“Explain.”
“You…don’t come out too well in it. In fact, if I didn’t already know you or was familiar with those books you did write about western Africa and Egypt, I’m not all that certain I would be impressed to be meeting you for the first time.” Jack slid forward to the edge of his chair. “That’s why I was apologizing for reading the damned thing. It certainly makes clear why Langley survived while you didn’t.”
“Bloody wonderful.” Pacing seemed to be the only thing keeping him from destroying everything in the room, so he kept his hands clenched and resumed stalking to the window and back. “Your book club guests weren’t pointing at me and laughing.”
“They wouldn’t, would they? Not to your face. And according to Langley you were…reasonably capable, when led to it.”
“And he led, I presume?”
“Yes.”
Bennett cursed again. This was unacceptable. Three years of nearly losing his life on an almost daily basis, his plans to write the book that Langley had already written, his reputation—damnation, he should have remained in Africa. At least there he expected ambushes around every tree. “Where’s Langley staying?” he growled.
“With his parents, at Langley House.”
“Good night, then.” Bennett turned for the door.
“But he’s not there at the moment.”
He stopped again. “Damn it, Jack, I am not playing about. You may have been surprised to see me alive, but I had no idea I was dead. It was Langley’s doing. He stole from me, and now he’s apparently defrauded me, as well.” A grim smile curved his mouth. He did enjoy battle, at least. “I find that annoying. So where the hell is he?”
“In Dover, last I heard. He’s doing some sort of tour, readings and autographs.” His friend stood again. “So stay here tonight, and we’ll take a fresh look at things in the morning.”
“I don’t see how sunlight will improve anything.” Another thought occurred to him, and he cursed once more. “I need to see Sommerset. I doubt Langley’s done any favors in my relationship with the Africa Association.”
“The duke will be at the theater tonight. Some charitable event he’s hosting. That’s where my parents are, as well. See him in the morning.”
Bennett took a deep breath, then nodded. “I’ll need that book back myself. It seems I have some reading to do tonight.”
“Just don’t throw it through anything else.” Jack crossed in front of him and opened the library door. “Come along. I’ll find you somewhere to rest your head. Unless you’d prefer to sleep out in the garden.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“And you said nothing good would come of me joining a reading club,” Phillipa noted, lathering her toast with butter.
“I’m the one John Clancy has been courting for five years, so you should thank me that he included you in his silly club.” Olivia tapped her boiled egg and then began peeling off the shell.
“You should thank John for his tolerance and patience.”
“What are you two quibbling about now?” Henry Eddison, Marquis of Leeds, strolled into the Eddison House breakfast room.
Olivia leaned up for a kiss on the cheek. “You will never ever guess, Papa!” she chirped. “It’s so exciting I can barely stand it!”
Their father came around the table to deliver another kiss to Phillipa before he made his way to the sideboard laden with breakfast foods. “Well, if it’s you who’s excited, Livi, I would say that trunk loads of Parisian hats have just washed ashore at Dover.”
“Oh, that would be exciting.” Olivia grinned. “But Flip is excited, as well.”
“Now that’s more complicated.”
“If it was Flip alone,” Livi continued, “it would be something dull and political or literary. But it’s both of us!”
With a wink at Phillipa, Lord Leeds took his seat and nodded for a cup of American coffee from Lane the footman. “Both of you, hm? I haven’t a clue.”
“Very well.” Olivia clasped her hands together. “Be glad you’re sitting down, Papa. Because…Captain Sir Bennett Wolfe is…alive.”
“What?” He choked on his coffee. Lane hurried over to offer him a second napkin, but he waved the servant away. “Where did you hear that?”
“We saw him. Last night. Flip dragged me to her bluestocking club, and he—”
“We don’t call Flip a bluestocking, Livi.”
“Apologies, Papa. You know I only say it around family.”
