Intercepting the man at the last moment, Michael pushed him against the back of the ticket booth. Laying his forearm across the thief’s chest, he pressed it up against the man’s neck.
“’Ere now, what you up to?” the man asked, sneering up at Michael.
He was a rather rough-looking individual close up, and Michael was all too close, smelling the gin coming off his skin. He was also younger than he seemed at first, as well as rather thin.
Michael felt a little sorry for him. Even his malnourished stature spoke of his poverty.
“You’ve taken my lady’s purse, and I want it back.”
“You’re bleedin’ mad, you are.” The thief started to struggle, but Michael had him firmly pinned.
“I saw you,” Michael lied. “Just give me her reticule and there’ll be no trouble.”
The young man sighed, as if giving in, and then when Michael barely relaxed his hold, the thief tried again to break free.
He nearly succeeded, but Michael hadn’t been in pub fights in the alleys of the east end, filled to his own brim with gin, without learning something—even when he’d lost a fight or two.
As the thief took a step away, Michael grabbed his arm, twisted it behind his back and once again, pushed him up against the ticket booth, this time face-first.
“You’ve got five seconds to tell me which pocket, and after that I decide whether to call a constable or bash your head against this hut until you crumple to the ground. Then I take the purse anyway.”
“All right. Left pocket, inside.”
Distasteful as it was, Michael fumbled around inside the man’s jacket until he located the interior pocket and the reticule. Drawing it out, he made sure it still had items inside. No doubt the man hadn’t wanted to stop and sift through it for coins until he was safely away from the zoo.
“You might try the stock exchange,” Michael said as he released the thief and backed out of hitting range. “Far better return than being a cutpurse.”
The man swore loudly before spitting at Michael’s feet. Then he ran away.
There but for the grace of God go I. Truthfully, not that much separated him from the thief except a better class of drink and the good fortune of birth. That, and Mr. Brunnel’s sound investment advice.
In a very few minutes, he was returning the reticule to a wide-eyed Ada Kathryn St. Ange.
“I’m stunned,” she admitted.
He gave a chivalric bow.
“Truly, is there no end to your heroic deeds?”
He began to smile, feeling satisfied, when he realized her tone held mockery.
“Aren’t you pleased to have it back?” He knew his tone held a note of irritation, but for God’s sake, the woman hardly seemed grateful.
“I am fond of this reticule, but only because it matches this gown.”
“But… but.” He stopped and took a breath. He refused to splutter indignantly while the nanny and little Harry looked on.
“What of its contents? It feels as if you’ve got a goodly amount of coin in there.”
She laughed. “Oh, no. I keep no coins in there. I have a pocket sewn into my skirt. Those are just a few things of Harry’s, a couple marbles, maybe a toy soldier or two, already sadly armless.” She started to tip the contents into her palm. “Oh, and a few of his favorite rocks.”
“His rocks!” He nearly smacked his own forehead. He could have been injured or beaten a man. Over a reticule of marbles and rocks.
Ada beamed down at her boy as if had been the one to rescue the reticule.
“Harry, tell Lord Alder thank you for saving your toys.”
The little boy turned his lovely eyes up to him and grinned. “Tank-oo.”
Michael knew he’d been made a fool of and she was laughing at him behind her placid expression. Nevertheless, to see Harry’s sweet expression, he would do it again.
“You’re welcome, Master St. Ange.” He saluted the boy.
His lovely mother cocked her head at him. Maybe he’d softened her heart a little after all.
*
Ada supposed she should be glad Vile wasn’t injured. It would be hard to exact revenge if he’d been pummeled by a pickpocket and left too hurt to woo her properly.
Moreover, he had behaved chivalrously, even if he’d only saved Harry’s toys. He hadn’t known it to be so.
What would he do next? Adopt a few of the city’s many orphans? Help those still suffering in Ireland? Thankfully the famine was nearly, miraculously, at an end, and Vile needn’t go down on his knees planting potatoes.
