by Regina Scott
“You’re too young, you know,” her aunt said, as if determined to burst any bubble of hope. “You cannot possibly live alone at seventeen, and very likely not even after you reach your majority at twenty-one.”
This time Emily’s sigh was shorter and more forceful. “So you will have it there is no other course but marriage.”
Lady Minerva smiled, a pointed, crooked, determined smile. “Not at all, my dear. I’m saying that if you wish your quaint country cottage, you need someone to chaperon you. Promise me a home with you, permanently, and I will do all I can to convince your father this match with Lord Robert is ill conceived.”
Emily stared at her. “You fraud! You make yourself out to be simple, but you know exactly what you’re about.”
Her smile softened. “Indeed I do, my dear. I like to think I am a survivor. And I can help you survive, if you will allow it.”
Living with Lady Minerva, for the rest of her life? The idea was not as foreign as it would have been even a quarter hour before. When she considered the matter, her aunt’s history and her own were not so different—called here and there, never quite welcome, always the outsider. She put out her hand. “We are agreed. You have a home with me so long as I have one to command.”
Her aunt seized her hand, wrung it like a lifeline. “And you have an ally in me. Now we must convince your father to allow you to cry off.”
“Easier said than done,” Emily assured her. “I want to prove to him his faith in Lord Robert is misplaced. But first I must catch Lord Robert in some indiscretion.”
Her aunt hitched her shawl closer. “That shouldn’t be so difficult. The boy has been a wild one since his youth.”
“So I have heard. But he has apparently showed signs of reforming.”
Lady Minerva snorted. “Reformation is relative. He must have done something horrid or you would not be contacting Bow Street.”
Emily scowled at her. “Is there anything you don’t know?”
“Very little,” her aunt said cheerily. “I shall not interfere with your friends’ investigation of the fellow, but do keep me apprised of your progress. I’ll be happy to put my powers of observation to work on your behalf.”
Emily had sufficient reason to feel confident in her own powers of observation. After all, hadn’t she been the one to first suspect that Priscilla’s aunt might be homicidal? Surely, if she spent some time with Lord Robert, she’d be able to ferret out his secrets. Attempting to find him didn’t hold much promise. Perhaps she should encourage him to come to her.
“Thank you,” she told her aunt, “but I have some idea how I wish to continue this investigation. Young ladies on their Season generally see the sights of London, do they not?”
“Quite often,” Lady Minerva agreed. “The death masks at the Tower, the catacombs under Westminster, the skeletons at the Hunterian Museum, that sort of thing.”
Sometimes it was a little scary how much her aunt appreciated the same things she did. Could a fascination with battles and death run in the family? Unfortunately, she somehow doubted Lord Robert would be amused by any of those things.
“Is there something more popular,” Emily ventured, “perhaps with an artistic flair, to which I might request that he escort me?”
“The Parthenon Marbles?” Lady Minerva suggested. “They have been all the rage since Lord Elgin stole them.”
Emily had heard of the sculptures from the Parthenon that Lord Elgin had shipped from Greece. “The very thing,” she said, rising to go change for dinner. “I’ll send a note asking Lord Robert to show me the Marbles, tomorrow if possible. Then we shall see what we shall see.”
*
Late the next morning, Emily was trying to determine how blood would pool around a decapitated body when the footman announced she had visitors. Priscilla, Daphne, and Ariadne were eager to share information, but she only agreed to discuss the matter with them after they promised to pose for her battle scene. She would have preferred to use the footmen. Unfortunately, the last time she’d asked when she’d been at their country seat on holiday, two of the footmen had become so carried away that a Chinese vase had been damaged, and Warburton had asked her not to involve the staff again.
As it was, only Daphne could stand straight and valiant enough to do her any good as a model soldier. Ariadne made an excellent corpse. Priscilla insisted on playing a duchess watching from the edge of the battlefield. Emily pointed out that duchesses, or most dukes for that matter, seldom went to war, but Priscilla was adamant, so Emily let it go at that.