“I’m sitting right here,” Phillipa reminded them, scowling. It wasn’t so much being called a bluestocking—she’d been saying that about herself since she was twelve. It was more the being overlooked. By her own family, this time. And she was the one who’d forced them to begin reading Captain Wolfe’s books in the first place. “The point, Papa, is that he came calling on John Clancy. John introduced him to all of us. Apparently he recovered from the stab wound he suffered.”
“He did look quite fit.” Olivia sighed. “Quite fit, indeed.” She took a sip of tea. “It’s a shame we know now that he wasn’t quite as heroic as he made out in his other works.”
“Livi, that’s not very nice.”
“Oh, I’m certain he’s still quite capable compared to most people. And I’m going to invite him and John to my picnic tomorrow. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“I’m still trying to reconcile his being alive with what we all read in Captain Langley’s book,” their father returned. “That is remarkable.”
“I know,” Livi went on. “I’m thrilled, even though we all embroidered handkerchiefs with his initials in symbolic mourning.”
“I’m certain he’ll appreciate your efforts, regardless,” Phillipa put in dryly.
“Oh, my goodness.” Olivia abruptly fluttered to her feet. “I’ve just had a thought. I know something that Sonja doesn’t. I must go see her at once, before she hears the news from someone else!”
Sonja Depris did seem to have a preternatural ear for news and gossip. “Don’t forget to tell her that you’ve seen Kero, as well,” Phillipa called after her sister as Olivia pranced out of the room.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that girl dances in her sleep,” their father commented once Olivia was out of earshot.
“She does the waltz,” Phillipa replied with a smile.
“Of course.” He leaned forward a little. “So tell me, what do you make of this Bennett Wolfe business? It almost seems a shame for him to reappear after everyone’s had a chance to read Captain Langley’s book. He was a hero; Langley showed us his…mortal side.”
With a frown, Phillipa stabbed at her poached eggs. “I don’t know. He certainly didn’t seem overly cautious or indecisive in his books. I didn’t see any of that in him last night, either.”
“He did return five months after being declared dead.”
She shrugged. “He’s still seen and accomplished more than anyone else I’ve ever met.” And he still had possession of her copy of Across the Continent, a fact that, far from annoying her as she would have expected, had given her a rather pleasant shiver when she recalled it this morning.
“I shall not take that personally.” Her father finished his breakfast, then stood to kiss her on the forehead once more. “I’ve a meeting. If you would, tell your mother I’ll be home to take luncheon with her.”
“Certainly. And I think I’ll tell her about Bennett Wolfe, as well, since Livi is telling everyone else in Mayfair.”
“That sounds fair enough to me.”
As her father disappeared out the front door, Phillipa climbed the stairs and made her way through the maze of short hallways to the room at the far northwest corner of the house. Knocking softly on the half-open door, she entered without waiting for a response.
“Good morning,” she said, smiling as she noted that the frail figure in the large bed was not only awake, but sitting upright.
“Good morning, Flip,” Venora Eddison, Lady Leeds, returned, motioning her daughter closer. “Help Simpson
tow me over to my sitting chair, will you? If I have to lie in bed for one more day I will expire from boredom.”
“Of course.” Phillipa moved to her mother’s left shoulder while the lady’s maid, Simpson, supported her right side. “Papa says he’ll be home to take luncheon with you. And your color is much improved this morning, if I say so myself,” she commented as she and the maid steadied her mother and slowly walked her to the large, overstuffed chair by the window.
“I feel much improved this morning,” the marchioness agreed. “I don’t think I coughed over a half-dozen times last night, and the fever hasn’t returned.” Clearly out of breath, she sank into the chair.
“You still need to rest, Mama, or you’ll get sick all over again.”
“Lady Phillipa, will you sit with my lady while I fetch her some peppermint tea and a broth?” Simpson asked, stooping to tuck a blanket around the marchioness’s legs.
“Gladly.” Phillipa sat in the chair opposite her mother as the maid disappeared down the stairs. “I don’t suppose Livi has been in here to see you yet this morning.”
