The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  He looked up from his plate as she sat down, his expression now serious. "Miss Riverstone, pray allow me to apologize. It appears I did you a disservice last night."

  Rowena shot a quick glance at Pearl, who must have set him straight, but she was speaking with her husband. "A simple misunderstanding, sir. Pray think no more about it." His mistaking her for a paid companion still rankled somewhat, however.

  He appeared to realize it. "I leaped to an assumption based on mere appearances —something I learned long ago is a dangerous thing to do."

  Was this meant for her? She'd made her own assumptions about Mr. Paxton, she realized, while in truth knowing little about him. "I must agree, sir, though I fear it is a common human failing, from my own experience." Certainly she'd been judged by her appearance for as long as she could remember.

  His eyes were disconcertingly knowing, seeming to probe her very thoughts. "And from my own, as well— though I confess that I have used that failing to my advantage on occasion. Still, I apologize for falling victim to it myself, in your case."

  "You are forgiven, Mr. Paxton." What else could she say? And in truth, she no longer felt any anger toward him. There was something about those eyes, that deep, warm voice . . .

  "Thank you." He sounded sincere, still holding her gaze with his own. "I hope that we can start over as acquaintances, and perhaps, in time, become friends."

  "Of . . . of course," she responded, even more flustered than she'd been last night.

  The idea of becoming friends with this handsome, intelligent man held an undeniable appeal, even though what little she knew of him was hardly to his credit. A supporter of Parliament, employed by Bow Street to catch the heroic Saint of Seven Dials —but he had played some role in Vienna, as well. Who was this man, really?

  Besides the best chess player she had ever met.

  Though she very much wanted to dig beneath the surface, to avoid judging by externals as he admitted he had done, she couldn't think how to ask questions without sounding impertinent. Wordplay with handsome men was something entirely outside her experience, alas.

  As she was still trying to frame her next comment, Lord Hardwyck and Mr. Paxton rose. "We have business to attend, my dear," said her host, "but we will see you at dinner."

  "If not before," Mr. Paxton added, his eyes still on Rowena.

  All she could do was nod like a simpleton as they took their leave. She would find a way to question him later, Rowena promised herself. Perhaps the transformation Pearl promised would give her the courage she lacked.

  * * *

  "Let me do the talking at first," Luke advised as he and Noel approached a crumbling three-story building in Seven Dials.

  Noel nodded. Both gentlemen had changed into nondescript fustian coats in the coach. He was reminded of Miss Riverstone and her drab clothing, and wondered again about the woman beneath. She was undoubtedly more than she appeared, just as he and Luke were now. Perhaps even—

  "Ah, we're in luck," Luke said, breaking into his thoughts as a tall, thin boy peered out of the doorway they were nearing. "Stilt! A word with you, lad."

  Though he frowned suspiciously from Luke to Noel and back, the boy came forward. "Can't say I expected to see you in these parts, milord," he said as he reached them. "Thought you'd given up all to do with Seven Dials."

  "I may not be playing the Saint anymore," Luke said, "but I've not given up my interest in those who live here."

  "Aye, and your gifts have been much appreciated, milord." Again, the boy glanced frowningly at Noel.

  "This is Mr. Paxton," Luke said then, putting a hand on Noel's shoulder. "He's interested in helping, as well. I've brought him here to introduce him to some of the lads. You can trust him, Stilt —he's a friend of mine."

  The boy relaxed visibly. "Then he's a friend of ours. But there ain't that many lads left from the group you knew, milord. You took in Flute and Squint, then his other lordship hired away Gobby and his sister, along with Renny. Tig wouldn't go, though —he's still hereabouts, and me and Skeet."

  "Still working for Twitchell, are you?" Luke was frowning now, and Noel couldn't blame him. During his investigation of the Saint, he'd discovered how vicious Twitchell and his rival thief-masters could be to their young apprentices.

  Stilt shrugged. "It's a living. And if we'd all gone to work in fine houses, who'd be left to help the Saint and his friends?" He flashed a sudden grin that lit up his lean face.

