Lady Sparrow

by Barbara Metzger

  “I still find it hard to believe that he simply walked in here,” Lowell said, “when we are searching high and low for Sparrowdale’s relicts.”

  “But Homer is a sign. He has to be. We are getting closer. I know it!”

  “Closer to finding the one who is the heir?”

  Mina pulled out the much-studied list. “Closer to finding the little ones, the ones who might need me the most.” She pointed to the three sets of initials that came after George’s G.H.: M.B., R.S., and W.S. “They would be six, four, and three, if we are interpreting this list correctly. Which we have to be, now that we know three of the boys match their entries.”

  Lowell knew the list by heart. He’d been to scores of foundling homes, asking for those same initials, or a friend of Perry Radway’s, or a connection to Sparrowdale, or a dark-haired, large-nosed brat of the appropriate age. He’d seen hundreds of moppets and sprites who needed the love Lady Sparrow was so obviously eager to give—but none of them were the ones she wanted. He’d left money, and a bit of his own heart, behind, cursing once more that he did not have the funds to help them all. Lowell vowed to enlist his mother and his brother in bettering those infants’ lives. What good was having a duke and a duchess in the family if one could not count on their charity?

  And what good had he been to Lady Sparrow? “With Homer rescuing himself, I have hardly done a thing to earn my keep—or that curricle,” he said now. “The least I can do is get you out of the house on this lovely day.”

  The sky looked as gray as a dove’s back, and the trees were bending in the breeze, but Mina said, “Yes, I would enjoy a drive.” And she would, with him.

  They stopped first at the solicitor’s office to sign documents making Mina’s guardianship of both boys official. Not that Roderick was apt to claim either as his ward, but she was not leaving anything to chance or challenge. With Homer not of legal age, he could not be George’s trustee. For that matter, being a woman, neither could Mina, on her own. Mr. Sizemore looked from her to Lord Lowell and cleared his throat.

  She could ask the solicitor to sign his name beside hers, or she could ask the man who had taken the boys for ices and punting on the river. It would not mean giving up any authority for the children, she told herself; it was merely a way of providing for their future if something untoward happened to her. They would be wealthy, then, for she had nowhere else to leave her father’s fortune except to charity and Cousin Dorcas. In that dire case, she had no doubts, Roderick would be quick to claim them as kin. Lord Lowell could be trusted to look after the accounts without feathering his own nest. Mina looked at Lowell, the question in her eyes.

  What a huge responsibility, Lowell thought. Did he want to help Minerva guide her orphans through adolescence into manhood? Yes. Did he want an excuse to visit with her, communicate with her, after this case was closed? Yes.

  Furthermore, so long as he lacked the funds to support a wife, he was not likely to have children of his own. Just as his mother felt she could never have enough grandchildren, Lowell concluded that he could never have enough nieces and nephews with whom to play and upon whom to dote. And what did Lady Sparrow know about raising boys, anyway? He had to assist her, didn’t he? Yes.

  So yes it was, and Minerva and Lowell found themselves guardians of a scholar and a scamp. They went to a nearby tea shop to celebrate, since Lowell was, as usual, hungry and Lady Sparrowdale still looked too thin to him. She did not finish her tarts, as usual, so they wrapped the extras in a cloth to feed to the birds, and drove to the park.

  Rather than stopping every few yards to greet Minerva’s suitors, Lowell set his horses to a trot. He ignored the other drivers and riders and pedestrians who waved and nodded and called out greetings. Devil take them all, he thought. He wanted to enjoy the afternoon in private with his . . . employer. Damn. How was it that ten minutes in the female’s company made him forget? He had no business driving out with her, and no business pulling the curricle off the path so they could get down and walk. He definitely had no business taking her hand to lead her to the water, where a flock of ducks waited for crumbs. He must have forgotten again.

  They spoke about books at first, which ones she ought to purchase for Hawk. Literature had been one of her few companions for the past five lonely years, but she was not certain what would appeal to a young boy. Pirates, Lowell suggested, and ghost stories, the gorier the better. He was impressed at the range of Minerva’s reading, and her understanding.