“So,” she said as she studied the angle of Daphne’s chin, “we know that Lord Robert Townsend has no money and likes the ladies all too well.”
“Definitely not what a hero is made of,” Ariadne said, raising her head into a patch of sunlight that turned her hair to gold. “Though it appears he has been voted in to White’s.”
So even the members of that elite gentlemen’s club could be fooled. “Corpses should remain flat, if you please,” Emily reminded her.
Ariadne puffed out a sigh but lay back on the carpet and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Being pockets to let isn’t enough to threaten an engagement,” Priscilla said. “A great many people find themselves with less money than they’d like. That doesn’t make them criminals.”
“But how is Lady Emily to know he isn’t up to something more nefarious?” Daphne asked.
“An excellent question,” Emily replied. “Please forgive me, Ariadne, but I deviated from your plan. I sent one of our footmen with a note asking if Lord Robert would come calling this afternoon. I thought perhaps I’d get him to take me to see the Parthenon Marbles.”
Ariadne smiled. “An excellent strategy. Draw him out.”
Emily stroked her brush across the oil on her palette. “I thought so. Unfortunately, he already answered me. He is too busy today to assist me but will take me to see the Marbles tomorrow. The footman reported that Lord Robert intends to spend the day shopping, and this evening he will attend the Marchioness of Skelcroft’s ball.”
“Well, I like that,” Priscilla said, eyes narrowing. “He’s only too happy to attend a ball when it isn’t ours!”
“That seems most unfair,” Daphne agreed.
“He must have some reason,” Ariadne insisted. “Could the marchioness be the married lady with whom he’d dallied?”
Emily’s hand jerked, smearing her stroke. She set the brush and palette down before she could do more damage. “I suppose I shall have to find a way to ask him, if ever I lay eyes on him!”
“If Lord Robert is shopping,” Priscilla said, “you can be certain where he’ll be at some point or other.”
Ariadne and Daphne nodded. “Bond Street,” they chorused.
And that was how they all arrived on Bond Street, in search of Lord Robert.
Lady Minerva hadn’t protested when Emily mentioned that she and her three friends would be visiting the most famous shopping district in London. She’d even ordered Warburton to bring around the carriage.
“Just be discreet,” she’d murmured to Emily as she bent closer to pat the shoulder of her Navy short jacket. “If you are caught, I shall disavow all knowledge.”
So much for having an ally.
Still, Emily could not help that her spirits rose as their coachman Mr. Phillips maneuvered the horses down Brooke Street and out into the crowds along New Bond Street. She would never have thought it possible, but it was rather a lark to be dashing about after a gentleman, trying to discover his secrets. What would she learn about Robert today?
Daphne must have had the same thought, for she was fairly bouncing against the cushions. “What do you think Lord Robert is doing right now?” she asked.
“Going to a cunning loan broker to borrow gambling money against Lady Emily’s dowry,” Ariadne predicted. “Or to whoever helps him dispose of the virgins he’s probably selling into slavery.”
“Consulting with his tailor, more likely,” Priscilla sa
id. “We need only find the shop.”
And that would not be easy, Emily saw. Fashionable shops hugged the street, their windows displaying all manner of wonders, from satins that caught the light in a rainbow of colors to cakes topped with sugared plums. Everywhere strolled ladies in feathered hats, gentlemen in shining boots. Maids with parasols and footmen laden with packages followed at a respectful distance, and children in tattered clothes leaped among them, offering to hold horses, begging for coins.
“There!” Daphne cried, and Emily jumped. Following the line of her friend’s finger, she saw a certain tall, russet-haired gentleman just coming out of Number 13.
“That’s Gentleman Jackson’s,” Ariadne said. “You know, the Boxing Emporium where gentlemen go to learn fisticuffs.”
