The Saint of Seven Dials: Collector's Edition

by Brenda Hiatt

  "Perhaps Miss Riverstone has had better things to do in the country than attend balls," Mr. Paxton suggested before she could answer.

  Though he was perfectly right, she shot him an annoyed glance. Did he want her to appear a bookish rustic? She was likely enough to do so without his help. Just then, the orchestra struck up the opening chords to a minuet.

  "This is our dance, is it not, Mr. Galloway?" she said sweetly, handing plate and empty glass to Mr. Paxton. She barely had time to see him raise one brow as she turned away.

  Mr. Galloway led her to the floor with alacrity and she took her place opposite him. He bowed, she curtsied, and the dance began. For the first few minutes Rowena concentrated on her steps but it was a dance she'd known since childhood, and soon she felt secure enough to pay attention to those around her.

  "I confess, I'm racking my brains to think what you might have done in the country that could be more enjoyable than a ball," Mr. Galloway said when the movement of the dance brought them together again.

  Rowena decided it was safest to blend truth with convention. "I have been in charge of my brother's household for the past few years," she said, "and I see to the needs of our tenants. Not more enjoyable, perhaps, but necessary."

  "But surely that leaves you some time for more pleasurable pursuits?" He waggled his sandy eyebrows. "Lusty country squires? Novels, perhaps?"

  "I do read, yes," she admitted. Luckily, the dance moved them apart before she could add that her reading choices rarely encompassed anything so light as novels. No, better not to elaborate on that, or on her lack of beaux in the country.

  When next they came together, her partner related tidbits of gossip about two or three of their fellow guests, identifying them with nods as he spoke. Rowena smiled and obediently looked in the indicated directions, though none were close enough to see clearly.

  Just as well. She did not care to have her opinions clouded by such trivialities.

  By the end of the dance, she had regretfully concluded that Mr. Galloway had no depth to his personality, flattering as his compliments might be. She hoped all of her partners would not prove the same.

  "I thank you for an enjoyable dance, Miss Riverstone," he said, bowing gallantly. "Dare I hope you will favor me with another later on?"

  She smiled politely, but noncommitally. "Perhaps. Thank you, Mr. Galloway."

  It occurred to her that at least one of her partners promised interesting conversation. Her spirits rose, recalling that she was promised to Mr. Paxton for the next set. She was easily able to pick him out of the crowd as he approached.

  When he was close enough for her to decipher the expression on his face, she was reminded that she had all but snubbed him at the buffet tables —even though he had been perfectly correct.

  "Are you still willing to partner me?" she asked as soon as Mr. Galloway moved out of earshot. "I was rather rude to you, I fear."

  To her relief, he grinned. "And I was baiting you, so I certainly deserved it. Unworthy of me, I know."

  The orchestra struck up a waltz then, and his grin turned to mock dismay. "Unfair!" he exclaimed. "I had hoped for this dance and a waltz, and now I find the two are one."

  Rowena felt a distinct surge of pleasure at this evidence that he wished to spend time in her company. He was, after all, the handsomest man she had seen here tonight, and could presumably claim dances with any lady present.

  "How if I promise you the next waltz as well, should there be another?" she asked shyly as he took her gloved hand in his. "You already know how little I excel at this dance, but I would prefer that not become common knowledge."

  She realized too late that her words might be construed as either flirtation or an insult, but he appeared to take them as neither, smiling warmly down at her. "Your secret is safe with me," he promised.

  Where Mr. Galloway's familiarity had made her uncomfortable, Mr. Paxton's caused tendrils of pleasure to curl through her midsection. Still, remembering what he'd said earlier, she felt obliged to ask, "And what of my other secrets?"

  "I do apologize," he said, only the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes. "It is simply that I find the real you more interesting than this pattern card of propriety you are attempting to emulate tonight. I hate seeing you hide your light under a bushel —even such an exceedingly attractive bushel."

  She felt herself blushing. Pearl had said something similar, but with far different meaning, regarding her usual, plain appearance as the disguise. No wonder she felt so comfortable with this man—if "comfortable" was the right word.

