She deserved better, Lowell thought, especially after being wed to a bounder like Sparrowdale. She deserved a man who did not need her money, so she never had to doubt his affection, and one who would give her children of her own, so she did not need the dead earl’s.
Lowell hated that paragon, too, whoever he was.
In the end, of course, he had been forced into granting his friends permission to call, repeating that the widow was merely a guest who would choose her own friends, assemble her own court of admirers. He would not be among them. He was merely an employee.
“Did you?” she asked again, reminding him of his status after sipping at her wine. “Did you hear anything about Sparrowdale?”
“Nothing except that no one thought much of him or his son. Unless you mean Roderick. The word is that he is desperately trying for Westcott’s girl. The odds are running heavily against that match, though. They say Westcott has agreed to let the chit have a say in choosing her fiancée this time, and she has told friends that Roderick is too old.”
“If she is just now having her come-out, I would say so too. He is past thirty.”
Lowell was eight and twenty. “Thirty is not terribly old.”
“To a miss of seventeen or eighteen, it is, believe me.” She set her glass down and went back to the cards.
Sparrowdale had to have been nearly sixty when they wed, Lowell calculated. That dastard, he thought, sipping at his wine and admiring the candlelight glowing on her smooth skin. And damn her father too.
“Speaking of engagements,” Mina said, reshuffling the deck after yet another loss, “your mother has ambitions, I fear.”
“To see me wed? I know. She always does. With my sister and older brother married, and my younger brother in the army, she has to concentrate all her efforts on my behalf. But I have not let her chivvy me into leg shackles yet, so I am not worried.”
“I meant . . . That is, she thinks that you and I . . .”
“Do not worry about that, either. She may hint, but she would never force us together. You might have other concerns, however. Now that you are known to be in Town, gentlemen will be seeking your company.”
“Seeking my purse, more likely. Harkness turned them away at the door at Sparrows Nest. I can simply instruct Ochs to do the same. I shall not be at home to gentlemen callers.”
Well, that would make Lowell happy, anyway.
The countess continued, “According to your mother, those so-called suitors will disappear as soon as they learn I am trying to find Sparrowdale’s children.” She raised her chin. “You see, I am meaning to make a home for them. Cousin Dorcas told the duchess, so you would learn of my plans sooner or later.”
“Sooner. Harkness and I had a comfortable cose before going on our separate fact-finding missions this evening.” The talk had been profitable for both of them, the butler pocketing a gold coin and Lowell learning more about his employer and her plans.
“He does not approve either.” Mina tossed the cards into a pile. “Useless pasteboards that never win. There must be one missing.”
“Undoubtedly,” he agreed, then said, “they want your happiness, you know.”
“I will be happy enough with the children.”
“Even if you are ostracized by society and never receive another offer of marriage? That is what Harkness fears, and my mother, I would wager.”
“Particularly then. None of those men want to marry me. None could claim the least pretense of affection for the shipbuilder’s scrawny daughter, only for his bequest. I want no marriage of convenience. Having my income pay another wastrel’s debts, having my fortune handed over to a here-and-thereian, would be most inconvenient to my plans for starting an orphans’ home.”
“I can see where it would be. But do you not think a decent man might be interested in you? One who would not want your father’s money?”
“Hah. I doubt such a pattern card exists. And no. I am still a tradesman’s daughter, despite Sparrowdale’s title. I am still a drab little female of no particular talent or accomplishment to recommend me.”
Perhaps that last glass of wine was one too many, but Lord Lowell muttered an imprecation as he moved to replace the decanter.
“Excuse me, my lord, did you just refer to me as a goose?”
“No, I called you a silly goose. How could you not know what a deucedly attractive woman you are? Slight, yes, but perfectly formed. I am not interested in marriage, and I am not interested in your money, except for my fee, of course, and I find you beautiful. Why, if you were not a guest under my own roof—and if I were not working for you—I would try to get up a flirtation myself.”
Mina had not had nearly enough wine for this. She swallowed a large gulp of it. “You . . . you would?”
