by Martha Keyes
She couldn’t deny he looked much more ton-ish than she did. They would certainly appear to be in better circumstances than they were, and that was best for business. They needed Mr. O to be content with their services, and Topher would inspire more confidence attired as he was.
Ruth thought of Joanna’s request for a doll and grimaced. She couldn’t give the girl a doll, but she could ensure that they returned home with twenty pounds. Perhaps it was time for Ruth to take a closer glance at some of the men who lived nearby—the baker’s son always had a ready smile for her when she passed the bakery. It was not the type of match she had envisioned for herself, but it might serve well enough. At least Ruth would no longer be a drain on her family’s precious resources.
She sighed.
“Where were you last night?” Ruth asked as they passed the last houses on Marsbrooke’s High Street.
Topher lifted his chin, but she didn’t miss the infinitesimal pull at the corner of his mouth—the smallest of smiles at whatever memory her question had conjured. She knew her twin better than he realized.
“Out having clandestine meetings with women?” she teased.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“I don’t know if I would.” She settled into the squabs.
“I’m not a dashed loose screw, Ruth.” He shifted with annoyance in his seat. “I just don’t want your love advice.”
She put her hands up to convey her innocence. “I wouldn’t presume, though how you think to convince others to take my advice when my own brother disdains it, I don’t know.”
He sent her a suspicious sidelong glance. “It’s better this way. Don’t ask, don’t tell. My business is my own. Your business is your own.”
“Fine,” she said. He had never forgotten the time Ruth had offered a critique of his approach with women.
The journey to London only required two stages, providing limited time for Ruth and Topher to discuss some important details of their escapade.
“I have been giving it some thought,” Ruth said, “and I think you should give a different name. To protect the identity of the Swan, of course, but even more so to protect Mama and the children.”
Topher considered this with a slight frown.
She clutched her hands tightly in her lap, recognizing in her brother the same hesitation she felt at the deceit. But they couldn’t afford for people to discover the identity of the Swan. She couldn’t imagine people would be as keen to take the Swan’s advice if they knew who was behind the column. They needed the money it brought in every week, and she didn’t want her younger siblings associated with it. “The last thing our family needs is more scandal and less money, and that is what we would get if it became known that I am the one behind the Swan. You can keep your given name, but perhaps you might go by Franks instead of Hawthorn. Being Mama’s maiden name, it isn’t so far from the truth, and I think that the closer we can keep to the truth, the easier it will be.”
Topher nodded, brow still wrinkled. “Very well, but it is only an hour meeting, Ruth.”
“I know…” She trailed off, and they fell into a somber silence.
The change of horses was made quickly, Ruth and Topher not even stepping down from the chaise for refreshments. They would need every last farthing to hire lodgings in Town, particularly since they would need two rooms instead of one.
Earning twenty pounds was turning out to be quite expensive.
Chapter Six
As Philip arrived home from an errand to his tailor, he frowned at the presence of his sister’s carriage being driven from the front of his house toward the stables. Alice delighted in stopping by unannounced. Philip only hoped she had brought the children with her and left her husband behind.
He handed his coat and hat to his butler upon entering, cocking an ear and smiling slightly at the sound of his nieces’ muffled giggling.
“Lady Tipton is in the drawing room, my lord,” the butler said. “Along with the Misses Tipton and their nurse.”
“Thank you, Draper. I suspected as much.” Philip glanced in the mirror and straightened his cravat. “And Sir Jon?”
The butler shook his head, a knowing glint in his eye. He was not overly fond of the man, either. “No, sir. And I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of asking that a small platter of meats and cheeses be prepared for the Tiptons. And a few biscuits for the girls.”
“Very good.”
The butler had a soft spot for the little girls, much like Philip did, and they had come to expect something sweet from him whenever they visited.
Philip strode toward the drawing room and paused before opening the door. The high-pitched voices of his nieces sailed through the small gap between the French doors. He put a hand on both doorknobs and, as quickly as he could, threw the doors open with an “Aha!”
Little shrieks of terror, accompanied by frantic scurrying to hide, morphed quickly into hand-muffled giggles of delight as Philip entered the room. He smiled at the view of two curly heads of hair disappearing behind the sofa. The edge of one dress, betraying the hiding spot, was snatched and concealed by a small, chubby hand.
“Good heavens, Philip,” Alice said with a hand to her chest. “Do you frighten all of your guests to death, or am I simply unlucky?”
Philip dipped to kiss his sister on the cheek then crouched and stepped softly around the side of the sofa.
“I cannot understand why—”
Philip silenced his sister with a finger to his lips and was met with an annoyed sigh. “I could have sworn,” he said loudly, “that there were two little girls here when I entered, but I see no sign of them anywhere.”
More muted giggles came from behind the sofa.
He tiptoed two more steps then swung around to the back, causing another eruption of shrill screams.
Their nurse, Mrs. Morris, smiled benevolently from her position near the windows. But, seeing her mistress’s expression, she stepped forward. “Now, girls, you know your mother can’t abide screaming.”
Alice’s eyes were closed, her fingers pressed to her temples. “Why you must needs encourage such behavior is beyond me, Philip.”
