The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  "Pish! I do that all the time, and my eyes are perfectly fine. You've promised me to go through with our experiment," Pearl reminded her severely. "Don't you dare cry craven now."

  Though she felt a strong inclination to do just that, Rowena shook her head. "No, I'll go through with it."

  Pearl laughed. "You needn't make it sound as though you're going to your own execution! Please, Rowena, do try to enjoy yourself tonight. I've invited only a small, select crowd, so you should not be overwhelmed. Let's go down, shall we? The guests will be arriving soon."

  Trying her hardest to look cheerful for Pearl's sake, Rowena rose. "Very well. And I will do my best, I promise. It's the least I can do, after all your effort on my behalf."

  "That's the spirit! Come, we'll treat it as a military campaign, with you well armed to breach the defenses of whatever forces you meet."

  Despite herself, Rowena's spirits rose at the metaphor. Yes, she would pretend the evening was merely an elaborate chess match, where each move by her opponents —the other guests —must be matched by a strategic move of her own. Absurd, of course, but oddly comforting.

  They descended the stairs together, to find Lord Hardwyck waiting for them at the bottom. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Rowena, and he glanced questioningly at Pearl, then back at Rowena with an amazement that might have been insulting if she had not reacted the same way to her own changed appearance.

  "My dear, you have outdone yourself," he said to his wife. "Miss Riverstone, I scarcely recognized you. You are quite stunning."

  Though it came from her friend's husband, it was the first compliment upon her appearance Rowena had received from a man and it flustered her badly. "I, er, thank you, my lord. The credit all goes to Pearl, however."

  "I see we need to work on your response to compliments," Pearl admonished her. "You're sure to receive many, and you can't refer them all to me. A simple thank you will suffice, if you do not feel bold enough to return the compliment or playfully accuse the gentleman in question of flattery —also acceptable responses."

  Rowena felt her color rising with embarrassment. "I told you I was not ready for this."

  "All you need is a bit of practice," Pearl assured her. "That's what tonight is for. Come, you can help me look over the buffet tables to be certain all is as it should be."

  Rowena followed obediently, wondering where Mr. Paxton might be. Would she dither as badly when he spoke to her? Undoubtedly. Much as she hoped to see admiration in his eyes, at the moment she felt she'd prefer not to see him at all.

  Pearl had just declared adequate the assorted dainties that were to serve in lieu of dinner when the sound of the door knocker reached the ballroom.

  "Ah! Our first guests. I must hurry to the head of the stairs. No, you come with me. You needn't greet the guests as they come in, but I'm not giving you an opportunity to hide, either."

  Again Rowena followed her friend, this time with gathering dread. Treat it as a chess match, she reminded herself firmly. Lifting her chin, she took a position just inside the ballroom, only a few yards from Pearl and her husband.

  To her surprise, the first guest was her brother. She had not known Pearl had invited him, though of course it made sense that she had. He completed the pleasantries with his hosts, then turned to the ballroom, only to see Rowena standing there.

  Sir Nelson stared, blinked, then stared again. "Gadslife! Ro?" he finally said.

  Suddenly struck by the absurdity of the situation, Rowena dropped into a curtsey. "How pleasant to see you again, Nelson," she replied in well-modulated tones. "I'm glad you could come."

  "So am I. You look a treat, Ro." Her brother still looked disbelieving. "Lady Hardwyck must be some sort of sorceress to have pulled off such a change."

  Both touched and irritated, Rowena clung to her smile. "Merely a new gown and hairstyle —but Pearl can be quite determined when she sets her mind on a project."

  As they talked, more guests filtered in and before Rowena knew it, the room was quite crowded. Her earlier panic revived. She glanced at Pearl to find her urgently beckoning to her.

  "I want you to meet Lord and Lady Marcus Northrup," Pearl said as Rowena came forward. "Lord Marcus is one of Luke's oldest friends, and his wife is also relatively new to London. You two should get along famously."

  The couple greeted Rowena cordially, and she discovered that it was easier to meet people who had no idea of the change that had been wrought in her. "Pearl tells me you two were but recently married?" she asked after greetings were exchanged.

  "Yes, scarcely three weeks since," replied the diminutive Lady Marcus in a distinctly American accent. "And please, call me Quinn. I'm still not used to my new designation, and am determined to dispense with it when among friends."