  Then the conversation turned to his career in solving mysteries. He told her about Lady Carstair’s diamonds, since the lady herself had broadcast the news to all and sundry, in her joy at recovering her missing baubles. Then, without naming names, he described his most interesting investigation, which was recovering both an abducted heiress and the ransom money. The kidnapper had named him as intermediary because Lowell Merrison was known as an honest chap, one not given to physical force. The gallows’ bird had made Lowell remove his spectacles for added insurance. He never suspected the special lens fixed atop the small pistol in Lowell’s waistband.

  Mina was impressed with his ingenuity and bravery.

  He admired the way she spoke softly to the birds, admonishing the larger ones to be fair, and how the water cast silvery reflections on her creamy skin.

  She admired his aim in throwing the crumbs, and the way his coat stretched across his broad, muscular shoulders.

  He was happy she looked so carefree for a change. She was happy she’d tucked a bouquet of violets beneath the brim of her black bonnet, for a change. The dowager duchess would have been happiest of all—ecstatic, in fact—if she’d seen how close the pair stood, how they ignored the ducks altogether, how their hands were clasped again, and how they stared into each other’s eyes.

  Lowell had forgotten what it was he was supposed to remember. Mina had forgotten that she did not really like men or physical intimacy.

  Their lips were drawing together as inexorably as the tide, it felt to both of them, a movement that was guided by the stars. Then the brim of her bonnet hit the frame of his spectacles, dislodging them, and shattering the moment. He was chagrined, she was mortified, and the duchess would have been gnashing her teeth. The glasses fell to the ground, and both of them bent down to retrieve them.

  Something else shattered. Not the glasses, but the tree behind them. The ducks took wing in a great whoosh, and the horses, standing with the groom at some distance away, reared in their traces.

  In a flash, Lowell had his spectacles in one hand and Mina’s hand in the other, racing for the cover of the trees. There he threw her to the ground, his body over hers, and pulled that same sighted pistol out of his boot. Nothing moved.

  The groom called out, and some children came running, hoping to see fireworks. Their nursemaids followed, one pushing a pram.

  “It is over.” Lowell rolled off Mina and stood up, then offered her a hand, while he kept scanning the surrounding area, still holding the pistol at the ready. “Are you all right?”

  All right? A gentleman had almost kissed her, then almost crushed her into the dirt. Mina did not know if she was angry or frightened or embarrassed. Most likely all three, she decided.

  She twitched at her skirts, then tried to smooth her disordered hair, only to find too many hairpins missing to do the job properly. She brushed at her flattened hat—the violets were strewn at her feet—not meeting his eyes. Heavens, they had been about to kiss! She might never be able to meet his eyes again. “I did not know they permitted duck hunting in Hyde Park,” she said.

  “They don’t,” he said.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “I am going to kill that bastard!”

  “Hawk?”

  Lowell looked at Mina as if a draft had just blown through her cockloft. “No, that rat-breathed Roderick.”

  “You think it was Roderick who shot at us?”

  “No, I think it was Roderick who shot at you. You are the one who is determined to find the boy who c
an destroy Roderick’s life. He obviously does not know where the possible heir is any more than you do or he’d go after the child. This way Roderick makes certain you do not find him first.”

  “But outright murder? Roderick?” Mina was finding it easier to believe with every unpleasant conversation she had with her husband’s nephew. Still, cold-blooded murder, in the park?

  Lowell was leading her back toward the restive horses. “Either Roderick or one of his minions. He has friends in places where human lives are valued by the gold in their teeth. Someone scared Perry Radway out of town, and someone set the Strickland place on fire, and now someone has shot at you. I do not think it takes any great deductive reasoning to assume the connection, nor the perpetrator. One was a warning, one was an attempt to hide something, and the last was a permanent solution. I’ll give that cur a permanent solution as soon as I get my hands on him.”