Philip scooped up Mary with one arm and Anne with the other, bending down so that they rested on his knees. “Kisses!” he demanded. “Or I shall tickle you until your guts come out!” They hurriedly wrapped their arms around his neck and pressed their soft little mouths to his cheeks before scrambling out of his arms, away from the threatened tickling.
“Good gracious, Philip,” Alice said. “I am trying to teach the girls how to be proper ladies, and here you insist upon making them screech like monkeys and speaking unseemly words like”—she glanced at the girls, who were being shepherded by Mrs. Morris, and put up a hand to shield her mouth—“guts.”
Philip chuckled, pouring himself a glass of brandy from the liquor cabinet. “My apologies, Alice, but I have a role to fill, you know.”
“What? Corrupting influence?”
“No.” He sat down on the arm of the chair across from her and took a swallow of his drink. “The fun uncle. Every child needs one.” Mary and Anne especially needed it. They shouldn’t grow up thinking that every man was like their insufferably rigid father. Marrying Sir Jon Tipton may have been strategic for the Trents, but it had not improved Alice. With each passing year, she became more and more like her husband, making Philip wish that his father had not forbade her from marrying the man she had loved, be he ever so plain a mister. Did Alice ever regret complying with their father’s demands?
She smoothed her skirts. “I thought you were going to say the bachelor uncle, and between you and Roger, I think we have that well covered.”
Philip declined to respond to this, merely setting his glass down on the short table in front of him and reaching for a piece of cheese from the platter. Their brother Roger was far too young to be thinking of marriage yet, but he knew that to say so would invite a retort from Alice about Philip not being too young.
Seeming to accept that he didn’t intend to oblige her by responding, Alice proceeded. “Do you ever intend to marry?”
“Of course,” Philip said, sending a mischievous sidelong glance at the girls, who were now seated primly on the settee ten feet away, hands folded in their laps. They both tried to stifle smiles.
“But when? And to whom? I can tell you that I am quite happy to offer a few suggestions of women to be considered, Philip, for I am a very good judge of character, you know.”
Having eaten two large holes from his piece of cheese, Philip held it up to his eyes, eliciting delighted but muffled laughs from Mary and Anne.
“This is serious, Philip,” Alice said. “You must choose your wife wisely, for not every woman is fit for the role. I was thinking the other day that Victoria Munroe might suit very well.”
Philip held up his hand. “Thank you, Alice. But I do not require your assistance in this matter. I have things well in hand.” He would, at least.
Alice raised her brows, the beginnings of a hopeful smile on her lips. “You have already chosen someone, then? Who is it? I do not mean to doubt you, Philip, but you haven’t Father or Mother to guide you now, and I think I might be a great help if—”
“Miss Devenish,” Philip said, hoping it would silence her.
Alice blinked, staring at him for a moment before speaking. “Miss Devenish…well, yes. I say, Philip, that is a very good choice, and one I hadn’t even considered somehow—perhaps because she is still in mourning. Though, why any woman should mourn her brother’s death for an entire year and more, I cannot understand.”
Philip’s mouth drew into a half-smile, and he crossed his feet at the ankles. “How long precisely should I expect you to mourn my death? A week?”
She attempted to suppress a smile. “Oh, no. I should give you two or three, I imagine, providing you weren’t in my black books.”
“You flatter me, Alice.”
She sent him an arch look. “So, when are we to anticipate the news of your betrothal? Have you spoken to her father?”
Philip was conscious of a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment at his sister’s assumption. “I can hardly court her properly when she is still in mourning, can I?”
Alice tipped her head from side to side. “Not in the strict sense of the word, perhaps. But much can be accomplished through your regular interactions, you know. You can certainly take action to ensure she isn’t snatched up by someone else when she finally does put off those dreadful half-mourning colors. Though, I must say, they complement her beauty nicely.”
“Unfortunately, you are not the only one to take notice of that. She has a dozen men lined up to pay their addresses to her.”
Alice tugged on her glove unconcernedly. “She would be a fool to choose anyone but you.”
Philip wished he could feel so confident on the subject, but he imagined his sister would think differently if she had seen him launching half-chewed lemon tart at Miss Devenish the day before.
He was quite ready to bid Alice farewell an hour later when she led Mrs. Morris and her daughters out onto the street where their carriage awaited. He would have gladly kept his nieces for the afternoon, but he wasn’t fool enough to ask such a thing of his sister. She was particular about whom she allowed to care for her children, and she clearly thought Philip’s influence undesirable.
So, he embraced his nieces in the entry hall of his townhouse, reveling in their sweet scent and wet kisses.
“Will you come visit us at our house soon, Uncle Phil?” Four-year-old Mary looked up at him with her wide, brown eyes.
“You must,” Anne said, sounding much older than six. “For Mama gave us a new tea set, and we should like to have you over one of these afternoons.”
Philip executed a flourishing bow to match Anne’s formal invitation. “I should be honored.”
“We shall be so pleased.” Anne performed a careful curtsy in return then hurried off to the carriage where her mother sat waiting.
Philip sighed and waved a hand as the door to the carriage shut. Would that all women were as easy to please as his nieces.