She strolled beside him toward the gate, silently admonishing herself for making light of any of the troubles of their modern world. Best to count her blessings and pray for the rest.
She stumbled upon a loose paving stone, and Michael grabbed her elbow.
Her heart squeezed tightly, and her own thoughts echoed in her head: Count her blessings and pray for the rest.
She glanced at Lord Michael Alder, who, realizing she was staring at him, regarded her in turn. When she said nothing, merely offering him a nod, he smiled and tucked her hand under his arm until they reached his carriage.
She had plenty to be thankful for. Suddenly, her vengeful plan seemed petty, and she was of half a mind to forego it entirely. Alder could drop them home, and she need never see him again, nor offer him any explanation.
“I have an invitation to proffer,” he said, startling her.
“Do you?” Another frivolous excuse to get her alone, no doubt.
“I think you will like it. My parents and my siblings live out of town but not too far. In West Kent. It’s a lovely ride there, and Gabriel has those dogs we discussed. I’m sure Harry would love to see a whole pack. We can take Nanny Finn, of course, and even Dash—”
He broke off when she stopped walking.
“Is this one of those times when I’ve thoroughly annoyed you beyond reason? Are you going to lock me out of my own carriage?”
Blast the man! She couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her face at his teasing words.
“You are asking all of us?” Like a family outing! If Alder only knew Harry would be meeting his paternal grandparents, and an aunt and uncle.
Was it possible any of them would see the resemblance? She doubted it. After all, they didn’t know Alder had a son, so their eyes wouldn’t see Harry as such.
She was ever so tempted. What manner of family had created this puzzling man beside her? And his controlling parents, who’d ruined his chance of happiness with Jenny Blackwood, what of them? Someday, she might want to tell her son more about that side of his family.
For Harry’s sake, if only so she could say she let him meet his father’s family, she would do it.
“Yes,” he said. “All of you.”
“I think it’s a grand idea.” She began to walk again.
What’s more, Lord Vile wasn’t even trying to get her alone to make love to her again. She was almost disappointed at his lack of effort to seduce her.
However, after Nanny Finn and Harry got into the carriage, she let Lord Alder help her in and distinctly felt his hands upon her rear, an unnecessary touch considering she didn’t need to be shoved in like an ornery pig into its sty.
By the time he sat opposite her, a smirk upon his too-handsome face, she wondered if she’d agreed too quickly. Lord Vile had to have more in mind than visiting a pack of hounds.
Chapter Sixteen
The next meeting with Brunnel was as exciting as the last. Michael’s accounts were up, thanks to guano and sugar. He now understood his country had an insatiable hunger for both, as well as for tea, silk, and cotton. It was simply a matter of knowing how to buy into the market.
It was too bloody easy!
“Why isn’t everyone doing this?” Michael asked at the conclusion of their business.
Brunnel offered a knowing smile. “I have spoiled you, my lord. Because I know how to invest and with whom, you think it’s a certain gain. Many are try
ing what you’re trying but losing money, even going bankrupt.”
Michael felt a twist in his gut at the idea of such a disaster. Not only what terrible straits it would put him in, but for the first time, he considered Gabriel and Camille. No doubt it was because he’d seen them so recently. If Gabriel didn’t have a place to train dogs, what would he do? If Camille couldn’t come to London for her first Season, she would be crushed.
“Can you assure me I won’t become bankrupt?”
Brunnel’s face grew serious. “Of course not, my lord. That would be foolish of me. If anyone were to make such a claim, you should run in the other direction. I can only tell you to look at my results so far.”
Michael nodded. The man hadn’t steered him wrong. Why would he? If Michael lost, Brunnel lost.
“Very well. You seem to have things well in hand with silk and all that.” He trailed off a moment thinking of presenting Ada with a bolt of shimmering silk to drape across her body. “Shall we meet again in, say, three weeks?”