  Mina gave a nervous laugh. “You’ll throw off your mother’s dinner arrangements. And you have no proof.”

  Lowell’s curse set the horses to stomping again. “Until I get it, I’ll hire guards and additional watchmen. You are not to go anywhere on your own. In fact, I do not want you to leave the house unless I am with you.”

  Mina forbore commenting that his presence had not kept her from being someone’s target this afternoon. Granted, his near kiss had caused her to duck suddenly, but she did not suppose that counted as protection. Still, Lord Lowell was upset on her behalf, not, she had to believe, because a dead employer could not pay his fee. Her first thought was that he liked her enough to care. Her second thought was that someone else disliked her enough to want her dead. Mina much preferred the first thought.

  Lowell had reached many of the same conclusions. He cared about Lady Sparrow, the money be damned, and he could not protect her from an assassin’s bullet or a thrown knife. A runaway horse he might be able to stop, if he had his spectacles on and could see the blasted thing coming. “Perhaps it would be better if you did not leave the house at all until this is over.”

  “How can it be over if I never leave the house? I have to keep looking.”

  “That is my job. You gave your word not to interfere if it grew dangerous. You will stay at Merrison House and I will keep searching for Perry Radway.”

  That might be best, Mina thought. Not that she would stop looking, but that they would have less opportunity to be alone, to share confidences . . . and kisses. A plain shipbuilder’s daughter had no business kissing a duke’s handsome son. A tiny voice inside her head whispered that Lowell was only a second son, the “lord” in front of his name being a mere courtesy title. He was not impossibly far above her, now that she seemed to have a modicum of social acceptance, if she were looking for a husband.

  She was not, Mina shouted back to that small voice of temptation. She did not need a husband. She had the children now, and begetting them was the only reason she could imagine for a woman to willingly give her freedom and fortune into a man’s keeping. She would keep her distance.

  Zeus, Lowell thought, the investigation could proceed a lot quicker if he was not distracted by her lilac scent or those soft curls fallen out of her coiled braid. He would keep his distance—right after he wiped a smudge of dirt from Minerva’s chin. His gloved fingers reached out to cup her jaw. He leaned closer to see. She turned her face up. Deuce take it, what could be more natural than that he complete their disastrous attempt at a first kiss?

  A loose thread could not have fallen between them. So much for keeping their distance.

  Her lips were warm and a bit trembly, uncertain beneath his. His were firm, and sure. His hand moved from her jaw to her neck, to her shoulder, to her back. Her hand raised to his chin, his cheek, his hair.

  Her eyes were closed. His glasses were fogged, so it did not matter.

  They ran out of breath, so they shared each other’s, then they ran out of strength, so they clung to each other. Then some laughing children ran out of the bushes. So they went home.

  They did not have to search for Roderick, Lord Sparrowdale. He was sitting in the parlor having tea with the duchess, a handful of Mina’s would-be wooers, and two of the Almack’s patronesses. He appeared neither surprised nor disappointed to see them. Cousin Dorcas was gone, and so was any suspicion that Roderick had pulled the trigger himself. His teacup was nearly empty; he had been here too long.

  As far as Lowell was concerned, the blighter had been alive too long. This was not the appropriate time for a confrontation, however, not if Minerva ever had hopes of being accepted in the first circles.

  She hurriedly excused herself to freshen her appearance, citing a minor mishap in the park.

  The duchess looked to her son, who shook his head. He was fine. Minerva was unhurt.

  “A bit of cow-handed driving, Merrison?” Roderick asked. “Perhaps you should consider a driver, with your poor eyesight.”

  Lowell set aside the teacup his mother handed him and stepped toward the tray of decanters on a side table. “My tooling was not at fault. It was a bird.”

  “What, a bird flew up and caused your horses to bolt?”

  “My cattle are too well trained for that, Sparrowdale,” Lowell said. “It was a vulture.”

  “Do we have vultures here in England, Lolly, dear?” his mother asked.