He stood near her, leaning against the table. “I would. I would tell you that your eyes are like morning chocolate, hot and sweet and inviting.” He reached a hand up to loosen one of the brown curls near her cheek. “And I would tell you that your hair feels like a silk waterfall through my fingers, and that I would trade my new curricle for the chance to spread it across my pillow.”
“Oh, dear,” Mina said, reaching for her glass again. “You should not be saying those things.”
“I am not. I am just telling you what I would say, were I flirting with you, to prove that not all men see pound notes when they look at you. I see a kind, caring woman of rare determination and honor. And I see an alluring mix of innocence and mystery that begs a man to discover its secrets.” He leaned closer still, close enough that her breath fogged his glasses. “If I were flirting, of course, I would beg to taste the wine on your lips.”
The glass fell out of Mina’s nerveless fingers as her investigator, her private detective, by all that was holy and some that were not, leaned closer still. The sound of the fallen glass brought both of them to their senses.
Lowell stepped back and straightened his waistcoat. “But I cannot say any of those things, of course. They would be highly improper in an employee.”
They would be highly improper in a bordello! Those were not words of flirtation. They were words of outright seduction. Worse, Mina feared, it would have worked, if Lord Lowell had not recalled that he worked too. For her.
Chapter Thirteen
They were out early the next morning, as planned. Being from the country, Mina did not mind. She was used to rising with the sun. Lowell was more used to seeing dawn on his way home than on his way out. He was still yawning when he took up the curricle’s reins for the drive to Kensington. Not only had his sleep been shortened by a few hours, but it had been disturbed by troubling dreams.
How in the name of Hades had he almost kissed Lady Sparrow? He was her employee, by Jupiter. Surely there were critical principles involved here, although damned if he could recall them so early in the morning. For certain he had never wanted to embrace any of his other clients. He had been absolutely mind-boggled and mortified when Lady Carstair threw herself into his unwilling arms after he returned her diamonds. Of course Lady C was fifty if she was a day, and fifty pounds heavier than he was. Lud, he would have had nightmares, thinking of that woman’s kiss. Instead, he’d dreamed of soft, wine-dewed lips, and awoke with a smile on his face and—and nothing that could not be relieved by a cold splash of wash water. For Lady Sparrow, by Jupiter, who was looking her usual neat-as-a-pin, dark-clad self. Obviously their near embrace had not affected the widow one whit, for she was busy reiterating their tactics for the morning.
Mina had to keep her mind busy, or else she was liable to dwell on the man sitting so close to her on the narrow driving bench. His hair as still damp from his morning ablutions, and a bit of sticking plaster was clinging to his chin, from where he had nicked himself shaving. Otherwise he was as elegant as ever, with his intricately tied neckcloth, and Bath blue superfine straining across his broad shoulders. Obviously their near embrace had not affected his lordship one little bit, for he was so bored with her company he was yawning.
When they reached today’s destination, they spoke to milkmaids and egg boys and muffin men, to knife sharpeners and coal heavers. If Granny Radway lived in the neighborhood, she did not buy her necessities from these street vendors, or else no one was saying. Lowell thought they would have admitted knowing the woman, for far more coins changed hands than was warranted by their purchases.
The flower-seller thought she might have seen a dark-haired boy with a grandmother who took in sewing, but they never bought her violets or bunches of lavender, so she could not be sure on which street they lived. “Per’aps Cobbler’s Court,” she suggested after Lowell bought yet another nosegay of violets.
Mina had her lap filled with flowers as they headed in the direction the girl had indicated. She breathed in the sweet country scent and smiled. “I am glad you were so generous. Now that young girl does not have to work as hard today.”
“It was nothing to me.” Lowell flashed her a quick smile back. “It was your money. You pay my expenses, remember.”
No one on Cobbler’s Court knew of Perry or his grandmother.
“I do not understand why we cannot find them. Kensington is simply not that big that no one would know of them,” Mina complained as they returned to the curricle.