In three weeks, Michael hoped to have accomplished more than simply adding to his fortune. He fervently hoped to introduce Ada to his siblings and, because he had to, his parents, as well. It was the respectable thing to do to gain a lady’s affections, even if he had no interest in marriage.
Their outing to Oxonholt, the Alder home, was arranged for the following week, giving him time to write to his family and set the date. He had a feeling Harry would adore Gabriel.
When Mrs. St. Ange agreed so readily, he hadn’t been required to use any persuasion. He’d been prepared to mention Camille and her need for advice on how to comport herself during the Season. Usually, women enjoyed gossiping and giving advice. He held back on mentioning his sister, however, for he knew the Season was a touchy subject with the prickly Mrs. St. Ange. Something had occurred leaving a bad taste in her mouth regarding the ton, he was sure.
Something which he would like to know. Had she behaved inappropriately? It was hard to give credence given her composed demeanor, but it was a possibility the fledgling Ada Kathryn Ellis had committed a faux pas. She’d only attended Almack’s once, and none of his friends knew her. One chum at White’s remembered the name, and thought he’d even danced with her. No help at all.
When he dug deeper, asking if anyone’s sisters or mothers recalled Miss Ellis, one fellow came back with the nugget that his sister recalled Ada had nearly completed a second season when, abruptly, she left London with her family, never to be heard of again. Whether that was due to her parents or to her, the lady didn’t know.
The only thing Michael knew for certain was Ada was firmly linked with Jenny Blackwood’s middle sister, Margaret, whom everyone seemed to know. Now the Countess of Cambrey, she had not only been a sparkling debutante, she’d been proposed to in front of Queen Victoria at the Duchess of Sutherland’s ball.
Given that momentous occasion, how could anyone be expected to recall other less fortunate young ladies?
On the day of the outing, he picked up the St. Ange party in his spacious clarence. Dash jumped in without assistance, though Michael enjoyed helping Ada. Her trim waist or soft bottom seemed always to be under his hands when he did.
To his delight, she seemed relaxed and enthusiastic. A couple hours later, when they passed the open gates, with half a mile more before his house came into view, Dash gave a few barks, perhaps remembering his former home. They all laughed.
A streak of pride ran through him as his family estate, encompassing over seventy acres, appeared through the oaks at the end of the lane. The expensive dome and tower of Oxonholt actually looked rather impressive after all.
“We’ll go inside first,” he said as he offered everyone a hand down and lifted Harry to the ground, making sure to hold onto Dash’s leash so the dog didn’t run off to find his old pack. “Then we’ll go to the stables where Gabriel is probably training.”
As soon as they entered the front hall, his mother appeared from the parlor, followed by his sister. Introductions were made all around.
“What a dear little lad,” Lady Alder said. “He looks so like my own boys. Perhaps all little boys do,” she added.
Addressing him, she said to Harry, “I heard you like your doggy, yes?”
Harry nodded, eyes wide, then hid behind Ada’s skirts.
“Yes,” Lady Alder confirmed. “Very like all little boys. Now my Camille here, she was a chatterbox at every age.”
Camille blushed. “Better a chatterbox than a saucebox, mother.”
“I would say you have that covered as well, my dear. Though neither will suit you well when you get to London.”
Camille blushed more profusely.
To Ada, Lady Alder said, “We are preparing for our daughter’s first Season.”
Ada nodded and, in a serious tone, said, “These days, a young lady must speak her mind and hold her own against a world in which we have so little control over our lives.”
Surprised silence ensued from both his female family members.
“It’s almost heartbreaking how the social Season is built up as the highlight of a girl’s life, as well as the critical moment to catch a husband.” Ada was speaking directly to Camille now. “You will be expected to be perfect at all times, even to the point of hiding your true nature, no matter how wonderfully unique, in the guise of being potentially the ideal wife. At the same time, you must stave off the advances of the bachelors who prey upon innocence and would no more take a wife than fly.”
