it exists.’
‘Oh, it exists. I found it on the map. Though it took hours and hours.’ But that was one of the benefits of not having to go to balls and pay morning calls or go shopping for fripperies she didn’t need. It left her hours and hours and hours free to pore over maps. ‘It is a tiny hamlet in Thetford Forest.’
‘Thetford? Well, then, all I have to do is say I’m going to Newmarket for the races, next time there’s a meet, and spend a day or so poking around in Thetford Forest to see what I can dig up. And there’s no need to frown at me like that. I know how to reconnoitre behind enemy lin
es. Nobody will guess why I’m there, or what I’m about.’
‘Then I fail to see how you will find out anything at all.’
‘You do not need to see. Nor do I want you to see, because it will necessitate employing all sorts of underhanded methods which would no doubt give you a disgust of me. Which would rather defeat the object.’
‘Would it?’
‘You know it would,’ he said with such a heated look that Harriet took refuge in taking a sip of her rapidly cooling chocolate.
‘Now, you said you wanted to investigate the person who wrote the reference as well? But that you changed your mind, because she is beyond reproach.’
‘So Mama informed me,’ said Harriet, setting down her cup now that they were safely back to discussing crime, rather than his intention to impress her. ‘The lady is, or was, at least, very well known at one time, although lately she seems to have become something of a recluse.’
‘And where has she become a recluse? Somewhere in Norfolk, I take it?’
‘No.’ And then she gasped at what Lord Becconsall was implying. Just by looking at her in a particular manner. ‘Dorset.’
He leaned back in his chair and grinned.
‘So, how on earth did this shy little maidservant from a hamlet buried in the Forest of Thetford get a reference from an elderly recluse from Dorset?’
‘I…I suppose there could be a perfectly innocent explanation…’
‘You don’t believe that any more than I do. No, what we need to do,’ he said, sitting forward, placing both elbows on the table and clasping his hands over his coffee cup, ‘is to look into that connection.’
‘But that will take for ever!’
‘Is time of the essence?’
‘Yes. Because I have no idea how long Mama plans to stay in London. And once we go back to Stone Court I won’t be able to…’ She waved her hands in his direction. Then at herself.
‘To direct operations,’ he finished for her.
‘Yes. That,’ she agreed. Because there was no way she was going to admit she’d been about to say she’d no longer be able to meet with him like this. That there were no handy little coffee houses in Donnywich where nobody knew who she was. There was only the Black Swan. Into which she never ventured. And would never be able to come up with a plausible excuse for suddenly doing so to meet up with what they’d consider a fine London beau. For that’s what they would think of Lord Becconsall, if he strolled into the public bar, dressed in the beautifully tailored, highly fashionable kind of outfit he was wearing today.
Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718) Page 40