  Luke laughed. "A hit, indeed. Now, take us to Tig, Skeet and any others you think trustworthy enough to help in our cause. If all goes well, it won't be long before the Saint of Seven Dials is back in business."

  * * *

  Bond Street, the heart of London's shopping district, was a novel experience for Rowena. She looked about with interest at the deep, narrow shops selling every conceivable ware, the raucous street vendors, and the bustling crowds of shoppers. Poor Matthilda was terrified.

  "There must be cutthroats and pickpockets everywhere in a mob like this, miss!" she exclaimed as they descended from Pearl's opulent coach. "Can't we have the goods sent 'round instead?"

  "And miss all this? Of course not. Buck up, Matthilda," Rowena told her. "I'm sure it's not nearly as dangerous as all that." She turned to Pearl, who nodded.

  "It's not dangerous at all. At this hour, it's mostly ladies and their maids and escorts. Hettie, reassure her, won't you?"

  Pearl's own maid set about soothing Matthilda, pointing out objects of interest —safe objects of interest —as they proceeded to Madame Fanchot's establishment.

  "The finest modiste in London, my dear," Pearl assured Rowena as they entered the shop. At once the proprietress hurried forward to greet them.

  "Lady Hardwyck! How delightful to see you again." She turned shrewd eyes on Rowena. "A young friend from the country to outfit? Ah, great potential here, I think."

  Rowena found herself warming to the modiste. At least she didn't assume she was Pearl's companion. That thought brought Mr. Paxton forcibly to mind, of course —not that he had been far from her thoughts all morning.

  Pearl stepped forward with a smile. "I have in mind a complete makeover, Madame Fanchot. Once we've ordered a few suitable gowns, we'll discuss accessories and hairstyles. Francesca is itching to unpin that bun, as you may imagine."

  "An excellent plan, my lady! This way, if you please." The modiste led them into her inner sanctum, a display room draped with swaths of beautiful fabrics, fashion magazines piled on elegant little tables.

  "I've always detested pastels," Pearl confided, "but as a seventeen-year-old debutante, they were de rigeur. You, however, are old enough —and independent enough —to dispense with them. Nor are you an insipid blonde like me, lucky girl."

  Madame Fanchot nodded vigorously. "Yes, your coloring demands stronger hues. That copper hair— rich greens, blues and yellows will set it off to admiration." So saying, she unrolled bolts of vibrant-hued silks, satins and muslins.

  Rowena, who had always secretly envied Pearl her golden tresses, listened to them in amazement. No one had ever implied that her reddish-brown hair was an asset before. "If you're sure. It all seems so . . . frivolous."

  "But fun, you must admit," said Pearl with a wink.

  And it was. Though a part of her recoiled at the cost of new gowns, another part reveled in pure, feminine pleasure. The money she was spending could feed a small village for months —but guilt could wait until later, she decided, fingering a bolt of luscious turquoise blue satin.

  An hour later they left the shop with the promise that the first gown would be delivered in two days.

  "She must have an army of seamstresses," Rowena exclaimed.

  Pearl nodded. "She can afford to, believe me— the very best seamstresses. Now, we must find gloves, stockings, slippers and ribbons to match those gowns."

  When they finally left Bond Street, the carriage crammed with parcels, the number of ladies on the walkways had thinned considerably, to be replaced by gen
tlemen in top hats and tails.

  "If we think of anything else, we can come back tomorrow," Pearl said, though Rowena couldn't imagine a single item they could have possibly forgotten. Guilt returned in full force when she mentally tallied up all of her purchases.

  So much money, simply so that she could flutter along with the other Society butterflies, something she had always disdained. Was she compromising her principles? Mr. Paxton's face arose in her mind yet again. Improving her appearance would further her goal of social reform, she told herself firmly, refusing to consider any other motive.

  They returned to discover that the gentlemen were not expected to return until evening.

  "Just as well," Pearl said. "That gives us time to plan your transformation. This is Francesca's day off, so your hair, I fear, will have to wait."