“No. I did hear her running down the hallway shrieking for her bonnet. Something is stirring, I assume? I do hope it’s not another scandal for Prinny.”
“If there is one, I haven’t heard of it yet.” Generally she wasn’t much for gossip, but this was different. Firstly, she’d actually seen the man, touched him, and spoken to him, so he wasn’t a figment of her imagination. And secondly, this wasn’t about who was escorting whom to a dance, or who’d managed the first engagement of the Season. For once it was actually something that interested her.
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, my dear.”
Phillipa drew a breath, that excitement and anticipation she’d felt on hearing the news herself last night running through her all over again. “Captain Sir Bennett Wolfe has returned to England. Alive.”
Her mother’s light-colored eyebrows lifted. “But Captain Langley’s book describes his death. And the foreword by Wolfe’s own uncle says he agreed to the publication because the captain would have wanted the discoveries they made known to the world.”
“Apparently—well, obviously now—the captain and the marquis were both wrong. I saw Bennett Wolfe myself.”
“And you’re certain it was he?”
“He’s John Clancy’s friend. John introduced him to our reading club.”
“Well. And they say the age of miracles is past.” Her mother reached out and squeezed Phillipa’s hand. “And you were able to meet a hero of yours. That is pleasant, indeed.”
Pleasant. Logic-minded as she liked to consider herself, “pleasant” did not describe the tingle in her chest when Captain Wolfe had looked at her. Yes, she knew he might not be everything she’d dreamed before she’d read Langley’s book, and yes, she had a question or two that she wanted him to answer, but he was still Bennett Wolfe.
“Tell me,” her mother said after a moment, startling her out of her reverie, “what does the famous Bennett Wolfe look like?”
“He…looks like an adventurer,” Phillipa replied.
“Handsome?”
Abruptly uncomfortable, Phillipa stood and went to the window. “Livi seems to think so. He has pretty eyes.”
“Well. Then I hope I shall have the opportunity to meet him, as well.”
“I don’t know if you will or not, Mama,” Olivia said, strolling into the bedchamber. “Sonja said that Lady Stevenson said that Lord Stevenson said that the last time Captain Wolfe was in London, he only stayed for a week, and then he went to his new estate. And that was with Prinny knighting him.”
“In his Golden Sun of the Serengeti he wrote that London seems very crowded,” Phillipa noted. She couldn’t imagine being away for so long and then not staying home long enough to unpack a single trunk. She wasn’t precisely a diamond of the ton—that was Olivia—but she did enjoy a great deal of what London had to offer. Theater, museums, reading clubs…She stifled a scowl. At times she positively did feel like a bluestocking, drat it all.
“Crowded or not, I hope he stays for a time. You should have seen him, Mama. He’s an absolute Adonis.” Livi turned to face her younger sister. “Whose version of him do you believe, Flip? His, or Captain Langley’s?”
His. “You care about his character, Livi?” she asked aloud, lifting an eyebrow. “Before you’ve learned about his yearly income?”
“Ha. He earned over five thousand last year, for your information. Both from the stipend Prinny granted him and from his book sales. And I don’t want anyone making fun if I dance with him.”
The smile Olivia flashed could have lit up an entire ballroom. And for the first time Phillipa could remember, she wished her sister wasn’t quite so pretty, quite so vivacious, and quite so skilled at the art of idle conversation. It wasn’t that she was jealous; heavens, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if everyone clamored for her company. Rather, if Captain Wolfe meant to stay in London for only a short time, she wanted more of an exchange than a passing request to borrow a book.
This man of the Renaissance, after all, had learned things in person that she had learned only from books. Some of them, from his books. And so she didn’t want him spending all his time dancing with the belles of the ball. She wanted him to talk. To her. And she had an excuse to approach him. He did still have her book, after all.