“They might have kept to themselves. Young Peregrine could have been instructed by a retired schoolmaster living next door, and they might attend a church in a neighboring parish. The grandmother might take on sewing from one of the Mayfair modistes, and do her shopping on the way home. Or the boy could have been making the entire story up out of whole cloth. But we have not covered every street. Don’t give up. We’ll return after breakfast, when more of the shops will be open.”
After sampling the sticky buns and the meat pies and the fruit tarts from the street-sellers, Mina was anything but hungry. Lowell, however, declared himself too sharp-set to continue another block. Lady Sparrow might eat like a bird, but he was a full-grown man, he reminded her, with a man’s appetites.
She was all too afraid of that.
When they returned home, the dowager duchess was already breaking her fast, the usual stack of invitations next to her well-stocked setting. After filling a plate from the sideboard, Lowell glanced briefly at his correspondence, then raised an eyebrow at the pile of mail next to Lady Sparrowdale’s seat.
Mina looked through the letters to see if a note had been forwarded from Sparrows Nest, from Peregrine. There was a message from her solicitor and another from the land agent, but the rest were invitations, all from people she did not know.
Her Grace noticed and frowned. “Yes, we are going to have to do something about that. The gossipmongers will be battering at the door next, to get a glimpse of you, my dear. I will not have the house overrun with snooping scandal-seekers, nor the fortune hunters you are bound to attract like bees to a flower.” She leafed through the invitations in her own pile, using her lorgnette to read the inscriptions. “Her Grace and Guest. Amelia, Duchess of Mersford and Minerva, Countess Sparrowdale. Everyone wishes to meet you.”
“What, I was not included?” Lowell asked, cutting his beefsteak.
“You have your own invites, you clunch,” his fond mother replied. “Besides, these are to quiet affairs, since everyone knows Lady Sparrowdale is in mourning. Hostesses know better than to invite you to a poetry reading or a chorale.”
“Thank goodness,” he replied, setting his own correspondence aside to scan the newspapers while he ate. It was possible the boy’s grandmother advertised for mending.
The duchess tapped his newspaper with her lorgnette. “Pay attention, Lolly. I think we should have a dinner party in Minerva’s honor. Get it over with, let them gawk and goggle, then send them on their way. They’ll see she is a prettily behaved female, with no airs about her and nothing to hide. They will also see she is not a lamb for the fleecing, not with us as watchdogs.” Speaking of dogs, Her Grace slipped a bit of kidney to Merlin, at her side.
“Oh, no. I would not wish you to—” Mina began.
“Nonsense. There is nothing I enjoy more. A select group of friends only, no mushrooms, no mealymouthed misses, and no men on the prowl for a meal ticket. What do you think, Lolly?”
“I think you are going to do what you wish in any case, but it sounds unexceptionable, if Lady Sparrowdale does not object.”
They both turned to Mina, who was merely nibbling the edges of a piece of toast. “Perhaps a small”—she stressed the small—“gathering would serve to satisfy the curious, and then I could return to obscurity.”
Small chance of that, Lowell thought as he helped himself to another serving of kippers. If he were a betting man, he’d not wager a ha’penny against the pretty and wealthy Lady Sparrow becoming a Toast, mourning or not. Tidbits about Sparrowdale’s by-blows were an added attraction.
While the duchess planned her party, Lowell decided the best way to keep the countess out of the clutches of her would-be admirers was to keep her out of the house. He pushed his nearly empty plate aside. “If that is all you are going to eat, Countess, we might as well go back to Kensington.”
“See that you are returned by luncheon, my dears. Minerva cannot afford to miss any meals, lest people say we have her locked in her chamber on bread and water. What the gel eats could not keep a pigeon alive.”
Lowell wrapped two rolls in a napkin to take along, just in case. Mina took the dog. He raised a golden brow. “I am never that hungry.”
“I thought we might take Merlin. Maybe someone will recognize him. Or else, if we set him down anywhere near his house, perhaps he will lead us there.”
“And perhaps I ought to return the curricle after all, if you are going to do all the work. That is brilliant thinking.”
The theory was brilliant. The dog was less so.