Michael realized his mouth had fallen open. Apparently, he’d been right. She’d had a rather trying Season.
“Luckily, as in your case,” he pointed out, “ladies do find husbands outside of the London Season.”
For a moment, Ada’s pursed lips and pale face warned him she might be about to unleash another tirade. Then, she visibly relaxed, glanced around her as if realizing she might not be in the appropriate venue for discussing her opinion, no matter how valid, upon the ton and the Season.
“I apologize if I spoke out of turn,” she said, glancing from his mother to his sister, who looked more impressed than daunted. “I hope Miss Alder has a wonderful time in London.”
Lady Alder cleared her throat. “I appreciate your warnings, and we shall endeavor to guide our Camille through a successful coming out, even if that doesn’t mean an engagement.”
Ada nodded, and Michael decided they’d better at least get out of the foyer.
“I’d like to show Mrs. St. Ange and her son around the property, and of course, go see the other dogs.”
“Of course,” Lady Alder agreed. “Perhaps a tour of the house first. We have some lovely paintings in the upstairs gallery. After you’ve been to see Gabriel, we’ll sit down to a meal. Camille, will you go with them?”
“Yes,” his sister said, still gazing at Mrs. St. Ange as if she were otherworldly. “I believe I will.”
Michael knew Harry wouldn’t care to see the paintings, so as soon as his mother left them, he began by dividing the party.
“Camille, why don’t you take Harry, Dash, and Nanny Finn to our nursery and let the boy see our old toys and then to the kitchen for some of Cook’s sugar biscuits. I’ll show Mrs. St. Ange the upstairs gallery and the conservatory and any other highlights and meet you at the paddock.”
Camille returned a grin so like his own he thought she must know exactly what he was up to—getting Ada alone.
“Yes, dear brother. We’ll see you in about twenty minutes at the paddock.”
“No hurry,” he murmured, taking Ada’s arm. “I think the old hobbyhorse is still upstairs, and Harry is the perfect size for it.”
With that, he steered her to the main staircase.
“Paintings first,” he offered.
*
Ada found herself alone with Lord Vile not ten minutes after entering his family home. How conniving of him. On the other hand, she thought his sister and mother to be quite pleasant, considering she’d nearly ventured into an all-out lec
ture.
At lunch, she would rein in her tendency toward giving her opinion on the terrible pitfalls of a girl’s first Season, keep her mouth closed, ears open, and find out more about the Alders.
“I have nothing but fond memories of growing up here,” he said as they climbed to the first landing.
“I can see why. Your home is lovely.”
“Thank you. I stayed away for a while and only saw it myself recently for the first time in years.”
“When you picked up Dash?” she surmised.
“Yes.”
She wanted to ask him why the estrangement occurred, though she guessed it was due to his father being conniving in his own way. Lord Vile had paid the price by losing Jenny Blackwood. And over what? Why had his father ended his engagement?
They had reached the start of the long gallery.
She recognized a Constable painting, confident it was a Dedham Vale scene, and a Turner painting, which looked a bit blurry in comparison. Then there were the mandatory ancestral portraits.
To her horror, there was a man and a woman in eighteenth-century garb with a boy who looked the spit and image of Harry. No doubt Michael Alder had seen it a hundred times, but things oft seen became nearly invisible. Moreover, that was before he met her son.
If he glanced at it now, he might see the incredible resemblance and would know Harry was of the same kidney, as it was said.
Spying a painting on the opposite wall, a castle on a craggy hill, she exclaimed over it as if it were a masterpiece.
He told her about it, something an uncle had painted from his travels to Scotland, and then she dragged him farther along, not letting him go back to the family paintings opposite.
Unfortunately, the far end of the gallery was dimly lit. Almost as if either she or he had intended to be alone in a dark corner, that is precisely where they’d ended up.
“You were quite assertive in your advice to Camille,” he said, resting one hand upon the wall at her head level.
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