  The dance began and she followed his lead, belatedly grateful for her practice session yesterday. Without it, she'd have been forced to sit out any waltzes tonight. Earlier she had thought dancing would be torture, but now she was quite— pleased— to be able to participate in this particular dance.

  "You are doing splendidly," Mr. Paxton commented after giving her a few moments to settle into the movements of the waltz. "I must be a better teacher than I realized."

  Rowena smiled up at him, trying to ignore her pleasure at his words. "How like a man, to take the credit for a woman's achievement."

  His brows rose, acknowledging the hit, but then she missed her step and he quickly adjusted his own to compensate before anyone watching could have noticed her mistake.

  "Very well, I'll give you credit for that one," she said.

  He laughed aloud, drawing glances from those around them. Quickly, he lowered his voice, though his eyes still danced. "You are a true original, Miss Riverstone. And I mean that as a compliment of the highest order."

  Rowena refrained from pointing out that he'd become more liberal with his compliments since her appearance had improved. Certainly he was not so shallow as Mr. Galloway and his ilk, but she could not deny that his attitude toward her had changed subtly since seeing her in her new guise.

  "Is your brother, Sir Nelson, to attend tonight?" he asked, when she made no reply.

  She glanced at him in surprise. "Have you been making inquiries about my family, sir? Yes, Nelson is here. He was one of the first to arrive."

  "Indeed? I should rather like to meet him. If you are any indication, he's likely to be an interesting man to talk to."

  She felt flattered both by his compliment and this evidence of interest— wishing to meet her brother must indicate interest in her, mustn't it? Glancing up at him, however, she caught something in his expression that reminded her of the one he wore while playing chess.

  "I'll introduce you at first opportunity," she told him, wondering if she had imagined it. What sort of strategizing could he be doing in a ballroom, after all?

  "Thank you." He still looked somber, but before she could think how to ask about it, he smiled. "Care to attempt a twirl?"

  Sudden panic drove all thoughts of Mr. Paxton's preoccupation from her mind. "A twirl? Do you think that's wise?" she whispered, as though he had suggested she petition Parliament to restructure the entire government.

  "I believe you are up to the challenge," he responded with an encouraging wink that only flustered her further. "Take your hand from my shoulder, and turn to your right."

  He removed his own hand from her back, lifting their joined hands higher, and she awkwardly followed his direction, turning about completely until she faced him again. She stumbled at the end of her twirl, but he quickly placed his hand at her back again, and she clutched at his shoulder for balance.

  "There!" he said in apparent satisfaction, despite her clumsiness. "Now back to the steps: one, two, three, one, two, three." He counted until her steps were in time with his.

  Relieved, she managed a shaky laugh. "At least I did not fall on my face. I think I would prefer not to attempt any more twirls at present, however." Indeed, her heart was hammering so quickly that it was all she could do to keep to the rhythm of the dance.

  "Coward," he teased, just as Pearl had chided him yesterday. "I thought you more adventurous than that."

  She raised h
er chin, spurred by his jibe to tell him she would attempt any maneuver he suggested, but fortunately the waltz came to an end just then. Casting about for something to say that would prove she was not afraid to try new things, she saw her brother approaching.

  "Here comes Nelson," she said, abandoning her unladylike desire to have the last word. "Shall I introduce you?"

  Mr. Paxton followed her gaze, successfully diverted. "Please," he replied, belatedly releasing his hold on her.

  Rowena suppressed a small sigh as his hand left hers. For a short while, it had almost seemed—

  "Ro, may I have a word with you?" her brother said the moment he reached them. He appeared vaguely troubled, she thought.

  "Certainly. But first I'd like to introduce Mr. Paxton, a friend of Lord Hardwyck's. Mr. Paxton, my brother, Sir Nelson Riverstone."

  The gentlemen shook hands. "Pleased to meet you," Nelson said distractedly. Rowena wondered what could have him so agitated.

  "Likewise," Mr. Paxton responded. "I have heard your work at the Home Office spoken of highly."

  Now Nelson's attention was caught. "Have you, then? That's nice to hear, I must say. We'll talk later, shall we? Need to have a quick word with my sister first."