  Rowena warmed to the young woman at once, put at ease by her casual air. She was quite different from the simpering, gossiping ladies Rowena had met yesterday. They chatted about their impressions of London, while Lord Marcus moved away to speak to two other gentlemen.

  "Were you as afraid of breaking some unwritten Society rule as I am?" Rowena asked the charming American.

  "Oh, gracious, yes!" Quinn exclaimed. "I still am, in fact. Perhaps we should compare notes and combine our knowledge, to our mutual benefit."

  Rowena laughingly agreed that this was a good scheme. Glancing at Pearl again, she saw her greeting an imposing man with a large, hooked nose who looked vaguely familiar. Squinting slightly in an effort to determine where she'd seen him before, she brought something else into focus, something that made her heart do a funny little flip.

  Mr. Paxton, staring at her in blank astonishment.

  CHAPTER 6

  With an effort, Noel pulled his gaze away from Miss Riverstone to answer Luke's question. "No great successes today, but some small progress, or so I hope."

  He had already related last night's events to Luke. He had spent the morning at Bow Street, and the afternoon visiting certain taverns and gaming hells, casting for information that might lead to the Bishop. He intended to follow up one lead about a group of radicals said to meet at the Crown and Horn.

  "Good, good. We'll talk later," said Luke. "Go on and enjoy yourself. The crab puffs are excellent, I hear."

  Noel nodded absently, his attention already on Miss Riverstone again. What on earth had she done to herself —or had Lady Hardwyck done to her? Her hair . . . that gown . . . and where were her spectacles? Slowly moving in her direction, he was almost surprised he had recognized her so quickly, she looked so different from the mousy chess master he knew and liked.

  Before he could reach her side, he was accosted by Lord Marcus Northrup.

  "Evening, Paxton," he said. "Luke mentioned you were to attend tonight. We'll have to talk later." His expression made it clear that Luke had explained Noel's new mission to Lord Marcus, the last Saint of Seven Dials. "You've met my brother, Lord Peter, and Mr. Thatcher, haven't you?"

  Noel greeted all three gentlemen. "Yes, we all met in Vienna, winter before last," he said, regarding yellow-waistcoated Lord Peter a bit warily. At that time, Lord Marcus's elder brother had considered Noel a bad influence on his friend, laughable as that was considering Harry Thatcher's own propensity for debauchery.

  Lord Peter smiled cordially enough now, though his gaze was piercing. "Good to see you again, Paxton. Harry told me you were in Town. Something to do with thief-catching?"

  "Yes, I've been working with Bow Street these past few weeks, helping them to run the Saint of Seven Dials to ground. Damnably elusive fellow, I must say," he added with a perfectly straight face. He found it hard to concentrate with Miss Riverstone standing only a few feet away, beyond Lord Peter's shoulder.

  The change in her was both startling and disturbing: frilled, flounced and ringleted like every other lady present. Such fripperies seemed out of character. And her spectacles —how well could she see without them? Had she noticed him yet?

  "—connection to Lord Ellsdon?" Lord Peter wa
s saying, snapping Noel's attention back. He'd forgotten how perceptive the man was. "In fact, it occurs to me—"

  "Yes, you're right." Noel cut him off. Moving a step or two further from Miss Riverstone and Lady Marcus, he continued softly, "As you are no doubt about to surmise, the fact that my aging uncle has only daughters makes me his heir presumptive —something I've been careful not to publicize."

  Lord Peter's brows rose, while Lord Marcus and Harry Thatcher stared at him in evident surprise. "Indeed? The better to move unnoticed among the criminal class, I presume?"

  As he had in Vienna, Noel marveled that someone of such dandified appearance as Lord Peter could possess such rapier intellect. "Precisely. If anonymity can help me to track down the slippery Saint—" He broke off. Did Lord Peter know about his brother's involvement?

  If so, he gave no sign of it. "Of course. Society won't learn the truth from me—or from any of us. Right, Harry? Marcus?"

  The others nodded. "Can't say I blame you," Harry remarked. "Bloody nuisances, titles are, from all I've seen. Even courtesy ones." He grinned at Lord Marcus. "Make you do idiot things like getting married."