Set down from the curricle, Merlin raced around, barking at the horses and the pedestrians as if he had never seen street traffic before. Mina attached his leather lead back onto the collar the grooms at Sparrows Nest had fashioned for the small dog.
They walked behind him, the curricle left in the hands of the tiger, but Merlin seemed more interested in the streetlamps than in finding his way home. Then he started wagging his short tail and pulling ahead. Mina let go of the leash, letting it drag behind the dog, and then they had to hurry to keep up as Merlin dashed around a corner.
Into a butcher’s shop.
“Blast. I thought we were onto something.” Lowell bought the dog a sausage anyway. “I don’t suppose you recognize the little beggar, do you?” he asked the butcher.
“Nivver seen ’im afore, an’ I keep track o’ all th’ regulars, like. There’s ones you got to keep yer eyes on, ye ken.” He tossed the dog another link.
Lowell took his eyes from the view of Lady Sparrowdale bending over the animal to straighten his collar. “While we are here, I might as well ask if you know a lad, a Peregrine Radway? It’s his dog, and we are trying to return the mutt.”
The butcher shook his head. “I never seen t’only Radway I know with no dog.”
“But he is a young boy, about three and ten, with dark hair and a prominent nose?” Mina asked excitedly, stepping closer to Lowell and the butcher. At last, a lead.
Lowell placed another coin on the counter, and the butcher threw a slab of ham to the dog. “Aye, that be our Perry, all right. Welly, m’wife calls ’im, on account a’ the general an ’is beak. The nipper makes deliveries for me, or did, afore.”
“Afore—that is, before what?” Mina wanted to know, nudging his lordship to offer the man yet another coin.
Lowell was way ahead of her. This time a gold piece found its way into a greasy pocket, and a beefsteak found the floor. “Afore ’is health took a turn.”
“He is ill? Oh, no. Has a doctor been called? Does he need special medicines?” Mina would have hired round-the-clock nursing and the king’s own physicians.
“ ’Twere a sawbones ’e needed, t’ set ’is broken jaw back in place, when that
bloody bastard—pardon, ma’am—got done w’im.”
Lowell put his arm around the countess when he saw her sway. “I knew I should have sent a footman with him,” she cried. “It is all my fault, sending him home with a full purse and no guard.”
“I don’t know about no purse, but t’boy got home all right from wherever ’e took ’isself orf to. It were ’ere in Town some mohunk set on ’im. Near killed t’ lad, ’e did, but for someone callin’ t’ Watch, what scared ’im orf.”
“And the boy is all right, except for the broken jaw?” Lowell asked, still keeping one arm on Lady Sparrowdale’s shoulder, for comfort. For whose comfort was questionable.
“An’ a few cracked ribs, ’sides bruises an’ scrapes. ’E looked like one a’ my slabs a’ beef.” The butcher hefted his big meat cleaver. “I’d teach that dirty scum t’pick on men ’is own size, not boys.”
Mina gladly accepted Lord Lowell’s support. Whatever had befallen the child, she felt responsible. Now she had to find him more than ever, to make sure Perry was cared for, and his grandmother, too, if the purse had been stolen.
The butcher was not quite ready to give up his errand boy’s address yet, despite Lord Lowell’s coins. He did not trust the gentry, not that he thought they had anything to do with the attack on poor Perry, but just in general. In the end, though, it was the tears in the lady’s pretty brown eyes that convinced him.
The boy and his granny lived in rooms out by the gardens, he told them, in a house owned by a retired curate who gave a few local boys lessons. He held services in a tiny chapel there, too, which was why they had found no trace of Perry, as Lowell had suspected.
He gave the butcher the price of a cow, for a sack of sausages for the dog and a street address, and then they left.
Mina was shaken. “Do you think the attack on Perry could be related to my search?” she asked as they drove.
“If it was not a robbery, and young Radway was not involved in other skullduggery, I cannot believe the beating was a mere coincidence. I would guess someone was trying to stop him from speaking, to you or the magistrate. We’ll know in a few minutes.”
Lady Sparrow Page 9