Emily found it hard to imagine Lord Robert taking a punch to the jaw, but perhaps he was quick enough that he did more of the punching himself. He certainly didn’t seem any the worse for wear as he paused to tip his hat to a particularly pretty woman. Emily rapped on the panel overhead to get Mr. Phillips’s attention and directed him to let them out at the next corner. But the moment they set their feet to the pavement, Daphne seized Emily and Ariadne by an arm and dragged them into a recessed doorway to a linen draper’s.
“Priscilla,” she hissed, “quick, or he’ll see you!”
Priscilla slipped into the shadows with them. “Why are we hiding?” she asked as a group of young Hussars strolled by, the gold braid of their uniforms winking in the light. “The entire point of shopping on Bond Street is to see and be seen.”
“The point in shopping today is to learn more about Lord Robert,” Emily said. “Which will be a bit difficult in here.”
“I cannot imagine why this works in books,” Ariadne muttered, shifting to keep her elbow out of Emily’s stomach. “It’s quite uncomfortable.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want anyone to notice us following him,” Daphne said. She paused to peer out. “Oh, it’s all right. He’s moved on.”
They spilled back onto the pavement in time to see Lord Robert strolling south toward Conduit Street. Emily tugged down the edges of her jacket and smoothed the wrinkles from her blue gown. “I appreciate your zeal, Daphne, but as I do wish to speak to him, I rather have to let him see me.”
Daphne colored. “Sorry.” She absently adjusted her green wool pelisse as well, stroking over the jade braiding of the long, fitted coat as if her hands needed something to do. Priscilla and Ariadne were also tweaking their pale muslin skirts or straightening a bit of lace across their shoulders. Anyone would think they’d come to speak to Lord Robert too!
With a shake of her head, Emily started after him. The scent of lavender was strong from the perfumery next door, but she fancied she smelled the tang of cloves over it. Then she spotted him just ahead. He had stopped at a bow window and stood looking at the merchandise displayed therein. His head was cocked, as if whatever he contemplated required his complete concentration.
“That’s Stedman and Vardon,” Priscilla whispered over the rumble of passing carriages as the four of them ventured closer. “Jewelers to the Aristocracy.”
Ariadne sighed. “What if he’s purchasing an engagement present for you, Emily?”
“He’s wasting his time,” Emily informed her. “At any formal function, I have to wear the Emerson emeralds, at least until my sister Helena produces an heir, who will then have to give them to his wife.”
“Still,” Daphne pressed, “it is rather romantic.”
Emily had no time to comment, for Lord Robert seemed to have made up his mind. With a nod, he set off away from them. They hurried to keep up. Other shoppers exited in front of them, and they detoured around the knot. A street urchin darted past, shouting, and they lifted their skirts out of the way. The Hussars caught sight of Priscilla and converged, and that took a few moments to straighten out, leaving Priscilla with four calling cards and Daphne, to her amazement, with three.
By the time they caught sight of Lord Robert again, he was turning the corner onto Vigo Lane.
“Where is he going?” Ariadne panted, one hand on her straw bonnet, which was already a bit squashed from their time in the doorway and their confrontation with the soldiers.
“I don’t know,” Priscilla said just as breathlessly. “But if he continues at this pace, I shall expire on the pavement!”
“I have some lavender-sulfuric smelling salts,” Daphne offered. She alone had no trouble keeping up, striding along with her muslin skirts flapping. “Lord Snedley highly recommends them after an exertion of a quarter mile or more.”
Lord Snedley must have the constitution of a butterfly. But having a weak constitution certainly wasn’t Lord Robert’s problem. Emily even tried calling to him at one point, but she must have been too out of breath, for he didn’t so much as turn.
In fact, he kept walking and walking, and Emily couldn’t help but notice that they were straying ever farther from fashionable Bond Street. Soon the shops were narrower and darker, with no windows facing the avenue and far fewer shoppers. Women lounged in doorways, eyeing the girls with narrowed eyes. Men in rough coats and heavy boots stalked past or worse, stopped and stared.
One slouched up in front of them and held out a grimy hand.
“Penny for an old man?” the toothless fellow begged, face even grimier.