  "The title had nothing—" Marcus began, then broke off with a shake of his head, perceiving that Harry was bamming him. "I'd say Peter had better watch out, then."

  Lord Peter shrugged. "I'm willing enough, should the proper lady come along. Now Harry, here—if ever a man could benefit by matrimony—"

  Harry Thatcher snorted and made an extremely rude reply, but Noel's attention had wandered back to Miss Riverstone, who now seemed to have attracted several male admirers. Damn it.

  "If you'll excuse me?" he murmured to the arguing trio and moved away without waiting for a reply. Innocent as she was, someone should definitely warn Miss Riverstone away from such questionable personages as Mr. Galloway, a known fortune hunter, and Lord Fernworth, a complete fribble —both of whom appeared to be ogling her in a most improper manner.

  "Well met, Miss Riverstone," he greeted her with forced heartiness, making the whole group around her swing to face him. "Dare I hope to engage you in another chess match later?"

  Galloway's brows rose and he regarded Miss Riverstone curiously, while Fernworth actually took a step away from her. Noel took advantage of the opportunity to move closer.

  "This scarcely seems the setting, Mr. Paxton," she replied with a look he couldn't quite decipher. Perhaps it was merely nearsightedness.

  Rowena had been achingly aware of Mr. Paxton's slow approach, but now he had reached her, she felt more irritated than pleased. Beyond that first surprised glance, he showed no indication that he even noticed the dramatic change in her appearance —not that she wanted his flattery, of course. Still . . .

  "So you play chess, Miss Riverstone?" asked Mr. Galloway. "We must have a match as well, sometime. I'm quite fond of the game."

  She regarded the too-charming redheaded man with some amusement. When he had called on Pearl yesterday, he'd completely ignored her, but now he was overflowing with compliments. Five minutes' conversation with him had only reinforced her low opinion of gentlemen's perceptiveness —though he did seem more intelligent than Lord Fernworth.

  "Certainly, sir, should the opportunity arise."

  Mr. Paxton had the effrontery to chuckle. "I should like to watch that match, I think. Shall I ask Lady Hardwyck to provide a board and a suitable corner somewhere?"

  "Now?" Rowena asked in surprise. Not that she wasn't sorely tempted to retreat from this alien milieu to a more familiar one—

  "Don't be absurd, Paxton," Lord Fernworth exclaimed. "Chess at a ball? You may be the biggest stick-in-the-mud in London, but there's no need to drag Miss Riverstone into your dull pursuits when so many more amusing ones offer."

  Lady Marcus nodded. "I fear he's right, Mr. Paxton. This is Miss Riverstone's first Society function, after all. It would be a shame for her to miss any of it."

  Rowena stifled a sigh. They were right, of course. And much as she enjoyed chess, she had to admit the experience of being admired by handsome gentlemen was a rather enjoyable novelty.

  "Indeed, Lady Hardwyck gave me strict orders to meet as many people as possible tonight," she said. "As kind as she has been, I don't wish to disobey her in that."

  "I was jesting, of course," Mr. Paxton said with a smile she thought looked rather forced. "I believe Lady Hardwyck said something about a card party tomorrow. That will be a far more suitable venue."

  Was the man so determined to prove her win two nights since had been an anomaly? It was unlikely he simply wished to spend time with her, oblivious as he seemed to her appearance tonight. More nettled than she cared to admit by his indifference, she turned to Mr. Galloway with a smile.

  "Will you be attending tomorrow as well, sir?"

  He bowed gallantly. "I wouldn't miss another evening in your company for the world, Miss Riverstone."

  Lord Fernworth snorted. "Won't miss a chance at cards, he means. If you can lure him away from vingt-un I'll be amazed."

  "Prepare to be amazed, then," Mr. Galloway retorted, with a wink at Rowena. Flustered, she made no response.

  "I'll stick to cards myself," Lord Fernworth said, missing the byplay. "Never been much for chess."

  A glance at Mr. Paxton showed him watching her rather knowingly. "I'm sure Miss Riverstone will oblige you both with a hand or two of whist."

  That was the card game Rowena found to rely most on skill —and therefore the one at which she most excelled. Mr. Paxton must dislike these two gentlemen intensely to be so eager to see her best them at something.