  "Certainly, certainly." Mr. Paxton bowed to them both and moved away.

  Rowena frowned uncertainly at her brother. "I am engaged for the next dance with Lord Fernworth."

  "No, really? Making quite a splash tonight, I see. Good for you. But you can make it up to him later. I've just realized you're my best hope for dealing with a rather sticky situation." To her surprise, he actually flushed. "Ro, I have a problem, and I need your help."

  CHAPTER 7

  "Problem?" Rowena asked her brother in surprise. "What sort of problem?"

  Before he could answer, Lord Fernworth appeared to remind her of their dance. Judging by his slurred speech and silly grin, he had clearly had too much to drink already. Rowena was just as glad to have an excuse to put him off.

  "Would you mind terribly if we had our dance another time?" she asked, trying not to let her distaste show. "My brother had a prior claim, which I had forgotten."

  Lord Fernworth waved one hand grandly. "Of course, of course! Not much of a dancer anyway."

  Shocked, Rowena wondered frantically if the whole room had noticed her inexperience. Surely, if the inebriated Lord Fernworth had been able to tell—

  "Prefer to spend my time at the card tables, you see," he continued. "Takes practice to be a good dancer, and I've not had enough. Was hoping to convince you to sit it out, actually."

  "I've had little practice myself, Lord Fernworth," she confessed in her relief. "I'll be happy to sit out a dance with you later."

  "Certainly, certainly!" His voice was too loud, his gestures too broad, but at least he was affable about it. With a final wave, he wandered away.

  At once, Rowena turned back to Sir Nelson. "Now, you were going to tell me about this problem you have?"

  "Let's get out of the crowd first," he suggested, indicating a pair of chairs in a corner, well away from both the dance floor and those milling about the edges.

  Growing increasingly curious, Rowena accompanied him, waiting until they were seated to say, "Well?"

  He ran a finger between his neck and cravat before answering. "It's, ah, rather embarrassing, actually. A problem of a, er, financial nature. Now that you've access to your inheritance, it occurs to me that you may be able to help. You see, I, ah . . ." He trailed off, clearly debating how much to tell her.

  Striving to hide her astonishment that Nelson was actually asking for her help, Rowena touched his hand. "Come, you know you can trust me. Is it gaming debts?" Nelson had always had a weakness for cards.

  He nodded, dropping his gaze from her direct one. "Aye, you've hit it. I'm in pretty deep —too deep, in fact."

  Rowena felt her first real flicker of alarm. "What do you mean? Is the estate at risk?"

  "No, of course not," Nelson said quickly, looking up. "It's entailed. But I never should have . . ." Again he hesitated.

  "Have what? What have you done, Nelson?"

  "I've . . . I've pawned some of Mother's jewelry, for a start," he said.

  She stared, anger beginning to stir. "Do you mean you brought it to Town with you?" That jewelry was among the few things they had to remember their mother by. "Which pieces?" she asked then. "Not the—"

  He nodded miserably. "The diamond and emerald set—necklace, earrings and brooch."

  Rowena jumped to her feet. "We must redeem them at once, then. Where is the pawnshop?"

  Nelson pulled her back down beside him. "Shh! Don't make a scene, Ro. And it's no use— they'll have been sold by now."

  "Sold? How long ago did you pawn them?"

  "Back in June."

  She stared at him in dismay. "And you've only become concerned now? Why? Because I'm in Town?"

  He shrugged. "It's not the first time— that is . . ."

  "You've done this before?" She'd suspected once or twice over the past year that Nelson was engaging in high play, but never had she suspected he had actually run into debt.

  "Only things of my own, one or two smaller bits of jewelry Father left me, when I was badly dipped," he said, as though that excused his actions.

  "But the diamonds weren't your own."

  Nelson didn't meet her eyes. "Yes I know. They were yours. But I thought they would bring enough to finally satisfy him, and it didn't seem likely you would ever wear them."

  She ignored the subtle insult. "But you still owe money, even after selling the diamonds?"