Daphne began to open her reticule, but Priscilla snatched her hand and pulled her on.
“Do not show your money here,” she whispered. “Emily, I think we should go back.”
Ariadne was gazing about wide-eyed. “No, this research is priceless.”
“So is your virtue,” Priscilla countered. “And I for one do not intend to lose it to a ruffian.”
Up ahead, Lord Robert had just entered a shop. Emily could see the sign hanging above the door.
“Messiers and Sons,” Ariadne read as they paused to catch their breaths. “And see the diamond below? It’s another jeweler.”
“Odd place for a jeweler,” Emily mused.
“It’s a consignment shop,” Priscilla said quietly. “People sell their jewels here when they have nothing left to sell or change them to paste copies so no one will know they’re destitute. Father’s mentioned it.”
So Emily had been right about the money. Perhaps Lord Robert’s father had gambled away the funds. She couldn’t see how Robert could have done so; surely his brother would have put a stop to it.
“We should go,” she said, taking a step back. “Lord Robert won’t want us to know his family’s in such dire straits.”
“Oh, the poor thing,” Ariadne murmured. “To be blighted in his expectations. It’s a classic plot.”
And it explained his need to marry. Emily’s dowry and estate would come in very handy. But her father must have been aware of the Townsend’s financial situation from the marriage settlements, so once again, she had nothing to use to convince him to break the engagement. Disappointment bit sharply. Could nothing go right?
Shoulders slumping, she turned with the others to go back the way they had come. Then she jerked to a stop.
Blocking their way was the toothless fellow who had begged for a penny earlier. His face was red and blotchy, his nose crossed with bulging veins. His shoulders were bunched under his tattered coat, and his fists were as big as hams.
“Spare a penny or two, love?” The request was more like a demand, and he shoved out his hand again as if expecting obedience.
Daphne bumped into Ariadne in her haste to move away, and Priscilla clutched her reticule closer. That was not the right approach, Emily was certain. Bullies you had to face down.
“We have nothing for you,” she said, forcing herself not to tremble. “Step aside and let us pass.”
“Bossy little thing, ain’t you?” he grumbled, straightening and narrowing his eyes. “If you’re such a fine lady, where’s your escort then? Who’s to stop me from taking what I want, from any of you lot?”
“I am,” a voice sa
id behind him, and Emily caught her breath.
The toothless behemoth swiveled, and Emily saw James Cropper standing behind him, feet planted and arms at the ready. He gave her his two-fingered salute before turning his frown on the fellow.
“Do as the lady says and step aside.”
The creature easily had a stone’s weight on Mr. Cropper, and she shuddered to think how his handsome face would look after it met those grimy fists.
The Bow Street Runner meant to protect her, but perhaps he was the one who needed protection the most.
Chapter Seven
Jamie eyed the mountain in front of him. The bulging veined nose said the fellow drank to excess, and he thought he detected the least tremor in those once-mighty fists. He’d seen the man’s like too many times growing up in Ratcliffe. In fact, beggars, thieves, and no-accounts were no strangers to him. He met the bully’s gaze straight on, one hand going to the truncheon at his waist. So long as no more of the fellow’s friends showed up, Jamie could hold his own.
The beggar seemed to realize as much, or perhaps he caught the flash of red from Jamie’s waistcoat. Either way, he ducked his grizzled head and shuffled his feet. “Didn’t mean no ‘arm, sir. ‘Ow was I to know the lady was with you?”
“I’ll grant you you’ll not meet her likes in the stews very often,” Jamie said, stepping around him and offering Lady Emily his arm. “May I have the honor of escorting you home?”
He avoided her title and name. It wasn’t wise to advertise either. In such a place, a duke’s daughter would fetch a high ransom.
But she didn’t seem convinced she was any safer with him. As Jamie kept one eye on the beggar, Lady Emily regarded his outstretched arm. He willed her to accept, considered what he’d do if she refused. Pride that she’d followed Lord Robert as easily as he had vied with concern for her safety.