  "Or perhaps I'll try my hand at vingt-un," she said with a warning glance at Mr. Paxton. She would not be a tool for any male posturing.

  Vingt-un relied far more on luck than did whist, but Pearl had warned her that most gentlemen were put off by a lady who exceeded their own skills. If she wished to make her mark in Society, she must strive to suppress her competitive tendencies —at least until she was established.

  "Dare I hope you still have a dance or two free?" Mr. Paxton asked then, obediently dropping the topic of cards.

  The question revived all of Rowena's earlier nervousness. "Mr. Galloway has asked for the first set, but I am free after that."

  "The second set, then? And perhaps a waltz?" Those penetrating hazel eyes soothed her with unspoken reassurance.

  She relaxed marginally, though her senses tingled with his nearness. "Very well, sir." She didn't dare waltz with anyone else, in fact, as unschooled as she yet was at the new dance. Mr. Paxton she could trust to overlook her inevitable errors.

  "Third set to me, then?" Lord Fernworth asked.

  As Rowena assented, Lord Marcus approached to introduce his brother and Mr. Thatcher, each of whom also claimed a dance. More people joined their circle, and soon Rowena was bespoken for most of the evening.

  Amazement warred with both fear and delight. Pearl had been quite correct, it seemed. She only hoped she could get through the evening without committing any monumental gaffes.

  While guests continued to stream in to Pearl's "select" gathering, the orchestra started tuning its instruments.

  "The dancing will begin in a few minutes," Mr. Paxton commented. "Would you care to visit the buffet tables beforehand?"

  Suppressing a small thrill at his attentiveness, Rowena agreed, gingerly placing a hand on the crooked arm he held out to her. He looked far more handsome in his formal attire than she'd expected, making her nervous in his presence despite the rapport they'd achieved previously.

  "See that man there, between the pillar and the potted palm?" He pointed. "That's the Duke of Wellington. I'll introduce you to him later."

  Rowena looked eagerly in the indicated direction, but saw only a blurred figure of a tall man on the opposite side of the ballroom. With an impatient exclamation, she opened her reticule to retrieve her spectacles, but then noticed Mr. Galloway on her other side, watching her.

  Guiltily, she dropped the reticule, mentally chi
ding herself for vanity. "Thank you," she said to Mr. Paxton. "I will look forward to that."

  He rather transparently smothered a grin, letting her know that he'd noticed her dilemma. "Up close, you'll understand how he acquired the affectionate nickname of Old Nosey among his men."

  "Up close?" Mr. Galloway laughed. "Why, you can see the fellow's proboscis from here."

  Rowena realized he must be the man she had noticed earlier, greeting Pearl. She looked his way again and nodded, ignoring Mr. Paxton's amusement at her plight. She had promised Pearl to do without her spectacles as much as possible. This was not vanity —she was merely keeping her word.

  "The Duke's abilities must surely make up for any deficiencies of appearance," she said. "By all accounts, he is a brilliant military strategist."

  Both gentlemen agreed, and fell to discussing one of his more famous campaigns. Rowena refrained from asking questions about the specifics, though she listened avidly.

  "I am reliably informed that the crab puffs are excellent," said Mr. Paxton, dropping the military topic as they reached the buffet tables. "Perhaps some orgeat to drink as well?"

  Rowena scanned the table, remembering not to squint, but before she could identify the crab puffs, Mr. Galloway had placed two upon a plate and handed them to her.

  "Thank you." Relief gave her words added warmth, which he appeared to misinterpret, judging by his wide smile and the sudden sparkle in his blue eyes.

  "Anything for a lovely lady," he said, and there was no denying the suggestiveness in his tone.

  Suddenly uncomfortable, Rowena took a bite of crab puff, coughing when she swallowed too quickly. Her eyes watered and she tried desperately to get her breath back, embarrassed again.

  "Your orgeat." Mr. Paxton was at her elbow, offering a glass, concern in his eyes.

  Rowena gulped gratefully, looking her thanks until she could speak. "I—I didn't realize the puffs would be so flaky," she finally said by way of explanation. "I've never tasted one before."

  "Indeed?" asked Mr. Galloway in evident surprise. "They are a staple at such dos here in Town. Do they not serve them at country balls?"