Chapter Seven
The business of arranging for rooms at The Three Crowns was taken care of by Topher, who managed to acquire them a pair with an adjoining door—a request Ruth had made. She wanted to attract as little attention as possible, and being obliged to step out of her room to communicate with Topher was likely to attract more notice than she cared to elicit. Being in London without a proper chaperone was already grating on Ruth’s sense of propriety. But these were desperate times, and, like love, propriety was a luxury.
They had been at the inn all of ten minutes when Topher knocked on the door between their rooms. She opened it to find him hat in hand, hair arranged in a decent imitation of the Windswept style.
Ruth blinked at him. “Where are you going?”
“Out.” He straightened his cravat with one hand.
She opened her mouth to respond, but he hurried to speak. “Now, don’t spoil my fun. You know how long I’ve been meaning to see London. Besides, the meeting isn’t for two days. Plenty of time.”
“But we need to go over the lesson to prepare you,” she said incredulously. “This is the entire purpose of our coming, Topher.”
“Stop fussing, Ruthie,” he said. “I shall be back before you know it, and I promise I shall work my hardest to ensure I am prepared. I may not be as smart as you, but surely I am not so slow that I require two full days of preparation for one single hour.”
She said nothing, having no other argument against his plans than a nebulous mislike of them.
He glanced at her hair and smiled mischievously. “You might even come with me, you know. You could blend in quite well now with that hair of yours.”
She made an attempt to kick him in the shins, but he jumped back in time to avoid her, laughing. “Heaven knows you brought enough clothing for the both of us,” she said.
“You could do with a bit of relaxing,” he said. “You’ve become so stiff, and we’re in London, for heaven’s sake.”
Ruth forced herself to relax. She was stiff. But the stresses of life had made her thus. “I need to compose something for you to study tomorrow. One of us should take this seriously, at least.” She was teasing him, but she felt the familiar hint of resentment at the freedom Topher had. He would no doubt be out till all hours of the morning then sleep late, spend an hour looking at what she had spent all afternoon drawing up, and waltz into Mr. O’s lodgings with not a care in the world. And, most infuriating of all, he would likely handle the meeting just fine, despite his lack of preparation.
“Suit yourself,” he said, stepping back into his room and setting his hat at a jaunty tilt atop his head. “How do I look?” He put his hands out to his sides with a charming smile. He was handsome, Ruth had to admit. He looked the part of the Swan.
“Ridiculous enough to attract far too much attention. We are trying to remain inconspicuous. Please remember that. And don’t forget that you are Mr. Franks.” She glanced at his new pair of glasses, sitting next to the wash basin. “Don’t you need your glasses?”
“They’re only for reading, silly. And I won’t be doing any reading where I’m going. Believe me.”
She bit back the desire to ask him why he had felt it necessary to spend precious money on glasses he barely needed, but she refrained. He looked so much like a boy again in his excitement to see London, and she couldn’t find it in her heart to smother it. “Where are you going?”
He smiled and shrugged. “Wherever the wind blows me. Watch over Ruth, Lucy,” he called into the other room, where the maid was still unpacking Ruth’s things.
The door shut behind Topher, and Ruth stared at it for a moment before turning away.
The next morning, as Philip was partaking of a hearty breakfast, Draper presented Philip with a letter from his steward.
Philip read it with a deepening frown then a raising of the brows. The
bulk of the letter was devoted to the subject of Philip’s housekeeper, Mrs. Hines, whose mother had apparently fallen ill and was now in need of constant care.
Mrs. Hines herself was nearing her retirement, though she adamantly maintained she wouldn’t retire for another five years. She was a stubborn woman—to which accusation she had always replied, “Stubborn as an ox of Oxley Court, my lord.” Philip had a special place in his heart for her.
He sighed as he folded up the letter. He would have to make the journey to Oxley Court to handle things—and soon. He wanted to ensure that there was no chance of Mrs. Hines being absent if her mother took a sudden turn for the worse, and he knew her well enough to know she would resist the steward’s efforts to make her see reason. Stubborn as an ox, indeed.
His meeting with the Swan, though, was set for two days from now. He would simply have to ask that the meeting be moved up. He could leave directly after, and his journey to Oxley Court would give him time to process what he learned from the Swan. Not procrastination. Just mulling things over.
He hardly knew what to expect of the Swan, but in his mind, he envisioned a Casanova-like figure, with an almost ethereal handsomeness. He wondered how many women the man had wooed—and what he would think of someone like Philip, who had been too busy managing the estate for even the lightest of flirtations. At least that was the excuse he gave himself.
And now he needed to win over one of the most desired women in London. The entire future rode upon his success.
Whatever the Swan looked like, Philip sincerely hoped he could help him.
Ruth woke to the familiar sounds of town bustle through her window. She blinked sleepily and pulled the covers over her head in her usual futile attempt to block out the noise. She missed the peaceful chirping of birds at Dunburn.
Topher would have no trouble snoring through the shouting of merchants and the clopping of hooves. She should be grateful she couldn’t hear his snoring, thin as their walls were. Topher’s “snorting” was something John complained about at least once a week.