  “You’d be surprised what foul carrion eaters we have right in Hyde Park.” He poured himself a glass of wine, without offering any to Roderick. “I would like a word, Sparrowdale, before you leave.”

  “Oh, I was not leaving, not quite yet. I am sorry, but I need a few moments of Lady Sparrowdale’s time. A matter of family business, you understand.”

  Lowell understood that pigs would fly before he let this swine near Minerva. “The lady might be a while. I can relate your message.”

  Or he could pick the fop up and toss him out of the room. The Almack’s matrons had their ears perked like cats at a fishpond. The fortune-hunting fribbles were on the scent of scandal. His mother was frowning.

  Then Lady Sparrowdale returned. She looked lovely, in Lowell’s mind, elegant in the black silk that clung to her body, made demure instead of deucedly intoxicating by the touches of white lace, and the lace cap on her brown curls. She assured everyone of her well-being, accepted a cup of tea and fulsome compliments from the empty-pockets, then stood next to Lowell, so the other gentlemen, perforce, also had to stay on their feet after rising at her entry. As an invitation to take one’s leave, the maneuver was masterful. Lowell thought she had the countess role memorized perfectly. Now if she did not ruin her performance by glaring at her nephew-by-marriage. Lowell tried to shield her from the old biddies’ view, as they bade his mother farewell. Then he glared at Roderick, for daring to approach her.

  “A word, Minerva, if you please,” Sparrowdale said, smiling and bowing to Lady Cowper, who was on her way out.

  “I doubt you have anything to say that I wish to hear, Roderick. You may be assured, however, that I have a thing or two to say to you about your efforts to keep me from finding your uncle’s children.”

  First Roderick looked around to see if her words about Sparrowdale’s leavings had been overheard by any of the hostesses he wished to impress. Then he raised his quizzing glass to Lord Lowell, who obviously knew all about Minerva’s hare-brained hunt.

  “What, your eyesight failing, Sparrowdale?” Lowell asked, belittling the other man’s affectation. “Perhaps I should ask Her Grace to lend you her spare pince-nez.”

  Roderick turned his back on the younger gentleman, an equally purposeful insult. “Shall we step outside, Minerva?”

  “After last time? I think not,” she replied, her chin raised in determination. “Say what you wish, Roderick. It is bound to be tiresome in any event.”

  “Quite the contrary, ma’am. I think you will be eager to hear that I have brought you a gift. Something of Uncle’s that I recently chanced upon. Something for which you have been searching, I believe.”

  That was all
he could say in front of the departing guests. It was enough. Mina had to hear him out. She was not, however, foolish enough to go off with him alone.

  Lowell feared she might be, so he said, “I shall join your conversation, if I might, Countess.” Then he told Roderick, “I have been assisting Lady Sparrowdale with her inquiry.”

  “I thought you might be,” Roderick said, curling his lip. “You won’t win the widow’s favors with your phiz marred by those ugly lenses, so you might as well lead her fortune on a wild goose chase. Anything for money, eh?”

  “No, I don’t stoop to murder, arson, or kidnapping. Can you say the same?”

  Mina stepped between the men before she expired of embarrassment or a challenge could be issued. “What is this gift, Roderick? Have you found a ledger or a memorandum of Sparrowdale’s with the children’s addresses?”

  “Better. I have brought you one of the brats itself. The butler put him in the library down the hall.”

  “Perry Radway?” she asked.

  “That guttersnipe? He’d steal the books off the shelves, most likely. The whoreson can fend for himself, anyway, as I told him. This one’s younger.”

  Mina clutched Lord Lowell’s sleeve without being aware of her action. “How young?”

  “About six, the director of the boys’ home said.”

  Roderick did not seem to hear Mina’s moan-like sigh, but Lowell did, and looked at her quizzically. She shook her head, knowing that she was going to have to explain to Lowell about her son, but not now. She told Roderick to go on.

  “The home had him for four years, after his mother died. Oh, yes, Uncle married her, but there’s no chance the boy is legitimate.”