  Rowena stifled her disappointment. She had hoped to achieve that step, at least, before facing Mr. Paxton at dinner tonight.

  Still, she thought with a spurt of amusement, it might be diverting to solidify Mr. Paxton's opinion of her as a drab nonentity before appearing in her new guise, that she might the better enjoy his surprise at her transformation.

  "We'll have you ready by Friday's ball," Pearl promised, echoing her thoughts. "Then you can burst upon the scene in full splendor. In the meantime, we can work on other things."

  "Other things?" Rowena asked almost fearfully.

  Pearl frowned thoughtfully at her. "Just how badly do you really need those spectacles?"

  Rowena put an involuntary hand to her face. "I'm quite nearsighted —you know that. You used to hide them from me for a prank when we were young."

  "Oh yes, I remember. Without them you squint." Pearl sighed.

  Nettled by her friend's obvious disappoinment, Rowena said, "Anyone who can't see past my spectacles is not likely to be someone I care to impress. I know the ton tends to focus on the externals, but surely they are not all so superficial as that?"

  "No, not all of them. In fact, you'll be pleased to know that I have invited a number of London's leading literary lights to my little party. Robert Southey, Leigh Hunt, and a few others you'll be interested to meet —if they come."

  "Indeed I will," Rowena agreed, suddenly feeling a flutter of enthusiasm for the coming ordeal. "Who else?"

  But Pearl shook her head. "I don't wish to raise your hopes too high. Most of these men eschew such things as balls and card parties, and some are doubtless gone from Town by now. However, if any do attend, I will be certain to introduce you."

  So the very men she would most like to meet were the ones least likely to come —not that she could blame them, as she shared their aversion to such frivolous pursuits. Some might attend, however, giving her the chance to implement her plan.

  Meanwhile, another game or two of chess with Mr. Paxton might serve to sharpen her wits for the challenges ahead.

  * * *

  When the ladies entered the dining room that evening, Noel's gaze went at once to Miss Riverstone, despite his hostess's blonde beauty. As before, she was dressed almost as a servant, this time in Puritannical gray and white. The lack of color in her dress only served to emphasize the bright shimmer of her hair, however —or what he could see of it, in that bun.

  It was as though she used her severe appearance as armor, keeping any man from seeing the woman within, he mused. Perhaps it had worked on the country gents she'd encountered thus far, but he prided himself on peeling away layers to get to the truth. That thought brought forth a fascinating —and distinctly inappropriate —image, so he quickly turned his attention to his host.

  "You were going to tell me more about the concerns some in Parliament have expressed on the relief efforts," he reminded Luke as they took their seats. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Miss Riverstone's head turn toward him, her interest evidently caught —as he had hoped.

  Luke nodded. "Yes, there are those who fear nothing less than the disintegration of the social order, should commoners be given control of even the smallest pieces of land. Absurd, of course, but the notion of land ownership and power going hand in hand is very deeply entrenched."

  "And power in the hands of commoners is anathema, my lord?" Miss Riverstone interjected before Noel could respond.

  Luke appeared startled, but answered readily enough. "To some, certainly, though not to all."

  Her intelligent gaze swung from Luke to Noel and back. "And to those present?"

  "Anathema would be too strong a word in my case," Luke said rather evasively, motioning for the hovering footman to commence serving the soup.

  "And in mine," Noel echoed. "I can understand the concerns of those who worry that sudden acquisition of land by those not trained to the management of it might result in abuses. However, a gradual, reasoned approach that includes the requisite training would seem to be a viable solution."

  Miss Riverstone fixed clear gray eyes upon him. Lovely eyes, really, beneath the spectacles, fringed with thick, dark lashes. "So if change is inevitable, it should be embraced as slowly as possible?"

  Noel pulled himself from contemplation of her eyes to respond. "Abrupt change without thoughtful preparation rarely serves anyone well."

  "An excuse all too easily taken to extremes, precluding any change at all," she pointed out.

  He tended to agree, but was enjoying their sparring too much to say so. "Better that than a headlong rush into changes that could prove disastrous for all sides, taking years or even generations to repair."