A thrill ran through her. And only to herself would she acknowledge that perhaps it wasn’t completely about the opportunity to talk to a great explorer. Perhaps a little of it was because Olivia wanted to talk to him, too, had even tried to talk to him last night, and instead he had conversed, albeit briefly, with her.
“Excuse me,” she said, as soon as Simpson returned with her mother’s tea.
She needed to go read through Golden Sun of the Serengeti and Walking with Pharaohs again. After all, the next time she saw him she was not going to waste the opportunity with girlish babble. She meant to have something to say.
Chapter Three
I always approach a village’s chief first. It’s both custom and practical; everyone to whom we speak requires a bribe, with each successive one being of higher rank than the last and thus requiring a greater treasure. Meeting the chief first means parting with a magnifying glass. If we met him last, I would be forced to hand over Langley. Or a Baker rifle, which I consider even more dear.
THE JOURNALS OF CAPTAIN BENNETT WOLFE
Bennett borrowed a horse from Jack and rode to Ainsley House, the Duke of Sommerset’s London residence.
After prowling Clancy House since before dawn, by midmorning he had run through a dozen different scenarios for his first meeting in over three years with the president of the Association for Promoting the Discovery of the Interior Parts of Africa. In addition he’d frightened Jack’s mother, Lady Emery, half to death when he and Kero appeared on the stairs behind her, and he’d convinced Jack that keeping him there kicking his heels wasn’t a wise idea under any circumstances.
Yes, he remembered that mornings began late during the Season. But years of rising with the sun, walking for miles, and eating what he or his porters could catch had all left him with a distinct dislike of both idleness and small places. And small talk, for that matter, though he’d never had much of a fondness for that.
At least Kero seemed to enjoy the ride across Mayfair, as she clung to his jacket lapels and uttered threat hoots at every dog and cat they passed. He left the big bay, Jupiter, with a stable boy and topped the steps of the granite portico.
One side of the massive double oak doors swung open. “Good morning,” the butler in fine black livery stated.
“Good morning. Bennett Wolfe to see His Grace.”
The servant didn’t bat an eye at either the name or the monkey; perhaps word of his non-death had begun to circulate. “Your calling card, sir?” the fellow asked, holding out his hand.
“Don’t have one.” As he said that, he could almost see the butler’s opinion of him drop several
rungs.
“No one may see the duke without a calling card,” the servant said in the same even voice. “I shall inform His Grace that you stopped by.”
Bennett was not about to be turned away because he lacked a bit of inked vellum. “Inform the duke that I’m here,” he said evenly. “I have something urgent to discuss with him.”
He kept his gaze on the servant. Evidently the fellow had enough wits to realize either his level of determination or the poor odds of keeping Ben nett out if he should attempt an entry, because after a moment he nodded. “I shall inform him. Wait here.”
Bennett’s annoyance rose another notch. While he understood caution, he did not like being kept from a goal. And this morning, that goal was seeing the Duke of Sommerset. “You have two minutes,” he said aloud. “After that, I’ll be looking for him, myself.”
The massive door closed again. He was armed; he didn’t know of any explorer worth a hedgehog pelt who wasn’t prepared at any time for an ambush of some sort. At the moment he preferred to save the weaponry for a better cause—like hunting down Langley—but one never knew. Reaching down, he loosened the knife stuck into his boot.
Kero tugged on his ear as he straightened, then leaned around to peer into his right eye. “Hungry again?” he asked, shaking out his muscles a little. No sense frightening to death one of his few allies, fur-covered or not.
She chittered, the sound altering to a contented hum as he handed her up a slice of apple. His handkerchiefs weren’t good for anything but holding fruit and monkey tidbits any longer, but at least she seemed to appreciate it.
The door eased open again. “This way, if you please.”
Still no Sir Bennett, or Captain Wolfe. No one in the house was convinced of his identity, then, but someone had his suspicions that he might be who he claimed, or the door would never have reopened. Grudging doubt was better than being tossed into the street on his arse, he supposed.
The Care and Taming of a Rogue Page 3