  "He offered me another game, to wipe out my debts if I won. But I didn't. And now . . . now he's threatening to bruit it about that I'm in dun territory if—"

  "And who is 'he?'" she interrupted. "Who is this man who cheats men at cards, then extorts them?"

  Nelson glanced about them in alarm, then shook his head. "Never said he cheated. I wouldn't dare, even if I believed it, which I don't. He'd likely kill me for it. A crack shot, everyone says. And very highly regarded among the intellectual set. Moves in higher circles than I do, anyway."

  "Nelson!" exclaimed Rowena in exasperation. "Who is he?"

  "Mr. Lester Richards."

  "Lester Richards?" she repeated, stunned. "Mr. Lester Richards the Spencean reformer?"

  Her brother shrugged. "I don't follow such things, but yes, I'm sure it's the same man. He attends salons at Holland House, that sort of thing."

  "But—I don't understand," she said lamely, seeing no point in telling Nelson that she positively idolized Mr. Richards. She had done so for nearly a year, ever since reading a persuasive essay he'd written promoting some of the very causes she herself espoused. How could he possibly be victimizing her brother?

  "Nor do I, precisely," Nelson admitted. "He seems a likeable chap, if rather intense. Always asking questions about my work at Whitehall, that sort of thing."

  Rowena was thinking hard. Mr. Richards, champion of the common man, must need money for his cause —in which case she couldn't really blame him. "If you can't afford to pay, you must tell him so."

  "Now why didn't I think of that?" asked Nelson sarcastically. "And then Mr. Richards can simply make certain no one will accept my vouchers again."

  "Perhaps that would be for the best," Rowena told him bluntly. "In fact, I'm certain Mr. Richards would do so for your own good." That fit more with her idea of her hero.

  Nelson seemed unmoved by such a charitable motive for his own ruin. "You don't know, Ro. You've no idea what it would be like: unwelcome at any of the clubs, merchants unwilling to extend credit —I'd be humiliated. I have a reputation to maintain, you know. Not to mention my position at the Home Office."

  After a few more moments of thought, a bold solution presented itself. "Suppose I speak with Mr. Richards? I'm certain he will be perfectly reasonable, once he knows how you are placed." It would be the perfect excuse to finally meet her idol.

  Though he looked
skeptical, Nelson nodded. "I'm willing for you to try, anyway. Tell him I'll pay him the rest of what I owe him when I get the next quarter's rents."

  "And we must look into getting Mother's jewelry back, as well. Find out what it will cost, if the pieces are still at the pawnshop, and I will give you the money." Rowena now regretted spending so much on clothing for herself.

  Instantly brightening, he nodded. "I'll check, and let you know. You're the best of sisters, Ro! I should have known you'd come through." He leaned down to kiss her cheek. She accepted the caress guiltily, knowing she had another motive.

  "And you must not gamble any more, Nelson," she added. "Promise me."

  "Of course, of course." He flipped open a snuffbox and took a pinch. "I've learned my lesson."

  She rose. "I should hope so. Now, I must find Lord Peter Northrup —I promised him the next dance." She couldn't help enjoying the surprise on her brother's face at this evidence of her popularity. "If you think of anything else I should know, you can send word to me here at Hardwyck Hall."

  Nelson cheerfully waved her on her way. Too cheerfully, she feared, but she considered her promise to meet with Mr. Richards with growing enthusiasm. She'd dreamed of that meeting since first deciding to come to London. And surely, he was a man worth knowing— intelligent, committed to a worthy cause, and with the connections to enforce changes.

  For a moment, the memory of Mr. Paxton's face distracted her. But handsome and intelligent though he might be, he did not seem to share her ideals for reform. Quite the opposite, in fact. How might he react to her future friendship with Mr. Richards?

  * * *

  Noel watched from the edge of the floor as Miss Riverstone made her apologies to Lord Fernworth, then accompanied her brother, who seemed agitated about something. But what?

  Surely Riverstone couldn't suspect that Noel was on to him. No, most likely it was some personal matter, completely unrelated to his mission. Still, he couldn't afford to let his best lead escape. He moved along the edge of the dance floor so that he could observe them from a distance.