  "I perceive you must have a vested interest in the status quo, Mr. Paxton," she said, finally picking up her spoon. "Who, pray, are your antecedants?"

  The question bordered on rude, but it did not occur to Noel to take offense. Somewhat distracted by the approach of her spoon to her nicely shaped lips, he debated how much to tell her. "My father was a younger son to an earl, it is true," he confessed, "though his own estate was quite modest."

  "An estate that is now yours, I presume?"

  He nodded. "In Derbyshire." That much was common knowledge.

  "Not so very far from Oakshire," she commented irrelevantly. "And have you a mother? Siblings?" She seemed to suddenly realize she was watching him intently and turned her attention back to her soup dish.

  "A mother and two sisters," he said, smiling at her confusion. "The eldest lives with my mother in Derbyshire. The younger is married, and currently in Yorkshire with her husband."

  She seemed disinclined for more questions, apparently perceiving that she had overstepped the bounds of politeness. Noel was just as glad. Telling her that his twin sister's husband was in line to be the next Duke of Wickburn would do his case no good at all, he suspected.

  Lord and Lady Hardwyck took over the conversation at that point, discussing plans for their coming house party. Noel found himself paying closer attention to what Miss Riverstone ate than to what his hosts said, however. Behind those lovely lips lay white, even teeth and a darting pink tongue that made him think of things she might do with it beyond talking and eating.

  All too soon, the ladies excused themselves to the parlor. Eager for another chess match, Noel waved away the offer of a cigar and accepted only a small measure of brandy.

  "You seem rather taken with Miss Riverstone," Luke observed with a grin once the footman had left them alone.

  Oops. Noel hadn't meant to be so obvious. "Intrigued, at least. She seems quite an original." Though the word was generally not used as a compliment, Noel considered it as such.

  "She is that," Luke agreed with a chuckle. "Not that I'd expect anything else of a girl my wife claims as a lifelong friend. But tell me, have you thought further about your plans, now that you've met some of the lads you'd be working with?"

  They fell then to discussing the denizens of Seven Dials and the smoothest way to effect a transition to Noel as the next Saint. Lord Marcus would have to be advised, they both agreed.

  "We'll be inviting him and his new bride to our house party, of course, but I'll try to have
a private word with him beforehand," Luke said. "Now, what say you we join the ladies in the parlor?"

  Noel was startled by the sudden lift in his spirits at these words. He had always enjoyed a challenging game of chess, he reminded himself. And Miss Riverstone was proving a challenge of a different sort, as well.

  He could not afford any sort of emotional entanglement, of course, but winning her confidence was essential to his mission. Sheltered as she'd apparently been, she would no doubt be susceptible to a flirtation. At any rate, he would enjoy trying.

  He and Luke entered the parlor to find the two women deep in conversation —a conversation that broke off abruptly at their appearance. Lady Hardwyck rose.

  "Chess again, or would you prefer cards tonight, Mr. Paxton?"

  Glancing at Miss Riverstone, Noel found her gaze averted, whether from confusion or some other reason, he couldn't say. As she offered no input, he made the decision himself.

  "I confess I've quite looked forward to another match with Miss Riverstone. Besides, I owe her a chance to revenge herself for my win last night."

  The lady in question did meet his eye then, and there was nothing of confusion in her bright gaze. "That's very sporting of you, sir. I accept the challenge."

  Two boards were produced, and a few moments later he and Miss Riverstone faced each other across one while Lord and Lady Hardwyck pitted their respective skills against each other.

  "Given my pitiful performance last night, I'll not accuse you of arrogance for adhering to tradition this time," Miss Riverstone remarked when he set up the board so that she had the white pieces and subsequent first move.

  "Pitiful? Hardly that," he replied with perfect honesty. "You're the best opponent I've faced in some time. I was quite sincere when I said I've looked forward to another match."

  She smiled then, for the first time since he'd met her, and it transformed her face into something sweet and distinctly pretty, the impact hitting him like a blow. Had he actually thought her plain before? The smile was all too brief, but its effect on him lingered as she spoke.